And now, in the wildest vein of rhapsody, Marat continued to pour forth a strange confused flood of savage invective. For the most part the language was coa.r.s.e and ill-chosen and the reasoning faulty in the expression, but here and there would pierce through a phrase or an image so graphic or so true as actually to startle and amaze. It was these improvisations, caught up and reproduced by his followers, which const.i.tuted the leading articles of his journal. Too much immersed in the active career of his demagogue life to spare time for writing, he gave himself the habit of this high-flown and exaggerated style, which wore, so to say, a mock air of composition.

Pointing to the immense quant.i.ty of this sort of matter which his journal contained, Marat would boast to the people of his unceasing labours in their cause, his days of hard toil, his nights of unbroken exertion. He artfully contrasted a life thus spent with the luxurious existence of the pampered 'rich.' Such were the first steps of one who journeyed afterward far in crime--such the initial teachings of one who subsequently helped mainly to corrupt a whole people.

A strange impulse of curiosity to see something of these men of whom he had heard so much, influenced Gerald, while he was also in part swayed by the marvellous force of that torrent which never ceased to flow from Marat's lips. It was a sort of fascination, not the less strong that it imparted a sense of pain.

'I will see this night's adventure to the end,' said he to himself, and he went along with them.

CHAPTER VII. A SUPPER WITH THE 'FRIENDS OF THE PEOPLE'

There is a strange similarity between the moral and the physical evils of life, which extends even to the modes by which they are propagated.

We talk of the infection of a fever, but we often forget that prejudices are infinitely more infectious. The poor man, ill-fed, ill-housed, ill-clad, dest.i.tute, heart-sick, and weary, falls victim to the first epidemic that crosses his path. So with the youth of unfixed faith and unsettled pursuits: he adopts any creed of thought or opinion warm enough to stimulate his imagination and fix his ambition. How few are they in life who have chosen for themselves their political convictions; what a vast majority is it that has adopted the impressions that float around them!

Gerald Fitzgerald supped with Marat at the Rue de Moulins: he sat down with Fauchet, Etienne, Chaptal, Favart and the rest--all writers for the _Ami du Peuple_--all henchmen of the one great and terrible leader.

Gerald had often taken his part in the wild excesses of a youthful origin; he had borne a share in those scenes where pa.s.sion stimulated by debauch becomes madness, and where a frantic impetuosity usurps the place of all reason and judgment; but it was new to him to witness a scene where the excesses were those of minds worked up by the wildest nights of political ambition, the frantic denunciations of political adversaries, and the maddest antic.i.p.ations of a dreadful vengeance. They talked before him with a freedom which, in that time, was rarely heard.

They never scrupled to discuss all the chances of their party, and the casualties of that eventful future that lay before them.

How the monarchy must fall--how the whole social edifice of France must be overthrown--how n.o.bility was to be annihilated, and a new code of distinction created, were discussed with a seriousness, mingled with the wildest levity. That the road to these changes lay through blood, never for a moment seemed to check the torrent of their speculations. Some amused themselves by imaginary lists of proscriptions, giving the names and t.i.tles of those they would recommend for the honours of the guillotine.

'Every thing,' cried Guadet, 'everything that calls itself Duke, Marquis, or Count.'

'Do not include the Barons, Henri, for my cook is of that degree, and I could not spare him,' cried Viennet.

'Down with the aristocrat,' said several; 'he stands by his order, even in his kitchen.'

'Nay,' broke in Viennet, 'I am the first of you all to reduce these people to their becoming station.'

'Do not say so,' said Gensonne: 'the Marquis de Trillac has been a gamekeeper on my property this year back.'

'Your property!' said Marat contemptuously. 'Your paternal estate was a vegetable stall in the Marche aux Bois; and your ancestral chateau, a room in the Pays Latin, five stories high.'

'You lived at the same house, in the cellar, Marat; and, by your own account, it was I that descended to know you!'

'If he talks of property, I'll put him in _my_ list,' said Laroche. 'He whose existence is secure is unworthy to live.'

'A grand sentiment that,' said another; 'let us drink it!' and they arose and drained their gla.s.ses to the toast.

'The Duc de Dampierre, has any one got him down?' asked Guadet.

'I have '--' and I '--' and I,' said several together.

'I demand a reprieve for the Duke,' said another. 'I was at college with him at Nantes, and he is a good fellow, and kind-hearted.'

'Miserable patriot,' said Guadet, laughing, 'that can place his personal sympathies against the interests of the State.'

'_Parbleu!_' cried Laroche, looking over his neighbour's arm. 'Gensonne has got Robespierre's name down!'

