initial évariste gamelin occupied his place as juror of the tribunal for the second time. before the opening of the sitting, he discussed with his colleagues the news that had arrived that morning. some of it was doubtful, some untrue; but part was authentic—and appalling; the armies of the coalition in command of all the roads and marching en masse on paris, la vendée triumphant, lyons in insurrection, toulon surrendered to the english, who were landing fourteen thousand men there.

for him and his fellow magistrates these were not only events of interest to all the world, but so many matters of domestic concern. foredoomed to perish in the ruin of the fatherland, they made the public salvation their own proper business. the nation's interests, thus entangled with their own, dictated their opinions and passions and conduct.

gamelin, where he sat on the jury bench, was handed a letter from trubert, secretary of the committee of defence; it was to notify his appointment as commissioner of supplies of powder and saltpetre:

"you will excavate all the cellars in the section in order to extract the substances necessary for the manufacture of powder. to-morrow perhaps the enemy will be before paris; the soil of the fatherland must provide us with the lightning we shall launch against our aggressors. i send you herewith a schedule of instructions from the convention regarding the manipulation of saltpetres. farewell and brotherly greeting."

at that moment the accused was brought in. he was one of the last of the defeated generals whom the convention delivered over one after the other to the tribunal, and the most insignificant. at sight of him gamelin shuddered; once again he seemed to see the same soldier whom three weeks before, looking on as a spectator, he had seen sentenced and sent to the guillotine. the man was the same, with his obstinate, opinionated look; the procedure was the same. he gave his answers in a cunning, brutish way that ruined the effect even of the most convincing. his cavilling and chicanery and the accusations he levelled against his subordinates, made you forget he was fulfilling the honourable task of defending his honour and his life. everything was uncertain, every statement disputed,—position of the armies, total of forces engaged, munitions of war, orders given, orders received, movements of troops; nobody knew anything. it was impossible to make head or tail of these confused, nonsensical, aimless operations which had ended in disaster; defending counsel and the accused himself were as much in the dark as were accuser, judges, and jury, and strange to say, not a soul would admit, whether to himself or to other people, that this was the case. the judges took a childish delight in drawing plans and discussing problems of tactics and strategy, while the prisoner constantly betrayed his inborn predilection for crooked ways.

the arguments dragged on endlessly. and all the time gamelin could see on the rough roads of the north the ammunition wagons stogged in the mire and the guns capsized in the ruts, and along all the ways the broken and beaten columns flying in disorder, while from all sides the enemy's cavalry was debouching by the abandoned defiles. and from this host of men betrayed he could hear a mighty shout going up in accusation of the general. when the hearing closed, darkness was falling on the hall, and the head of marat gleamed half-seen like a phantom above the president's head. the jury was called upon to give judgment, but was of two minds. gamelin, in a hoarse, strangled voice, but in resolute accents, declared the accused guilty of treason against the republic, and a murmur of approval rose from the crowd, a flattering unction to his youthful virtue. the sentence was read by the light of torches which cast a lurid, uncertain gleam on the prisoner's hollow temples beaded with drops of sweat. outside the doors, on the steps crowded with the customary swarm of cockaded harridans, gamelin could hear his name, which the habitués of the tribunal were beginning to know, passed from mouth to mouth, and was assailed by a bevy of tricoteuses who shook their fists in his face, demanding the head of the austrian.

the next day évariste had to give judgment on the fate of a poor woman, the widow meyrion. she distributed bread from house to house and tramped the streets pushing a little hand-cart and carrying a wooden tally hung at her waist, on which she cut notches with her knife representing the number of the loaves she had delivered. her gains amounted to eight sous a day. the deputy of the public prosecutor displayed an extraordinary virulence towards the wretched creature, who had, it appears, shouted "vive le roi!" on several occasions, uttered anti-revolutionary remarks in the houses where she called to leave the daily dole of bread, and been mixed up in a plot for the escape of the woman capet. in answer to the judge's question she admitted the facts alleged against her; whether fool or fanatic, she professed royalist sentiments of the most enthusiastic sort and waited her doom.

