The Countess De Charny - Volume II (28 page)

Whereupon the outer door was opened, and the condemned fell beneath the knives of the self-appointed executioners.

If, on the contrary, the prisoner was acquitted, Maillard would rise, place his hand on the prisoner’s head, and say: “Let him be released! ” and that prisoner was saved.

When Maillard first presented himself at the prison door, a man stepped from the crowd, and exchanged a few words with him. Subsequently, after the tribunal had been organised, the presiding officer whispered to this man: “Stand there, and when the person in whom you are interested is brought in, make a sign to me.”

So the man had been standing there silent and motionless ever since the evening before. This man was Gilbert. He had sworn to Andrée that she should not die, and he was trying to keep his promise.

From four to six in the morning both judges and executioners rested from their labors, and during that time wagons sent by the Commune came to remove the dead. The coagulated blood in the courtyard was three inches deep; and as this made it very slippery to the feet, and as it would take too long to clean it up, a hundred bundles of straw were brought in and spread on the pavement, after which they covered the straw with the clothing of the dead, and the garments and straw together absorbed the blood.

MAILLAKD. 231

While the judges and executioners were resting everything became quiet again, and the remaining prisoners began to hope that the massacre would end with the slaughter of the king’s guards and the Swiss. But this hope was of brief duration. About half-past six in the morning the carnage began again.

A jailer came to tell Maillard that the prisoners were ready to die, but wished to hear Mass first.

Maillard shrugged his shoulders, but granted the request. He was engaged, just then, in conversation with a messenger from the Commune, — a slender, mild-faced man, wearing a purplish-brown suit and a small wig.

This man was Billaud-Varennes, and he addressed the executioners as follows : —

“Brave citizens, you have purged society of many great culprits ! The municipal government scarcely knows how to pay its debt to you. The spoils of the dead really belong to you, but that would look like stealing; so, as an indemnity for that loss, I am instructed to offer each of you twenty-four francs, which will be paid at once.”

And Billaud-Varennes actually caused the pay for this bloody work to be distributed then and there.

We will state the reason for this remarkable display of generosity on the part of the Commune.

During the night of September 2d, some of the executioners who were without shoes and stockings went to the headqunrters of the section, and asked permission to appropriate the dead men’s footgear. The officials consented; but after a little, Maillard noticed that these men considered it unnecessary to ask permission, and took not only shoes and stockings, but everytliing else that was worth taking. Maillard protested to the Commune; hence Billaud-Varennes’s little speech, and the silence with which it was received.

Meanwhile the prisoners were hearing Mass. Abbé Lenfant, a former chaplain of the king, read the service, and Abbé de Rastignac assisted him. Tliey were both aged

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men, witli benevolent countenances, and their words of resignation and faith did much to comfort and console their unfortunate auditors.

The little congregation was just kneeling to receive the benediction when the calls for victims began again, and the first name uttered was that of the officiating clergy-man. He crossed himself, finished his invocation, and then calmly followed the persons who had come for him.

The second priest continued the solemn exhortation. He was the next victim summoned, and he, in turn, calmly followed those who summoned him.

The conversation of the remaining prisoners became gloomy indeed, as they discussed the probable manner of their death, and the chances of more or less prolonged torture. Some suggested reaching out their heads in order that they might be severed from their bodies at a single blow; others proposed to hold their hands behind their backs, so as to offer no resistance.

One young man exclaimed: “I ‘11 soon find out the easiest way,” and hastily climbed up into a turret that overlooked the scene of the massacre. When he came back, he said : “Those who are stabbed in the breast die easiest.”

Almost simultaneously, the words, “My God, I come to thee! ” were heard, followed by a long sigh.

Monsieur de Chantereine, a colonel in the king’s Constitutional Guards, had stabbed himself three times in the breast with a knife.

Several other prisoners took the knife and tried to kill themselves with it, but only one succeeded.

There were three women present, — two terrified young girls, who were clinging to two aged men, and a lady dressed in mourning, who was kneeling in prayer, smiling calmly as she prayed.

