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2. When mapping the problem it may reveal a gap in your understanding of the problem or establish that
you are placing too much emphasis on a few disciplinary components at the expense of other equally
important components.
*a. True
b. False
Ans: A
Answer location: 106
4. There are four practical benefits from using systems thinking and drawing a system map, which of
these should not be included.
a. Researchers may discover that relationships at first thought to be of secondary importance are of
primary importance.
b. Drawing a system map and locating the disciplines on it that one believes are relevant enables the
researcher to more easily identify other relevant disciplines that may have been overlooked earlier.
c. A system map can reveal the existence of a system that did not initially seem to be a system.
*d. Drawing a system map helps the researcher understand how the system operates the way it does, not
why the system behaves the way it does.
Allen Repko and Rick Szostak
Interdisciplinary Research, 3rd Edition
Chapter 4 Test Bank
Ans: D
Answer location: 110
5. Systems thinking, as well as system mapping, fosters _____________ thinking by looking for
____________ relationships among the phenomena or actors in a system.
*a. Nonlinear, nonlinear
b. Nonlinear, linear
c. Linear, nonlinear
d. Linear, Linear
Ans: A
Answer location: 112
6. If the complex problem falls within a discipline’s perspective and research domain, the discipline’s
scholarly community has written about the topic.
a. True
*b. False
Ans: B
Answer location: 104
8. The _________________________ are those disciplines, often three or four, which are most directly
connected to the problem, have produced the most important research on it, and have advanced the most
compelling theories to explain it.
*a. Most relevant disciplines
Ans: A
Answer location: 114
10. To identify the most relevant disciplines, three questions should be asked. Which of the following is
not one.
a. Does the discipline have a well-defined perspective on the problem?
b. Has the discipline produced a body of research on the problem of such significance that it cannot be
ignored?
*c. Has the discipline found one or more phenomena directly related to the problem?
d. Has the discipline generated one or more theories to explain the problem?
Allen Repko and Rick Szostak
Interdisciplinary Research, 3rd Edition
Chapter 4 Test Bank
Ans: C
Answer location: 117-120
11. When determining the relative importance of a discipline and its insights, you should not be
influenced by the ___________ of a discipline’s research on the problem.
*a. Quantity
Ans: A
Answer location: 119
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Robespierre looked at them with eyes full of gratitude. He was hoping
that some one would commence an attack, that he might retaliate there and
then, and so accentuate his triumph. He had perceived among the crowd his
adversaries, Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois. They tried to speak,
and were hissed; they persisted, and were greeted with cries of "To death
with them!" Daggers even were drawn, and they had scarcely time to
escape.
Leaving the Assembly-room among the first he had slipped out under
cover of night, taking a short cut to the Tuileries, whose dark mass aided his
further flight. For he was flying from his glorification, escaping from his
rabid admirers, who would have borne him in triumph through the streets of
sleeping Paris, making them ring with thunderous shouts of triumph.
Creeping along the side of the walls, his face muffled in his collar, he
hastened his steps to the Conciergerie, and as he walked his thoughts
reverted to the subject of his reception. The Jacobins' enthusiasm must have
resounded to the chamber of the Committee of Public Safety, and fallen like
a thunderbolt among the traitors in the very midst of their dark plots! The
effect must have been terrible! He already pictured the Convention
appealing to him with servile supplication, delivering the Committee into
his hands, and asking the names of his enemies, that they might pass
sentence on them all. He smiled triumphantly as he crossed the Pont-Neuf,
without casting a glance at the splendid spectacle which lay at his feet on
either side of the bridge; for it was July, and all the glory of a summer sky
studded with stars was mirrored in the stream.
He walked on quickly, wrapt in his own thoughts. Ah! not only did they
wish to ruin him, but they would have sent Olivier to his death! He had
forestalled them, however. The very next day they should take his son's
vacant place in that same Conciergerie, the antechamber of the guillotine!
Robespierre had reached the quay, and was now at the foot of the Silver
Tower, whose pointed spire stood out in the moonlight like a gigantic finger
raised to heaven. It was in that tower that Fouquier-Tinville, the Public
Prosecutor of the Revolutionary Tribunal—death's henchman—lived.
Robespierre scanned the windows. All lights were out. Fouquier slept, then?
What brute insensibility! But he would sleep also, he told himself. Ah, yes!
the terrors of the scaffold would soon be over! No more butchery, no more
guillotine! He had promised it to the mother of his son, and he would keep
his word ... he would, within three days.
