The Countess De Charny - Volume II (27 page)

Manuel had just announced the dangerous situation of Verdun to the Commune, and had suggested tliat all enrolled citizens should encamp that night on the Champ de Mars, in order to be ready to march against the enemy at daybreak the next morning.

This suggestion was adopted. Another member of the

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Council, in view of the imminence of the danger, proposed firing signal-guns, tolling the bells, and beating a general alarm. This proposition was also adopted.

On the tiring of the first gun, Monsieur de Beausire was to be hanged; and let us say here and now, despite our regret at parting with such an interesting personage, that the sentence was carried into execution. The third shot was to be the signal for the departure of the prisoners, so that the crowd that had assembled to witness Monsieur de Beausire’s execution could also witness the departure of the prisoners, and take part in their slaughter if they so desired.

Danton was kept informed of all that was going on by Tallien. In his response to Lacroix, he alluded to the peril that threatened the country, and proposed an edict to the effect that any citizen who refused to serve in person, or to furnish arms, should be punished with death.

Then, in order that his plans and intentions might not be confounded with those of the Commune, he added: “This tolling of bells is not a signal of alarm, but the signal for a united attack upon the foes of our country. To conquer them, gentlemen, audacity is required, — audacity first, last, and every time. Then, France is saved ! “

Thunders of applause greeted these words. Lacroix now arose, and proposed that any person or persons who directly or indirectly refused to obey legal decrees, or hindered, in any way, shape, or manner, the execution of the orders issued and the measures adopted by the executive power, should be punished with death.

The Assembly understood perfectly well now that they were asked to establish a dictatorship. The deputies pretended to approve; they appointed a committee of Girondists to frame the decree; but the Girondists, like Roland, were too honest themselves to feel much confidence in Danton , and the work dragged along until ten in the evening.

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Danton became impatient, and after whispering a few words to Thuriot, telling him where he might be found in case the Assembly decided to confer dictatorial power upon him, left the hall.

Where was he to be found? At the Champ de Mars, among the volunteers. Had the power he asked been conferred upon him, it was doubtless his intention to secure the support of this large body of men, and then carry out the plan for securing additional troops for the frontier, which he had mentioned to Gilbert.

He waited until jBve o’clock, but no one came. Meanwhile, what had happened to the prisoners who were on their way to the Abbaye? Let us follow them.

At first they were protected by the vehicles in which they were confined. The instinct of danger led each man to keep as much out of sight as possible; but the guard in charge were continually denouncing them in the most abu-sive manner.

” Look at the traitors ! ” they cried. *’ See these accomplices of the Prussians ! Men who would give up our cities to the enemy, and murder your wives and children while you are on your way to the frontier ! “

But even such exclamations as these failed to start a massacre. Danton was right in saying that cut-throats were not so numerous as some persons supposed.

The procession was nearing the Abbaye now, and it was quite time to decide upon some course of action.

Should they wait and kill the prisoners after they reached the Abbaye? In that case, it would be evident to every one that the deed was done by order of the Commune, and not by the spontaneous fury of the populace.

Chance favoured the authors of these murderous projects, however. There was some obstruction at a street-corner near the prison, and the carriages were obliged to halt. The opportunity was an excellent one.

A man forced his way through the escort, and climbing upon the step of the first carriage, plunged a sabre into the

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coacli at random , several times, and then drew it out agaiu, red with blood.

One of the prisoners who had a cane endeavoured to parry the blows with it, and while doing so happened to hit one of the guards in the face.

“What! you ruffians, you attack us while we are protecting you ! Help, comrades, help ! ” cried the guard.

A score of men who had been eagerly waiting for some such pretext sprang out from the crowd. They were armed with pikes, and with knives fastened to long poles, and they thrust these savagely into the coach. One could hear the agonised cries of the victims, and see the blood oozing through the bottom of the carriage.

Blood calls for blood; the massacre which was to last four days had now fairly begun.

All day the prisoners crowded in the Abbaye had suspected from the faces of their jailers, and some word that escaped them now and then, that danger was imminent. In fact, that day, by special order of the Commune, meals were served considerably in advance of the usual hour in all the prisons.

About four o’clock the distant murmur of the crowd began to beat against the base of the grim prison walls like the first waves of the rising tide. From the barred windows of the tower overlooking the Rue Saint Marguerite, a few prisoners saw the approaching carriages; then shrieks of pain and rage were heard, followed by cries of: ” The murderers are upon us ! ” — cries that penetrated every nook and corner of the gloomy prison, down to the very deepest dungeon of all.

Then came an angry roar of : “The Swiss! the Swiss!” There were one hundred and fifty Swiss in the Abbaye. It had been difficult to protect them from the fury of the populace on the tenth of August. The Commune knew how intensely the people hated the sight of those scarlet uniforms; so to begin the massacre by slaughtering the Swiss was an excellent way of initiating the people.

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It took about two hours to despatch them. When the last one was killed the priests were called for. The priests said that they were willing to die, but wished to first par-take of the sacrament.

This desire was granted, and a respite of two hours accorded them.

These two hours were devoted to the organisation of a tribunal.

Who presided over this tribunal? Maillard.

TOL. IV. — 15

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CHAPTER XXX.

MAILLARD.

Two hundred persons had been brutally murdered before Maillard organised this tribunal.

But one person had been spared, — the Abbé Sicard.

During the massacre two other persons — Pariscot, the journalist, and La Chapelle, the king’s steward — leaped from a window, only to find themselves in the midst of a committee which happened to be in session at the Abbaye. This committee made the fugitives sit down beside them, and saved them in this way; but the perpetrators of the massacre deserve no credit, for it was no fault of theirs that these two men escaped.

