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The original of tliis book is in 
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Cornell University Library 
 PQ 2227.M5 1893 
 
 Andree de Taverne' 
 
 3 1924 027 344 286 
 
Dftnorest's ifaga, 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNEY 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF FRENCH MONARCHY. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDER DUMAS, 
 
 ^uraoK or "The Three Guabdsmen," "Twenty Teaks Afteb,* 
 
 " ViCOMTE DE BkAGELONNE," " LoUISE DE LA VaLLIBRE," " Thk MAS 
 
 m THE Ikon Mask," "The Son op Portbos," "The Count of 
 
 Montb-Cristo," "Edmond Daktes," " Camille," " Joseph 
 
 BAiiSAMO," " Memoirs op a Phtsician," " The Rdssianj 
 
 Gtpst," "Tbe Queen's Necklace," "Six Years 
 
 Later," " The Black Tulip," " The Counteb* 
 
 DM CBASNY," KIC, BTO.. ETC. 
 
 NEW YOEK: 
 
 THE r. M. LUPTON PJJBLISHINQ COMPANY, 
 
GrvtrK 
 
 COPTMOHT, 1895, 
 
 ^J M. J. IVERS & Ca 
 
 one 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BATTLB-FIBLD. 
 
 Wb hare related in a work entitled " The Countess de CTiamy,'* 
 the terrible events that took place on the Champ de Mars during 
 the afternoon of the 17th of July, 1791; tried to reproduce the 
 scene — to place before our readers' eyes the tragedy that had just 
 tieen enacted, in which Bailly and La Fayette were the principal 
 performers. 
 
 Such was the spectacle that greeted a young man in the uni- 
 form of an officer of the National Guard, who, leaving the Rue 
 St. Honore, crossed the Louis XV. Bridge, and reached the 
 Champ de Mars by the Rue de Grenelle. 
 
 This scene — lighted by a moon in its second quarter, hidden 
 from time to time by dark, billowy clouds — was a heart-rending 
 sight. 
 
 The Champ de Mars presented the appearance of a battle-flelcJ, 
 covered with the dead and wounded, in the midst of which, like 
 ghosts, weut the men to and fro, throwing the dead into the Seine, 
 and carrying the wounded to the military hospital of Gros Caillou. 
 
 The young officer we have followed from the Rue St. Honore 
 stopped for an instant at the entrance of the Champ de l^Iars, and 
 clasping his hands with a gesture of genuine terror: 
 
 " Good God!" he muttered, " the afEair is worse than they told 
 me." 
 
 After looking for a few moments at the strange scene before 
 iim, he approached two men whom he saw carrying a corpse to 
 the river-side. 
 
 " Comrades," he said, " will you have the goodness to tell me 
 what you intend to do with that man?" 
 
 " Follow us," replied the men, " and you will see." The young 
 officer followed them. 
 
 On reaching the river, the men balanced the corpse on the 
 •wooden bridge, and crying out: " One, two, three!" threw the 
 body into the Seine. The young man uttered a cry of terror. 
 
 " What do you mean by this?" he demanded. 
 
 " You can see for yourself," replied the men, " we are clear- 
 ing the earth." 
 
 " Have you received orders for this?" 
 
4 AKDEBE DB TAVEKITBT. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " From •whom?" 
 
 "The municipality." 
 
 "Oh!" cried the young man, utterly stupefied. Then, after a 
 moment's silence, he reentered with them the Champ de Mars. 
 
 " Have you thrown many in the Seine?" 
 
 " Five or six," replied ihe men. 
 
 "Pardon me," said the young man, "but my question is an 
 important one: among those five or six bodies, have you noticed a 
 man about forty-six or forty-eisht years of age, about five feet five 
 inches in lieight, stalwart, vigorous frame, half peasant, half 
 farmer?" 
 
 " Faith," said one of the men, " we have but one thing to do: 
 that is, to see if the men lying there are living or dead; if they are 
 dead, we throw them in the river; if they are not dead, we carry 
 them to (he hospital of Gros Caillou." 
 
 " Oh!" said Ihe young man, " it is one of my friends who has 
 not returned home; they told me he was here; he was seen during 
 the day. I am afraid he is among the dead or wounded." 
 
 "The devil!" cried one of the two porters, raising a corpse, 
 while the other held the lantern: "if he was here, it is probable 
 lie is here yet; if he has not gone home, it is not likely he will ever 
 return." Then, redoubling his blows on a corpse lying at his 
 feet: 
 
 " Here!" cried this man from the municipality, " are you dead 
 or alive? If yon are not dead, speak, if you can!" 
 
 "Oil! as for him, he's settled!" said the other; "he has re- 
 ceived a ball in his chest." 
 
 " To the river, tlien!" cried the first one. 
 
 The two men raised the corpse and went toward the wooden 
 bridge. 
 
 " Comrades," said the officer, " you do not require a lantern to 
 throw that man in the river; be kind enough to lend It to me 
 a moment. While you go to the river I will look for my friend." 
 
 The porters acceded to his request, and the lantern passed into 
 the hands of the young officer, who began his search with a solici- 
 tude and expression of face indicating he had given to the dead or 
 wounded ir.an a name that came not only from his lips but from 
 ihis heart. 
 
 Ten or twelve men, provided like himself with lanterns, were 
 also searching mournfully. 
 
 From time to time, in the midst of this silence— this terribly 
 folenin scene (the presence of death hushed the voices of the liv- 
 ing)— from time to time, in the midst of this silence, a name pro- 
 nounced in a loud tone was heard. 
 
 Sometimes a groan, a movement, a cry, replied to these voices. 
 Ottenei- there was no answer but this awe-struck silence. After 
 hesitating, as if his voice was silenced by a nameless terror, the 
 ;young officer, following the example given him, cried three 
 times: " Monsieur Billot! Monsieur Billot 1 Monsieur Billot!" 
 
 But no one answered. 
 
 "Oh, of course he is dead!" he murmured, wiping away his 
 tears with his sleeve. " Poor Monsieur BiiloU" 
 
ANDEEE TfE TAVEENET. 5 
 
 That Instant two men passed by him, carrying a corpse to the 
 Seine. 
 
 "Eh!" said the one holding the body, and consequently nearer 
 the head, " I believe our corpse just sighed." 
 
 " Well," said the other, laughing, " if we listen to every rascal, 
 ■we will have no more dead left." 
 
 " Comrades," said the young officer, " for pity's sake, let me 
 look at the man you carry!" 
 
 " Oh! certainly," said the two men. 
 
 They laid the man on his back, in order to give the officer 
 every facility of seeing him. The young man approached with, 
 his lantern and uttered a cry. 
 
 Notwithstanding the terrible wound that disfigured him, he be^ 
 lieved he saw the man he sought. Only, was he living or dead? 
 
 He who had made part of his way to his grave beneath the 
 waves had been wounded in the head with a terrible saber cut; 
 the wound, as we have said, was dreadful, his head was cut open, 
 leaving the cranium exposed. From his wounded side the man 
 W8B unrecognizable. 
 
 The young man carried, with trembling hands, the lantern to 
 the other side. 
 
 " Oh!" he cried. " It is he! It is the man I am looking for; 
 it is Monsieur Billot!" 
 
 " Tfee devil!" cried one of the men. " Well! he is decidedly 
 beyond help, your Monsieur Billot." 
 
 " Didn't you say you heard him sigh?" 
 
 "I thought I did. " 
 
 " Will you do a favor for me?" the officer took a small piece of 
 money from his pocket. 
 
 " What?" asked the porter, willing enough at the sight of 
 money. 
 
 " Run to the river, and bring me some water in your hat." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The man ran to the river. The young officer took his place and 
 held up the wounded man. In five minutes the man relumed. 
 
 " Throw the water in his face," said the officer. 
 
 The porter obeyed; putting his hand in the hat, and closing it, he 
 sprinkled the bleeding face. 
 
 " He trembled!" cried the young man who held the half defunct 
 in his arms; " he ia not dead. Oh! dear Monsieur Billot, how fort- 
 unate I arrived when I did." 
 
 " My faith, ye« it was lucky!" cried one of the two men; 
 " twenty feet iiior., and your friend would have come to himself 
 in the sewers of St. Cloud." 
 
 " Throw some more water on him." 
 
 The porter redoubled his exertions; the wounded man trembled 
 and sighed. 
 
 " Go on, go on!" cried the second porter; " decidedly he is not 
 dead." 
 
 " What can we do with him?" cried the first one. 
 
 "Help me to carry him to St. Honore, to Doctor Gilbert, and 
 you will be well rewarded," said the young officer. 
 
 " We can not." 
 
6 ANDEEE DB TAVBRNBT. 
 
 "Whyr 
 
 " Our orders are to throw the dead into the Seine, and to cany 
 the wounded to the hospital of Gros Caillou. When they pretend 
 they are not dead, and consequently we can not throw them in the 
 Seine, we carry them to the hospital." 
 
 " Very well; carry him to the hospital," said the young oflScer^, 
 " as quickly as possiblel" 
 
 He looked around. 
 
 " Where is the hospital?" 
 
 " Three hundred feet from here, near the Military SchooL" 
 
 " We have to cross aU the Champ de Mars?" 
 
 " The whole length." 
 
 " My GodI haven't you a bier?" 
 
 "Confound iti We could find one," cried the second porter, 
 * as we did the water — with a little money." 
 
 " That is so," said the young man, " you have no way of get- 
 ting it. Here is more money; get a bier." 
 
 Ten minutes lat«r the bier was procured. The wounded man 
 was laid on a mattress; the two porters seized the handles, and the 
 melancholy cortdge proceeded toward the hospital of Gros Caillou, 
 escorted by the young ofllcer, who, lantern in hand, held up the 
 head of the wounded man. 
 
 It was a terrible nocturnal march over that ground running with, 
 blood in the midst of immovable corpses. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later they reached the door of the hospital 
 of Gros Caillou. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE H08PITAI, OF GROS CAILLOTT. 
 
 At that time hospitals, above all, military hospitals, were far 
 from being organized as they are to-day. 
 
 One was not surprised then that " confusion worse confound- 
 ed " reigned in the hospital, that the surgeons met with the great- 
 est disorder in accomplishing their duty. The first Ihing needed 
 was beds. They had been obliged to put in requisition the mat- 
 tresses belonging to the inhabitants of the neighboring houses. 
 
 These mattresses were laid on the ground, they even had them 
 » the court; on each was a patient, waiting for an examination, 
 but the surgeons were scarce, as were the mattresses, and harder 
 ■to find. 
 
 The oflBcer— in whom our readers have undoubl«dly recognized 
 cur old friend Pitou— obtained, by the aid of a little more money 
 possession of the mattress they had on the bier. In this way Billot 
 -was laid down carefully in the court of the hospital. Pitou in- 
 tending at least to make the most of his surroundings, had laid the 
 patient as near the door as possible, ic order to waylay the first 
 •urgeon that entered or went out. He was strongly inclined to 
 rush through the haJ Is and seize upon one at any hazard- >>"t h» 
 did not dare to leave his patient; he was afraid, under the pretext it 
 was a corpse, and it would have been hard to prove otherwise 
 they would take the mattress and throw the supposed corpse on 
 Ihe pavement of th« court. Pitou lud been there an hour had 
 
ANDEEE DE TATEENBT. 7 
 
 cabled earnestly to the two or three surgeons •who had passed, with- 
 out any effect, when he perceived a man dressed in black, lighted 
 by two attendants, visiting one after another all those couches of 
 agony. 
 
 Then the man in black advanced nearer Pitou, who thought he 
 recognized him; soon all his doubts ceased, and Pitou, venturing to 
 leave his patient, advanced a few steps toward the surgeon, and 
 cried with all the force of his lungs: 
 
 " Herel this way, Monsieur Gilbert, this wayl" 
 
 The surgeon, who was indeed Gilbert, rushed toward the voice. 
 
 "Ah! is it you, Pitou?" he cried. 
 
 " My Qoi\ yes, Monsieur Gilbert." 
 
 " Have you seen Billot?" 
 
 " Eh! sir, here he is," replied Rtou, showing him the insensi- 
 ble patient. 
 
 " le he dead?" demanded the doctor. 
 
 " Alas! dear Doctor Gilbert, I trust not; but I can not conceal 
 from you there isn't much hope." 
 
 Gilbert approached the mattress, and the two attendants that 
 followed lighted the patient's face. 
 
 "It is his head. Doctor Gilbert," said Pifou, "it is his headi 
 Poor Monsieur Billot! his head is open to his jaw." 
 
 Gilbert looked at the wound attentively. 
 
 " The fact is, it is a serious wound," he murmured. 
 
 Then, turning toward the two attendants: 
 
 " I must have a private room for this man, who is one of my 
 friends," he added. 
 
 The two attendants consulted together. 
 
 " There is no private room, " they said, " but there is the store- 
 room." 
 
 " The very thing!" said Gilbert; "carry him to the store- 
 room." 
 
 They raised the wounded man as carefully as possible; notwith- 
 standing their precautions, he could not help groaning. 
 
 " Ah!" said Gilbert, " no exclamation of joy ever gave me more 
 pleasure than that mournful groan. He is living; that's the prin- 
 cipal thing." 
 
 Billot was carried to the store-room and laid on a bed of one of 
 the attendants; then Gilbert proceeded with the examination. Thej 
 temporal artery had been cut; from that came the great loss o^ 
 blood: this loss of blood had led to syncope, and the syncope, inr 
 retarding the beating of the heart, had stopped the hemorrhage, . 
 and nature, immediately forming a clot, had closed the artery.. 
 Gilbert, with admirable skill, tied the artery with silk thread: then' 
 he washed the flesh and laid it back on the cranium. The cold 
 water, and perhaps the pain occasioned by the examination, made 
 Billot open his eyes and utter a few words disconnected and with- 
 out meaning. 
 
 " He will have congestion of the brain," murmured Gilbert. 
 
 " But," said Pitou, "as he is KOt dead, you will save him, wiB 
 you not, Monsieur Gilbert?" 
 
 Gilbert smiled sadly. 
 
8 ASDHBE DE TAVERNBT. 
 
 " I will try, " he said; " but jom have seen, more than once, my 
 dear Pitou, nature is a more skillful surgeon than any of us." 
 
 Then Gilbert finished the examination. The hair was cut as far 
 as possible, joining the edges of the wounds with ligatures and 
 bandages of linen, and ordered that not only the patient's head, 
 but his baek, should be placed on the pillows. 
 
 It was only after all this was accomplished he asked Pitou how 
 he happened to be in Paris, and how, being in Paris, he found 
 himself at the place where he saved Billot. 
 
 It was very simple. After Catherine's disappearance and her 
 husband's departure, Mother Billot, whom we have never repre- 
 ■ented to our readers as a very vigorous mind, fell into a state of 
 semi-idiocy that had always threatened her. She lived but in a 
 most mechanical manner — every day the poor machine gave way 
 more and more to her feelings; little by little her words became 
 more and more rare; then she did not speak at all; then she never 
 got up; and Dr. Eaynal declared there was only one thing in the 
 world could bring Mother Billot out of this mortal torpor, and that 
 ■was the sight of her child. 
 
 Pitou thought of offering to go to Paris — then he went without 
 offering. 
 
 Thanks to the long legs of the captain of the National Guard of 
 Earamont, the eighteen leagues that separated Demoustier from 
 the capital was as a promenade. 
 
 In fact, Pitou had started at four o'clock in the morning, and 
 between half past seven ana eight in the evening he arrived ia. 
 Paris. 
 
 Pitou seemed destined to arrive in Paris on jthe eve of great 
 events. 
 
 The first time he arrived to assist in the taking of the Bastile, 
 and he did assist; the second time at the revolution of 1790; the 
 third time he arrived the day of the massacre of the Champ de 
 Mars. 
 
 Thus he found Paris in a state of tumult — but that was the way 
 he was in the habit of finding it. From the first group he met he 
 learned what had taken place at the Champ de Mars. Bailly and 
 lia Fayette had fired on the people; the people cursed them loudly 
 and deeply. 
 
 Pitou had left them adored like gods. He found them over- 
 turned from their altars, and cursed; he understood absolutely 
 nothing. All that he did comprehend was that there had been 
 fighting, a massacre, death as the result of a patriotic petition, and 
 'that Gilbert and Billot were there. 
 
 Though Pitou had, as the vulgar saying is, his eighteen leagues 
 in his skin, he redoubled his exertions and hastened to the Kue 
 -St. Honore to Gilbert's apartments. 
 
 The doctor had returned, but no one had seen Billot. 
 
 " The Champ de Mars," said the servant who gave her opinion 
 to Pitou, " is covered with the dead and wounded; Billot is per- 
 Siaps among one or the other." 
 
 The Champ de Mars covered with the dead and wounded! 
 This news did not astonish Pitou more than it did Baily and La, 
 Fayette — those two idols of the peoplfl. 
 
ANDEEB DB TAVERKET. 9 
 
 The Champ de Mars covered with the dead and Wounded! 
 Pitou could not imagine it. 
 
 The Champ de Mars that Le Lod helped to illuminate, he, one 
 of ten thousand, he recalled the lights, the joyous songs, the gay 
 pyrotechuics, covered with the dead and wounded, because they 
 wanted, as the pieceding year, to celebrate with a fete the anni- 
 veraary of the taking of the Bastile and that of the revolutioni 
 
 It was impossible! 
 
 How, in one year, could the place that had been a joy and tri- 
 umph become the cause of a rebellion and massacre? 
 
 What sort of dpiirinm in one year had taken possession of the 
 heads of the Parisians? 
 
 We have stated how the court, during this year, thanks to Mira- 
 beau's influence, thanks to the creation of the Feuillant Club, 
 thanlis to the aid rendered by Bailly and La Fayette, and thanks 
 lastly to the reaction that had set in after the return from Var- 
 ennes, had reasserted their lost power, and that power showed it- 
 ■self by mourning and massacre. 
 
 The 17th of July avenged the 5th and 6th of October. As Gil- 
 bert had said, royalty and Ihe people were marching step by step 
 — it remained to see who would obtain the victory. 
 
 We have seen how, occupied by all these ideas, none of which, 
 however, were of sufBcient influence to retard his footsteps, our 
 friend Ange Pitou, always clad in his uniform of the National 
 ■Guard of Haramont, arrived at the Champ de Mars by the Louis 
 XV. Bridge and the Rue de Grenelle, just in time to prevent Billot 
 irom being thrown for dead in the river. 
 
 On the other hand, we remember how Gilbert, while at the 
 king's, received a, note without signature, but he recognized 
 Cagliostro's writing. It was this paragraph 
 
 " Leave those two miscreants, who are still called derisively 
 king and queen. Go, without losing an instant, to the hospital of 
 Gros Caillou; you will find a dying man in less agony than they; 
 but that dying man you can save, while they, with all your trying 
 to save them, will drag you down in their fall." 
 
 It was thus, as we have stated, learning from Mme. Campan 
 that the queen, who was about leaving, had invited her to await 
 her return, had already gone back and bidden her farewell; then 
 Gilbert, leaving the Tuileries, and following nearly the same route 
 as Pitou, had passed through the Champ de Mars, and entered the 
 hospital of Gios Caillou, where, lighted by two attendants, he had 
 gone from bed to bed, from mattress to mattress, traversed the 
 halls, corridors, all the rooms, and even the court, when a voice 
 called him to the couch of an inanimate form. 
 
 The voice we know was Pitou's; the senseless form was Billot's, 
 
 We have said in what a condition Gilbert found the worthy 
 
 farmer, and the chances of his recovery; chances for and against, 
 
 in which those against would certainly have predominated if the 
 
 patient had fallen into less skillful hands than Dr. Gilbert's. 
 
10 ANDREE DE TATERNBT. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CATHBRINB. 
 
 Of the two persons Dr. Raynal looked to relieve Mme. Billot'* 
 desperate situation, one, as we have seen, was stretched on his bed 
 in a condition bordering on death — that was the husband; only 
 another remained to soothe the agony of the last moments — that 
 Was her daughter. 
 
 The next step was to acquaint Catherine as to her mother's con- 
 dition, also her father's. Only, where was Catherine? 
 