The gate swung back on its hinges, and a voice was heard exclaiming—
"I wish to know if you have among your prisoners a certain Germain,
lately at La Force prison."
"Well, we can see that on the prison register, citoyen. Nothing will be
easier, if the registrar is still here. Let me ascertain through the watchman.
Would you care to follow me? Just wait a moment; I have not the keys."
Collas went back into his lodge, and returned with a bunch of keys.
Then, taking down a lantern from the wall, he commenced threading the
mazy alleys of the Conciergerie, followed by the Incorruptible. It was the
first time Robespierre had entered this prison in which so many of his
victims had been immured. The two men turned into the old banqueting hall
of the Kings of France, a long gallery with a vaulted ceiling of oval arches
supported on massive pillars; keeping to the left, they came upon an iron
trellised gate, which the turnkey opened. Robespierre found himself in a
railed enclosure, a kind of antechamber leading to another vaulted gallery,
which in the dim light seemed of indefinite length. Two towering gates on
the left opened into a court on which the moon shone, lighting up vividly a
pile of buildings surrounded with grey arcades.
"Hallo, Barassin!" called the turnkey, shaking his bunch of keys in his
ears.
"We are between the two gates, citoyen. Have you never been to the
Conciergerie before?"
"No; never."
On the other side of that little door to the right was the ward of the male
prisoners. Here at the end was the women's courtyard, facing the arched
building in which were their cells. Robespierre had but to advance a little,
and he could see through the gate the fountain in which they washed their
linen, for they remained dainty to the last, and wished to ascend the scaffold
in spotless clothes. Barassin laughed a loud brutish laugh, happy at the
seeming interest Robespierre took in his explanations.
"Is the Recorder's office on the left, then?" questioned the Incorruptible,
his eyes fixed on the dark gallery through which the turnkey had
disappeared.
Barassin began another string of details. Yes, that gallery led to it, and
to the exit as well, through the concierge's lodge, where the condemned had
their hair cut after the roll-call.
"The call takes place here, just where you are standing," he explained.
Robespierre started, and moved away. His eyes rested on the long line
of cells, whose doors were lost in long perspective under the vaulted
archway he had noticed on his entrance, and which had seemed so vast
through the iron bars of the second gate. He lowered his voice to ask if
those cells were occupied. Barassin's reply reassured him; there was no one
there just then. Then, indicating a cell opposite Robespierre, the watchman
continued, carried away by his subject—
Robespierre shuddered.
"My name?"
The watchman swung his lantern from place to place, lighting up, for
the Incorruptible's benefit, other ominous inscriptions addressed to him.
Steps were heard advancing, and the turnkey made his reappearance.
The registrar had gone away and taken the keys with him. It was impossible
to get at the prison register. He then suggested that Robespierre should go
with him to the men's ward.
"Let us awake the prisoners. If the man you seek is there you will easily
recognize him."
Then, there was but one course left. Barrassin might accompany him,
and speak to the men's turnkey, who would look for this Germain from bed
to bed, and Barassin would bring back to Robespierre the result of the
inquiry, as he himself had to return to his post. Robespierre would have to
wait a little while, of course. And Collas moved the watchman's chair
towards him.
The two men went away, turning to the left, through the small gate,
which Barassin carefully closed behind him. Robespierre followed the
watchman with his eyes.
Stepping slowly towards the watchman's seat, he sat down sideways, his
eyes fixed, like a somnambulist's, and his arm resting on the back of the
chair, as he repeated in a low murmur—
Almost the same dread, ominous words had the night before forced him
to start up suddenly, and impelled him to rush towards the window of his
room.
It was the shade of Camille Desmoulins that had uttered the grim
summons! Camille, accompanied by his wife, the pale and sweet Lucile,
sought to draw him to them, to drag him along with them on the blood-
strewn way to which they had been doomed! But the phantoms had all
vanished with the refreshing dawn. It was fever, of course! He was subject
to it; it peopled his sleep with harrowing visions and fearful dreams. But
these were nothing but excited hallucinations, creatures of his overwrought
brain....
Robespierre had now closed his eyes, overcome with fatigue, and still
continued the thread of his thoughts and fancies. His ideas were becoming
confused. He was vaguely wondering whether such imaginings were due to
fever after all? If this was not the case, it was perhaps his conscience that
awakened from its torpor, and rose at night to confront him with his
victims? Yes, his conscience that relentlessly gnawed at his heart-strings,
and wrung from him a gasping confession of alarm! Had not Fouquier-
Tinville seen the Seine one night from his terrace rolling waves of blood?