We have mentioned the curious document among the records at the prefecture of police, noting the appointment of Marat on the committee of surveillance. The Abbaye register, a no less interesting document, is even now stained with the blood that spurted over the members of the tribunal.

An examination of this register will show two notes recurring again and again on the margin: “Killed by order of the people;” “Acquitted by the people,” with the name Maillard below.

These notes are written in a clear, bold, steady, beautifully formed hand, as if the writer was untroubled by either fear or remorse. The last marginal note is repeated forty-three times, so Maillard spared the lives of exactly forty-three persons at the Abbaye.

While he is entering upon the duties of his new office, between nine and ten o’clock in the evening, let us follow

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two men who have just left the Jacobin Club, and are now walking down the Eue Saint Anne. They are the high priest and his disciple, or, in other words, Eobespierre and Saint-Just.

Saint-Just, whom we saw first on the evening of his initiation at the Masonic Lodge on the Eue Platrière, — Saint-Just, with the same unwholesome complexion, — too pale even for a woman, — and the same stiff, high cravat. The pupil of a cold, hard, unsympathetic master, he now far surpasses his master in these attributes.

The master still feels to some extent moved and excited by these fierce political combats; as for the pupil, all that is transpiring seems to him merely a game of chess on a large scale where the stakes are life. Have a care, you who are playing against him, for he is inflexible, and will show the loser no mercy.

Eobespierre probably had his reasons for not returning to the Duplay’s that night. Saint-Just’s modest lodgings doubtless seemed a safer place than his own room in which to spend that terrible night, for Saint -Just was still unknown to fame. In fact, one might almost call him a boy.

The two men reached his little room about eleven o’clock. It is hardly necessary to mention the subject of their conversation. It was the massacre, of course, — but one spoke of it with the mawkish sensibility of a philosopher of the Eousseau school, and the other with the dryness and curt-ness of a mathematician. Sometimes Eobespierre would even weep over his victims like the crocodile in ‘the fable.

On entering his room, Saint-Just placed his hat on a table, removed his cravat, and began to undress.

“What are you going to do?” inquired Eobespierre. Saint-Just gazed at him in such evident surprise that Eobespierre repeated the question.

“I ‘m going to bed, of course,” replied the young man.

“Is it possible you can think of such a thing as sleep on a night like this?”

«Why not?”

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“When thousands of victims are falling, or about to fall, — when to-night will be the last night on earth for so many who are still breathing, but who will have ceased to breathe ere the rising of to-morrow’s sun, — how can you think of sleep?”

Saint-Just reflected a moment; then, as if this brief silence had only strengthened his former convictions, he said: “Yes, I know all that, but 1 also know that it must be a necessary evil, as you have authorised it. Suppose it were the yellow fever or one of those earthquakes by which so many people perish, — many more than will per-ish to-night. And yet no good results from such calamities, while in this case the death of our enemies will insure our safety; so I advise you to go home and go to bed, as I am doing, and try to sleep, — as I shall.”

As he spoke, this cold-blooded j’oung man lay down on the bed, and merely adding : ” Good-by until to-morrow ! ” dropped off to sleep.

He slept as long and peacefully as if nothing extraordinary was going on. It was about half-past eleven when he fell asleep, and nearly six in the morning when he awoke. When he opened his eyes it seemed to him that some one was standing between his bed and the light, and turning towards the window, he saw Robespierre.

Supposing the latter had gone home the night before, and returned, he coolly asked : —

“What brings you out so early?”

“I did not go home.”

“You did not go home?”

“Ko.”

“And you haven’t been a-bed?”

“Xo.”

“Nor asleep?”

“No.”

” Where did you spend the night? “

“Standing here, with my face pressed against the window-pane, listening to the sounds outside.”

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Robespierre spoke the truth. Either from fear.anxiet}’, or remorse, he had been unable to sleep a second.

As for Saint-Just, it had seemed as easy for him to sleep that night as any other night.

On the other side of the Seine, in the courtyard of the Abbaye prison, was a man who felt no more inclined to sleep than Robespierre. This man was standing almost concealed in shadow, in a corner of the passage leading from the prison proper into the courtyard. This passage had been converted into a court-room, and presented a singular appearance: A long table, lighted by two lamps, which were needed even in the daytime, stood in the mid-dle of the passage. Twelve men were seated around this table, which was covered with sabres, swords, and i)istols.

The stolid faces of these men, their robust frames, and the red caps and carmagnole jackets which they wore, — all showed that they belonged to the people.

Another man, making thirteen in all, who sat in their midst, was evidently the presiding officer. He was dressed in black, with a white waistcoat, and knee breeches. The expression of his face was grave, even solemn, and his head was bare.

This man was probably the only one of the party who could read and write. The prison register, together with writing materials, lay before him.

These men constituted the Abbaye tribunal. There was no appeal from the decision of these grim judges whose fiats were instantly carried out by fifty or more stalwart executioners, dripping with blood, and armed with sabres, daggers, and pikes, who were in attendance in the courtyard.

The presiding officer was ex-sheriff Maillard, of the court of the Chatelet.

Did he go there of his own accord, or was he sent by Danton? No one can answer that question. On the 4th of September Maillard disappeared, and was never even heard of again. He was drowned in blood, so to speak.

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He had been presiding over this tribnnal ever since ten o’chx’k the evening before. After selecting twelve jurors haphazard out of the crowd around him, he seated himself at the head of the table, with six men on his right hand and six on his left, and ordered the prison register to be placed before him.

The name of each prisoner was read in turn, and while the turnkeys summoned the prisoner. Maillard stated the grounds for imprisonment. When the culprit made his appearance, the presiding officer consulted his colleagues with a glance. If their decision was adverse. Maillard merely said: “To La Force!”