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Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
river, water-mills and quays. In the vast kitchen was an enormous chopping block, suggestive of large
family joints.
My kind cicerone allowed me to linger in Danton's bed-chamber. I now looked out from the window at
which the fallen leader was often seen by his townsfolk during the last days of his stormy career. In his
night-cap the colossal figure might be descried gazing out into the night, as if peering into futurity, trying
to read the future. Did he perhaps from time to time waver in his decision to abide his doom? We know
that again and again his friends urged him to seek safety in flight.
"Does a man carry his country on the sole of his shoe?" he retorted fiercely, but it may well be that he
here envied weaker men. Danton's character was thoroughly French. His ambition was as he said to retire
to Arcis-sur-Aube and there plant cabbages. A devoted son, husband and father, his affections were also
centred upon others not of his blood and name. He tenderly loved his old nurse, and left her a small
pension. Within the last thirty years, thanks to M. Aulard and his collaborators, the history of the
Revolution has been written anew, or rather for the first time. The gigantic figure of Danton stands forth
to-day in its true light, as the saviour of France from the fate of Poland, and as a founder of the
democratic idea. He succumbed less because he was a rival of Robespierre than because he was a friend
of humanity.
"I would rather be guillotined than guillotine," he repeated, and it was mainly his effort to stay the Terror
that made him its victim.
The study adjoining contained that suggestive library of English, Spanish, Italian, and ancient classics of
which his biographers have given us a catalogue, but which are now, alas! dispersed for ever.
The house stands conspicuous, rearing a proud front to the world, if world could be used appropriately of
so quiet, humdrum a little place. A few hundred yards off we reach the Church, Hotel de Ville and open
square. In 1886, a monument to Danton was inaugurated here with much ceremony. A bronze statue
represents the great tribune in the fiery attitude of an orator, pronouncing his immortal phrase: -
"De l'audace, encore de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!"
Arcis-sur-Aube is a little town of three thousand souls, within an hour's railway journey from Troyes.
The river Aube (Alba), so called from its silveriness flows by Danton's house. In his time and up to the
opening of the railways the place was a port of some importance. Boats and barges carried goods to
Troyes, Bar-sur-Aube and other towns.
Of late years Arcis has been partially surrounded with pleasant shady walks greatly appreciated by the
townsfolk. Regretfully I quitted my circle of acquaintances here, little dreaming under what interesting
circumstances I should next meet Danton's great-nephew.
CHAPTER XV. RHEIMS.
The grandest of all the grand cathedrals in France has been so fully described elsewhere, that I will not
attempt to do justice to the subject myself. During one of my numerous visits to Rheims, however, it was
my good fortune to enjoy a very rare experience. On the occasion of President Faure's funeral, the
great bourdon or bell, formerly only tolled for the death of monarchs, was now heard for the
second time during the Third Republic. Standing under the shadow of that vast minster the sound seemed
to come from east and west, from above and below, dwarfing the hum of the city to nothingness, as if
echoing from the remotest corners of France. It was no heroic figure now knelled by the deepest-voiced
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