the revolutionary tribunal made a point of proving the triumph of equality by showing itself just as severe for street-porters and servant maids as for the aristocrats and financiers. gamelin could conceive no other system possible under a popular government. he would have deemed it a mark of contempt, an insult to the people, to exclude it from punishment. that would have been to consider it, so to speak, as unworthy of chastisement by the law. reserved for aristocrats only, the guillotine would have appeared to him in the light of an iniquitous privilege. in his thoughts he was beginning to erect chastisement into a religious and mystic dogma, to assign it a virtue, a merit of its own; he conceived that society owes punishment to criminals and that it is doing them an injustice to cheat them of this right. he declared the woman meyrion guilty and deserving of death, only regretting that the fanatics, more culpable than herself, who had brought her to her ruin, were not there to share her fate.

every evening almost évariste attended the meetings of the jacobins, who assembled in the former chapel of the dominicans, commonly known as jacobins, in the rue honoré. in a courtyard, in which stood a tree of liberty, a poplar whose leaves shook and rustled all day in the wind, the chapel, built in a poor, clumsy style and surmounted by a heavy roof of tiles, showed its bare gable, pierced by a round window and an arched doorway, above which floated the national colours, the flagstaff crowned with the cap of liberty. the jacobins, like the cordeliers, and the feuillants, had appropriated the premises and taken the name of the dispossessed monks. gamelin, once a regular attendant at the sittings of the cordeliers, did not find at the jacobins the familiar sabots, carmagnoles and rallying cries of the dantonists. in robespierre's club administrative reserve and bourgeois gravity were the order of the day. the friend of the people was no more, and since his death évariste had followed the lessons of maximilien whose thought ruled the jacobins, and thence, through a thousand affiliated societies was disseminated over all france. during the reading of the minutes, his eyes wandered over the bare, dismal walls, which, after sheltering the spiritual sons of the arch-inquisitor of heresy, now looked down on the assemblage of zealous inquisitors of crimes against the fatherland.

there, without pomp or ceremony, sat the body that was the chiefest power of the state and ruled by force of words. it governed the city, the empire, dictated its decrees to the convention itself. these artisans of the new order of things, so respectful of the law that they continued royalists in 1791 and would fain have been royalists still on the king's return from varennes, so obstinate in their attachment to the constitution, friends of the established order of the state even after the massacres of the champ-de-mars, and never revolutionaries against the revolution, heedless of popular agitation, cherished in their dark and puissant soul a love of the fatherland that had given birth to fourteen armies and set up the guillotine. évariste was lost in admiration of their vigilance, their suspicious temper, their reasoned dogmatism, their love of system, their supremacy in the art of governing, their sovereign sanity.

the public that formed the audience gave no token of their presence save a low, long-drawn murmur as of one voice, like the rustling of the leaves of the tree of liberty that stood outside the threshold.

that day, the 11th vendémiaire, a young man, with a receding brow, a piercing eye, a sharp prominent nose, a pointed chin, a pock-marked face, a look of cold self-possession, mounted the tribune slowly. his hair was white with powder and he wore a blue coat that displayed his slim figure. he showed the precise carriage and moved with the cadenced step that made some say in mockery that he was like a dancing-master and earned him from others the name of the "french orpheus." robespierre, speaking in a clear voice, delivered an eloquent discourse against the enemies of the republic. he belaboured with metaphysical and uncompromising arguments brissot and his accomplices. he spoke at great length, in free-flowing harmonious periods. soaring in the celestial spheres of philosophy, he launched his lightnings at the base conspirators crawling on the ground.

évariste heard and understood. till then he had blamed the gironde; were they not working for the restoration of the monarchy or the triumph of the orleans faction, were they not planning the ruin of the heroic city that had delivered france from her fetters and would one day deliver the universe? now, as he listened to the sage's voice, he discerned truths of a higher and purer compass; he grasped a revolutionary metaphysic which lifted his mind above coarse, material conditions into a region of absolute, unqualified convictions, untrammelled by the errors of the senses. things are in their nature involved and full of confusion; the complexity of circumstances is such that we lose our way amongst them. robespierre simplified them to his mind, put good and evil before him in clear and precise formulas. federalism,—indivisibility; unity and indivisibility meant salvation, federalism, damnation. gamelin tasted the ineffable joy of a believer who knows the word that saves and the word that destroys the soul. henceforth the revolutionary tribunal, as of old the ecclesiastical courts, would take cognizance of crime absolute, of crime definable in a word. and, because he had the religious spirit, évariste welcomed these revelations with a sombre enthusiasm; his heart swelled and rejoiced at the thought that, henceforth, he had a talisman to discern betwixt crime and innocence, he possessed a creed! ye stand in lieu of all else, oh, treasures of faith!