The two young girls were IVIademoiselle de Cazotte and Mademoiselle de Sombreuil. The two aged men were their fathers. The lady in mourning was Andrée.

Monsieur de Montmorin was the next person called.

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This gentleman, it will be remembered, was the Cabinet Minister who signed the passports by means of which the king had attempted to escape from the country; and Montmorin was so unpopular on this account that a young man came very near being killed the day before, merely because he bore the same name.

Monsieur de Montmorin had not come to listen to the priests’ exhortation, but had remained in his cell, anathe-matising his enemies, shouting for weapons to defend himself, shaking the iron bars of his cell, and even breaking an oak table made of boards two inches thick.

He had to be dragged before the tribunal by force, and he entered the passageAvay with a face pale with rage, bloodshot eyes, and fists clenched threateningly.

” To La Force ! ” said jNIaillard, promptly. The ex-minister took the words literally, and supposed he was simply to be transferred from one prison to another, so he said : —

” Monsieur President, — as it pleases you to call yourself by that name, — I hope you will have me taken there in a carriage, so I will not be exposed to the insults of your vile cut -throats.”

“Order a carriage for Monsieur le Comte de Montmorin,” said Maillard, with perfect politeness. Then, turning to Montmorin, he added: “Have the goodness to be seated while waiting for your carriage, monsieur!”

Five minutes later the carriage was announced, one of the supernumeraries having understood the part he had to play in the drama.

The fatal door opened , — the one leading to death, — and Monsieur de Montmorin passed through it; but he liad scarcely taken three steps when he fell, pierced by twenty pikes.

Then came many prisoners whose obscure names are shrouded in oblivion. Then Cazotte — a well-known writer, who had embraced the cause of the counter-Revolution with great enthusiasm — was called. His daughter usually

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acted as his secretary; and when her father was arrested she came and asked permission to share his imprisonment. If any one could be excused for entertaining royalistic sentiments it would certainly be this man of seventy-five years, whose feet were rooted in the monarchy of Louis XIV., and who, to lull the Due de Bourgogne to sleep, had composed two songs which afterwards became extremely popular.^ But though these reasons might have prevailed with philosophers, they had no influence over the slaugh-terers at the Abbaye. But as soon as Gilbert saw this handsome bright-eyed, white-haired old gentleinan, he made a movement as if to go and meet him, and Maillard noted the movement.

Cazotte advanced, leaning on his daughter’s arm ; but as soon as they entered the passage, the young girl perceived that they were in the presence of their judges; so, leaving her father, she pleaded for him so sweetly and eloquently that even these stern-hearted jurors began to waver. The poor child saw that there were really hearts concealed beneath these rough exteriors, but that she must abase herself to find them, and she devoted herself to the task with her whole soul. These men, who had not known what it was to shed a tear for years, wept profusely, and even Maillard dashed away a tear from eyes that had contemplated this terrible massacre unflinchingly. At last he stretched out his hand, and laid it on Cazotte’s head: “Let him be released,” he said.

The daughter did not know what to think.

“Have no fears,” said Gilbert. “Your father is safe, mademoiselle.”

Two of the jurors rose and accompanied Cazotte as far as the street, for fear that through some fatal mistake death might overtake him after all.

Hour after hour passed, and still the massacre went on.

1 Toiit au beau Milieu des Ardennes, and Commère, il faut chauf-fer le lit.

MAILLARD. 235

Benches were brought into the courtyard for the spectators, the wives and children of the executioners being permitted to witness the bloody work. It was not enough for these butchers to be paidj they wanted to be seen and applauded as well.

About five o’clock in the afternoon Monsieur de Sombreuil was called. He was a prominent Royalist, like Cazotte, and the difficulty of saving him was the greater from the well-remembered fact that, as governor of the Hôtel des Invalides, he had fired upon the populace on the fourteenth of July. Besides, his sous were in the enemy’s ranks, and one had so distinguished himself at Longwy that the King of Prussia had bestowed a decoration upon him.