 There was but one way of ascertaining: that was to write to th» 
 Count de Charny. 
 
 Pitou had been so kindly, so graciously received by the countess 
 that day when, by Gilbert's advice, he had taken his son there, 
 that he unhesitatingly offered to go to the house in the Rue Coq- 
 Heron, to ask for Catherines address, though the hour was late. 
 Indeed, the clock of the military school had struck half past eleven 
 before the examination was finished, and Gilbert and Pitou could 
 leave Billot's bedside. 
 
 Gilbert left the patient to the care of the attendants; there was 
 nothing to do but to let nature act. Besides, he would return the- 
 next day while making his rounds. 
 
 Pitou and Gilbert entered the doctor's carriage that waited at 
 the door of the hospital; the doctor ordered the coachman to stop- 
 at the Rue Coq- Heron. 
 
 In that neighborhood everything was closed and dark. After 
 ringing a quarter of an hour, Pitou, who had gone from the bell 
 to the hammer, heard at last a cry, not at the street door, but at 
 the porter's lodge, and a harsh, cross voice demanded, in impatient 
 accents: 
 
 " Who goes there?" 
 
 " Me," said Pitou. 
 
 " Who is me?" 
 
 " Ahl that's true— Ange Pitou, a captain of the Kational 
 Guard." 
 
 " Ange Pitou? I don't know that name. Captain of the Na- 
 tional Guard?" 
 
 " Captain I" repeated Pitou, emphasizing his title, whose influ- 
 ence he knew. 
 
 In reality, the porter thought, in those times when the National 
 Guard preponderated in the army, he was talking with an aid of 
 La Fayette's. Consequently, in a more conciliatory tone, but 
 without opening the door, he continued- 
 
 " Very well, Sir Captain, what do you wish?" 
 
 " I wish to speak to Monsieur the Count de Charny." 
 
 " He is not here." 
 
 " To madame the countess, then " 
 
 " She is not here, either." 
 
 " Where are they?" 
 
 " They went away this morninj,'' 
 
AKDREB DE TAVERKBT. 11 
 
 " Where to?" 
 
 " For their country seat at Boursonnea." 
 
 " The devil!" said Pitou to himself; " they were the ones I met 
 at Dammartin; without doubt they were in that posting-carriage — 
 If I had only linownl" But Pitou did not know; he had passed 
 the count and countess. 
 
 " My friend," said the doctor, at this point of the conversation, 
 " could you in the absence of your master and mistress give us an 
 address?" , 
 
 " Ahl sir," said the porter, by reason of his aristocratic sur- 
 roundings recognizing a gentleman's voice in that tone of gentle 
 politeness. 
 
 Opening the door, the good man came, all in a flurry, his night- 
 cap in hand, in a most humble manner, to receive his orders from 
 the door of the doctor's carriage. 
 
 " What address does monsieur desire?" asked the porter. 
 
 " Do you know, my friend, a young girl in whom the count 
 and Madame the Countess are very much interested in?" 
 
 " Miss Catherine?" asked the porter. 
 
 " Exactly 1" said Gilbert. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Monsieur the Count and Madame the Countess went 
 to see her twice, and often sent me to see if she needed anything, 
 but the poor young lady, though neither she nor her dear child of 
 the good God were rich, she always said she required nothing." 
 
 At those words, "Child of the good God," Pitou could not 
 help from groaning. 
 
 Well, myfriend," said Gilbert, " the father of the unfortunate 
 Catherine was wounded to-day at the Champ de Mars, and her 
 mother, Madame Billot, is dying at Villers Cotterets; we want to 
 tell her this sad news. Will you give us her address?" 
 
 " Ohl the poor thing, God help herl she had enough trouble be- 
 fore! She lives in the Ville d'Avray, sir, in the wide street. I 
 can not tell you the number, but it's opposite the fountain." 
 
 " That will do," said Pitou; " 1 will find it." 
 
 "Thanks, my friend," said Gilbert, slipping six livres into the 
 •porter's hand. 
 
 " It is nothing for this, sir," said the worthy old man; " for thn 
 sake of God, Christians should help one another." 
 
 And, bowing to the doctor, he entered the house. 
 
 "What now?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 " What now!" replied Pitou. " I am going to Ville d'Avray." 
 
 Pitou was always ready to start. 
 
 " Do you know the way?" said the doctor. 
 
 " No; but you can tell me." 
 
 "You have a heart of gold and a soul of iron, "said Gilbert, 
 laughing. " But come and rest yourself, you can start to-morrow 
 jaorning." 
 
 " But, if it is necessary — " 
 
 " There is no need of such haste with either one or the other," 
 «aid the doctor; "Billot's condition is serious; but putting aside 
 -unforeseen accidents, it is not fatal. As for Mother Billot, she caa 
 Jive for ten or twelve days yet." 
 
13 ANDBEE Dlfi TAVEEXBY. 
 
 "Oh! doctor, when she was put in bed, day before yesterday, 
 she no longer spofce or moved; only her eyes seemed yet alive." 
 
 " No matter; I know what I am talking about, Pitou, and I can 
 answer for her these ten or twelve days, as I said." 
 
 " The devill Doctor Gilbert, you know more than 1 do." 
 
 " Then let poor Catherine have another night of ignorance and 
 repose; a night more of sleep for the unfortunate is a great thing, 
 Pitou." 
 
 This last had its influence on Pitou. 
 
 " All right. Where are we going, then. Doctor Gilbert?" 
 
 " To my 'louse, deuce take iti You will have your old cham- 
 ber." 
 
 " Good!" said Pitou, laughing, " it will do me good to see it." 
 
 " To-morrow morning," continued Gilbert, " at six o'clock, the 
 horses will be in the carriage." 
 
 " Why put the horses to the carriage?" demanded Pitou, who 
 only looked upon a horse as an article of luxury. 
 
 " To take you to Ville d'Avray." 
 
 "The dickens!" said Pitou; "is it fifty miles then to Ville 
 d'Avray?" 
 
 " No; it is only two or three," said Gilbert, before whose eyea 
 passed a youthful reminiscence of his walks with his preceptor, 
 Rousseau, in the woods of Louveciennes, Meudon, and Ville 
 d'Avray. 
 
 " If that is all, then," said Pitou, " it is only an hour's walk. 
 Doctor Gilbert." 
 
 "And Catherine, " demanded Gilbert, "do you think she will 
 walk those three miles from Ville d'Aviay to Paris, and the eight- 
 een miles from Paris to Villers Cotterets?" 
 
 " Ah: that is true!" said Pitou; " excuse me, Doctor Gilbert, I 
 am an idiot. By the way, how is Sebastian?" 
 
 " Wonderful! you will see him tomorrow." 
 
 " Always at Abbe Berardier's?" 
 
 "Always." 
 
 " Ah! so much the better; I will be delighted to see him." 
 
 " And he will be, loo; next to me, he loves you with all hi» 
 heart." 
 
 With these words the doctor and Ange Pitou stopped before the 
 door ill Rue St. Honore. 
 
 Pitou slept as he walked, as he eat, as he— that is, with all his 
 heart; only, thanks to his country habit of rising early, he was up 
 and about at five o'clock. 
 
 At six, tlie carriage was ready. 
 
 At seven, he knocked at Catherine's door. 
 
 It had been arranged with Dr. Gilbert to meet at Billot's bedside 
 at eight o'clock. 
 
 Catherine, opening the door, shrieked as she saw Pitou. 
 
 "Ah!" she said, " my mother is dead!" And she grew whit^ 
 and leaned against the wall. 
 
 " No," said Pitou; " only if you want to see her before she dies. 
 yoH must hurry, Mademoiselle Catherine. ' ' 
 
 This exchange of words, that told so much in so little supple- 
 
ANDRES DE TAVEEKBT. 13 
 
 stented all preliminaries, and for the first time placed Catherine 
 face to face with her misfortune. 
 
 " Besides that," continued Pitou, " there is yet another misfort- 
 une." 
 
 " What?" asked Catherine, in the brief and indifferent tone of 
 a creature who, having drunls the dregs of human woe, has no 
 greater sorrow to encounter. 
 
 " It is that Monsieur Billot was dangerously wounded yesterday 
 at the Champ de Mars." 
 
 " Ah!" said Catherine. 
 
 The young girl was evidently less touched by this last news tham 
 the first 
 
 " So, this is what I said myself — and it is also Doctor Gilbert's 
 advice: Mademoiselle Catherine can make, in passing, a visit to 
 Monsieur Billot, who has been carried to the hospital of Gros Cail- 
 lou, and from there she can take the diligence to Villers Cotterets." 
 
 " And you. Monsieur Pitou?" asked Catherine. 
 
 "I," said Pitou, " I think while you go down there to smooth 
 Madame Billot's dying moments, I will remain here to help Mon- 
 sieur Billot recover. I am nearer to him than anybody else, you 
 see, Mademoiselle Catherine." 
 
 Pitou said this with all his angelic naivete, without dreaming he 
 showed, in these words, the history of his devotion. 
 
 Catherine held out her hand toward him. 
 
 "You have a good heart, Pitou," she said. "Come and kis« 
 my poor little Isidore." 
 
 She went before him, for, during the short scene we have just 
 depicted, they were in the entrance of the house, at the street door. 
 
 She was more beautiful than ever, poor Catherine! all dressed 
 in mourning as she was; and that drew a second sigh from Pitou. 
 
 Catherine preceded the young man into a small room opening 
 on a garden. In this room, which, together with a kitchen and a, 
 dressing-room, comprised all Catherine's lodging, there was a bed 
 and a cradle. The bed of the mother, the cradle of the child. 
 The child slept. 
 
 Catherine opened the muslin curtain, and stood aside to give 
 Pitou a full view. 
 
 " Oh, the beautiful little angel'" said Pitou, clasping his hands. 
 
 And, as if he was indeed before an angel, he fell on his knees 
 and kissed the child's hand. Pitou was quickly recompensed for 
 what he had done. He felt Catherine's hair flooding over his face, 
 and two lips kissed his forehead. The mother returned the kiss 
 given to the child. 
 
 " Thanks, good Pitou," she said. " Since the last time his fa- 
 ther kissed him, no one has embraced my poor child." 
 
 " Oh, Mademoiselle Catherine!" murmured Pitou, bewildered 
 and transported by the young girl's kiss, as by an electric spark. 
 
 And yet, that kiss wns composed simply of all that was grateful 
 and holy in a mother's love. 
 
14 ANDBEB DE TATBBNET. ' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FATHEK AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 Ten minutes later Catherine, Pitou, and litlle Isidore were driT' 
 ing toward Paris in Dr. Gilbert's carriage. 
 
 The carriage stopped before the hospital of Gros Caillou. 
 
 Catherine descended from the carriage, took her son in her anna, 
 and followed Pitou. 
 
 Arrived at the door of the store-room, she stopped. 
 
 " You said we would find Doctor Gilbert with my fatherT" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Pitou partly opened the door. 
 
 " He is there now," he said. 
 
 " See if I may enter without making my father worse from the 
 excitement?" 
 
 Pitou entered the room, interrogated the doctor, and returning, 
 said to Catherine: " The congestion caused by the blow is such. 
 Doctor Gilbert says, that it is impossible for him to recognize any 
 one." 
 
 Catherine was about entering with little Isidore in her arms. 
 
 " Give me your child. Mademoiselle Catherine," said Pitou. 
 
 Catherine hesitated a moment. 
 
 " OhI give him to me," said Pitou; " it is the same as if you 
 had him." 
 
 " You are right," said Catherine. And giving her child to Ange 
 Pitou, as she would to a brother, and with even more confidence, 
 and advancing with a firm step into the room, she walked straight 
 to her father's bed. 
 
 As we have said. Dr. Gilbert was by the patient's bedside. 
 
 There was very little change in the condition of the sick man; 
 he rested, as in the night, with his back raised on pillows, while 
 the doctor bathed, with a wet sponge, the bandages that held to- 
 gether the frightful wound. Notwithstanding a high stage of in- 
 flammatory fever, his face, from the great loss of blood, was of a 
 deathly pallor, while inflammation had set in around his eye and 
 part of the left jaw. 
 
 When first revived by the fresh water, he had murmured several 
 disconnected words, and rolled his eyes; but the strong tendency 
 toward sleep, called by the physicians in this conditioh coma, over- 
 came him, and he closed his eyes. Catherine, arriving at the bed- 
 eide, fell on her knees, and raised her hands to heaven. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" she cried, " you are a witness how I invoke 
 your aid for my father with my whole heart." 
 
 And this from the daughter whose father endeavored to kill her 
 lover! 
 
 At her voice the patient shook visibly; his breathing became 
 more pressed; his eyes rolled, and his glance, after looking 
 around, as if trying to recognize the voice, fixed itself on Catherine. 
 
 His hand moved as if to repulse the apparition the patient evi- 
 iently took for a delirious vision. 
 
i^'^" AITOREE DE TAVEENET. 15 
 
 Th« young girl's looks met her father's, and Gilbert saw with a 
 i| rt of terror the two glances cross each other, more like flaming 
 i jbts of hate than rays of love. 
 
 JLfter this the young girl rose, and with the same step that sha 
 b d entered, she returned to Pitou. 
 
 ntou was on the floor, playing with the cliild. Catherine 
 sni4tv.-hed her son from him more with the violence of a lion than 
 that of a woman, and pressing him to her breast, cried, " My 
 childl oh, my child!" 
 
 And tfcat cir expressed all the agony of a mother, all the sorrow 
 of a widow, all the sufiEerings of a woman. 
 
 Pitou wanted to accompany Catherine to the ofiSce of the dili- 
 gence which left at ten o'clock. But she refused. 
 
 " No," she said; " as you said, your place is with him who ii 
 alone; stay, Pitou." 
 
 And with her hands she pushed Pitou info the room. 
 
 When Catherine commanded, Pitou could only obey. 
 
 When Pitou approiȣhed Billot's bedside with the somewhat noisy 
 step of a captain of the National Guard, the patient opened his 
 eyes, and a satisfied expression succeeded the one of hate, that 
 had tieen roused like a tempest at the sight of his daughter. 
 Catherine descended vhc staircase, and with her child in her arms 
 reached the Rue St. Denis, the hostelry of Plat d'Etain, from 
 whence the diligence startetj to Villers Cotlerets. The horses were 
 harnessed, the postilion at their heads. One place remained in- 
 side; Catherine took it. Bight hours afterward, the diligence 
 stopped in the Rue des Soissons. 
 
 It was six o'clock, and broad daylight. 
 
 If Catherine had returned as a young girl, with Isidore living, to 
 see her mother in good health, sLe would have stopped the stage 
 at the end of the Rue de Largny, would have passed only through 
 the outskirts of the town, ashamed to .je seen, and would have 
 reached' Pisseleu as quietly as possible. As a widowed mother, 
 she was beyond caring for provincial comments; she descended 
 from the diligence without effrontery, but without fear; her mourn- 
 ing and her child seemed to her, the one an acgel of sadness, th« 
 other an angel of joy, both guarding her from incult and injury. 
 
 Besides, no one would have recognized Catherine; she was so 
 pale, so changed, she did not seem like the same woman; what 
 changed her still more was the air of distinction she iiad acquired 
 from the society of a man of style. 
 
 Only one person recognized her, and that at a great distance. 
 
 That was Aunt Angelica. 
 
 Aunt Angelica was at the hotel door talking with two or Jhree 
 gossips, declaring she had heard M. Forlier say (speaking .if the 
 oath required of the priests), that he would never swear allk.gian,» 
 to the Jacobins and the revolution, that he would rather bo ai 
 martyr to the cause than bow his head to the revolutionary yoke. 
 
 " Oh!" she cried, suddenly stopping in the midst of her har- 
 angue, " Heavens 1 there is the Billot and her child getting out of 
 the stage." 
 
 " Catherine? Catherine?" repeated several voices. 
 
 " Why, y«s; there she is hiding herself ther« in the lane— •m?" 
 
16 AKDEEE DB TATEEKET. 
 
 Aunt Angelica was mistaken; Catherine was not hiding herself; 
 but in her haste to reach her mother, she walked fast, and dow» 
 the lane, as it was the shortest way. 
 
 Several children, at those words of Aunt Angelica, cried: "It 
 iS the Billot!" and at the exclamations of the neighbors: " Cath«r- 
 inel" ran after her, and joining her, said: 
 
 " Ahl is it? Yes, it's true; it is Mademoiselle — " 
 
 " Yes, my children, it is me," said Catherine, sweetly. 
 
 Then, as she had always been dearly loved bjr the children, to 
 ■whom she always had something to give — a kiss, if nothing else: 
 
 " Good-evening, Mademoiselle Catherine!" they shouted. 
 
 "Good-evening, my friends," said Catherine; "my mother is 
 not dead, is she?" 
 
 " Oh, no, mademoiselle, not yet." 
 
 Then one of the children added, " Monsieur Raynal says she is 
 good for eight or ten days yet." 
 
 " Thanks, my children," said Catherine. 
 
 And she continued on her journey attei giving the childrea 
 some pieces of money. 
 
 The children returned. 
 
 " Well?" asked the gossips. 
 
 " Well," said the children; " it is she; and to prove it, see what 
 she gave us, and she asked us news of her mother." 
 
 And the children exhibited the money they had brought from 
 Catherine. 
 
 '■ What she sold nui^t bring a good price in Paris," said Aunt 
 Angelica, " that she is able to give pieces of silver to the childrea 
 who run after her. " 
 
 Aunt Angelica did not like Catherine Billot, for Catherine was 
 young and beautiful; Aunt Angelica was old and ugly; Catherine 
 Billot was large and well-made, Aunt Angelica was small and 
 deformed. 
 
 Besides, it was at the Billots' that Ange Pitou, driven out of the 
 house by Aunt Angelica, had found a refuge. 
 
 And had not Billot, the day of the Declaration of Independence 
 taken Abbe Fortier by force to celebrate mass on the altar of his 
 country? Both good reasons, enhanced by the natural bitterness- 
 of her character, for Aunt Angelica to hate the Billots in general 
 Jind Catherine in particular. 
 
 And when Aunt Angelica hated, she hated well— she made a 
 •pecialty of it. 
 
 She ran to Mile. Adelaide, Abbe Fortier's niece, and announced 
 
 the news. 
 
 Abbe Fortier was dining off a carp caught in the streams of 
 Wallachia, with side-dishes of fried eggs and spinach It was a. 
 fast-day. 
 
 Abbe Fortier had adopted the austere and ascetic r61e of a man 
 who was expecting to be made a martyr of very moment 
 
 "What is the matter now?" he asked, hearing the two women 
 
ANDBEE DB TAVEBNET. 17 
 
 that title to the old maid — " it's only Aunt Angelica come to tell 
 lis of a new scandal." 
 
 " We live in times when scandal infests the streets." replied 
 Abbe Fortier. ' ' What is this new scandal you have heard, Aunt 
 Angelica?" 
 
 Mile. Adelaide introduced the renter of chairs to the abbe. 
 
 " At your service, Monsieur I'Abbel" she said. 
 
 "You should say, ' Your servant,' Aunt Angelica," retorted th* 
 abbe, unable to renounce his pedagogal impulses. 
 
 " I have always heard ' At your service,' " she replied, " and 1 
 alwajrs repeat what I hear. Excuse me if I have offended you. 
 Monsieur I'Abbe." 
 
 " You have not offended me, Aunt Angelica; it's the syntax." 
 
 " I will ask his pardon the first time I meet him," meekly re- 
 plied Aunt Angelica. 
 
 " Good, Aunt Angelica, good! Will you have a glass of wine?" 
 
 " Thank you. Monsieur I'Abbel" replied Aunt Angehca. " I 
 never drink wine." 
 
 " You are wrong; wine is not forbidden by the canons of the 
 church." 
 
 " Oh, it's not because wine is not forbidden that I do not drink 
 it; it's because it's nine cents a bottle." 
 
 " Are you then so avaricious. Aunt Angelica?" asked the abbe, 
 throwing himself on his lounge. 
 
 "Alas, myheavensl avaricious! Monsieur I'Abbe; that's neces- 
 sary when one is poor." 
 