the sage maximilien enlightened him further as to the perfidious intent of those who were for equalizing property and partitioning the land, abolishing wealth and poverty and establishing a happy mediocrity for all. misled by their specious maxims, he had originally approved their designs, which he deemed in accord with the principles of a true republican. but robespierre, in his speeches at the jacobins, had unmasked their machinations and convinced him that these men, disinterested as their intentions appeared, were working to overthrow the republic, that they were alarming the rich only to rouse against the lawful authority powerful and implacable foes. once private property was threatened, the whole population, the more ardently attached to its possessions the less of these it owned, would turn suddenly against the republic. to terrify vested interests is to conspire against the state. these men who, under pretence of securing universal happiness and the reign of justice, proposed a system of equality and community of goods as a worthy object of good citizens' endeavours, were traitors and malefactors more dangerous than the federalists.

but the most startling revelation he owed to robespierre's wisdom was that of the crimes and infamies of atheism. gamelin had never denied the existence of god; he was a deist and believed in a providence that watches over mankind; but, admitting that he could form only a very vague conception of the supreme being and deeply attached to the principle of freedom of conscience, he was quite ready to allow that right-thinking men might follow the example of lamettrie, boulanger, the baron d'holbach, lalande, helvétius, the citoyen dupuis, and deny god's existence, on condition they formulated a natural morality and found in themselves the sources of justice and the rules of a virtuous life. he had even felt himself in sympathy with the atheists, when he had seen them vilified and persecuted. maximilien had opened his mind and unsealed his eyes. the great man by his virtuous eloquence had taught him the true character of atheism, its nature, its objects, its effects; he had shown him how this doctrine, conceived in the drawing-rooms and boudoirs of the aristocracy, was the most perfidious invention the enemies of the people had ever devised to demoralize and enslave it; how it was a criminal act to uproot from the heart of the unfortunate the consoling thought of a providence to reward and compensate and give them over without rein or bit to the passions that degrade men and make vile slaves of them; how, in fine, the monarchical epicureanism of a helvétius led to immorality, cruelty, and every wickedness. now that he had learnt these lessons from the lips of a great man and a great citizen, he execrated the atheists—especially when they were of an open-hearted, joyous temper, like his old friend brotteaux.

in the days that followed évariste had to give judgment one after the other on a ci-devant convicted of having destroyed wheat-stuffs in order to starve the people, three émigrés who had returned to foment civil war in france, two ladies of pleasure of the palais-égalité, fourteen breton conspirators, men, women, old men, youths, masters, and servants. the crime was proven, the law explicit. among the guilty was a girl of twenty, adorable in the heyday of her young beauty under the shadow of the doom so soon to overwhelm her, a fascinating figure. a blue bow bound her golden locks, her lawn kerchief revealed a white, graceful neck.

évariste was consistent in casting his vote for death, and all the accused, with the one exception of an old gardener, were sent to the scaffold.

the following week évariste and his section mowed down sixty-three heads—forty-five men and eighteen women.