This was also a mere delusion ... the outcome of remorse, perhaps?
Remorse? Why? Remorse for a just deed, for a work of redemption? No! It
sprung rather from a diseased imagination caused by an over-excited and
over-active brain, which, weakened by excess, clothed the simplest objects
with supernatural attributes.
Yes ... did not Brutus imagine that he saw the shade of Cæsar gliding
into his tent, when it could have been nothing but the flicker of a lamp on
the curtains moved by the wind, or a moonbeam playing, as that one
yonder, on a pillar?
Ghosts! Yes, they were ghosts! What! was he going to believe in ghosts,
like old women and children? It was folly, crass folly, and he repeated aloud
—"Madness! sheer madness!"
But what did it all mean! What were those wandering forms which
reminded him of beings long dead? Were they subtle effluences of their
bodies that could pass through the prison walls, invisible by day, but
luminous at night, as phosphorescent spectres were said to flit among
tombstones in churchyards by moonlight, to the dismay of the weak and
credulous.
He went towards the gate of the men's ward livid with fright, in the hope
that the watchman would come and put an end to these harrowing
phantasms.
Were all his victims then going to show themselves behind those iron
bars like avengers, to torture and madden him?
He took his eyes off these for a moment to see if the spectres gathered
behind the grating of the ground floor were still there. Yes! They were still
there. They were everywhere then? Everywhere! ... What were they doing?
Why did they come and force the past upon him in this way? After spending
the day in struggling with the living, must his nights be spent in encounters
with the dead? He continued staring in mute and fascinated horror, as
motionless as those ghosts gathered behind the closed grill, and seeming to
await the gruesome roll-call of the condemned.
At their silence he presently took heart. None of them had their eyes
fixed on him. This was proof, he thought, that they existed only in his
imagination. For, after all, if they were real, they would have stared at him
in anger, with terrible and threatening looks ... they would have rushed upon
him, one and all. Those iron barriers would have yielded to their united
effort, and burst asunder!
"They haven't seen me!" he gasped. If he could gain the passage to the
left of the archway, which was the only exit available, he was safe! He
would escape them! For they were not likely to follow him into the street....
"Danton! Camille!"
Robespierre felt now that he was lost. Flight had become impossible.
The one remaining means of escape was by the little grating of the men's
courtyard. He tried to reach it, still walking backwards, without once losing
sight of the apparitions, his arms stretched behind him, every muscle
strained, and both hands clenched convulsively. He soon came in contact
with the grating, and tried to push it open with his back. Not succeeding he
abruptly turned round. It was locked! He tried madly to force it, but the
massive iron bars proved too much for his strength. He seized and shook
the lattice in his agony. The rattling noise made him turn quickly, thinking
all the spectres had come down upon him. But no! They stood still in the
same places, motionless, and apparently unconscious of his presence. But
this could not last; ... they must see him sooner or later! And if he were seen
he would surely be the prey of these arisen tenants of the tomb! He wiped
the cold sweat from his brow, panting and breathless, and made a sudden
frantic effort in his overwhelming panic to repel the ghastly vision, turning
away from it.
Every eye was upon him. They appeared terrible in the awful majesty of
their wrongs, as if accusing him, as if judging him. He remained
motionless, terror-stricken. Yes, they were all looking at him! Slowly,
silently they glided towards him.
"Oh yes! I know what you are going to say, I see the word trembling on
your lips: 'Assassin!'"
Yes! ... Yes! ... he would do everything, anything they asked. He swore
it to them....
"But in pity go! I entreat you! Oh go! in pity, go and leave me!"
The spectres remained motionless, their eyes still fixed upon him.
Yes, mercy! ... he begged for mercy! Their looks would kill him! He
could not bear it any longer! It was too much! His fright now bordered on
madness, and he cried out: "Let me alone! I am frightened! horribly
frightened!"
"Yes!" answered Robespierre, now himself again. "I have had a fearful
dream." Then rising with difficulty, he fell exhausted on the chair which the
watchman held out to him.
Barassin now told Robespierre the result of his quest. They had
interrogated the prisoners, from bed to bed. The young man he sought was
not among them.
Robespierre, still uneasy, and casting anxious and furtive glances in
every corner, expressed his thanks.