'And why not? I detest him. Menard was right when he called him a "_Loup en toilette de bal!_"'

'What a list Menard has here!' said Guadet, holding it up, as he read aloud. 'All who have served the court, or whose families have, for the last three generations--all who employ court tailors, barbers, shoemakers, or armourers----'

'Pray add, all whose names can be traced to baptismal registries, or who are alleged to have been born in wedlock,' said Lescour. 'Let us efface the vile aristocracy effectually!'

'Your sneer is a weak sarcasm,' said Marat savagely. 'Menard is right: it is not man by man, but in platoons, that our vengeance must be executed.'

'I have an uncle and five cousins, whom, from motives of delicacy, I have not denounced. Will any one do me the favour to write the Count de Rochegarde and his sons?'

'I adopt them with pleasure. I wanted a count or two among my barons.'

'I drink to all patriots,' said Marat, draining his gla.s.s, and turning a full look on Fitzgerald.

'I accept the toast,' said Gerald, drinking.

'And I too,' cried Louvet, 'though I do not understand it.'

'By patriot, I mean one who adores liberty,' said Marat

'And hates the tyrant,' cried another.

'For the liberty to send my enemy to the guillotine, I am ready to fight to-morrow,' said Guadet.

'For whom, let me ask, are we to make ourselves hangmen and headsmen?'

cried a pale, sickly youth, whose voice trembled as he spoke. 'The furious populace will not thank you that you have usurped their hunting-grounds. If you run down _their_ game, they will one day turn and rend you!'

'Ah, Brissot, are you there, with your bland notions stolen from Plato!'

cried Guadet. 'It is pleasant even to hear your flute-stop in the wild concert of our hoa.r.s.e voices!'

'As to liberty, who can define it!' exclaimed Brissot.

'I can,' cried Lescour. 'The right to guillotine one's neighbour!'

'Who ever understood the meaning of equality?' continued Brissot, unheeding him. 'Procrustes was the inventor of it!'

'And for fraternity: what is it--who has ever practised it?'

'Cain is the only instance that occurs to me,' said Guadet gravely.

'I drink to America,' said Marat. 'May the infant republic live by the death of the mother that bore her!'

A wild hurrah followed the toast, which was welcomed with mad enthusiasm.

'The beacon of liberty we are lighting here,' continued he, 'will be soon answered from every hill-top and mountain throughout Europe--from the snow-peaks of Norway to the olive-crowned heights of the Apennines--from the bleak cliffs of Scotland to the rocky summits of the Carpathians.'

In a strain bombastic and turgid, but marked at times by flashes of real eloquence, he launched out into one of those rhapsodies which formed the staple of his popular addresses. The glorious picture of a people free, happy, and prosperous was so mingled with a scene of vengeance and retribution, that the work of the guillotine was made to seem the chief agent of civilisation. The social condition of the nation was described, in the state of a man whose life could only be preserved at the cost of a terrible amputation. The operation once over, the body would recover its functions of health and stability. This was the image daily reproduced, till the public mind grew to regard it as a truism. The n.o.blesse represented the diseased and rotten limb, whose removal was so imperative, and there were but too many circ.u.mstances which served to favour the comparison.

Gerald was of an age when fervour and daring exercised a deeper influence than calm conviction. The men of warm and glowing impulses, of pa.s.sionate words and desperate achievements, are sure to exercise a powerful sway over the young, especially when they themselves are from the accident of fortune in the position of adventurers. The language he now heard was bold and definite: there was nothing of subterfuge or concealment about it. The men who spoke were ready to pledge their lives to their words; they were even more willing to fight than preach. There was, besides, a splendid a.s.sertion of self-devotion in their plans; personal advancement had no place in their speculations. All was for France and Frenchmen: nothing for a party; nothing for a cla.s.s. Their aspirations were the highest too; the liberty they contended for was to be the birthright of every man. Brissot, beside whom Gerald sat, was one well adapted to captivate his youthful admiration. His long fair hair, his soft blue eyes, an almost girlish gentleness of look, contrasting with the intense fervour with which he uttered his convictions, imparted an amount of interest to him that Gerald was not slow to appreciate. He spoke, besides, with--what never fails in its effect--the force of an intense conviction. That they were to regenerate France; that the nation long enslaved, corrupted and degraded was to be emanc.i.p.ated, enlightened, and elevated by _them_, was his heartfelt belief. The material advantages of a great revolution to those who should effect it, he would not stop to consider. In his own phrase: 'It was not to a mere land flowing with milk and honey Moses led the Israelites, but to a land promised to their forefathers, to be a heritage to their children!'