The Countess De Charny - Volume II (37 page)

“Saint-Just,” Camille Desmoulins remarked to him one day, “do you know what Danton says about you?”

“No.”

” He says you carry your head as carefully as if it were the Holy Eucharist.”

A sarcastic smile flitted over the young man’s rather effeminate lips.

” Well, I ‘11 make him carry his head as Saint-Denis did

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his, — in front of him,” he retorted; and he kept his word.

When Saint-Just made his speech in favour of the king’s indictment, he slowly descended from the topmost bench of the Mountaineers, where he sat, to the rostrum, and with equal slowness and deliberation insisted, nay, demanded that a sentence of death should be pronounced without even the formality of a trial.

Those were terrible words that fell from the pale, deli-cately-cut lips of this handsome youth, — words as hard and cold and trenchant as steel.

” No prolonged trial of the king is necessary. Let him bo killetl at once.

*’ He must he killed, for there are no longer any laws by which to try hun ; he himself has destroyed them all.

” He must be killed as a public enemy : only citizens have a right to be tried. To try this tyrant we should be obliged to first reconstitute him a citizen.

” He must be killed as a criminal, caught in the very act, with his bands stained with blood. Royalty is, in itself, a crime. Every king is at once a rebel and a usurper. A king is nothing more or less than a monstrosity.”

He went on in this strain for about an hour, without evincing the slightest emotion, and with the voice of a pedagogue and the gestures of a pedant; but in every paragraph was that same grim refrain which produced upon his auditors very much the same effect as that of the click of a guillotine knife: “He must be kilk’d! “

This speech was terribly effective. There was not a person present who did not feel his flesh creep. Robespierre himself was alarmed to see his pupil and disciple planting the revolutionary standard so far in advance of the outposts.

After this, the king’s prosecution was not only certain, but the monarch was condemned in advance. To attoin])t to save the king now was simply to condemn one’s self to

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death. Danton desired to do it, but he had not the courage. He had sufficient patriotism to allow himself to be unjustly branded as an assassin, but he had not sufficient stoicism to bear the name of traitor.

The trial began on the lltli of December. Three days before, a municipal officer presented himself at the Temple at the head of a deputation sent by the Commune, and read a warrant, ordering the prisoners to give up their knives, razors, scissors, daggers, — in short, all the sliarp instru-ments of which prisoners are generally deprived.

About the same time, IMadame Clery, accompanied by a friend, called to see her husband, and while she was discussing family matters with great volubility in the Council Chamber, her friend managed to find an opportunity to whisper to Clery : ” The king will be taken to the Convention next Tuesday. The trial is about to begin. The king will be allowed to choose his own counsel.”

The king had forbidden Clery to conceal anything from him; and, bad as this news was, the faithful servant resolved to communicate it to his master; so that evening, while the king was undressing, Clery told him what he had heard, adding the information that during the trial the Commune intended to separate the king from his family.

Only four days remained, consequently, in which the king could confer with his wife.

He thanked Clery for the fidelity with which he had kept his word, and added : —

” Try to learn as much in regard to their plans and intentions as you can. Do not be afraid of distressing me. I will tell my family not to act as if we had been fore-warned, so you will not be compromised.”

As the day approached, the officials became more and more suspicious, so the only information Clery was able to secure was through a newspaper some one managed to send him. This paper published the decree ordering Louis XVI. to be brought before the Convention on the 11th of December.

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At five o’clock, on the morning of that day, the drums sounded a general alarm throughout the city, the gates of the Temple were thrown open, and a detachment of cavalry, with artillery, entered the courtyard. Had the royal family been ignorant of what was about to take place, all this noise and confusion would have alarmed tliem; so they expressed great surprise, and begged the officers on duty to explain the cause of the commotion; but this they refused to do.