 "Poor! nonsensel when you have the letting of the chairs for 
 nothing. Aunt Angelica, and I can rent the privilege for a hundred 
 francs to the first comer?" 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur I'Abbe, how could that person manage? A» 
 for me, I can only drink water!" 
 
 " That is why I offer you a glass of wine. Aunt Angelica." 
 
 "Take it," said Mile. Adelaide; "you will offend my uncle it 
 you don't." 
 
 "You think it will offend your uncle?" said Aunt Angelica, 
 ■who was dying to accept it. 
 
 " I'm sure of it." 
 
 " Then, Monsieur I'Abbe, two fingers only of wine, it you 
 please, not lo disoblige you." 
 
 " There, then!" said the abbe, filling a glass with jolly Bur- 
 gundy, pure as a ruby; " drink that. Aunt Angelica, and when 
 you are counting your francs you will tliiuk j'ou see double.' 
 
 Aunt Angelica carried the glass to her lips. 
 
 " My heavens!" she said. "Ah, Monsieur I'Abbe. don't talk 
 that way; you, a chosen minister of God; people will believe you." 
 
 " Drink, Aunt Angelica, drink!" 
 
 Aunt Angelica carried, as if solely to please Abbe Fortier, the 
 glass to her lips, then, closing her eyes, nearly swallowed the con- 
 tents at one gulp. 
 
 " OhI how strong it isl" she said; " I don't see how any one 
 can drink pure wine!" 
 
 " And I," said the abbS, " doa't see how any one can put water 
 
18 ANDEEE DE TAVEENEY. 
 
 in wine. Never mind: that doesn't prevent my thinking. Aunt 
 Angelica, you have quite a pretty pile." 
 
 ' OhI Monsieur I'Abbe, Monsieur I'AbbS, don't say that! I 
 can't even pay my taxes, which are three livres, ten sous a year." 
 
 " Yes, I know you say so, but I would not be certain, the day 
 you render your soul to God, that if your nephew, Ange Pitou, 
 looks thoroughly, he will not find in some old woolen stocking 
 enough to purchase the Rue du Pleu." 
 
 "Monsieur I'Abbel Monsieur I'AbbSI" cried Aunt Angelica:, 
 " if you say such things, I shall be assassinated by those outlaws 
 who are burning and laying waste the farms; on the word of a 
 holy man like you, they will think I am rich. Ah! my God I my 
 God! how terrible!" 
 
 And Aunt Angelica drained the contents of her glass with tears 
 In her eyes. 
 
 " Well,' said the abbe, in a merry mood, " you see, you can get 
 accustomed to that wine. Aunt Angelica." 
 
 " All the same," said the old woman, " it's very strong." 
 
 " Now," said the abbe, "let us seel what is this new scandal 
 that troubles Israel?" 
 
 " Monsieur I'Abbe, the Billot has just arrived by the diligence 
 with her child!" 
 
 "Ah! ah!" cried the abbe, "I thought she had put it in the 
 Foundling?" 
 
 "And she would have done well," said Aunt Angelica; "at 
 least, the little one would not have had to blush for its mother!" 
 
 " Really, Aunt Angelica," said the abbe, " that is putting the 
 Institution in a new light— and what is she going to do here?" 
 
 " It seems she has come to see her mother, for she asked the 
 children if her mother was yet living." 
 
 "You know. Aunt Angelica," said the abbe, with a wicked 
 «mile, " Mother Billot has forgotten her confessor." 
 
 "Oh! Monsieur I'Abbe," replied Aunt Angelica, "that is not 
 her fault; the poor woman has lost her mind these three or four 
 months. Poor thing, before all this Irouble she was a religious 
 (voman, fearing God; when she came to church she always hired 
 two chairs, one to put her feet on beside the one she sat in." 
 
 "And her husband?" asked the abbe, his eyes sparkling with 
 ftiry; " Citizen Billot, the destroyer of the Bastile, how many 
 ckairs did he take?" 
 
 "Ah! damn! I don't know," naively replied Aunt Angelica; 
 *' he never came to church; but, a.i for Mother Billot — " 
 
 " That's right, that's right," said the abbe; " that is an account 
 we will settle the day of his burial." 
 
 Then, making the sign of the cross: 
 
 " Kepeat the ofiBce with me, my sisters." 
 
 The two old maids followed the example of the abbe, and mat- 
 Itng the sign of the cross, repeated the office reverently with him. 
 
AKDREE DE TATERNBY. 19 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MOTHBB AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 All this time Catherine pursued her way. Leaving the lane, she 
 turned to the left, following the Rue de I'Ormet, at the end of 
 •which, by a little path, she again took the road to Pisseleu. The 
 ■whole road was a sorrowful reminiscence for Catherine. 
 
 First, was the little bridge where Isidore had bidden her adieu, 
 where she had fainted, and Pitou discovered her cold and inani- 
 mate. 
 
 Then, approaching the farm, the hollow tree where Isidore used 
 to hidB his letter's. 
 
 Then, approaching nearer, she saw the little window by which 
 Isidore used to enter; where the young man was shot at, the gun 
 fortunately hanging tire. 
 
 Then, in front of the principal entrance of the farm, the road to 
 Boursonnes that Catherine had so often trod, whose every stone she 
 knew, the road by which Isidore — 
 
 How^ many times Imd she been seated at that window, her eyes 
 straining through the darkness, watching, nnd when she saw her 
 lover, always faithful, always punctual, how her heart would beat 
 as she received him with open arms! 
 
 Now he was dead; but at least her two arms, crossed over her 
 bosom, held her child. 
 
 What would they say about her dishonor, her shame? 
 
 As beautiful a child as that could not be a shame or dishonor 
 for its mother. So without fear and with a rapid step she entered 
 the farm. 
 
 A large dog barred her passage; but suddenly recognizing his 
 young mistress, he jumped at her, as near as the chain would al- 
 low, and pawed the air on his hind legs, while uttering short, joy- 
 ful barks. 
 
 At the dog's noise, a man appeared at the door, to see what the 
 noise was about, 
 
 " Mademoiselle Catherine!" he cried. 
 
 " Father Clovis!" said Catherine, in her turn. 
 
 " Ah, you are welcome, my dear young lady!" said the old man; 
 " the house needs your presence." 
 
 " And my poor mother?" asked Catherine. 
 
 " Alas! neither better nor worse — rather worse, if anything; 
 she is going, poor dear woman. ' ' 
 
 " Where is she?" 
 
 " In her room." 
 
 " All alone?" 
 
 "No, no, no— Oh! I would not allow that. The devil! you 
 must excuse me, Mademoiselle Catherine, but in your absence and 
 all, 1 have been somewhat of a master here; the time that you 
 spent in my poor cabin, made me, as it were, one of the family. I 
 thought so much of you and that poor Monsieur Isidore." 
 
 " You have heard?" said Catherine, wiping her eyes. 
 
20 AKDEEB DE TAVEENBT. 
 
 " Yes, yes; killed for the queen, like Monsieur Georges. But, 
 mademoiselle, you have a comforter I has he not left you that 
 beautiful child? You must cry for the father, but smile on his 
 son." ^ . 
 
 " Thank you, Father Clovis," said Catherine, holding her hana 
 out to the old man; " but my mother?" 
 
 " She is in her room, as I told you, with Madame Clement, the 
 same sick-nurse that took care of you." 
 
 " And," asked Catherine, hesitating, "is she yet conscious, my 
 poor mother?" 
 
 "There are times they think so," said Father Clovis; when 
 they mention your name. That was the only way they knew she 
 •was conscious till day before yesterday; since day before yesterday 
 she has recognized no one, even when they spoke of you. 
 
 " Let us go in — let us go in. Father Clovisl" said Catherine. 
 
 "Enter, Mademoiselle Catherine," said the old man, opening 
 Mme. Billot's bedroom door. 
 
 Catherine looked in the room. Her mother, lying in her bed, 
 with the curtains of green serge, behind whose gloom penetrated 
 the dismal light of one of those old-fashioned lumps still to be seen 
 in some of the old farms, was watched, as Father Clovi? had said, 
 by Mme. Clement, who, leaning back in an enormous easy-chair, 
 was in that peculiar state common to sick-nurses, neither awake 
 nor asleep, but half-way between the two. 
 
 Poor Mother Billot did not appear very much changed; her skin 
 had become very pale. One would have thought she slept. 
 
 "Mother! mother!" cried Catherine, throwing herself by the 
 bed. 
 
 Tbe sick woman opened her eyes, and turned her head toward 
 Catherine; a look of intelligence passed over her face; her lips 
 moved; she uttered some unintelligible sounds that were not even 
 disconnected words; she raised her hand, trj'ing to supplement by 
 a touch the almost extinguished senses of hearing and sight. But 
 the effort was too much; her eyes closed, her arm fell heavy as an 
 inert body on Catherine's head, on her knees by her mother's bed- 
 r'de, and the sick woman returned into the immovability from 
 which she had been momentarily roused by the galvanic shock 
 given her by her daughter's voice, The two lethargies of the fa- 
 ther and mother had, like two stars leaving for opposite horizons, 
 been broken by totally dififerent sentiments. 
 
 Father Billot roused from his insensibility to repulse Catherine 
 from him. 
 
 Mother Billot awoke from her stupor to draw Catherine toward 
 her. 
 
 Catherine's arrival created a revolution at the farm. 
 
 They expected Billot, not his daughter. 
 
 Catherine related the accident thai Billot b.ad met with, saying 
 her father, in Paris, was lying as near death's door as his wife at 
 Pisseleu; only it was evident the two patients were taking a difier- 
 ent road. Billot was going from death to life; his wife from life 
 to death. Catherine entered her old room. There were many 
 t«ars in store for her in the recollections this little room recalled. 
 
ANDEEE DE TATEBNET. 21 
 
 in the happy thoughtlessness of her childhood, the passionate love 
 of her girlhood, where she returned a broken hearted widow. 
 
 Prom this time Catherine took upon herself the reins of govern- 
 ment in the house, and Father Clovis, with his recompense and 
 thanks, retook the road to his own little domain. The next day 
 Dr. Raynal came to the farm. He came every two days, more 
 from conscientious scruples than any hope; he knew very well 
 there was nothing to do, her life was going out, like a lamp with- 
 out oil, and no human eftort could save her. But he was delight- 
 ed to find Catherine had arrived. 
 
 He spoke of the serious question he had not dared to mention to 
 Billot — the last sacrament. Billot was a follower of Voltaire, and 
 Dr. Raynal was not the most exemplary Christian. On the con- 
 trary, to the spirit of the times he also united that of scientific re- 
 . search. If the spirit of the times made him a skeptic, science made 
 him a non-believer. But Br. Raynal, under these circumstances, 
 always regarded it as a duty toward the relatives. Pious relatives 
 sent immediately for the priest. The unbelievers ordered the door 
 to be shut in the priest's face if he presented himself. 
 
 Catherine was pious. 
 
 She was not aware of the dissentions between Billof and the 
 abbe, or she did not attach much importance to them. 
 
 She nsked Mme. Clement to go to Abbe Portier and ask him to 
 bring the last sacrament to her mother. Pisseleu was a little ham- 
 let, without a church or priest of its own, depending on Villers 
 Cotterets. The dead of Pisseleu were also buried in the former 
 place. An hour afterward, the bell of the viaticum was heard at 
 the door of the farm 
 
 The holy sacrament was received by Catherine on her knees. 
 
 Scarcely had Abbe Forlier entered the sickroom, scarcely had 
 he perceived that Mme. Billot was without speech, or voice, or 
 looks, than he declared he could not give absolution to those un- 
 able to confess, and immediately left, carrj'ing the viaticum. 
 
 Abbe Portier was a priest of the severely rigid school; he would 
 have been a St. Dominique in Spain, a Valverde in Mexico. 
 
 There was none other but he to apply to, as we have said Pisse- 
 leu belonged to his parish, and no neighboring priest would in- 
 fringe on his rights. 
 
 Catherine had a pious and tender heart, but at the same time 
 she could reason. She did not take Abbe Portier's refusal very 
 much to heart, trusting that God would be more merciful toward 
 her poor mother than her pastor. She was occupied in her duties 
 toward her mother, and her duties toward her child, dividing her 
 time between the soul just entering life and the tired one leav- 
 ing it. 
 
 For eight days and nights she only left her mother s bedside for 
 her child's cradle. During the night of the eighth or ninth day, 
 while watching the dying by the bedside, which appeared to her 
 like a phantom ship sinking deeper and deeper into the water, to 
 he utterly lost soon in the waves of eternity, the door opened and 
 Pitou appeared on the threshold. 
 
 He had just arrived from Paris, which he had left, as was his 
 TTODt, in the morning. When Catharine »aw him she trembled. 
 
22 ANDEBE DE TATBElirET. 
 
 Por an instant slie thought her father was dead. But Pitou's er- 
 pression, without being precisely gay, was not of a man who 
 brought sad news. In fact, Billot had recovered wonderfully; 
 after three or four days, the doctor declared him out of danger, 
 and the moining Pitou departed the sick man had been taken from 
 the hospital of Gros Caillou to the doctor's. The moment Billot 
 was out of danger, Pilou announced his intention of returning to 
 Pisseleu. It was not that he feared for Billot, it was for Cath- 
 erine. 
 
 Pitou anticipated the moment it was announced to Billot the 
 condition hia wife was in, lie would start for Villers CoUerets, 
 feeble as he was, and arriving there, he would find Catherine at 
 the farm. 
 
 Dr. Gilbert had not concealed from Pitou the effect Catherine's 
 appearance had upon her father. 
 
 J t was evident the recollection of it was still strong within the 
 sick man's breast, as we remember a nightmare when we wake. 
 As his reason returned, the wounded man would look about him 
 with glances of annoyance and hatred. 
 
 It seemed as though he was expecting every moment the dreaded 
 vision to appear. He had not as yet said a word; not once men- 
 tioned Catheiine'sname; but Dr. Gilbert was too skillful an observer 
 not to read hira aright and guess everything. Consequently, soon 
 as Billot was convalescent, he expedited Pitou to the farm. 
 
 He was to take Catherine away. Pitou would have two or three 
 days before him to accomplish it, as the doctor did not like to 
 risk the announcement of the bad news Pitou brought to Paris 
 "before that time. 
 
 Pitou imparted his fears to Catherine with all the apprehension 
 BiHot's character inspired; but Catherine declared that if her fa- 
 ther even should kill her by the deatn-bed, she would not leave 
 till she had closed her mother's eyes. 
 
 Pitou was profoundly moved by her determination; but he could 
 £nd no words to dissuade her; but he remained there to interfere 
 in case of need between the father and daughter. 
 
 Two days and nights passed, and Mother Billot's breath came 
 jslower and slower. 
 
 For ten days the sick woman had eaten nothing; she was only 
 kept alive by occasionally putting stimulants in her mouth. 
 
 It was almost incredible life could be sustained on so little— but 
 then the poor body just breathed. 
 
 During the night of the tenth or eleventh day, when it seemed as 
 if the poor woman had ceased to breath, she suddenly revived, her 
 arms moved, her lips trembled, her eyes opened wide and became 
 iixed. 
 
 "Mother! mother!" Catherine cried. 
 
 And she rushed to the door to bring her child. One would have 
 said Catherine knew what was passing in her mother's breast, for 
 as she entered, holding little Isidore in her arms, the dying wom- 
 an turned her head toward the door. Her eyes were wide opea 
 and fixed. 
 
 As the young girl returned, a glance of recognition glanced froi» 
 her eyes, and she uttered a cry and extended her arms. 
 
ANDEEE DE TATBENET. 23 
 
 Catherine fell on her knees by her mother's bedside; and, as by 
 a miracle, Mother Billot raised herself on her pillow, and slowly 
 extended her arms over the heads of Catherine and her son. 
 
 " Bless you, my children," she said. 
 
 She sunk back on her pillow; her arms fell to her sides, her 
 ■voice was silent. 
 
 She was dead. 
 
 Her eyes alone remained opened, as if the poor woman, deprived 
 of the sight of her daughter in her life-time, wished to sea her 
 from the other side of the tomb. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ABBB FOBTIER EXECUTES HIS THREAT. 
 
 Catherine reverently closed her mother's eyes, first with htr 
 hand, then with her lips. Mme. Clement had foreseen this mo- 
 ment, and had bought two candles. 
 
 While Catherine, unable to restrain her grief, carried back her 
 child to her room and occupied herself in quieting its cries, Mme. 
 Clement lighted the two candles each side of the bed, crossed the 
 hands of the poor woman on her breast, placed the crucifix between 
 her fingers, and put on a chair a bottle of holy water with a palm 
 branch procured on Palm Sunday. 
 
 When Catherine entered the room she had only to kneel by her 
 mother's side, prayer-book in hand. 
 
 All this time Pltou took upon himself the sad details of the 
 funeral ; not daring to go to Abbe Fortier, with whom he was not 
 on the best of terms, he went to the sexton to order a mass for the 
 dead, to the undertaker's to tell him the hour to bring the coflBn, 
 to the grave-digger to order the grave to be dug. 
 
 From these he went to Haramont to inform his lieutenant and 
 second lieutenant and his thirty-one men belonging to the National 
 Guard that Mme. Billot's funeral would take place the next day 
 at eleven o'clock. 
 
 As Mother Billot never had in her life-time, poor woman, occu- 
 pied any public office, filled any grade in the National Guard, or 
 even in the army, Pitou's communication was officious and not 
 official; it was an invitation to assist at a funeral, not an order. 
 But it was too well known, the efforts Billot had made in this 
 revolution, that turned men's heads and infiamed their imagina- 
 tions; the danger Billot himself was in, lying on his sick-bed, 
 wounded in the defense of a righteous cause, made them regard 
 this invitation in the light of an order — all the National Guard of 
 Haramont promised their chief they would be present at the fu- 
 neral at eleven o'clock precisely, bearing arms. 
 
 On his return in the evening, Pltou met the undertaker at the 
 door, with the coffin on his shoulder. 
 
 Pitou possessed intuitively that refinement so rarely found 
 among peasants, or, for that matter, among people of the world, 
 he took the undertaker and the coffin to the bam, and this spared 
 Catherine the dreadful sight. She was praying at the foot of hei 
 mother's bed; the latter had been placed in her shioud by the twe 
 ■wowea. 
 
24 ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 Piton told Catherine where he had been, and asked her to go out 
 for a little air. But Catherine wanted to fulfill her duty to the 
 last. 
 
 "If you don't go out it will be very bad for your dear little 
 Isidore," said Pitou. 
 
 " You take him out, Monsieur Pitou." 
 
 Catherine must have had great confidence in Pitou to trust hia 
 with her child, if it was only for five minutes. 
 Pitou left as if to obey her, but returned in a few minutes. 
 " He won't go out with me, he is crying," he said. 
 And through the open doors Catherine heard her child's cries. 
 She kissed her mother's forehead, and divided between her feel- 
 ings for her mother and her child, she finally left her mother for 
 her child. 
 
 Little Isidore was indeed crying. Catherine took him in her arms 
 and followed Pitou out of the house. 
 
 As she left, the undertaker entered with his coflBn. 
 Pitou wanted to detain Catherine out-doors at least half an hour. 
 By accident he took her down the road to Boursonnes. 
 This road was tull of reminiscences for the poor child. She 
 walked for half a mile without saying a word to Pitou, listening 
 to the souvenirs her heart recalled at every step, silently absorbed 
 in the memories of the past. 
 When Pitou thought the necessary rites finished : 
 " Mademoiselle Catherine," he said, " suppose we return to the 
 farm?" 
 Catherine roused from her reveries as from a dream. 
 " Oh, yes," said she. " How good you are, Pitou." 
 And they retook the road to Pisseleu. 
 
 When they returned, Mme. Clement motioned with her head to 
 Pitou that the undertaker had finished his work. 
 Catherine went to her room to put little Isidore asleep. 
 That accomplished, she went to resume her watch by her moth- 
 er's body. 
 
 But on the threshold of the room she met Pitou. 
 " It is useless. Mademoiselle Catherine, everything is finished " 
 he said. 
 
