Anarchistbanjo's World

The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

Only when complete silence had fallen in the background
he leaned back in his armchair, so that the blue-white-red sash
wrapped around his body tightened, took a sheet of paper from
the table, as if playing, and said with a singing and theatrical
voice:
“Citizen Anastasia Beaujonin!”
Loud murmuring, throat clearing and spitting out behind
us betrayed the now beginning tension of the audience.
The young woman next to me had let out a small scream
at the mention of her name. She stood up, burst into a new
torrent of tears and pressed a tiny handkerchief to her eyes. I
looked at her pityingly. Her pretty dress, pink and blue
flowered, was badly wrinkled and disfigured. Several times she
ran with her hand, smoothing out the wrinkles. Surely the
appearance of her person preoccupied her just as much as the
concern about the outcome of a trial that knew neither
witnesses nor in its deliberate brevity offered little hope.
The chairman assumed a significant posture, made a
beautiful gesture with his right hand, and spoke with an
emphasis as if he wanted to declaim:
“Pay attention to what I say, Citizen Beaujonin! Think
about your answers, because our time is short. It does not
belong to us, but to the nation. You are accused of keeping
Baron Hautecorne hidden in the attic of your house for three
days although you must have known that he belonged among
the proscribed. What do you have to reply?”
“Oh, my God,” the woman stammered. “I loved him so
much — -“
The judge smiled. From behind one heard a coarse
woman’s voice:
“She is brave, the little one, and speaks as a woman
should speak.”
“Silence, Mother Flanche!” shouted the judge. “You must
not make any remarks here!”
“Don’t break anything, my sweet boy!” it came back. “I
have known you since you were a Temple singer.”
The chairman was about to start up, but then only made a
dismissive gesture with his hand and said, turning to the young
woman, “So?”
She swallowed a few times and directed her shy, fearful
gaze on me for a moment, as if she were trying to get courage
from me. This seemed to annoy the judge, because he took a
petition and knocked violently on the table with it.
“And why did you love citizen Hautecorne so much?” he
asked mockingly, showing his white teeth.
“Because he was so beautiful-almost as beautiful as
you!” She said softly, looking at him with a full gaze.
A storm of applause, mixed with shouts, laughter and the
trampling of feet roared through the hall.
Even the committee members smiled sourly, and the
chairman stroked back a curl of hair that had fallen across his
forehead with a smug movement.
“Let the little girl go – -,” cried one.
“She needs her head to give it to you-,” they laughed.
“Well said, Rodolphe.”
“She knows how you men must be treated.”
When silence had returned, the Judge said in a gentle
voice:
“Madame, I have reason to believe that you were
unaware of the danger of this enemy of the Republic when
your assistance was rendered?”
“Oh – no,” sobbed the accused, quickly grasping her
advantage. “I love the Republic -. I would have never –“
“Did he at least do his thing well, your baron?” roared
one of the audience.
The judge struck the butt of the file angrily.
“Hey, now, Perrin, Verrou, and Mastiche, see who’s
trying to make my acquaintance back there!” he shouted, and at
once three soldiers stumbled into the background, their heavy
rifles in their arms.
Immediately there was silence.
The judge leaned toward the committee members. They
whispered and nodded to him.
“Madame,” then said the presiding judge, “I will dare to
set you at liberty for the time being. But take care!”
“Oh -” the woman cried out and laughed all over her face.
“Wait Madame. I want to take it upon myself. I have a
responsibility to answer to the nation. You see, the people are
mild and chivalrous to women, if that is possible. Before you
leave you will have the goodness to write your future address
on a piece of paper and hand it to me!”
“Oh, you damned truffle pig,” laughed one of them. The
soldiers spoke fiercely at him.
“I’ll say no more,” he assured them. “Let go of my
paws!”
Silence fell again.
The little girl smiled gracefully, pattered on her high
heels to the tribune table and scribbled a few words on a piece
of paper, which the judge held out to her, read and pocketed.
Suppressed laughter in the auditorium accompanied this action.
“You may go, Madame, but you will remain at the
Tribunal’s disposal!”
The woman stopped, looked sheepishly and uncertainly
at the judges and then at the laughing spectators, turned
suddenly and ran quickly, looking neither to the right nor to the
left, right through the middle of the dumbfounded looking
soldiers and out of the room.
Immediately, the chairman assumed a dreadful official
face, rustled with paper and then said briefly and sharply:
“Citizen Melchior Dronte!”
I stood up.
Everything in me was calm, all fear disappeared. Again, I
felt as if I were now contemplating a fate, whose further
development was completely clear to me. Without any hostility
I looked at the vain man who had set himself as a judge over
me. His gaze immediately met mine and passed me by. In order
to hide this weakness, he took his eyes off me and taking some
sheets from the table acted as if he needed a constant insight
into the act, which would explain the circumstances of my
capture and the charges against me.
At last he raised his head and said:
“In the case of an expression of the will of the people,
which was directed against the rightfully detested citizen
Lamballe —“
A many-voiced outburst of rage arose.
“Death to the aristocrat! Down with her!”
“Shut your mouths!”
“She’s already perished!”
“Death to Lamballe!”
The judge waited patiently for the noise to subside, and
then continued:
“- The detested citizen Lamballe, from whom important
information about a conspiracy in England against the republic
were to be hoped for, has been crushed by the holy wrath of the
citizens. You, citizen Dronte, have made the attempt to obstruct
the people, who were passing and carrying out its judgment.
What were your intentions with the way you handled this?”