About nine o’clock the king and the dauphin, who had been sharing his father’s room for some time, went down to the ladies’ apartments for their breakfast. They were thus allowed to spend a last hour together, though under the surveillance of the officials. At the end of the hour they were obliged to separate, and as they realised the necessity of concealing the fact that they knew what was about to occur, they could indulge in no demonstrations of grief on parting.

The dauphin was really ignorant of the truth. He had been spared this sorrow on account of his youth. He insisted upon playing a game of ninepins, and, preoccupied as he was, the king wanted to please the child. The dauphin lost every game, and three times his score ended with the number sixteen.

” Confound sixteen ! ” cried the boy. ” I believe that number brings me bad luck.”

The king made no reply, but the remark struck him as an unfortunate omen.

At eleven o’clock, while he was giving his son a lesson in reading, two officers entered, and informed him that they had come to take the lad to his mother. The king asked the reason of this removal; but the officers merely replied that they were carrying out the orders of tlie Commune.

The king kissed his son, and bade Cléry conduct him safely to his mother. On the valet’s return the king asked him where he had left the boy.

“In the queen’s arms,” replied Cléry.

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306 L. . COMTESSE DE CIIAENY.

One of the officers had also reappeared at the same time. “Monsieur,” he said, addressing the king, “Citizen Chambon, Mayor of Paris, is in the Council Chamber, and will soon come up.”

Citizen Chambon was Petion’s successor in office.

“What does he want?” asked the king.

“I don’t know,” replied the officer, going out of the room, and leaving the king alone.

The mayor did not make his appearance until nearly one o’clock, however, and he was then accompanied by Chaumette, the new attorney for the Commune, Recording Secretary Coulombeau, and several other municipal authorities, as well as by Santerre, who was likewise attende^ by his aides.

The king was sitting in an armchair at the head of the bed, but he rose on their entrance.

“What is your business with me?” he asked.

” I have come for you by virtue of a decree of the Convention, which Secretary Coulombeau will read to you.”

The Secretary unrolled a paper and read as follows : —

‘^Decree of the National Convention, orderhig Louis Capet — “

“Capet is not my name,” interrupted the king. “It is the name of one of my ancestors — “

Then, as the secretary was about to resume the reading of the document, the king added, —

“It is not necessary, monsieur. I have seen the decree already in a newspaper.”

Then, turning to the officials, he continued, “I wish my son had been allowed to remain with me during the two long and dreary hours I have spent in waiting for you, — hours which would have been very sweet under those circumstances. Still, this is only a specimen of what I have endured at your hands for the past four months. I shall accompany you, not from any respect I owe the Convention, but because my enemies can compel me to do so.”

“Come, then, monsieur,” said Chambon.

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“I only ask time to put on uiy riding-coat. Clery, my coat!”

Clery handed the king the desired garment, which was of a chestnut-brown colour.

Chambon led the way, and the king followed. It was raining. The king was placed in a carriage, and during the entire drive he manifested no emotion whatever. As he passed the Porte Saint-Denis and the Porte Saint-Martin, he even asked which of them was to be demolished.

When they reached the door of the Riding School, for the Convention still met in the old hall, Santerre laid his hand on the king’s shoulder, and led him to the same place and armchair where he had sworn allegiance to the Constitution.

The deputies remained seated, only one member rising and saluting him as he passed. Much surprised, the king turned, and recognising Dr. Gilbert, exclaimed, —

” Good-day, Monsieur Gilbert ! “

Then addressing Santerre, he said: “Do you know Dr. Gilbert? He was formerly my physician. I trust you will not be too hard upon him for having shown me this respect.”

The examination began, and the prestige of misfortune began to fade in the glare of publicity. The king was not only obliged to reply to a running fire of questions; but he replied clumsily, hesitatingly, evasively, trickily, — like a country lawyer arguing about some boundary line. The examination lasted until five o’clock. The king was then conducted to the Conference Chamber, where he was obliged to wait a few minutes for his carriage.

The mayor came to him, and asked: “Are you hungry, monsieur? Will you have anything?”