 " What is finished?" 
 ' ' Yes — during our absence — ' ' 
 Pitou hesitated. 
 
 " In our absence the undertaker — " 
 
 " Ahl that is why you insisted on my going out— I understand 
 you, good Pitou." 
 
 And Pitou received for a recompense a grateful glance from 
 Catherine. 
 
 "One more prayer," said the young girl, " and I will return." 
 Pitou followed her on tiptoes, but slopped on the threshold. 
 The cofBn rested on two chairs in the middle of the room. When 
 she saw it, Catherine stopped and trembled rJl over, while the tears 
 rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 Then she knelt beside the coffin, leaning upon it her pale fore- 
 iiead, wearied from sorrow and fatigue. 
 The sorrowful way by which the dead are taken from the agony 
 
ANDEEE DB TAVERHET. 35 
 
 of their death-bed to the tomb, their last resting-place, is in its de- 
 tails so harrowing to the survivors, it seems as fi the overburdened 
 heart must break. 
 
 The prayer was long; Catherine could not tear herself away from 
 the cotfln; she understood well enough, poor child, since Isidore's 
 death, she had but two friends left on earth: her mother and 
 Pitou 
 
 And now only Pitou was left. 
 
 It was hard to part with that next to her last friend, but how 
 much harder when it was her mother. 
 
 Pitou felt he must go to Catherine's aid; he entered, and seeing 
 how useless his words were, he tried to raise the young gir! from 
 the floor. 
 
 " One more prayer, Pitou, only one!" 
 
 " Ton will make yourself sick, Catherine," said Pitou. 
 
 " "What of that?" asked Catherine. 
 
 " Then I will have to go for a nurse for little Isidore." 
 
 "You are right, you are right, Pitou,' said the young girL 
 " My Godl how good you are! My God! how I love you!" 
 
 Pitou recoiled to the door, and there, leaning against the wall, 
 silent tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 Had not Catherine just said she loved him? Pitou took no ad- 
 vantage of the fact that he loved Catherine, but the fact that 
 Catherine loved him was everything. 
 
 Her prayers finished, as Catherine had promised Pitou, she rose, 
 and with slow steps approached the young man, leaning her head 
 on his shoulder. Pitou passed his arm round her to lead her away. 
 
 She allowed herself to be led away; but before crossing the 
 threshold, raising her head frnm Pitou's shoulder, and looking 
 for the last time at the coffin, dimly lighted by two candles, said: 
 
 " Farewell, mother! once more farewell," and she went out. 
 
 As she was about entering her room, Pitou stopped her. 
 
 Catherine knew him so well, she understood he had something 
 important to tell her. 
 
 " What is it?" she said. 
 
 "Don't you think," stammered Pitou, slightly embarrassed, 
 " the time has arrived, Mademoiselle Catherine, for you to leave 
 the farm?" 
 
 " 1 will not leave the farm till my mother has l^ft it," replied 
 the young girl. 
 
 Catherine uttered th&se words with so much firmness, that Pifca 
 MiW her resolution was irrevocable. 
 
 "When you do leave it," said Pitou. "you know within a 
 short distance from here there are two places where you will be 
 welcome: Father Clevis's cabin and Pitou's little house." 
 
 Pitou called his bedroom and office a house. 
 
 " Thanks, Pitou," replied Catherine, bowing her head as a sign 
 she would accept one or the other refuge. 
 
 Catherine entered her room without another thought of Pitou, 
 who was always devising something for her. 
 
 The next morning at ten o'clock the friends bidden to the fi^ 
 Qeral began to assemble. All the farmers of the neighborhood—* 
 
S6 AXDEEE DE TAVBBNET. 
 
 Boursonnes, Noue, D 'Ivors, Coyolles, Largny, Haramont, and 
 Vivieres — were there. 
 
 The mayor of Villers Cotterets, good M. Longpre, were among 
 Ihe first comers. 
 
 At half past ten the Natioiial Guard of Haramont, drums beat- 
 ing, flags flying, arrived without a man missing. 
 
 Catherine, all dressed in black, held her child in her arms, also 
 dressed in black, and received each one that entered, while they in 
 turn felt no other sentiment than the respect from the young 
 mother and child in their double loss. 
 
 By eleven o'clock more than three hundred persons were assem- 
 bled at the farm. The priest, the assistaots of the church, and the 
 sexton were the only ones who had not arrived. They waited a. 
 quarter of an hour. Nobody came. 
 
 Pitou mounted the barn, the highest point at the farm. 
 
 From the farm windovps even the two miles that stretched from 
 Pisseleu to Villers Cotterets were in full view. 
 
 Good as were Pitou 's eyes, he could see nothing. He came down, 
 and talking aside with M. de Longpre, gave him the result of his 
 observations and reflections. His observations showed him no one 
 was coming; his reflections were no one would come. 
 
 Pitou had heard of Abbe Fortier's visit, and his refusal to ad- 
 minister the sacrament to Mother Billot. Pitou knew Abbe For- 
 tier; he suspected everything. Abbe Fortier did not wish to sanc- 
 tion with his presence or officiate at Mme. Billot's funeral, and 
 the excuse, not the reason, was the absence of confession. 
 
 This news, communicated to M. de Longpre, and by the latter 
 to his friends, produced a sorrowful impression. 
 
 People looked at one another in silence; then a voice said: 
 
 " What difference does it make! if Abbe Fortier does not wish 
 to officiate, let it go." 
 
 The voice was that of Desire Maniquet. Desire Maniquet was 
 celebrated for her heretical opinions. 
 
 For a moment there was silence. 
 
 It was evident the assembly could not reconcile themselves to a 
 funeral without a priest. And yet Voltaire and Rousseau were 
 never in higher favor. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the mayor, " let us go to Villers Cotterets. 
 At Villers Cotterets everything will be explained." 
 
 " Let us go to Villers Cotterets!" said every one. Pitou signed 
 to four men to slip the barrels of their guns under the cofiin, and 
 in this way the dead woman was carried out. 
 
 At the door the corpse was carried before Catherine, who, on 
 her knees, held little Isidore on his knees in front of her. Aft«r 
 the coffin had passed, Catherine kissed the threshold of the dofl " 
 the never expected to pass, and raising herself, said to Pitou: 
 
 " You will find me at Father Clovis's cabin." And passin* 
 through the garden and fields of the farm, she was soon lost in lb 
 distance. 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEKNET. 37 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ABBE PT-flER DOES NOT FIND IT SO EAST TO KEEP HIB THREAT. 
 
 The precession passed silently, forming a long line down th« 
 route, when those at the end heard cries behind them. 
 
 They turned. 
 
 A horseman was approaching them at full gallop, from tho 
 direction of Ivors, on the road to Paris. 
 
 A portion of his face was covered with black bandages; he held 
 his hat in his hand, and made signs for Ihem to stop. 
 
 Pitou turned, as did the others. 
 
 "Hold!" he cried, "Monsieur Billot — Good for him! I 
 wouldn't care to be Abbe Fortier now." 
 
 At Billot's name they all halted. 
 
 The horseman advanced rapidly; as he neared them every one 
 recognized him as Pitou had. Arrived at the head of the proces- 
 sion, Billot bowed low over his horse's neck, over which he had 
 thrown the bridle, and after saying, in a voice so highly modulated 
 everyone heard, " Good-day, and thanks, cilizensl" he took, be- 
 hind the cotfln, Pitou's place, who, in his absence, had been mas- 
 ter of ceremonies. A stable- Isoy took charge of the horse and led 
 it to the farm. 
 
 Everybody looked with curious eyes at Billot. He was a little 
 thinner, and very pale. A portion of his face and his left eye 
 still retained the dark colors of the blood that had settled there. 
 
 His tirmly pressed lips and frowning brow, indicated a fierce 
 anger that only waited for an opportunity to burst forth. 
 
 " Do you know what has happened?" asked Pitou. 
 
 " I know everything," replied Billot. 
 
 When Gilbert had told the farmer the state his wife was in, the 
 latter had taken a cabriolet that had carried him as far as Nan- 
 teuil. 
 
 Then, as the horse could go no further, Billot, feeble as he was, 
 traveled by post to Levignan; there he took fresh relays, and ar- 
 rived at the farm as the procession had left it. 
 
 In few words Mme. Clement told him all. Billot remounted his 
 horse; at a turn in the road, he perceived the procession winding 
 along before him, and stopped it with his cries. As we before 
 stated, he led the funeral cortSge with bent brows, threatening 
 lips, and his arm crossed over his chest. 
 
 The procession had been sad and silent before, but it was evea 
 more so now. 
 
 At Villers Cotterets a group of friends awaited them, who took 
 their place in the corifige. As the procession passed through the 
 streets, men, women, and children came out from the houses, 
 saluting Billot, who answered them by a bow as they took their 
 Tanks in the cortfige. When it arrived at the square it contained 
 more than five hundred persons. 
 
 In the square they perceived the church. Pitou saw what h» 
 had predicted: the church was closed. 
 
38 ANDREE DE TAVBRSTHT. 
 
 They arrived at the door, and halted. 
 
 Billot became livid, the txpression of his face more and moi« 
 threatening. 
 
 The assistants were under the authorify of the mayor as vrell as 
 the priest, and consequently depended at one and the same time on 
 both of them. One of these assistants was called and interrogated 
 by M. de Longpre. 
 
 Abbe Portier had forbidden any one connected with the church 
 to sanction the burial. 
 
 The mayor demanded the keys of the church. 
 
 The keys were in the house. 
 
 " Go get the keys," said Billot to Pitou. 
 
 Pitou hurried off, and made such good use of his long legs that 
 in five minutes he returned, saying: 
 
 " Abbe Fortier had taken the keys himself to be sure the church 
 ■would not be opened." 
 
 " You must go to the abbe himself for the keys," said Desirfr 
 Maniquet, a born promoter of extreme measures. 
 
 " Yes, yes, go to the abbe for the keys!" cried two hundred 
 voices. 
 
 " That will take too long," said Billot; " when death knocks at 
 the door, it waits for no one." 
 
 Then he looked around him; opposite the church the carpen- 
 ters were planing a beam. 
 
 Billot marched directly to them, and motioned to them; he re- 
 qjiired this beam. 
 
 The workmen made way for him. 
 
 The beam was supported by a plank. Billot slipped his arm be- 
 tween the beam and the ground, near the middle of the piece of 
 wood, and with a single eSFort he raised it. But he had depended 
 on his lost strength. Under that enormous weight the colossus 
 staggered; for an instant they thought he would fall. 
 
 It lasted but a second; Billot recovered his equilibrium, and with 
 a ghastly smile advanced with the beam under his arm, with a slow- 
 but firm step. 
 
 _ One would have said he was one of those battering-rams of an- 
 tiquity whom Alexander, Hannibal, and Csesar employed to storm 
 their enemies' walls. 
 
 He placed the beam against the door, and the formidable machine 
 began its work. The door was of oak, the bolts, hinges, and other 
 lastenjiigs of iron. 
 
 At the third blow the lock, hinges, and other fastenings gave way 
 altogether; the oaken door was half open. 
 
 Billot let the beam fall to the ground. Four men raised it and 
 carried it with difficulty to the spot where Billot found it. 
 
 " Your honor," said Billot, turning to the mayor, " will you be 
 kind enough to place my poor wife's coffin in the middle of the 
 choir? She, poor woman, has never wronged anyone, and thou 
 Pitou, gather tlie acolytes, the verger, the singers, and the choir- 
 boys; I will attend to the priest." 
 
 The mayor, walking behind the coffin, entered the church. Pitou 
 Started to find the acolytes, the singers, and the choir-boys, aad 
 
ANDREE DB TaYEENBT. 39 
 
 then accompanied by his first-lieutenant, D€sire Maniquet, and 
 four men, in case of trouble. Billot went to Abbe Fortler's house. 
 
 Several men wished to follow Billot. 
 
 " Leave me alone," he said; " perhaps my work will be serious; 
 every one is responsible for his own acts." 
 
 Leaving them, he passed down the street from the church and 
 turned into the Rue de Soissons. It was the second time in the 
 course of a year the revolutionary farmer went in search of the 
 royalist priest. 
 
 What took place at that time is well known; possibly a similar 
 scene was to be enacted. 
 
 Every one, seeing Billot march rapidly toward the abbe's, re- 
 mained motionless on their thresholds, following him with their 
 eyes as they turned their heads, but without moving a step. 
 
 " He has forbidden any oca to follow him," said one to another. 
 
 The large door at the abbe's was closed, like the one at the 
 church. 
 
 Billot looked around for another building where he could obtain 
 another beam; there was nothing but a rock, loosened by the chil- 
 dren, that trembled in its orbit, like a loose tooth in its socket. 
 
 The farmer advanced toward the rock, gave it a violent twist 
 that effectually loosened its hold, and tore it away, with a portion 
 of the foundation in which it was imbedded. 
 
 Then, raising it above his head, like another Ajax or Diomede, 
 he stepped back three feet, and hurled the block of granite with 
 the same force as would a catapult. 
 
 The blow shivered the door to fragments. 
 
 At the inoment Billot opened this formidable passage, a window 
 in the second story opened, and Abbe Fortier appeared, calling 
 loudly upon his parishioners for help. 
 
 But the shepherd's voice was not listened to by the sheep, who 
 decided to let the shepherd and wolf flghl it out together. 
 
 It required some little time for Billot to break the two or three 
 doors that separated him from Abbe Fortier, as he had broken the 
 first. 
 
 It took, in fact, about ten minutes. 
 
 At the end of that time, the cries of the abbe became more and 
 more violent, his gestures more and more expressive, his increas- 
 ing agitation showing the danger was approaching nearer and 
 nearer. 
 
 A moment after. Billot's pale face appeared behind the priest, 
 who laid his hand heavily on his shoulder. 
 
 The priest grasped the sash that held the window; he was also 
 proveibially strong, and it would not have been an easy thing for 
 Hercules himself to have taken him. Billot passed his arm, like a 
 centaur's, around the priest's body, forced him on his knees, and 
 with an effort that would have uprooted an oak, he tore Abbe 
 Fortier away, with the broken sash in his hands. "The farmer and 
 the priest disappeared in the room, nothing was heard but the 
 abbe's cries, growing fainter in the distance, like the roarings of 
 a bull drawn by a lion of the Atlas toward his lair. 
 , During this time Pitou had gathered the trembling acolytes, 
 dngers, choir-boys, and verger, M loUowing the assistant's exam- 
 
30 ANDEEE DB TAVEElfET. 
 
 pie, hastily robing themselves in their capes and surplices, Hghtlng 
 the candles, and preparing everything for the celebration of the 
 obsequies. 
 
 Then Billot appeared, dragging after him the priest, and walking 
 as rapidly as though he were alone, and the priest offering no re- 
 sistance. Billot was not a man ; he was more one of those forces 
 of nature resembling a torrent or an avalanche; nothing human 
 seemed capable of resisting him; nothing but the elements could 
 have warred against him. The poor abbe, a hundred feet from th« 
 church, ceased to ofEer any resistance. 
 
 He was utterly subdued. 
 
 Everybody made way for the two men. 
 
 The abbe threw a horrified glance at the door, broken like a pane 
 of glass, and seeing in their places — with their instruments, stafl,^ 
 or book in hand — aU the men and boys whom he had forbidden to 
 put their foot into the church, he bent his head as if he recognized 
 an irresistible power, influenced not by religion alone, but its min- 
 isters. 
 
 He entered the sacristy, and a moment after appeared in his robes 
 as celebrant, the holy sacrament in his hand. 
 
 But, the moment after mounting the steps of the altar, and plac- 
 ing the holy sacrament upon it, he returned to begin the first words 
 of his office. 
 
 Billot extended his hand. 
 
 " Enough, thou wicked servant of God!" he said. " I wanted 
 to curb your pride, that was all; 1 now want every one to see, as 
 holy a woman as my wife can be buried without the hateful and 
 fanatical prayers of a priest like you." 
 
 Then, as a murmur, as he ceased speaking, rose till it swelled 
 to the arches of the church: 
 
 " If it is a sacrilege," he said, " I will be responsible for it." 
 
 And turning toward the immense crowd that not only filled the 
 church but the square: 
 
 " Citizens," said he, " to the cemetery!" 
 
 Every one repeated- 
 
 " To the cemetery 1" 
 
 The four pall-bearers again slipped the barrels of their gun« 
 under the coffin, raised it, and as they had started without priest 
 or hymn, or any of that funereal pomp religion surrounds men's 
 grief with, they marched. Billot at their head, six hundred persons 
 toward the cemetery, which was situated at the end of the lane 
 toward Pleux, twenty-five feet from Aunt Angelica's house. 
 
 The gate of the cemetery was closed, like Abbe Fortier's house, 
 as the church door had been. 
 
 But, before this feeble obstacle, strange to say. Billot stopped. 
 
 Death respects the dead. 
 
 At a sign from the farmer, Pitou ran to the grave-digger's. 
 
 The grave-digger had the key of the cemetery. 
 
 Five minutes later Pitou not only brought the key, but two 
 grave-diggers. 
 
 Abbe Fortier had excommunicated the poor deceased from the- 
 church and consecrated ground; the undertaker had received 
 erders to prepare no grare. 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNBT. 31 
 
 At this last manifestation of hatred from the priest, something 
 like a menacing murmur rose from the crowd. If Billot had a 
 quarter of the zeal in his heart that bigots feel, he had but to say 
 Uie word, and Abbe Fortier would have experienced the satisfac- 
 tion of that martyr he had appealed so loudly to for aid the day he 
 refused to celebrate mass on the altar of his country. 
 
 But Billot had the disposition of a lion; he destroyed, devastated, 
 ruthlessly in his course, but never returned in the same path. 
 
 The royalists and the bigots alone remained in their homes. It 
 might well be known. Aunt Angelica was one of the latter: she 
 closed her door in terror, crying out the abomination of desolation, 
 and calling down vengeance from the skies on her nephew's head. 
 
 But every one who had a heart, a sense of justice, family affec- 
 tion; all who rebelled against hatred and misery, vengeance and 
 malice, three quarters of the town, in fact, were there protesting, 
 QOt against God nor religion, but against priests and their 
 fanaticism. 
 
 Arrived at the spot, the grave was to have been dug, where the 
 •exton, before he received the order not to proceed with his work, 
 had already marked it out. Billot held out his hand to Pitou, who 
 gave him one of the two spades. 
 
 Then Billot and Pitou, their heads uncovered, in the midst of a 
 circle of citizens, their heads also nrcovered, under the burning 
 rays of a July sun, began to dig the grave of that unfortunate creat- 
 ure, who, pious and resigned in her life, would have been much 
 astonished if she had been told during her life time of the excite- 
 ment she would have caused after death. 
 
 The work lasted an hour, but neither of the two workers had 
 any idea of stopping till it was finished. 
 
 While they were thus occupied, ropes had been brought, and the 
 Work accomplished. The ropes were placed under the coffin. Then 
 the two men. Billot and Pitou, lowered it in the grave. 
 
 They did it so simply and naturally no one present had any idea 
 of ofEering to assist them. 
 
 They would have considered it a sacrilege not to finish it to the 
 end themselves. When, however, the first shovelfuls of earth fell 
 on the coffin. Billot passed his hands over his eyes, and Pitou his 
 sleeve. Then they resolutely proceeded with their work. When 
 It was finished. Billot threw far from him the spade, and held out 
 his two arms to Pitou. 
 
 Pitou threw himself into the farmer's arms. 
 
 " God is my witness," said Billot, " that I embrace in ypu all of 
 the greatest, most noble virtues on earth — charity, devotion, self- 
 abnegation, brotherly love, and I shall devote my life in celebrating" 
 those virtues!" 
 
 Then, stretching hii hand over the tomb: " God is my witness," 
 he continued, "that I swear eternal war against the king, who 
 would have asassinatedme; against the nobility, who have dishon- 
 ored my daughter; against the priests, who have refused burying 
 my wifel" 
 
 Then turning toward the spectators and hearers full of sympathy 
 from this triple adjuration: 
 
 " BrotbeiBl" cried Billot, " there is to be a new assembly in th» 
 
33 ANDBEE DE TATEBKET. 
 
 place of those traitors who are now met at the Feuillants'; let m* 
 be your representative at that assembly, and you will see I shall 
 keep my oaths." 
 
