The Gods Are Athirst — Chapter 26

Chapter 26 of 29 · Review of The Gods Are Athirst

As the sun of Thermidor sank in blood-red purple, Évariste wandered, sombre and preoccupied, through the Marbeuf Gardens, now national property and frequented by idle Parisians. Lemonade and ices were served there; there were merry-go-rounds and shooting galleries for young patriots. Beneath a tree, a little Savoyard in rags, wearing a black cap, made a marmot dance to the shrill notes of his hurdy-gurdy. A man, still young, slender, dressed in blue, his hair powdered, and accompanied by a large dog, stopped to listen to this rustic music. Évariste recognized Robespierre. He found him paler and thinner than before, his face hardened and scored with lines of suffering. And he thought:

“What weariness, and how much suffering, have left their mark upon his brow! How painful it is to labour for the happiness of mankind! What is he thinking at this moment? Does the sound of the mountain hurdy-gurdy distract him from the cares of state? Is he thinking that he has made a compact with death, and that the hour for fulfilling it is near? Is he meditating a victorious return to that Committee of Public Safety from which he withdrew, weary of being thwarted there, together with Couthon and Saint-Just, by a seditious majority? Behind that impenetrable countenance, what hopes are stirring, or what fears?”

Yet Maximilien smiled at the child and, in a gentle and kindly voice, asked him a few questions about the valley, the cottage, and the parents whom the poor little fellow had left behind; he tossed him a small silver coin and resumed his walk. After taking a few steps, he turned to call his dog, which, scenting the rodent, was baring its teeth at the bristling marmot.

“Brount! Brount!”

Then he disappeared into the darkened walks.

Out of respect, Gamelin did not approach the solitary stroller; but, gazing at the slender figure fading into the night, he addressed this silent prayer to him:

“I have seen your sadness, Maximilien; I have understood your thought. Your melancholy, your weariness, even that expression of dread imprinted in your eyes—everything in you says: ‘Let the Terror end, and let fraternity begin! Frenchmen, be united, be virtuous, be good. Love one another…’ Well, I shall serve your designs. So that, in your wisdom and goodness, you may put an end to civil discord, extinguish fratricidal hatred, and turn the executioner into a gardener who will sever no more heads save those of cabbages and lettuces, I shall, with my colleagues of the Tribunal, prepare the way for clemency by exterminating conspirators and traitors. We shall redouble our vigilance and severity. Not one guilty man shall escape us. And when the head of the last enemy of the Republic has fallen beneath the blade, you will be able to show mercy without committing a crime, and cause innocence and virtue to reign over France, O father of the fatherland!”

The Incorruptible was already far away. Two men in round hats and nankeen breeches—one of them fierce-looking, tall and gaunt, with a patch over one eye and a resemblance to Tallien—met him at the turn of a path, cast a sidelong glance at him, and passed on, pretending not to recognize him. When they were far enough away not to be overheard, they murmured under their breath:

“So there he is—the king, the pope, the god. For he is God. And Catherine Théot is his prophetess.”

“Dictator, traitor, tyrant! There are Brutuses still.”

“Tremble, scoundrel! The Tarpeian Rock stands near the Capitol.”

The dog Brount came towards them. They fell silent and quickened their pace.