The king shook his head; but a moment afterwards, seeing a grenadier take a loaf of bread from his knapsack and give half of it to Chauraette, Louis stepped up to liim, and said: “Will you give me a bit of your bread, monsieur?”

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“Willingly,” replied Chaumette, handing him the half loaf. “Help yourself. It is certainly a Spartan-like repast. If I had a root, I would give you half of that.”

They went down into the courtyard. On seeing the king, the crowd began to sing the chorus of the ” Marseillaise.”

Louis turned a trifle pale as he stepped into the carriage. Then he began to eat his bread, — the crust only; and as he did not seem to know exactly what disposition to make of the soft part of the loaf left on his hands, Chaumette took the bread and threw it out of the carriage-window,

“It is too bad to throw bread away, especially when it is so scarce,” remarked the king.

“How do you know it’s scarce?” asked Chaumette. “You certainly don’t suffer for the want of it.”

” I know it must be scarce, because that you gave me had so much bran in it.”

“My grandmother,” responded Chaumette, “used to say: * My child, never waste a crumb of bread, for if you do you may want for it some day.’ “

” Your grandmother must have been avery sensible woman, it seems to me, Monsieur Chaumette,” said the king.

They were silent for some time; then, seeing Chaumette lean back in the carriage, the king asked : —

“What is the matter? You look pale.”

“I don’t feel altogether right,” answered Chaumette.

“Perhaps it is the motion of the carriage.”

“Perhaps so.”

“Were you ever at sea?”

” I went to sea under La Motte-Picquet in the glorious days of yore.”

“La Motte-Picquet was a brave man,” responded the king; then he, too, relapsed into silence.

Of what was he thinking? Of his splendid navy, victorious in the Indies? Of his superb harbour at Cherbourg, wrested from the sea? Of his gorgeous admiral’s uniform of scarlet and gold, so unlike the dingy costume he was now wearing?

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How fallen from his ouce high estate was this poor king as he jolted along in this dirty old hack through a sea of people, — waves from an ever-encroaching tide rising up out of the very cesspools of Paris ! The light of day made his eyes blink painfully; his beard was long and straggling, his flabby cheeks hung in folds upon his scrawny neck, and his clothing was soiled and worn.

As he jogged along, he murmured softly to himself, with the memory of the Bourbons and young children :

” Ah ! here is such and such a street ! “

When they reached the Rue d’Orléans, he said: —

“Ah! here’s the Rue d’Orléans.”

“You mean the Rue Egalité,” said his companion.

“Oh, yes, on account of Monsieur — “

He did not complete the sentence, but again relapsed into silence, and from the Rue Égalité to the Temple, he did not utter another word.

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CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE STOKY OF THE MARTYR KING.

The king’s lirst request on reacliing the Temple was that he might be taken to his family; but he was told that no orders to that effect had been received, so Louis perceived that he was to be kept in solitary confinement, like all prisoners on trial for capital offences.

” But you will at least tell my family that I have returned,” he said.

Then, without paying any attention to the four officials who were guarding him, he began to read, as usual.

He still hoped that at tea-time his family would come up to his room ; but his expectations were not realised.

” I suppose my son will spend the night with me,” he remarked, “as I see his things are still here.”

But, alas ! the prisoner no longer felt the confidence he feigned, even with regard to his son.

The answer vouchsafed him was no more definite than the other had been.

” Suppose I go to bed, then,” he remarked.

Clery assisted him to undress, as usual; and as he rendered his master the usual services, the king whispered:

” Ah, Clery, I was not at all prepared for the questions they asked me ! “

In fact, nearly all the questions put to the king were connected with the papers found in the iron closet; and the king, ignorant of Gamain’s treachery, did not even suspect that the safe had been discovered.

Nevertheless, he was hardly in bed before he fell asleep, with that tranquillity of mind of which he had given such numerous proofs in the past, and which seemed, some-

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