 A cry of universal acclamation responded to Billot's proposition, 
 and from that hour, over that solemn altar, his wife's grave, fit 
 place for the terrible vows he had uttered. Billot's candidaturship 
 was accepted; after which Billot, thanking his compatriots for 
 the sympathy they had shown him in his loves and hates, every 
 one dispersed to their own homes, carrying in their hearts the spirit 
 of revolutionary propagandism that furnished, in their blinduee*, 
 the weapons for the king, nobles, and priests to turn upon and de- 
 stroy them. 
 
 CHAPTER VUI. 
 
 DEPUTY BILLOT. 
 
 The events we have just related made a profound impression, 
 not only on the inhabitants of Tillers Cotterets, but on the farmers 
 of the neighboring villages. 
 
 The farmers were quite a power at that time in politics; they each 
 employed ten, twenty, thirty laborers, and it the elections were at 
 all undecided, the country cast the vote. Each man on leaving 
 Billot shook hands with him, simply saying: 
 
 " Be tranquil." 
 
 Billot entered the farm comparatively tranquil, seeing for the 
 first time powerful means of avenging himself for the injuries he 
 had sustained from the royaltj^ and nobility. 
 
 He re-entered the farm without mentioning Catherine's name; 
 no one could tell if he was aware of her short visit there. Never, 
 in a year, had he pronounced her name; his daughter was for him 
 as if she did not exist. 
 
 It was not so with Pitou, that stanch heart; he regretted from 
 the bottom of it; Catherine could not love him; but on seeing 
 Isidore, and comparing himself with that elegant young man, he 
 could easily understand why Catherine loved him. 
 
 He envied Isidore, as he had always loved Catherine, with a deep, 
 absolute devotion. To say this devotion was entirely exempt from 
 agony, was to lie; but this anguish that tore his heart each time 
 Catherine gave a new proof of affection for her lover showed the 
 ineffable goodness of his soul. 
 
 Isidore killed at Varennes, only inspired Pitou with a profound 
 pity; unlike Billot, he was capable of doing justice to the young 
 man's memory, to his goodness, to his beauty, his generosity, not- 
 withstanding he was his rival. 
 
 Tho result we have seen. Pitou loved Catherine more in her 
 sorrow and mourning than he had in her happy girlhood, and now 
 he loved her still more by reason of her recent loss. 
 
 The reader is not surprised, then, to find Pitou, after takinc 
 jeave of Billot, going to Haramont instead of the farm. 
 
 Every one was accustomed to Pltou's reappearances and disap- 
 pearances, and notwithstanding the high position he occupied m 
 tike village, no one ever inquired as to his action*. Wheu PitoH 
 
ANDREB DE TAVEEIJ-ET. 35 
 
 was away, they said, in low tones " General Lafayette ha« sent 
 for Pitou." And all was said. 
 
 On Pitou's appearance at Haramont, they asked for the last news 
 from Paris, and Pitou, thanks to Gilbert, was able to give them 
 the very latest. And as several days after these reports the news 
 was verified, they had the greatest confidence in him, not only as a 
 captain, but as a prophet. 
 
 For his part, Gilbert appreciated all that was worthy and noble 
 In Pitou; he felt that at a moment's notice he was a man in whom 
 he could confide his life, Sebastian's trusts, confidential missions, 
 anything that required faithfulness, ability, and sfeill. Every time 
 Pitou came to Paris, Gilbert, without embarrassing Pitou, would 
 ask him if he required anything. Almost always Pitou replied; 
 "No, Monsieur Gilbert;" but that did not prevent Gilbert from 
 giving Pitou several louis. which he slipped in his pocket. 
 
 Several louis with Pitou's resources, and the prolific nature of 
 the forest belonging to the Duke of Orleans, was a fortune; and 
 Pitou had never reached the last of his louis when he again saw M. 
 Gilbert, and the doctor's shake of the hand renewed in his pocket 
 Pactolus's stream. 
 
 It was not astonishing, considering Pitou's feelings toward 
 Catherine, that he should hastily leave Billot and hasten to ascer- 
 tain how the poor mother and boy were faring. 
 
 His road to Haramont lay by Father Clovis's door; a hundred 
 feet from the cabin he met Father Clovis, who had a hare in his 
 pouch. It was his day for hares. 
 
 In few words Father Clovis told Pitou Catherine had returned, 
 and asked for her old room, which he hastened to give her; she 
 had shed many tears on entering the room where she had become 
 a mother, wheie Isidore had given her so many proofs of love. 
 
 But her sorrow was not without a certain sort of relief; those of 
 us who have passed through deep afflictions know the cruelest 
 hours are those when the tears refuse to flow; the sweetest, not the 
 saddest, are when we weep. When Pitou saw Catherine she was 
 sitting on her bed, her eyes filled with tears, her child in her arms. 
 
 On seeing Pitou, Catherine laid the child on her knees, stretch- 
 ing her handj and raising her face to the young man; Pitou took 
 them joyfully, kissed her forehead, and the child for a moment 
 found himself hidden under their clasped hands, while Pitou 
 kissed his mother. 
 
 Then, falling on his knees before Catherine, and kissing the 
 haby's little hands, Pitou said: 
 
 "Ah! Madame Catherine, do not worry, I am rich; Monsieur 
 ladore shall never want for anything." 
 
 Pitou had fifteen louis; he called that rich. Catherine, with her 
 disposition and heart, appreciated all that was good. 
 
 " Thanks, Monsieur Pitou," said she, " I believe you, and I am. 
 glad to believe you, for you are my only friend; if you abandon 
 us, we will be alone on the earth; but you will never abandon us, 
 will you?" 
 
 " Oh, mademoiselle," said Pitou, sobbing, " don't talk sol yott 
 ■will make me cry my heart out. " 
 
 " I Tras wrong," said Catherine, " i was wrong. Excuse me." 
 
34 ANDEEB DB TATEEITBT. 
 
 " No," said Pitou, " no, you are right, on the contrary; I am th« 
 one who is wrong to cry thus." 
 
 "Monsieur Pitou," said Catherine, " I would like a little air; 
 give me your arm, and we will walk a little while under those for- 
 est trees. 1 think 1 will feel better. " 
 
 "I also, mademoiselle," said Pitou; "I feel as if I should 
 choke " 
 
 The child was the only one who did not require air; he, on th* 
 contrary, was sleepy. 
 
 Catherine laid him on the bed and took Pitou's arm. 
 
 Five minutes later they were under the grand forest trees, that 
 magnificent temple raised by the hand of God. 
 
 Although Catherine was leaning on his arm, Pitou could not but 
 remember how he had conducted Catherine to the ball that day of 
 Pentecost, where, to his great sorrow, Isidore had danced with her, 
 two years and a half before. 
 
 "What an accumulation of events had happened in those two years 
 and a half 1 And without soaring as high as Voltaire's or Bousseau's 
 philosophy, Pitou easily understood what mere atoms he and 
 Catherine were in the universal world. 
 
 But atoms, though infinite, have no less than Ihe powerful — than 
 princes, than kings and queens — their joys and sorrows; the wheel 
 that, turning in Fortune's hands, attacks crowns and lays thrones 
 in the dust, had destroyed and laid in the dust Catherine's happi- 
 ness none the less surely than if she had sat on a throne and car- 
 ried a crown on her head. 
 
 To sum it all up, there was a wide diflference in Pitou's con- 
 dition, which the revolution — whatever else it may have done — 
 had done much to change. 
 
 Two years and a half ago Pitou was a poor little peasant, scolded 
 by Aunt Angelica, patronized by Billot, protected by Catherine, 
 sacrificed to Isidore. 
 
 To-day Pitou was powerful; he wore a sword at his side, epau- 
 lets on his shoulders, and was called captain. Isidore was killed, 
 and it was he, Pitou, that protected Catherine and her child. 
 Dan ton's' answer to the question, " What is your object by a revo- 
 lution?" — " To raise those who are below, and put down those 
 who are above!" was, as far as Pitou was concerned, perfectly 
 true. 
 
 But though thoughts like these passed through his head, good, 
 modest Pitou did not take advantage of them, but on his knee* 
 begged Catherine to permit him to protect her and her child. 
 
 Catherine, like all those who mourn, had a keener appreciation 
 in sorrow than in joy. Pitou, in her happy days, had been for 
 Catherine only a good lad of no consequence; now he was every- 
 thing that was good, frank, and devoted. In her affliction, need- 
 ing a friend, Pitou was just the friend she required, and was 
 always received by Catherine with outstretched hand and a lovely 
 smile. Pitou began to lead a life he never imagined even in his 
 dreams of Paradise. 
 
 Billot, ever silent as to his daughter's whereabouts, pursued hta 
 idea, while making his harvest, of being nominated to the Lefia- 
 lature. Onl^ one man could have opposed him, if he bad hmm 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVBRNEY. 35 
 
 desirous; bnt between his love and happiness, Count de Charny, i( 
 his chSteau of Boursonnes with Andree, was rejoicing in his un- 
 expected felicity. Count de Charny, the world forgetting, thought 
 .himself forgot; he never even dreamed of such a possibility. 
 
 Thus, through no opposition in (he district of Villers Cotterete, 
 Billot was elected deputy by nn immense majority. 
 
 As soon as he was elected. Billot occupied himself in realizing as 
 much mouey as possible. It had been a good year. He gave his 
 laborers their share, reserving his own, keeping what grain was 
 needed for sowing, what he needed for consumption for his horses 
 and cattle; also for his men. 
 One morning he sent for Pitou. 
 Pitou from time to time went to see Billot, who always received 
 him with outstretched hand, offering him breakfast if it was break- 
 fast-time, dinner if it was dinner-time, a glass of wine or cider if 
 it was time to drink wine or cider. 
 
 But he had never before sent for Pitou; so it was not without 
 misgiving Pitou went to the farm. 
 
 Billot was always grave; no one had ever seen him smile since 
 Lis daughter left the farm. 
 
 To-day he was unusually serious-. 
 
 He held out, as usual, his hand to Pitou, shook it more vigor- 
 ously than was his wont, and held it in his. 
 
 Pitou looked at the farmer in astonishment. 
 
 " Pitou," he said, " you are an honest man." 
 Confound it! Monsieur Billot,'" replied Pitou, " 1 trust so." 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 " You are very good. Monsieur Billot,'' said Pitou. 
 
 " 1 have decided, as I am going away, that you, Pitou, must be 
 at the head of the farm." 
 
 " Me, sir?" said Pitou, amazed. " Impossible!" 
 
 " Why impossible 5" 
 
 ' ' Because, Monsieur Billot, there are a great many details where 
 a woman's eye is necessary." 
 
 " I know it, " replied Billot; " you can select a woman to divide 
 the responsibility with you. I do not ask her name; there is no 
 need of my knowing her; whenever I want to come to the faim, I 
 will tell you a week before, so if I do not wish to see this woman, 
 or she does not care to see me, she will have time to leave. " 
 
 " Very good. Monsieur Billot," said Pitou. 
 
 " At present," continued Billot, " there is in the barn the neces- 
 sary grain for sowing: in the granary, straw, oats, and hay for the 
 horses; in this secretary the money for the men's wages and their 
 support." 
 
 Billot opened the secretary; it was filled with silver. 
 
 " One moment! one moment. Monsieur Billot!" said Pitou: 
 " how much is there in the secretary?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Billot, repulsing him. Then locking it^ 
 he gave the key to Pitou. " When you have no more money, send 
 to me." 
 
 Pitou understood how Billot confided in him by that remark; he 
 opened his arms to embrace Billot; then suddenly he thought how 
 presumptuous it was in him. 
 
>6 ANDREI DE TAVEENET. 
 
 " Oh, pardon, Monsieur Billot!" he said; " a thousand pardons!" 
 
 "Pardon for what, my friend?" demanded Billot, touched hy 
 tihis humility; " pardon an honest man because he throws his arms 
 ■tround another honest man to embrace liim? Come to me, Pitou; " 
 embrao me!" 
 
 Pitou i'arew himself in Billot's arms. 
 
 " And if, perchance, you need me in town?" he said. 
 
 " Don't fret, Pitou; 1 won't forget you." 
 
 Then he added: " Itis now two o'clocli; I leave for Paris at five. 
 At six o'clocli you can be here with the woman you may select ta 
 sasist you." 
 
 "All right," said Pitou; "I have no time to lose. Good-bye, 
 dear Monsieur Billot." 
 
 " Good-bye, Pitou." 
 
 Pitou strode out of the farm. 
 
 Billot followed him with his eyes as far as he could see; then, 
 when he had disappeared : " Oh!" he murmured, " why did not my 
 daughter fall in love with a worthy lad lilse that, rather than that 
 ifirpent of the nobility that has left her a widow without being 
 married, a mother without being a wife?" 
 
 At five o'clock Billot ascended the diligence for Paris, and at six 
 •o'clock Pitou, Catherine, and little Isidore entered the farm. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE KEW ASSEMBLY. 
 
 The Legislature was to be inaugurated the 1st of October, 1791. 
 
 Billot, in common with the other deputies, arrived about the end 
 -of September. 
 
 The new assembly was composed of seven hundred and forty- 
 ■five members; among their number might be counted four hundred 
 lawyers and rulers of the state, seventy-two journalists, poets, and 
 literary men, seventy constitutional priests; that is to say, those 
 •who had joined the Conscitution. The two hundred others were 
 farmers or landed proprietors like Billot, or men occupied in pro- 
 fessional and manual labor. 
 
 The distinguishing characteristic of the new deputies was their 
 youthfulness; the majority were not more than twenty-six; one 
 would have said a new and unknown generation had been sent by 
 France to crush the past; noisy, impetuous, revolutionary, they 
 came to destroy all precedent; almost all with cultivated minds, 
 poets, as we have said, lawyers, and men of science; full of energy 
 and skill, of extraordinary nerves, devoted to theories beyond all 
 limits, entirely ignorant of state affairs, inexperienced, babblers, 
 triflers, quarrelsome, they represented the grand but terrible thing 
 that is called the unknown. 
 
 The unknown, in politics, is always the uncertain. With the ex- 
 ception of Condorcet and Brissot, it might have been asked of each 
 man, "Who are you?" For that matter, where were the lights 
 and firebrands of that Constitiition? Where were the Mirabeaus, 
 the Sieyes, the Duponts, the Baillys, the Robespierres, the Bar- 
 naves, the Cazales? All had disappeared. As these enthusiastic 
 youths wandered from place to place, some heads whitened. 
 
ANDEEE DE TATERNET. 37 
 
 The othera represented young and manly France— France with 
 Hack locks. 
 
 Valuable heads for a revolution to behead, and nearly all were 
 beheaded. 
 
 In the interior, germs of civil war were spreading; war with 
 foreign powers was near at hand; all the young men who were not 
 simply deputies were combatanls. The Girondists, who, in case of 
 war, from twenty years to flfty, were to march to the frontier; the 
 Girondists were to send skirmishers. 
 
 These skirmishers were to consist of the Vergniauds, the Guadets, 
 the Gensonnes, the Fonfrfides, the Ducos; it was this nucleus, then, 
 that was called the Gironde, and gave this name to a famous party,, 
 that, notwithstanding their faults, were pitied for their misfort. 
 unes. 
 
 Born in the smoke of battle, like athletes breathing the combat, 
 with a single bound they leaped into the bloody arena of political 
 life. No one looking at them noisily taking their seats in the 
 Chamber of Deputies would have imagined from them came the 
 mutt«rings of the tempest that burst into the storms of the 30th of 
 June, the 10th of August, and the 21st of January. 
 
 No more coU droit ; that was suppressed; consequently, no mote 
 aristocrats. 
 
 The entire assembly was armed against two enemies — the nobiliy 
 and the priests. 
 
 If they resisted them, the order was to crush their resistance. 
 
 As for the king, it was left to the conscience ot the deputies 'O 
 determine upon their conduct toward him; they hoped he wouid 
 not listen to the queen, the aristocracy, and the church; if he di4. 
 he would be crushed with them. 
 
 Unhappy king! he was no longer called a king, nor Louis XVI , 
 nor your majesty; but the executive. 
 
 The iirst thing the deputies did on entering this hall, which wi* 
 entirely unknown to them, was to look around them. 
 
 On each side was a reserved tribunal. 
 
 " For whom are these two tribunals?" asked several. 
 
 " They are the tribunals of the deputies going out." 
 
 "Oh! oh'" murmured Vergniaud, "what does that mean? 1» 
 the Legislature a representative hall of the nation, or a class of 
 ■tudents?" 
 
 " Never mind," said Herault de Sechelles; " we will see how 
 our betters conduct themselves." 
 
 " Sergeant-at-arms," cried Thuriot, " announce, when he enter*, 
 there is in the assembly a man who threw the governor of the Bas- 
 tile from the top of its walls, and his name is Thuriot." 
 
 A year and a half later this man was called " King-killer." 
 
 The first act of the new assembly was to send a deputation to the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 The king had the imprudence to be represented by a minister. 
 
 " Gentleman, " he said, "the king can not receive you at thfc 
 time; return in three hours." 
 
 The deputies retired. 
 
 " Well?" cried the other members, seeing them return so soon. 
 
38 ANDKEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 " Citizens,' said one of the committee, " the king is not ready, 
 we have three hours before us." 
 
 " Gooil" called out from his seat the lame Conthon. 
 
 " Let us use these three hours. I propose to suppress the titfc 
 of ' Your Majesty.' " . , r <. a^ 
 
 Universal applause was the response; the title of Yout 
 Majesty " was suppressed by acclamation. 
 
 " What will we call the executive?" demanded a voice. 
 
 " We will call him the ' King of the French,' " replied another. 
 " That is a good enough title for Monsieur Capet to have." 
 
 All eyes turned toward the man who ventured to call the King of 
 France Monsieur Capet. 
 
 It was Billot. 
 
 " Hurrah for the King of the French 1" was the universal cry. 
 
 " Attention!" said Conthon; " we have yet two hours. I have 
 a new proposition to make." 
 
 " Make itl" cried everybody. 
 
 " I move that at the king's entrance every one rises, but the 
 king once in, every one sits down and puts his hat on." 
 
 For a moment there was a dreadful tumult. 
 
 The cries of adherence were so violent, one would have taken 
 them for opposition. At last, when the uproar subsided, every one 
 appeared to be united. 
 
 The proposition was carried. 
 
 Conthon glanced at the clock. 
 
 " We have an hour left," he said. " I have a third proposition 
 to) make." 
 
 " Out with it! out with it!" cried several voices. 
 
 " 1 move," continued Conthon, in that suave voice of his, that, 
 whatever the occasion, always wielded so terrible an influence, " 1 
 propose there will be no more throne for the king, simply a sofa." 
 
 The speaker was interrupted by applause. 
 
 " Wait! wait!" he said, raising his hand; " I have not finished." 
 
 Silence was re-established. 
 
 " I propose the king's sofa shall be placed at the left of the presi- 
 dent." 
 
 "Take care!" said a voice; "that is not only suppressing the 
 throne, but humiliating the king. 
 
 " I propose," said Conthon, " not only to suppress the throne, 
 fcut to humiliate the king." 
 
 'J'here arose frantic applause; there was the whole of the 20th of 
 juno and the 10th of August in that terrible clapping of hands. 
 
 " Very well, citizens," said Conthon; " the three hours are up. 
 Thanks to the King of the French, that he made us wait; we have 
 not been idle." 
 
 Tiie committee returned to the Tuileries. This time the king 
 received Ihem; but it was too late. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " I can net present myself at the assem- 
 bly for three days." 
 
 The deputation looked at one another. 
 
 " Well, sire," they said, " it will be for the 4th?" 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen," replied the king, " the 4th." And he turned 
 bis back upon them. 
 
