“The Convention may override you. May order you to join us.”
“I intend to be,” said Danton pleasantly, “a thorn in the flesh of all committees.”
“There isn’t really any more to say, is there? People are screaming for trials and purges and killings. You prefer to walk away.”
“What do you want me to do? Sweat blood for the Republic? I’ve told you I’ll support you.”
“You want to be the idol of the Convention. You want to get up and make big speeches and cover yourself in glory. Well, let me tell you, there’s a lot more to it than that.”
“You’ll make yourself ill if you go on like this.”
“You blame me for turning to Saint-Just for support. At least he doesn’t make his personal pleasures a touchstone for the Revolution.”
“Who said I did that?”
“You will at least, I hope, try to be civil to me in public?”
“I shall be positively affectionate,” Danton promised.
Robespierre left his door in a government conveyance. Two large men climbed in beside him. “Bodyguards,” Danton said, watching from the window. “They were forced upon him in the end. He was suspected of a plot to put his dog on the Committee of Public Safety. Actually, he’d quite like to be assassinated.” He stretched out a hand for Louise. “It would be the crowning glory of the hard, miserable life he’s made for himself.”
On the day of the demonstration, the sansculotte leader Jacques Roux was arrested. For some time no proceedings were taken against him, but when in the end he was called before the Tribunal he killed himself in his cell. September saw the institution of Terror as a form of government. The new constitution was to be suspended till the end of the war. On September 13, Danton proposed that all committees be renewed, and that in future their members be appointed by the Committee of Public Safety. There was a moment when he and Robespierre stood together, as if to acknowledge jointly the applause of the Mountain. “All right?” he said to Robespierre, and Robespierre answered calmly, “Yes, that’s fine.”
The decree was passed. The moment passed. And now, thought Danton, we ought to be able to bow and walk off stage. Weariness like a parasite seemed to burst into flower from his bones.
The following morning he found he could hardly lift his head from the pillow. He could not remember anything about the previous day. His memory had been taken out, and replaced by a leaden, pulsating pain. A few incidents floated across the pain—disconnected, some from years back. He did not know the date. He thought he saw Gabrielle come into the room, look down at him, smooth his pillow. Only later he remembered that Gabrielle was dead.
Several doctors came. They argued with each other as if their lives depended on it. When Angelique arrived, Louise crumpled into a little sniffling heap on a sofa. Angelique sent the children off to their uncle, and made Louise drink warm milk. Then she routed the doctors. Souberbielle remained. “He should get out of Paris,” he said. “A man like that needs to breathe his own air. He has spent all his adult life going against the grain. He has abused his strength, wrecked his constitution.”
“He will get better?” Louise said.
“Oh yes. But he must recover himself outside this city. The Convention must give him leave of absence. Citizeness, may I advise you?”
“Of course.”
“While he is ill, don’t discuss his affairs with anyone. Don’t trust anyone to have his interests at heart.”
“I don’t.”
“Stay out of arguments. It’s known, Citizeness, that you like to air your views. By doing so, you increase the stress on him.”
“I only speak as my conscience dictates. Perhaps this illness is providential. He must give up the Revolution.”
“It’s not so simple. My dear, you were twelve years old when the Bastille fell.”
“Gabrielle was weak.”
“That was not my view of her. She confined herself to her sphere.”
“I want to rescue him from himself.”
“Strange,” the doctor said. “Robespierre has the same ambition.”
“You know Robespierre?”
“Pretty well.”
“Is he a good man?”
“He is honest and scrupulous and he tries to save lives.”
“At the cost of certain other lives.”
“That is sometimes unavoidable. He regrets it.”
“Do you think he
The doctor shrugged. “I hardly know. They’re different types of men completely. Does it matter?”
Of course it matters, she muttered to herself, as he took his leave. The doctors were replaced by Angelique’s daughters-in-law, strong and decisive women whom she hardly knew. They chivvied her about and sent her upstairs, to sleep in her old room. She crept out and sat on the stairs. She almost expected to see Gabrielle, returning to her sphere. You’re not pregnant, are you? her mother asked her. She could see the way her mother’s mind was working; if something’s really wrong, if he takes a turn for the worse, if he dies, how fast can we