"This way!" he said, opening the wicket through which they had
entered.
In the gallery Robespierre again seized the man's arm, and bent forward
to see if the way was clear; then feeling immense relief, he rushed towards
the exit, almost running, and followed with difficulty by Barassin, who with
the lantern dangling in his hand could scarcely keep pace with him.
CHAPTER XII
Robespierre could breathe again. He was once more in the open, the
silent stars above him, the Seine flecked with white bars of reflected
moonlight, flowing at his feet. But he dared not linger there. He turned
quickly, and darted along close to the walls, fearing that for him, as once for
Fouquier-Tinville, the water would take the crimson hue of blood. By slow
degrees he became calmer. Refreshing gusts of cool night air fanned his
fevered brow, and restored him to reality. He thought of Olivier again. If he
were not in the Conciergerie, where could he be?
"Where is he?"
"Then it is to be war between us? You shall have it, scoundrels! war to
the knife! And to-morrow too!" and turning away abruptly, he went towards
the steps, and pushed the door open in a violent rage.
Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois retraced their steps to apprise
their colleagues at the Convention of their stormy interview with
Robespierre. But on the threshold of the Assembly-room Billaud stopped
his companion.
So saying, he went upstairs to the attics, where Olivier had been locked
up ever since five o'clock under the charge of a gendarme, to whom
Coulongeon, the Committee's agent, had confided him, with strict orders
that the prisoner was to be kept entirely out of sight until the Committee
had decided on his fate.
On his return to Paris the same evening he had reported his discovery at
once to the Committee of Public Safety. Billaud-Varennes rubbed his hands
gleefully. He was on the scent of a plot. An Englishman? That could be no
other than Vaughan, Fox's agent, who was known to have been already two
days in Paris. Ah! Robespierre had secret interviews with him, had he? A
plot, of course! It was splendid! Nothing could be more opportune!
But at the Consulate the detective was told that Vaughan had just left
Paris. Suspecting a trick, he took other means to continue his inquiries, only
to find after all that the Englishman had started for Geneva directly after
leaving Montmorency.
The members of the Committee were greatly disappointed on learning
that the plot must remain unravelled, for how could they prove the
interview without witnesses? Coulongeon was the only one who had seen
Robespierre speaking with Vaughan, but he was in the pay of the
Committee, and no one would believe him. They rested their hopes on the
probable return of the Englishman, but they waited to no purpose, and were
finally obliged to abandon the attempt.
"Three!" the agent interjected. "For, now I come to think of it, there was
a young man with them."
"He must be found also! Quick to Montmorency, and bring him back
with you!"
Once back in Paris the agent had little difficulty in making the good
woman speak. Did the widow Beaugrand know the young man? Pardieu!
She knew him too well! He was the daring insulter of Robespierre, the
young madman arrested on the Fête of the Supreme Being who was now
imprisoned at La Force.
The joy of the Committee knew no bounds, when they learnt the news
on leaving the hall of the Convention on the 8th Thermidor.
"We will have the three prisoners out of gaol, at once, and keep them
here at hand."
Two orders of release had been immediately drafted, one for the prison
of La Bourbe, the other for La Force.
"To whom?"
"To Vaughan."
"Not in the least. It was quite a chance-meeting. He had lost his way,
when they..."
With this he re-entered the room where his colleagues were assembled.
But such an extraordinary scene of animation presented itself when he
opened the door that he forgot the object of his visit.
This Committee-room, like the others next to it, formed part of a suite
of apartments recently belonging to the King. It offered a strange spectacle,
with its mixture of elegance and vulgarity, which said more than words for
the ravages of the Revolution.
Over the five doors, two of which opened on to a long corridor, the
royal arms surmounted by a crown had been roughly erased. The walls and
panels of the doors were covered with printed decrees of the Convention,
and tricolour placards were pasted up everywhere. This array of
Revolutionary literature struck the observer as at once ominous and
pathetic, in the midst of all the grace and beauty of that white and gold
reception-room, decorated in the purest Louis XV. style, with its daintily
carved cornices and painted ceiling, where Nymphs and Cupids sported in
the glowing spring-tide among flowers. The contrast was even more
apparent in the furniture. Gilded armchairs covered with rare tapestry, now
all torn, stood side by side with plain deal seats, some of which were very
rickety. A sideboard laden with eatables and wine-bottles completed the
installation of the Terror in the palace of the Tuileries.