ANDEBE DE TAVEEXET. 39 
 
 The 4th of October the king sent word he was sick, and could 
 not be present till the Tth. That did not prevent, on the 4th, dur- 
 ing the absence of the king, the birth of the most important work 
 of the last assembly. Entering the new assembly, surrounded and 
 guarded by a dozen of the oldest deputies of the Constitution: 
 
 "Behold!" cried a voice, "the twelve aged men of the 
 Apocalypse I" 
 
 The Recorder Cannes carried it; ascending the tribunal, he 
 showed it to the people. 
 
 "People," he said, like another Moses, "behold the tables of 
 the lawl" 
 
 Then began the ceremony of swearing allegiance. All the assem- 
 bly filed by, sad and perplexed. Many felt beforehand this power- 
 less Constitution would not live a year. They swore for the sake 
 of swearing, because it was an imposing ceremony. 
 
 Three quarters of those who took the oath determined not to 
 keep it. 
 
 Meanwhile, the result of the three decrees just passed spread 
 through Paris. 
 
 No more royalty! 
 
 No more throne! 
 
 Only a simple sofa at the left of the president. It was as much 
 as to say, " No more king." 
 
 The funds were, as usual, the first to take alarm; stocks fel 
 frightfully; the bankers began to tremble. The 9th of October 
 great changes took place. 
 
 According to the new law, there was no longer a general-in- 
 chief of the National Guard. On that day Lafayette sent in his 
 resignation, and each of the six generals commanded in turn. The 
 day appointed for the royal presence arrived — the 7th of October. 
 
 The king entered. 
 
 Contrary to all expectation, royalty was still all-powerful. At 
 the entrance of the king they not only arose, took ofE their hats, 
 but unanimous applause broke forth. 
 
 The assembly cried, "Long live the king!" But at the same 
 moment, as if the royalists wanted to throw down the gauntlet to 
 the new deputies, the tribunals cried: 
 
 " Long live his majesty!" 
 
 A deep murmur passed along the seats of the representatives; 
 •they raised their eyes, and saw it was from the tribunals reserved 
 for the ancient constituents that these cries proceeded. 
 
 " 'Tis well, gentlemen," said Conthon. "To-morrow we will 
 attend to you." 
 
 The kiug motioned for silence. 
 
 They listened to him. 
 
 The discourse composed by Dupont du Tertre was of the highest 
 ability, and produced the greatest impression; its principal theme 
 was the necessity of maintaming order, and of rallying to the cause 
 of patriotism. Pastoret presided at the assembly. 
 
 Pastoret was a royalist. 
 
 The king said in his discourse he felt the need of being loved. 
 
 " And we also, sire," said the president, " need to te loved by 
 you." 
 
40 ANDEEB DB TAVEEKET. 
 
 At these words the whole hall broke forth in applause. 
 
 The king, in his discourse, supposed the revolution over. For s 
 moment the entire assembly thought as he did. It was not neces- 
 sary, however, he should be the willing ruler of priests, the un- 
 willing ruler of foreigners. 
 
 The impression made at the assembly spread itself over Paris. 
 
 In the evening the king went to the theater with his family. 
 
 He was received with thunders of applause. Many wept, and he 
 himself, usually so undemonstrative, shed tears. 
 
 During the night the king wrote to the foreign powers, announc- 
 ing his acceptation of the Constitution of 1791. 
 
 It will be remembered, one day, in a moment of enthusiasm, h« 
 b id sworn fealty to the Constitution before it was finished. 
 
 The next day Conthon remembered what he had promised the 
 Aiy before to his constituents. 
 
 He announced he had a suggestion to make. 
 
 They knew what Conthon's suggestions were. Every one was 
 #lent. 
 
 " Citizens," said Conthon, " I move that every sort of privilege 
 if done away with in this assembly, and that all the tribunals are 
 «i*)en to the public." 
 
 The motion passed unanimously. 
 
 The next day the assembly took possession of the tribunals of 
 Uie old deputies. 
 
 After this invasion, the shadows of the Constitution disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FRANCE AND THE FOREIGN POWERS. 
 
 We have said the new assembly was particularly opposed to the 
 » ability and the priesthood. 
 
 It was a veritable crusade; except the standards, instead of car- 
 rving" God's wishes," had this inscription: " The people wish it." 
 
 The 9th of October, the day Lafayette resigned, Gallois and 
 Oinsomme read their report on the religious troubles in La Vendee. 
 
 They were wise and moderate, and for those reasons made a deep 
 inpression. 
 
 Who had inspired, much less written, them? 
 
 A skillful policy which soon made its appearance on the scene. 
 
 The assembly was tolerant. ' 
 
 One of its members, Fauchet, demanded the cessation of pay for 
 the priests from the state where they did not obey the state, giving 
 tteir pensions to those instead who were old and infirm. 
 
 Ducos went still further; he begged for toleration' asking for 
 entire liberty for the priests to swear fealty or not, as they pleased. 
 Still further went the constitutional Bishop Tome. He declared 
 the refusal of the priests showed the highest virtue. 
 
 We will see how this tolerance was made use of by the devotees 
 of Avignon. 
 
 After this discussion (by no means finished) they passed to the 
 question of the refugees. 
 
 It was to pass from civil to foreign war. the two tribulations ot 
 Fiance. 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERNET. 41 
 
 Fauchet had spoken on the clergy question, Brissot spoke on the 
 refugees. 
 
 He took a lofty and humane standpoint; he took it up where 
 Mirabeau had dropped it from his dying hands a year before. 
 
 He asked for a difl'eienoe to be made between migration from 
 fear and migration from anger; he demanded indulgence for the 
 one, severity for the "other. 
 
 It was his opinion they could not shut up the citizens in the king- 
 dom; on the contrary, every port must remain open. 
 
 He did not even approve of confiscation against the refugees. 
 
 He demanded only they would no longer pay those who had de- 
 clared against France. 
 
 In truth, a strange state of affairs! France paying foreign 
 powers for the treaties of Conde, Lambesq, and Charles of Lor- 
 raine! "We shall see how the refugees repaid this indulgence. 
 
 As Fauchet finished his discourse, there was news from Avignon. 
 
 As Brissot finished his, they had heard news from all Europe. 
 
 As a great light appears to a sleeper as an immense conflagration, 
 jso appeared the news from America. Commencing by Avignon, 
 in a few words the history of the second Rome can be given. 
 
 Benoit XL died in 1304, suddenly and suspiciously. Some sa!d 
 he was poisoned with figs. Philippe le Bel {who had dealt Bon L- 
 face VIII. a blow at Colonna) had his eyes fixed on Perouse, where 
 the conclave was being held. For a long time he had formed a 
 plan to govern the papacy of Rome — to bring it to France; aid 
 once obtaining hold of it. to use it for his own profit, and, as our 
 grand master Michelet said, " to dictate lucrative bulls, explode hiS 
 mfallibility, and turn his holiness into an expounder and preceptcir 
 for the house of France. " 
 
 One day there arrived a messenger, covered with dust, almOi^t 
 exhausted, scarcely able to speak. 
 
 He brought this news : 
 
 The French and anti-French parties were so evenly balanced ^n 
 the conclave that no pope was the result; they talked of assembliiig 
 in another city. 
 
 This resolution did not please the Perugians, who considered it 
 an honor to have a pope chosen in their city. 
 
 They used an ingenious artifice. 
 
 They surrounded the conclave with a guard, and no water or 
 food was served to the cardinals, who cried, loudly : 
 
 " Elect a pope, and you shall have something to eat and drink." 
 
 The cardinals held out twenty-four hours. 
 
 At the end of twenty-four hours they had decided. 
 
 It was decided that the anti-French party should choose three 
 cardinals, and the French party, out of these three candidates, 
 should choose a pope. 
 
 The anti-French party chose three declared enemies of Philippe 
 le Bel. 
 
 But among these three enemies of Philippe le Bel was Bertrand 
 de Got, Archbishop of Bordeaux, who was more friendly to hi« 
 own interests than inimical to Phdippe le Bel. 
 
 A messenger was sent witii this news. 
 
43 ANDREE DE TATBKNET. 
 
 This was the messenger who had traversed the distance in four 
 days and nights, and arrived nearly dead with fatigue. 
 
 There was no time to lose. 
 
 Philippe sent an express to Bertrand de Got, who was entirely 
 ignorant of the important mission, of a rendezvous in the forest of 
 Andelys. 
 
 It was a dark night, just the night for an invocation, in the midst 
 of an inclosure in which three roads met; it was just such a night 
 as those imploring superhuman favors would evoke the devil, and 
 in swearing allegiance to him would kiss the cloven foot of Satan 
 himself. 
 
 Only, to reassure the archbishop, no doubt, they began by hav- 
 ing mass; then, at the altar, at the moment of elevating the host, 
 the king and prelate swore faithfulness to each other; then the 
 candles were put out, the celebrant left, followed by the acoljrtes 
 carrying the cross and sacred emblems, as if they thought they 
 would be profaned by remaining mute spectators of the ensuing 
 scene. 
 
 The archbishop and king remained alone. 
 
 In Villani, we read, the inspiration of this interview was cer- 
 tainly the third person present — Satan. 
 
 " Archbishop," said the king to Bertrand de (Jot, " I have the 
 power to make you pope, if I wish; for that 1 have come here." 
 
 " The proof? ' demanded Bertrand de Got. 
 
 " The proof! Here it is," said the king. 
 
 And he showed him the letter from the cardinals, where, instead 
 of telling him the choice they had made, they asked him who they 
 should choose. 
 
 " What must I do to be made pope?" demanded the Gascoigne, 
 overcome with joy, throwing himself at the feet of Philippe le Bel. 
 
 " Promise to grant me six conditions," replied the king. 
 
 "Say them, my kingi" replied Bertrand de Got; "fam your 
 subject; it is my duty to obey you." 
 
 The king raised him, kissed him, and said: 
 
 " The six special conditions I demand are as follows — " 
 
 Bertrand de Got listened with all his ears; for he was not afraid 
 the king would require anything affecting his eternal salvation but 
 impossibilities. 
 
 _" The first is, that you will reconcile the Church to rae; that it 
 will pardon the misdemeanor I committed in arresting Pope Boni- 
 face VIII. at Amagni." 
 
 " Granted!" Bertrand de Got hastened to reply. 
 
 " The second is, that you give the commission to me and mine." 
 
 Philippe le Bel had been excommunicated. 
 
 " Granted!" said Bertrand de Got, astonished he was asked s» 
 little for so much. 
 
 There were yet four conditions. 
 
 " The third is, that you will allow me the tenth of the clergy's 
 •alary in my kingdom, for five years, to help pay my expenses in 
 Ihe war with Flanders." 
 
 " Granted!" 
 
 " The fourth is, that yon annul and destroy the bull of Pod* 
 Boniface— 'Auseulta fit.' " ^ -r 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERNET. 43 
 
 "Granted! granted!" 
 
 " The fifth IS, that you raise to the dignity of cardinals Marco 
 Jacapo and Pietro de Colonna, and with Ihem several other of my 
 friends." 
 
 " Granted! granted! granted!" 
 
 Then, as Pliilippe said no more: 
 
 " The sixth, sire?" demauderi the archbishop, somewhat alarmed. 
 
 " Tlie sixth," replied Philippe le Bel, " 1 will reserve foranother 
 time and place: for it is something important and fecret. " 
 
 " Important and secret?" repeated Berlrand de Got. 
 
 " So important and so secret that I want you beforehand t« 
 swear to me by Ihe cross." 
 
 Taking a crucifix from his breast, he held it to (he archbishop. 
 
 He hesitated but a moment; it was the last ditch to cross; once 
 over, he was pope. 
 
 He stretched his hand for the image of the iSaviour, and, in a 
 lirm voice: 
 
 " I swear!" he said. 
 
 " That is well,' said the king. " In what cit}' of my kingdom 
 do you want to be crowned?" 
 
 " At Lyons." 
 
 " Come with me; thou ait pope, under the title of Clement V." 
 
 Clement V. followed Philippe le Bel; but he was very anxious 
 as to the sixth demand his sovereign held in reserve. The day he 
 "was made pope — he saw it was not much, neither did he object — it 
 ■was the destruction of the Order of Templars. 
 
 All this was evidently not in accordance with the will of God, 
 who displayed His displeasure in a signal manner. 
 
 The moment the procession left the church in which Clement V. 
 had been crowned, passing by a wall tilled with spectators, the 
 wall gave way, wounding the king and killing the Uuke of Bur- 
 gundy, and upsetting the pope. 
 
 The tiara fell, and the symbol of papacy was abased and rolled 
 into a stream. 
 
 Eight days after, at a banquet given by the new pope, the men 
 of his holiness and those of the cardinal got into a quarrel. 
 
 The pope's brother, trying to separate them, was killed. 
 
 This was a bad beginning. 
 
 To a bad beginning was joined a bad example. The pope ex- 
 torted money from the Church, but a woman extorted money from 
 the pope. 'This woman, the beautiful Brunissande, the chroniclers 
 of that time tell us, cost the Church more than the Holy Land. 
 
 'The pope accomplished each of his promises. This pope that 
 Philippe had made was his own pope, a sort of chicken with golden 
 eggs, who laid them night and morning, and whom he threatened 
 with destruction if he did not lay them. Every day, like the Mer- 
 taant of Venice, he cut off a pound of flesh from whatever place 
 was most convenient. 
 
 Thus Pope Boniface VIII. was declared a heretic and a false 
 pope, the king's excommunication raised, the tithes of the priests 
 
 guaranteed for five years, twelve cardinals appointed through the 
 ing's influence, the bull of Boniface VIll. closing the purse of the 
 clergy against Philippe le Bel revoked, the Order of the Templars 
 
44 ANDEBE DB TAVEEXET. 
 
 abolished, and the Templars arrested— and on the 1st of May, t30^ 
 the Emperor Albert, of Austria, died. 
 
 Philippe le Bel decided to make his brother, Charles de valois, 
 emperor. 
 
 Clement "V. was to do all the maneuvering for the king. 
 
 The poor man's bondage continued. That weary heart of Ber- 
 traiid de Got, sold to the king, was saddled and bridled and ridden 
 by the latter to the depths of hell itself. 
 
 He had at length the hardihood to overthrow his terrible rider, 
 »nd wrote ostensibly in favor of Charles de Valois, but secretly 
 against him. To leave them was to leave the king down, for the 
 pope's life was worth nothing on the king's domain, and the 
 nomination of the twelve cardinals put the future pontifical elec- 
 tion in the hands of the King of France. Clement V. remembered 
 the figs of Benoit XI He went to Poitiers. 
 
 Escaping from there at night, he reached Avignon. It wa» 
 difficult to explain what Avignon was. It was, and was not, 
 France. 
 
 It was a frontier, a place of refuge, part of an empire, a munici- 
 pal retreat, a republic like St. Marin. 
 
 Only it was governed by two kin ^s— the King of Naples as Count 
 of Provence; the King of France as Count of Toulouse. Each of 
 them had the sovereignty of a part of Avignon. 
 
 A fugitive could not be arrested on the grounds of the other. 
 
 Naturally, Clement V. sought refuge in that portion of Avignon 
 that belonged to the King of Naples. But, escaping from the 
 power of Philippe le Bel, he did not escape from the malediction 
 of the Grand Master of the Templars. 
 
 In ascendin"' the scaffold built on a mound, in Ill'e de la Cit§, 
 Jacques de Molay adjured his two executioners, and summoned 
 them to appear before the year was finished at the throne of God. 
 
 Clement V. was the first to obey Ihe funeral call. One night he 
 dreamed he saw his palace in flames, and from that time " he never 
 smiled nor lasted long," his biographer related Seven months 
 after wa<? Philippe's turn. 
 
 How did he die? 
 
 There are two versions of his death. Both seem to be retribu- 
 tion from the hand of God. A chronicler translated by Sauvage 
 relates that he died while hunting. 
 
 " He saw the stag coming toward him, put spurs to his horse, 
 drew his sword, thinking to plunge it iato the stag, when the ani- 
 mal threw him against a tree with such force that the good king 
 fell to the earth mortally wounded near the heart, and was carried 
 to Corbeil." 
 
 There, says the chronicler, the malady reached such a point that 
 Le died. 
 
 It would have been difiicult for the malady to have been graver. 
 
 William of Nangis, on the contrary, gives this account of the 
 death of the conqueror of Mons-en-Puelle: 
 
 Philippe, King of France, was sick a long time with a malady 
 that was unknown to physicians, and to them and others it was a 
 subject that bafl3ed all experience. At last he was carried by his 
 kindred to Fontainebleau, wtiere he ww bom. There, after receiv- 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 45 
 
 Ing, in the presence of a large number of people, the holy sacra- 
 ment, with a fervor and great devotion, he gave his soul to hia 
 Creator, in the full belief of the true Catholic faith, the thirtieth 
 year of his reign, the eve of St. Andrew's Day." 
 
 It was not even reserved for Dante to kill a man that he hated 
 •with one death. He was disemboweled by a wild boar, gored by 
 his tusks. The Robber of the Seine was a counterfeiter. 
 
 The popes that inhabited Avignon after Clement V. were John 
 XXII., Benoit XII. Clement Vl. only waited for the opportunity 
 So buv Avignon. 
 
 At last it came. 
 
 A young girl, still a minor, Jane of Naples, did not sell it, but 
 gave it to absolve one of her lovers from a murder he had com- 
 mitted. In her majority, she wanted to reclaim it; but Clement 
 VI. held it, and held it well. So well, that when George XI. 
 carried, in 1377, the seat of papacy to Rome, Avignon, controlled 
 by a legate, remained under submission to that holy seat. 
 
 Thus it was as late as 1791, when the events took place that have 
 caused this long digression. 
 
 From the day on which Avignon was divided between the King 
 of Naples, Count of Provence, and the King of Prance, Count of 
 Toulouse, there were two Avignons in Avignon: the Avignon of 
 the priests, and the Avignon of the merchants. 
 
 Avignon of the priests had one hundred churches, two hundred 
 cloisters, its papal palace. 
 
 Avignon of the merchants had its river, its workmen in silk, its 
 traffic in crosses, from Lyons to Marseilles, from Nlmes to Turin. 
 
 There was thus, in this unfortunate city, the Frenchmen of the 
 king and the Frenchmen of the pope. The Frenchmen of France 
 were French; the Frenchmen of Italy were almost Italians. The 
 French of France, that is to say, the merchants, were an overtask- 
 ed people, working very hard for mere existence, to support their 
 wives and children, and that they found difficult. The French of 
 Italy, that is to say, the priests, had all the money and influence. 
 There were the abbes and bishops, the archbishops, the lazy cardi- 
 nals, the elegant, accomplished courtiers of great ladies, lording it 
 over the women of the people, who knelt, as they passed, to kiss 
 their white hands. 
 
 As a type of one of these was Abbe Maury, a Franco-Italian, of 
 Comtat, son of a shoe-maker, aristocratic as Lanzum, proud as 
 element Tonnerre, insolent as a lackey. 
 
 At Avignon they bred them while they hated them. 
 
 The 14th of September, 1791 — during the Constitution— a decree 
 of the king united Avignon and the Comte Venaissin. 
 
 For the past year, Avignon had been first in the hands of the 
 French, then in the hands of the anti-French. 
 
 The storm began in 1780. 
 
 One night the papists amused themselves by hanging &-: effigy 
 decorated with the tricolor. Next morning, at that sight, Avignon 
 was in an uproar. They seized from their houses four papists, two 
 of the nobility, a land-owner, a workman, and hung them in the 
 place of the effigy. 
 
 The French party had as agitators two young men, Duprat actd 
 
46 ANDEEB DB TAVEBNEY. 
 
 Mainvielle, and an older man named Lescuyer, who was Prencli m 
 every sense of the word; he was born in Picardy, and had, at the 
 iametime, an impulsive and deliberate character: he occupied at 
 Avignon the position of a notary and secretary of the municipality. 
 
 These three leaders had raised some soldie/s, two or three thou- 
 sand, perhaps, and had attempted with them an expedition on Cer- 
 penteras, which had not succeeded. 
 
 A rain, cold and icy, mingled with snow, had dispersed the army 
 of Mainvielle, Duprat, and Lescuyer, as a tempest dispersed the 
 flotilla of Philippe II. ^ , , ^ 
 
 Whence came this miraculous rahi? Who had the power to 
 disperse the revolutionary army? 
 