the judges of the revolutionary tribunal drew no distinction between men and women, in this following a principle as old as justice itself. true, the president montané, touched by the bravery and beauty of charlotte corday, had tried to save her by paltering with the procedure of the trial and had thereby lost his seat, but women as a rule were shown no favour under examination, in strict accordance with the rule common to all the tribunals. the jurors feared them, distrusting their artful ways, their aptitude for deception, their powers of seduction. they were the match of men in resolution, and this invited the tribunal to treat them in the same way. the majority of those who sat in judgment, men of normal sensuality or sensual on occasion, were in no wise affected by the fact that the prisoner was a woman. they condemned or acquitted them as their conscience, their zeal, their love, lukewarm or vehement, for the republic dictated. almost always they appeared before the court with their hair carefully dressed and attired with as much elegance as the unhappy conditions allowed. but few of them were young and still fewer pretty. confinement and suspense had blighted them, the harsh light of the hall betrayed their weariness and the anguish they had endured, beating down on faded lids, blotched and pimpled cheeks, white, drawn lips. nevertheless, the fatal chair more than once held a young girl, lovely in her pallor, while a shadow of the tomb veiled her eyes and made her beauty the more seductive. that the sight had the power to melt some jurymen and irritate others, who should deny? that, in the secret depraved heart of him, one of these magistrates may have pried into the most sacred intimacies of the fair body that was to his morbid fancy at the same moment a living and a dead woman's, and that, gloating over voluptuous and ghoulish imaginings he may have found an atrocious pleasure in giving over to the headsman those dainty, desirable limbs,—this is perhaps a thing better left unsaid, but one which no one can deem impossible who knows what men are. évariste gamelin, cold and pedantic in his artistic creed, could see no beauty but in the antique; he admired beauty, but it hardly stirred his senses. his classical taste was so severe he rarely found a woman to his liking; he was as insensible to the charms of a pretty face as he was to fragonard's colouring and boucher's drawing. he had never known desire save under the form of deep passion.

like the majority of his colleagues in the tribunal, he thought women more dangerous than men. he hated the ci-devant princesses, the creatures he pictured to himself in his horrified dreams in company with elisabeth and the austrian weaving plots to assassinate good patriots; he even hated all those fair mistresses of financiers, philosophers, and men of letters whose only crime was having enjoyed the pleasures of the senses and the mind and lived at a time when it was sweet to live. he hated them without admitting the feeling to himself, and when he had one before him at the bar, he condemned her out of pique, convinced all the while that he was dooming her justly and rightly for the public good. his sense of honour, his manly modesty, his cold, calculated wisdom, his devotion to the state, his virtues in a word, pushed under the knife heads that might well have moved men's pity.

but what is this, what is the meaning of this strange prodigy? once the difficulty was to find the guilty, to search them out in their lair, to drag the confession of their crime from reluctant lips. now, there is no hunting with a great pack of sleuth-hounds, no pursuing a timid prey; lo! from all sides come the victims to offer themselves a voluntary sacrifice. nobles, virgins, soldiers, courtesans, flock to the tribunal, dragging their condemnation from dilatory judges, claiming death as a right which they are impatient to enjoy. not enough the multitude with which the zeal of the informers has crowded the prisons and which the public prosecutor and his myrmidons are wearing out their lives in haling before the tribunal; punishment must likewise be provided for those who refuse to wait. and how many others, prouder and more pressing yet, begrudging their judges and headsmen their death, perish by their own hand! the mania of killing is equalled by the mania to die. here, in the conciergerie, is a young soldier, handsome, vigorous, beloved; he leaves behind him in the prison an adorable mistress; she bade him "live for me!"—he will live neither for her nor love nor glory. he lights his pipe with his act of accusation. and, a republican, for he breathes liberty through every pore, he turns royalist that he may die. the tribunal tries its best to save him, but the accused proves the stronger; judges and jury are forced to let him have his way.

évariste's mind, naturally of an anxious, scrupulous cast, was filled to overflowing through the lessons he learned at the jacobins and the contemplation of life with suspicions and alarms. at night, as he paced the ill-lighted streets on his way to élodie's, he fancied through every cellar-grating he passed he caught a glimpse of a plate for printing off forged assignats; in the dark recesses of the baker's and grocer's empty shops he imagined storerooms bursting with provisions fraudulently held back for a rise in prices; looking in at the glittering windows of the eating-houses, he seemed to hear the talk of the speculators plotting the ruin of the country as they drained bottles of beaune and chablis; in the evil-smelling alleys he could see the very prostitutes trampling underfoot the national cockade to the applause of elegant young roisterers; everywhere he beheld conspirators and traitors. and he thought: "against so many foes, secret or declared, oh! republic thou hast but one succour; saint guillotine, save the fatherland!..."

élodie would be waiting for him in her little blue chamber above the amour peintre. to let him know he might come in, she used to set on the window-sill her little watering-can beside the pot of carnations. now he filled her with horror, he seemed like a monster to her; she was afraid of him,—and she adored him. all the night, clinging together in a frantic embrace, the bloody-minded lover and the amorous girl exchanged in silence frenzied kisses.