Monsieur de Sombreuil’s bearing was noble and dignified, and, like the other venerable prisoner, he advanced, leaning on his daughter’s arm.

This time Maillard did not dare to order the prisoner’s release; but, with an evident effort, he said: “Whether this prisoner be innocent or guilty, I think it would ill become the people to besmear their hands with the blood of so venerable a man.”

Mademoiselle de Sombreuil overheard these noble words, and drew her father out through the door, exclaiming: “Saved! saved!”

No sentence either of condemnation or acquittal had been pronounced, and two or three of the executioners put in their heads to ask what they were to do.

The jurors were silent; but at last one said: “Do as you please.”

“Then let the young girl drink to the health of the nation!” cried the wretches.

A man covered with blood, with his sleeves rolled up, and a most ferocious expresssion of countenance, handed Mademoiselle de Sombreuil a glass, filled, some say with blood, some say with wine. Mademoiselle de Sombreuil cried : ” Long live the nation! ” and moistened her lips with

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the liquid, whatever it may have been, — and ^Monsieur de Sombreuil was saved.

Two hours more passed before the cold voice of Maillard was heard, summoning Citizeness Andrée de ïaverney.

The sound made Gilbert’s limbs tremble under him, and his heart sink. A life far more precious to him than his own was about to be lost or saved.

“Citizens,” said Maillard, “the person who is about to appear before you is a poor creature who was devoted to the Austrian woman in years gone; but the latter — ungrateful as queens are ever wont to be — repaid her devotion with treachery and ingratitude. To her friendship for the queen this poor woman sacrificed all she possessed, — her fortune and her husband. You will see that she is dressed in black ; and to whom does she owe her mourning? To the prisoner in the Temple! Citizens, I ask this woman’s life of you.”

The members of the tribunal made signs of assent. One man, and only one man, expressed any doubt.

“We will see,” he said.

“Very well, see, then,” responded Maillard. For at that very moment the door leading from the prison opened, and a woman dressed in black appeared. Her face was shrouded in a veil, and she advanced alone, with a firm and majestic tread. One might have taken her for an inhabi-tant of “that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns,” as Hamlet says.

The jurors trembled on beholding her. Advancing to the table, she raised her veil, and such marvellous yet un-earthly beauty never before met the eye of mortal. She looked like a marble goddess. Every eye was riveted upon her, and Gilbert held his breath in awe.

Addressing Maillard in sweet, but icy tones, she asked : —

“Are you the presiding officer of this tribunal?”

“Yes, citizeness.” replied Maillard, surprised that he, the questioner, should find himself thus questioned.

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“I am the Comtesse de Cliarny, wife of the Comte de Charny, killed on that most infamous day, the tenth of August. I am also a Royalist, and a devoted friend of the queen. I richly deserve death in your opinion, and I come to claim it at your hands. “

The jurors uttered a cry of surprise. Gilbert turned pale, and drew as far back in his corner as possible, so as not to be seen by Andrée.

Perceiving Gilbert’s consternation, Maillard exclaimed: “This woman is not in her right mind. The loss of her husband has turned her brain. Let us take pity on her and spare her.”

He arose, and was about to place his hand on her head, as he was accustomed to do with those he declared innocent, but Andrée pushed away his hand.

“I am in full possession of my senses,” she said. “If you wish to spare any one let it be some person who asks and deserves such a boon, not a person who not only does not deserve, but positively refuses it.”

Maillard turned to Gilbert, and noting his beseeching attitude, again exclaimed: “This woman is demented. Let her be released.” And as he spoke he motioned to one of the jurors to push her out through the door.

“Innocent!” cried the man. “Let her pass!” Everyone made way for her. Even the sabres and pikes were lowered before this personification of Grief. But she had scarcely gone ten steps before Gilbert, who was watching her, saw her pause, and heard her cry out : —

“Long live the King! Long live the Queen ! Shame on the tenth of August! “

Gilbert groaned and rushed out into the courtyard ; but he was too late. He saw a sabre flash, then, quick as lightning, bury itself in Andrée’s heart.