 The Virgin! 
 
 But Duprat, Mainvielle, and Lescuyer suspected a Catalan, 
 named Chevalier Patus, whom they had made a general of so 
 effectually aiding the Virgin in the miracle, that the honor was 
 due to him. 
 
 At Avignon treason was soon followed by justice; they killed 
 their traitors. 
 
 Patus was killed. 
 
 The P-ench party was composed of peasants, of deserters, of 
 street- porters. 
 
 They looked among the people for a commander for these men 
 of the people. 
 
 Tliey believed they had found the man they wanted in one called 
 Mathieu Jouve, whom they named Jourdan. 
 
 He was born in St. Just, near Puy in Velay; he had been a mule- 
 driver, then a soldier, then an inn-keeper at Paris. 
 
 At Avignon he sold madder. 
 
 He boasted of murders. 
 
 He displayed a huge saber, and declared with this saber he had 
 cut off the head of the governor of the Bastile and his two bodj-- 
 guards on the 6th of October. Half through raillery and half 
 through fear, to the name of Jourdan was added that of Beheiider. 
 Duprat, Mainvielle, Lescuyer, and their General Jourdan Beheader, 
 had been so long prime movers in the city, that they were begin- 
 ning to be less and less feared. 
 
 A vast and mischievous conspiracy was organizing among them, 
 as skillfuWy and as well-concealed as the plottings of the priests. 
 
 They attempted reawaking religious manias. 
 
 The wife of a French patriot had been delivered of a child with- 
 out arms. 
 
 The rumor spread that the father had taken, by night, a silver 
 angel from the church, and had broken the arms on. 
 
 The afllicted child was the punishment of Providence. The 
 father was obliged to conceal himself; he would have been de- 
 stroyed before it could have been ascertained from what church the 
 angel had been taken. 
 
 But now it was the Virgin who protected the royalists, who were 
 ehonans in Brittany, or papists in Avignon. 
 
 In 1789 the Virgin wept in a church in the Rue de Bac. 
 
 In 1790 she appeared in a meadow in La Vende« behind an olcl 
 oak. 
 
ANDEBE DE TAVEEJTBY. 47 
 
 In 1791 she dispersed the armies of Duprat and Mainvielle, by 
 sending snow and hail upon them. At last, in ihe Church of the 
 Cordeliers, she blushed, from shame, no doubt, at the indifference 
 of the citizens of Avignon. 
 
 A large chest of silver had been taken from the city. 
 
 The next day it was not one chest, but six. The day after it 
 was eighteen trunks filled, he property of a pawnbroker, whom 
 the French party, evacuating the city, took with them. 
 
 At this news, the mutterings of a storm passed over the city; 
 Ihese mutterings were the formidable zou-zou that moans through 
 door-ways, that carries all the ferocity of a tiger, and the stealthy 
 glide of a serpent. 
 
 The misery was so great at Avignon, everybody was engaged in 
 something. 
 
 There was so little for the poorest to engage in, they were nearly 
 ruined. 
 
 The rich were ruined for a million, the poor for their rags and 
 tatters; everything is comparative. It was the 16th of October, a 
 Sunday morning. All the peasants of the neighborhood had come 
 to the city to attend mass. 
 
 At that time no one went out without being armed. Conse- 
 quently, every one was armed. The moment was well chosen; 
 moreover, the blow was sure. 
 
 There was no French nor anti-French party. There were rob- 
 bers, who had committed an infamous crime; they had robbed the 
 poor. 
 
 The crowd spread to the Church of the Cordeliers. Peasants, 
 workmen, street-porters — white, red, tricolored citizens — cried, 
 that moment, without delay, the municipality must give an 
 account of the affair by its secretary, Lescuyer. Why did the 
 anger of the people pick out Lescuyer? No reason. 'When a 
 man's life is to be violently taken, tbose fatalities always occur. 
 
 Suddenly, into the midst of the churcb, Lescuyer was conducted. 
 
 He had taken refuge in the municipal hall, where he had been 
 recognized, arrested — no, not arrested, beaten with kicks, and 
 cuffs, and sticks, in the church. 
 
 Once in the church, the unfortunate man, pale, but cold and 
 calm, ascended the pulpit, and tried to defend himself. 
 
 It was easy enough. He had only to say, " Open the pawn- 
 broker's shop to the people. They will see the objects they have 
 accused us of taking are still there." 
 
 He began : 
 
 " Brethren, I considered the Eevolution necessary. I have con- 
 tributed toward it all my — " 
 
 But he was not allowed to go any further. They were too much 
 afraid that he would not justify himself. 
 
 That terrible zou-zou, penetratins as the mistral, interrupted him. 
 A street-porter mounted the pulpit behind him, and threw him 
 into the pack of hounds. At that moment the hue and cry began. 
 
 He was dragged to the altar. ' 
 
 It was here they were to offer up the revolutionist, a 'worthy sao 
 rifice for the Virgin, in whose name all this was enacted. 
 
48 ANDEEE DE TATERNET. 
 
 In the choir, still alive, he escaped from the hands of the asavf 
 sins, and took refuge in a stall. 
 
 A kindly hand passed him writing matprinls. He could writ* 
 what he had not time to say. An unexpected succor gave him » 
 moment's respite. 
 
 A Breton gentleman, accidentally passing by on his way to Mar- 
 seilles, had entered the church, and pitying the poor victim, with 
 the courage and hardihood of a Breton, he tried to save him. 
 Two or three times he had thrown up the sticks and knives about 
 to strike him, crying, " Gentlemen, in the name of the law! 
 Gentlemen, for honor's sake! Gentlemen, in the name of human- 
 ity!" 
 
 The knives and sticks were turned against him. The people 
 were tired of being deprived so long of their prey, nnd they dragged 
 him away as a victim. But three men dispneasred him. crying: 
 
 " Let us finish first Lescuyer. We can settle this one afterward." 
 
 The people understood the justness of these remarks, and let the 
 Breton go. 
 
 They forced him to save himself. 
 
 His name was M. Rosely. 
 
 Lescuyer had no time to write; if he had written, his document 
 would never have been read, the tumult was too great. 
 
 In the midst of the uproar, Lescuyer saw a small dnor of egress 
 behind the altar; if he could gain that door he might be saved. 
 Lescuyer tried to reach the door; the assasBins woul^ have been 
 surprised at the unexpected denovemeid, but, at the foot of the 
 altar, a workman in taffeta gave him such a terrible blow on the 
 head with a stick that he broke it. 
 
 Lescuyer fell senseless, as an ox is felled. He had rolled just 
 ■where they wanted him — to the foot of the altar. 
 
 Then, while the women, to punish the lips that had proffered the 
 revolutionary blasphemy of "Long live the Republic!" cut them 
 till they hung in pieces, men danced upon him, bruising him as 
 was St. Etienne from stoning. 
 
 With his bleeding lips Lescuyer cried: 
 
 " Have mercy, my brothers! in the name of humanity, my sis- 
 ters! let me die!" 
 
 That was asking too much; he was condemned to live out hi 
 agony. 
 
 He lingered till evening. 
 
 The unfortunate man experienced the full agony of death. 
 
 This was the news thai came to Fauchet in answer to his philan- 
 thropic speech at the Legislative Assembly. 
 
 It was true the day after other news arrived. 
 
 D up rat and Jourdan were told of the catastrophe Their men 
 were all dispersed. 
 
 Duprat had an idea to ring the famous silver bell, that only rang 
 on two occasions, the crowning of the popes and their death 
 
 It gave a strange, mysterious, peculiar sound, and produced two 
 contrary effects. 
 
 It froze the hearts of the papists, but encouraged the revolu- 
 tionists. ° 
 
ANDEEE 3E TATERNEY. 49 
 
 At the sound of that hell, with its strange tocsin, the country- 
 men left the city and fled in the direction of their homes. 
 
 Jourdan, at this call of the silver hell, rallied three hundred of 
 his men in a short time. 
 
 He took possession of the gates of ^he city, and left one hundred 
 and fifty men to guard them. With the hundred and fifty other*, 
 he marched to the church. 
 
 He had two pieces of cannon; he pointed them on the crowd, 
 wounding and killing indiscriminately. 
 
 The church was deserted; Lescuyer had dragged himself to the 
 feet of the Virgin, who had worked so many miracles, but had not 
 deigned to stretch out her divine hand to save him. One would 
 have said he could not die; that bleeding mass, which was nothing 
 more than a lump of clay, clung to life. 
 
 Thus they carried him through the streets; throughout the pass- 
 age of the cortege people closed their windows and cried: 
 " I was not at the Cordeliers!" 
 
 Jourdan with his hundred and fifty men could have disarmed 
 Avignon and its thirty ttiousand inhabitants, if he had wished, so 
 great was their terror. 
 
 They accomplished, in a small way, what Marat and Panis ac- 
 complished in Paris the 2d of September. 
 
 It will appear later why it was Marat and Panis, and not Danton. 
 They strangled seventy or eighty unfortunates thrown into the 
 pontifical cells in the Tower of La Glacifire. 
 The Trouillias Tower, as tney call it there. 
 This was ill news that came, making them forget the terrible 
 details of Lescuyer's death. 
 
 As for the refugees defended by Brissot, to whom he wished to 
 open the ports of France, this is what he said to the foreign powers. 
 They reconciled Austria and Prussia, and made two friends out 
 of those born enemies. 
 
 Tney made Russia prohibit our embassador from showing him- 
 self in the streets of St. Petersburg, and sent a minister to the 
 refugees at Coblentz. 
 
 They made Berne punish an aged Swiss who had chanted the 
 revolutionary " Qa ira.',' 
 
 They made (Jeneva — Rousseau's country, who had done so much 
 ior that revolution France was accomplishing — point its cannon 
 against France. 
 
 They made the Bishop of Liege refuse to receive a French em- 
 bassador 
 It was true, among themselves, the kings were not idle. 
 Russia and Sweden sent Louis XVI. 's dispatcli back unopened, 
 in which he announced his adhesion to the Constitution. 
 
 Spain refused to receive them, and gave up to the inquisition s 
 Frenchman to he killed who had escaped from San Benito. 
 
 Venice threw on the Place St. Mark the body of a man strangled 
 in the night by orders of the Council of Ten, with this simple io- 
 acription: 
 
 " KlLLBD LIKE A FBBNCHMAlf I" 
 
so ANDREE DE TAVERNEY. 
 
 At last the Emperor and King of Prussia replied, but replied by 
 j» threat; 
 
 " We desire that you will prevent the necessity of our taking 
 serious precautions against the return of things that give rise to 
 such sad auguiies." 
 
 Thus theie was civil war in La Vendee, civil war in the south, 
 and mutterings of war among the foreign powers. 
 
 From the other side of the Atlantic came the cries of an entire 
 population of an island that was being destroyed. 
 
 What was taking place down by the tropics? Who were thess 
 black slaves who were destroying and killingt 
 
 They were the negroes of St. Domingo, taking a bloody revenge. 
 
 In two words— in a less prolix manner than for Avignon; for 
 Avignon we allowed ourselves to ramble — in two words we will 
 explain. 
 
 The Constitution promised liberty to the negroes. Oge, a young 
 mulatto, with a brave, impulsive, and enthusiastic heart, carrying 
 the order of freedom with him, crossed the ocean. Though noth- 
 ing official had as yet appeared in the decree, in his haste for lib- 
 erty he called upon the governor to proclaim it. 
 
 The governor issued the order to arrest him. Og§ fled to the 
 Spanish portion of the island. The Spanish authorities — we know 
 how Spain felt toward the revolution — the Spanish authorities 
 gave him up. 
 
 Oge was roasted alive. 
 
 A blenching terror followed his death; they supposed he had a 
 number of accomplices on the island; the planters constituted 
 themselves judges, and executions were multiplied. 
 
 One night sixty thousand negroes rose. The whites were awak- 
 ened by immense fires that devoured the plantations. 
 
 Eight days after the fires were extinguished with blood. 
 
 What could France do, poor salamander, shut up in her own 
 circle of fire? 
 
 We shall see. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 war! 
 
 Ik his talented and energetic discourse on the refugees, Brissot 
 had clearly shown the intention of the foreign powers, and th« 
 kind of death they intended the revolution should die. 
 
 Would they strangle it? 
 
 No, they would stifle it. 
 
 Thus, after depicting the European league, after showing them 
 that circle of sovereigns, some with swords in their hands, frankly 
 showing their hatred, others covering their designs under the mask 
 of hypocrisy, till they could overthrow them, he cried: 
 
 " Very well, then: not only do we accept the defiance of aristo- 
 cratic Europe, but we will meet them; let us not Wait till we are 
 attacked, let us attack them ourselves." 
 
 At this, tremendous applause saluted the orator. 
 
 It was thus Brissot, more a man of interest than genius, answered 
 those grand thoughts, those patriotic thoughts, that meant— war! It 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEKNET. 61 
 
 was not an egotistical war declared by a despot to avenge an insult 
 to his throne, to his name, or to an ally, or to add another province 
 to his kingdom; but it was war that carried with it the breath ot 
 life; war, whose drums, wherever they were heard, said: 
 
 " Arise, you who wish to be free! we are bringing you liberty!" 
 
 The world began to hear a deep murmur, that rose and grew like 
 the roar of the waves. This murmur was the rumbling of thirty- 
 million voices, who as yet did not speak, but roared, and that roar- 
 ing Brissot translated in these words: 
 
 "Let us not wait till we are attacked; let us attack them our- 
 gelves." 
 
 The moment these defiant words met with universal applause, 
 France was strong, not only would she attack them, but she would 
 vanquish them. 
 
 The news of the events in La Vendee, the massacre in Avignon, 
 the insults from all Europe, broke like a thunder- bolt on the Legis- 
 lative Assembly. 
 
 The 20th of October, Brissot passed an act taxing the revenues 
 of the refugees; on the 25fh Condorcet confiscated their property 
 and exacted from them the civil oath — a civil oath from men wh» 
 were leaving France and arming against her! 
 
 Two representatives alone foresaw the future — one the Barnave, 
 the other the Mirabeau of this new assembly : Verginaud, Isnard.. 
 Verginaud was one of those poetical, tender, and sympathetic 
 fsouls, a native of fertile Limoges, soft, slow, afliectionate rather 
 than passionate, well and happily born; distinguished by Turgot, 
 a relative of Limousin, and by him sent to school at Bordeaux; his- 
 speech was less caustic, less powerful than Mirabeau's; but, although 
 inspired by the Greeks, and a little overcharged with mythology, 
 it was less prolix, less argumentative than Barnave's. His was the 
 sympathetic note that vibrated eternally, influencing by its elo- 
 quence those who were most active; at the assembly, in the midst 
 of the indignant and righteous anger of the tribunes, one always 
 heard the accents of pity and sympathy fall from his lips; the 
 leader of a violent, imbittered disputation party, he always rose 
 calm and dignified to the occasion, no matter how imminent it 
 ■was; his enemies called him undecided, sluggish, indolent, often: 
 they asked where his heart was, he was absent-minded; they 
 were right; his heart was not his, except when he made a great 
 •ffort to retain it; his whole heart was with a woman; it hung on 
 the lips, was transfixed in tbe eyes, and vibrated in the harp ot that 
 beautiful, that good and charming Candeille. 
 
 Isnard — the opposite of Verginaud, who lived in a sort of haze — 
 Isnard was the whirlwind of the assembly. Born at Grasse, in that 
 land of perfume and mist, he had all the violent and sudden tem- 
 per of that giant of the wind who, with the same breath, tears up 
 rocks and scatters the roses; his strange voice broke suddenly and 
 unexpectedly over the assembly like one of those first storms in 
 summer; at the first tones of his voice, tbe entire assembly trem- 
 bled, the most absent-minded laised their heads, and each, startled 
 like Cain at the voice of God, were ready to Buy, " Lord, are yo» 
 speaking to me?" 
 
 Once, when interrupted: 
 
52 i.KDKEE DE TATEENET. 
 
 " I ask," he cried, " the assembly, France, the world— yow, 
 sir — " And he pointed to the intemipter. " I ask in good faith, 
 are there any among you, in the secret consciousness of his own 
 heart, that is willing to swear the royal refugees are not conspiring 
 against the country? I ask, in the second place, if there are those 
 in this assembly who dare maintain that all who are conspiring 
 should not be accused as soon as possible, pursued and punished? 
 If there is any such, lei him rise. They have told you indulgence 
 belongs to stiength, that some of the foreign powers are disarming; 
 but I tell you to watch; despotism and aristocracy have neither 
 death nor sleep. If this nation sleeps for a moment, it will awako 
 in chains. The least pardonable of crimes is that which has for its 
 aim the slavery of man. If the will of Heaven was in the power of 
 men, it would be necessary to strike those who infringe on the 
 rights of the people." 
 
 It was the first time they had heard such words; his savage elo- 
 quence carried everything before him, like an avalanche descend- 
 ing the Alps, carrying trees, flocks, shepherds, and houses in its 
 course. 
 
 The seance over, they decreed : 
 
 " That if Louis Stanislaus Xavier, the French prince, did not 
 enter the assembly within two months, he would forfeit his rights 
 to the regency. ' ' 
 
 Then, on the 8th of November: 
 
 " If the refugees do not return by the tst of January, they will 
 be declared guilty of conspiracy, pursued, and punished with 
 death." 
 
 Then, the 39th of November, it was the priests' turn: 
 
 " The civil oath will be exacted within eight days. 
 
 " Those who refuse it will be suspected of revolt, and will be 
 Tfatcbed by the authorities. 
 
 " If any religious trouble is' found in their parishes, they will be 
 shut up in their own homes. 
 
 " If they do not obey, they will be imprisoned for a year or more; 
 if they incite others to disobedience, for two years. 
 
 " The Commune and the army will be obliged to interfere to sup- 
 port the law. 
 
 " The churches will only be used for worship approved of by 
 the state; those not necessary may be bought for any other wor- 
 ship, but not by those who refuse the oath. 
 
 " The municipality will send to the depaitments, and the latter 
 to the assembly, the lists of priests who have sworn, and those who 
 iave refused the oath, with remarks upon the coalition between 
 them aud the refugees, that the assembly may take means to ex- 
 tirpate the rebellion. 
 
 •• The assembly will be thankful for any good works that can 
 enlighten the country on the pretended religious questions; they 
 will be printed, and iheir authors recompensed." 
 
 We have shown what became of the Constituents, otherwise 
 known as the Constitutionals; we have shown the object of the 
 Feuillants. They were in entire harmony with the department at 
 Paris. 
 
 Their leading spirits were Barnav«, Lafayette, Lameth, Dupott, 
 
AKDKEE DB TATEEXBT. 53 
 
 De Bailly, who as yet was mayor, but his term had nearly expired. 
 I'hey saw in the decree against the priests, " a decree," they said, 
 ■ ' rendered against all public conscience " — they saw in the decree 
 ».;5ainst the refugees. " a decree that brolie all family ties " — a 
 means for the king to exert his power. The Feuillants prepared 
 and the Directoire of Paris signed a protest against those two de- 
 crees, in which they implored Louis XVI. to oppose his veto. 
 
 It will he recollected the Constitution reserved the right of veto- 
 ing for Louis XVI. Who signed that protest ? A man who from 
 the first had attacked the clergy, a Mephistopheles, who, with his 
 c'oven foot, had broken the ice. Talleyrandl The man who in 
 diplomacy was always crying out " Wolf! wolfl" did not alway* 
 s'^ very clearly in a revolution. 
 
 The noise of this veto spread. 
 
 The Cordeliers threw out as a body-guard Camille Desmoulins, 
 rat free lance of the revolution, who was ever ready to cast his 
 *nce at the foe. 
 
 He had a petition also. 
 
 But, a dreadful stammerer whenever he attempted to speak, he 
 f-(ive it to Pauchet to read for him. 
 
 Fauchet read it. 
 
 He was applauded from beginning to end. 
 
 It was difficult to treat the question ironically, at the same time 
 Kore thoroughly. 
 
 " We are not sorry," said the fellow-student at the college of 
 Knbespierre, and the friend of Danton. "We do not complain 
 ?i!itber of the Constitution who has passed the veto, nor of the 
 y ng who uses it, we remember the maxims of that great politician, 
 Jachiavelli. ' If a prince wishes to renounce the sovereignty, the 
 fition would be too cruel, too unjust to object to his opposition to 
 liie general view, for it is diflSicult and against nature to volun- 
 ■ '»rily fall so far.' 
 
 " Convinced of this truth, let us take the example of God him- 
 !>;lf, whose commandments are not impossible; we would never 
 e tact from our ci-devant sovereign an impossible love for the na- 
 t'onal sovereignty, and we will not find fault that he opposes his 
 •i'ito to the very best decrees." 
 
 The assembly, as we have said, applaudsd loudly, adopted the 
 .petition, had it inscribed at the proces-verbal, and sent to the 
 I Apartments. 
 
 That evening the Feuillants were enraged. A good many mem- 
 > UTS of the club, representatives to the Legislature, had not assisted 
 »» that meeting. 
 
 Those who had been absent the day before, the next day invaded 
 lie assembly. 
 
 They were two hundred and sixty strong. 
 
 They annulled the decree made the day before amid shoutings 
 and cat-calls from the tribunes. This meant war between the 
 assembly and the club, which afterward spread to the Jacobins, 
 represented by Robespierre, and at the Cordeliers, represented by 
 Danton. 
 
 In fact, Danton gained popularity, kit immense head began te 
 
54 AKDKEE DB TAVERNBY. 
 
 be elevated above the crowds; he strutted before royalty, and said 
 to them: 
 
 " Take care; the sea on which you are sailing is a tempestuous 
 one." 
 
 ■, Suddenly the queen came to help the Jacobins against the 
 FeuiJlants. 
 
 Marie Antoinette's hates were for the revolution what the sands 
 of the sea and the squalls are to the Atlantic. 
 
 Marie Antoinette hated Lafayette, who had saved the 6th of 
 October, who had lost his popularity for the sake of the court th« 
 I7th of July. 
 
 Lafayette hoped to replace Bailly as Mayor of Paris. 
 
 The quee^, instead of aiding Lafayette', made the royalists vote 
 w favor of Petion. Strange blindness! in favor of Petion, her 
 tiutal traveling companion on the return from Varennes! 
 
 The 19th of December, the king presented himself at the assem- 
 bly; he came to bring his veto to the decree against the priests. 
 
 The day before, at the Jacobins, a serious demonstration took 
 place. 
 
 A Swiss from NeuchStel, Virchany, the same that at the Champ 
 de Mars wrote the petition to the republic, offered to the society a 
 Dan.ascene sword, intended for the first general who vanquished 
 the enemies of liberty. Isnard was there; he seized the sword of 
 the young republican, drew it from its scabbard, and throwing 
 himseJf before the tribune, cried, " Behold the sword of the exter- 
 minating angel! It will be victorious. France cries aloud, the 
 people answer. The earth will be covered with warriors, and the 
 enemies of liberty will be effaced from the sight of man. Ezeldel 
 could not have said more." 
 
 The drawn sword was not replaced in the scabbard; a double 
 ■war vsas declared within and without. 
 
 The sword of the republican of NeuchStel was first to strike the 
 King oi France; after the King of France, the foreign powers. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GiT.BEST had not seen the queen since the day he had asked her 
 to wait ill iier cabinet, while ne left her to listen to M. de Bru- 
 teuil's poIUical views, that he had brought from Vienna, and con- 
 cluded in tJiese words: 
 
 " Do with Barnave as with Mirabeau; gain time, swear to the 
 Constitution; exact it literally to show it is indisputable. France 
 will tire of it, lose all interest in it; the French are so light-headed, 
 they will want something new, liberty will be an old story." 
 
 " If libe-ty does not entirely disappear, we will have gained a 
 year; and by that time be prepared for war." 
 
 Si.v mont'iis had passed since then; liberty had not disappeared, 
 and it was apparent the foreign powers were about fulfilling their 
 promise anri preparing for war. 
 
 Gilbert thought at first the king was sick, as he saw one of his 
 Talets de chambre enter his room one morning. 
 
 But the valet reassured him. 
 
 He said Gilbert was wanted at the chateau. 
 
ANDEBB DE TAVERNET. 55 
 
 Gilbert insisted on knowing why he was sent for, but the valet, 
 ■who doubtless had his orders, did not depart from his prescribed 
 formula. 
 
 " You are wanted at the chateau." 
 
 Gilbert was deeply attaclied to the king; he pitied Marie Antoi- 
 nette as a woman rather than as a queen; she did not inspire him 
 with either love or devotion, he only felt a deep sympathy. 
 
 He hastened to obey the summons. 
 
 He was introduced into the anteroom where Barnave had been 
 received. 
 
 A lady was waiting for him on a fauteuil, and rose as Gilbert en- 
 tered. 
 
 Gilbert recognized Mme. Elizabeth. 
 
 He had for her a profound respect, knowing all the angelic good- 
 ness of her heart. 
 
 As he bowed, he understood in a moment the situation. The 
 king and queen had not dared to send for him in their name; but 
 had used Mme. Elizabeth's. Mme. Elizabeth's first words showed 
 he was not mistakeu in his conjectures. 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert," she said, " I do not know if others have 
 lorgotteu the proofs of friendship you gave my brother since his 
 return from Versailles, or those you have given my sister since our 
 return from Varennes; bnt I have not forgotten them." 
 
 Gilbert bowed. 
 
 "Madame," he said, "God in His wisdom has decided you 
 should possess all the virtues, even that of memory, rare enough 
 in our day, especially among royalty." 
 
 " You are not speaking of my brother, I hope. Monsieur Gil- 
 bert? My brother often speaks of you, and thinks most highly of 
 your judgment." 
 
 " As a physician?" asked Gilbert, laughing. 
 
 " As a physician, yes, sir; only he thinks that your experience 
 can be used at the same time for the health of the king and that of 
 the kingdom." 
 
 " The king is very kind, madame," said Gilbert. " Whom am 
 1 to prescribe for this morniugl" 
 
 " It was not the king who sent for you, sir," said Mme. Eliza- 
 beth, blushing a little, for that pure heart did not know how to 
 lie, " it was I." 
 
 " You, madame?" said Gilbert. " Oh! you need not be anxious 
 about your health; your pallor is that of fatigue and worry, not 
 ill health " 
 
 " You are right, sir; it is not for myself 1 worry, but for my 
 brother; he worries me!" 
 
 " I am also worried about him, madame," said Gilbert. 
 
 " Our anxiety does not probably proceed from the same source," 
 said Mme. Elizabeth; " his health worries me." 
 
 " Is the king.sick?" 
 
 "JSiot precisely," replied Mme. Elizabeth, " but the king is 
 broken down, discouraged— it is ten days to- day since he ha» 
 spoken a word, except to me, and that in playing tric-trac, and 
 that was absolutely indispensable." 
 
 " It is eleven days ago since be was at the assembly and gave hie 
 
SS ANDKEE DE TAVEEKEY. 
 
 veto. "Why did he not become mute that day instead of losing hi* 
 speech the day after!" 
 
 " Do you advise my brother, then, to sanction that impious de- 
 cree?" cried Mme. Elizabeth, impetuously. 
 
 "My advice, madame, is, if the king put himself before the 
 priests in the current that is coming, in the sea that is rising, in 
 the storm that is rumbling, the king and the priests will be de- 
 stroyed together." 
 
 " But in my brother's place, what would you do, sir?" 
 " Madame, there is at this moment a faction that is growing 
 like the giants in the ' Thousand and One Nights ' that were in- 
 closed in a vase, and an hour after the vase was broken, they had 
 reached a hundred feet in height." 
 " You refer to the .Jacobins, sir?" 
 Gilbert shook his head. 
 
 " No, 1 speak of the Girondists. The Jacobins do not want war; 
 the Girondists do; war is national." 
 
 " But war— my God! war with whom? The emperor, our 
 brother? the King of Spain, our nephew? Our enemies. Monsieur 
 Oilbert, are in Prance, not out of it, and the proof—" 
 Mme. Elizabeth hesitated. 
 " Go on, madame," said Gilbert. 
 
 " I don't see, truthfully, how I can tell you, doctor, though it 
 was for that I sent for you." 
 
 "Tou can (ell everything, madame, to a man devoted to the 
 king and ready to lay down his life for him." 
 
 " Doctor," said Mme. Elizabeth, " do you think there is a coun- 
 ter-poison?" 
 Gilbert laughed. 
 
 " Universally? No, madame, only every venomous substance 
 has its antidote, though, as a general thing, these antidotes are 
 usually powerless." 
 " Oh, my God!" 
 
 " It is first necessary to ascertain if the poison is a mineral or 
 vegetable. Usually the mineral poisons aStct the stomach and 
 bowels, vegetable poisons the nervous system; one excites and the 
 other, stupefies. Which ones do you refer to, madame?" 
 " Listen, and I will tell you a secret." 
 " I am listening, madame." 
 " Well, I think some one has poisoned the king!" 
 " Whom do you suspect of such a crime?" 
 " This is what happened Monsieur Laporte— belonging to the 
 civil list, you know — " 
 " Yes, madame." 
 Well. Monsieur Laporte warned us that a man of the king's 
 household, who has been a pastry-cook at the Palais Boyal was 
 about retaking his position, that had been rendered vacant b'y the 
 death of his predeeessor. Well, this man, who is a bigoted 
 -^cobin, has said everywhere he would do hU beat to poison the 
 
 "Usually, madame, when men commit such a crime, thevdo 
 aot boast of It in advance. " ' 
 
 " Oh, sir, it would be so easy to poison the king! Fortunately, 
 
ANDREE DE TATEENEY, 57 
 
 «ur enemies have no other way of reaching us in the palace, ex- 
 cept through pastry. " 
 
 " You have taken precautions, madame?" 
 
 " Yes; it has been decided that the king must eat nothing but 
 roasts; the bread is brought from Ville d'Avray by Monsieur 
 Thierry, superintendent or that department, who also has charge 
 of furnishing the wine. As for pastry, as the king likes it, Ma- 
 dame Campan has received orders to buy it for herself, first at one 
 pastry-cook's, then at another's. We have been advised also not to 
 use any powdered sugar." 
 
 " Can arsenic be administered without your knowing it?" 
 
 " Yes — it was the queen's habit to sweeten his water with thi» 
 43ugar; we have stopped that. The king, queen, and myself, have 
 our meals together; we dispense with water; if any of us want 
 anything, we ring. Madame Campan, as soon as the king is at 
 table, brings the pastry and the bread and wine; we hide it under 
 the table so we appear to eat the bread and pastry from the house 
 and drink the wine from the vaults. This is how we live! and yet 
 we tremble every instant, the queen and myself, expecting to see 
 the king suddenly grow pale, and to hear him say, ' I am sick!' " 
 
 " Let me assure you beforehand, madame," said the doctor, " I 
 do not believe in those threats of poisoning; but I will put myself 
 entirely at the service of their majesties. Will the king give me 
 a room at the chateau? 1 will remain where I can be found at 
 any moment, whenever his fears — " 
 
 " Oh! my brother is afraid of nothing," quickly replied Mme. 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " I was mistaken, madame. I have some experience in poisons 
 and their antidotes, and will hold myself in readiness to combat 
 them, no matter of what nature; but permit me to say, madame, 
 if the king desires it, there will no longer be any occasion to fear 
 anything for him." 
 
 " OhI how can we succeed in that?" said a voice, which was 
 not Mme. Elizabeth's, and whose trembling and accentuated tones 
 made Gilbert turn. 
 
 He was not mistaken; it was the queen's voice. Gilbert bowed. 
 
 "Madame," he said, "is it necessary for me to repeat to the 
 queen the same expressions of devotion I have just uttered to Ma- 
 dame Elizabeth?" 
 
 " No, sir, no; I heard everything. I only wanted to know how 
 you were disposed toward us now." 
 
 " Does the queen doubt the truth of my sentiments?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, where so many heads and hearts veer like weather- 
 vanes, one does not know which way to turn." 
 
 " Is that the reason the queen receives from the FeuillantB a 
 minister recommended by Madame de Stael?" 
 
 The queen trembled. 
 
 " You know that?" she said. 
 
 " I knew your majesty was occupied with Monsieur de Nai- 
 bonne." 
 
 " Of course you blame me?" 
 
 " No, madame; it was like any other experiment. After th« 
 
58 ANDEEE DE TAVBENEY. 
 
 king has tried everything, he will finish where he should hare 
 begun." 
 
 " You knew Madame de StaSl, sir?" asked the queen. 
 
 " I had that honor, madame. On leaving the Bastile I was pre- 
 sented at her house, and it was from Monsieur Necker I heard it 
 was the queen who caused me to be arrested." 
 
 The queen blushed visibly, then, with a smile : 
 
 " I thought we had agreed never to allude to that error?" 
 
 " I did not allude to that error, madame; I answered a question 
 your majesty asked me." 
 
 " What do you think Of Monsieur Necker?" 
 
 "He is a brave German composed of heterogeneous element* 
 that always rises to the occa-sion, spite of his oddities." 
 
 " But were you not one of those who persuaded the king to re- 
 instate him?" 
 
 " Monsieur Necker was, right or wrong, the most popular man 
 in the kingdom; I said to the king, ' Sire, lean on his popularity.' " 
 
 " And Madame de StaSl?" 
 
 " Your majesty does me the honor to ask what I think of Ma- 
 dame de Stael?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, as to physitiue, she has a large nose, large features, a 
 large figure." 
 
 The queen smiled; she was too much of a woman to find it dis- 
 agreeable to hear another woman whom she was not much inter- 
 ested in was not handsome. 
 
 " Go on," she said. 
 
 " Her complexion is only of a mediocre fairness; her gestures 
 are more energetic than graceful; her voice is so coarse as to make 
 one doubt she is a woman. With all this she is twenty-four or 
 five years old; a neck of a goddess, magnificent black hair, superb 
 teeth, eyes of great expression; her glance is a world of itself." 
 
 "But how as to her character, talents, disposition?" the queen 
 hastened to ask. 
 
 " She is good and generous, madame; none of her enemies re- 
 main an enemy after listening to her conversation a quarter of an 
 hour " 
 
 " I am speakini; of her as a genius, sir; one does not influence 
 politics with the heart." 
 
 "Madame, the heart is nothing in politics; as for that expres- 
 sion, geniiiK. yoiir majesty speaks of, }ou must not impute it to 
 Madame de Stael, who ia immensely talented, but by no means 
 a genius; soinetliinK material and earthy, substantial and weighty, 
 drags her down wlien she wniild lise; Ibe difference between her 
 and Jean Jacques Rousseau is as the difference between iron and 
 steel." 
 
 "You speak of her as a writer, sir; what is she as a political 
 woman?" 
 
 " That reputation has given Madame de Stael a great deal more 
 Importance, I think, than she deserves," replied Gilbert. "Since 
 Monileur Lally emigrated, her salon is the rallyinsfpoint of the 
 English party, halt aristocratic, with its two houses. As she is 
 democratic, very much so, she is weak enough to adore th« 
 
ANDEKE DE TAVEENBY. 59 
 
 nobility; she admires the English because she considers them an 
 eminently aristocratic nation; she is not familiar with English 
 history; is entirely ignorant of the mechanism of their govern- 
 ment; she lakes the nobility of to-day for 1he cavaliners of the 
 times of the Crusades. Other nations, with t lie ancient, has also 
 modern limes; England, with the modern, is always ancient." 
 
 " You think it was for this reason Madame de Stael proposed 
 l^arbonne to us?" 
 
 " Ahl in this case, two interests were combined, love for the 
 autocracy and love fcr the aristocrat." 
 
 " You think Madame de Stael likes Monsieur de Narbonne be- 
 cause he is an aristocrat?" 
 
 " I imagine it is not on account of his merits." 
 
 " But nothing can be less aristocratic than Monsieur de Nar- 
 bonne; one does not even know who his father was." 
 
 " Ah! because no one cares to look at the sun — " 
 
 " Now, Monsieur Gilbert, I am a woman, and naHirally love a 
 little gossip; what do people say about Monsieur de Narbonne?" 
 
 " They say he is gallant, talented, courageous." 
 
 " I am speaking of his birth." 
 
 " They say when the Jesuits banished Voltaire, Machault, 
 D'Argenson, the philosophers, in fact, they were obliged to flght 
 against Madame de Pompadour, for the sake of the regency; one 
 knows how paternal love redoubles love; so they chose — the Jesu- 
 its had a lucky hand for choosing those sort of things, madame— 
 so they chose a daughter of the king, and from her obtained this 
 ieroic work, hence this charming cavalier, whose father is un- 
 known, as your majesty says, not because his birth is obscure, but 
 because it is lost in light." 
 
 " Then you do not think, like the Jacobins, like Monsieur de 
 Robespierre, that Monsieur de Narbonne is the son of the Iswedish 
 embassador?" 
 
 " It is possible, madame, only he comes from the boudoir of the 
 wife, not from the husband's cabinet. Suppose jMoiisieur de StaSl 
 for some reasim is ihere, is it to suppose he is his wife's husband? 
 Ob, my QodI now it is not a betrayii! of an embassador, niiulame, 
 it is a lover's weakness. It requires nothing more than love, that 
 great eternal fascinator, to urge a woman to place in the hands of 
 that frivolous gallant the gigantic sword of the revolution." 
 
 " Are you speaking of that one Monsieur Isnard kissed at the 
 club of the Jacobins?" 
 
 " Alas! I am speaking of the one suspended over your head." 
 
 " Then it is your opinion. Monsieur Gilbert, we have done wrong 
 an accepting Monsieur de Narbonne as Minister of War?" 
 
 " You will do better to take immediately his successor." 
 
 "Who is that?" 
 
 " Diimouriez." 
 
 " Dumouriez, an adventurer?" 
 
 " Ah, madame, that is a dreadfully cowardly word, and applied 
 to him is unjust," 
 
 " Monsieur Dumouriez was nothing but a simple soldier." 
 
 " Monsieur Dumouriez, I know very well, does nol belong to that 
 nobility of the court for which everything is sacrificed. Monsieur 
 
60 ANDEEE DE TATEENET. 
 
 Dumouriez belonged to the nobility of the provinces. Unable to 
 obtain or buy a regiment, he enlisted as a simple volunteer. At 
 twenty years of age he cut in pieces five or six cavaliers rather 
 than be taken. Notwithstanding that courageous feat, notwith- 
 standing a true intelligence, he has languished in the inferior 
 ranks." 
 
 " His intelligence, I know, was developed as a spy upon Louis 
 XV." 
 
 " Why do you call it spying in him which in others is diplomacy? 
 I know that at the rupture of the ministers with the king he held a 
 correspondence with the king. What noble of the court is there 
 vifho would not have done as much?" 
 
 " But, sir," cried tlie queen, betraying her profound knowledge 
 of politics to the surroundings by which she was drawn, " this is. 
 a very immoral man that you are recommeding me. He has not a 
 single principle or sentiment of honor, monsieur de Choiseul told 
 me Dumouriez showed two projects relating to Corsica — one to 
 betray, the other to deliver it." 
 
 " That is true, madame; but Monsieur de Choiseul forgot to tell 
 you that the first was used, spite of Dumouriez's attempt to re- 
 cover it. ' ' 
 
 " The day we accept Monsieur Dumouriez as minister it will 
 be as if we declared war on all Europe." 
 
 " Eh, madame," said Gilbert; " that declaration is already made 
 in the hearts of the people. Do you know the registers of this de- 
 partment show the record of six thousand citizens inscribed as vol- 
 unteers? In the Jura the women have declared all the men could 
 go, and if they had pikes given them, they would defend their 
 country themselves." 
 
 ' ' You have just uttered a word that always makes me tremble,, 
 sir," said the queen. 
 
 " Pardon, madame," replied Gilbert, " and tell me what is that 
 word, that I may never repeat it?" 
 
 " You said pikes. Oh, the pikes of '89, sir! I see yet the heads- 
 of my two body-guards on those pikes." 
 
 " And yet, madame, it is a woman, a mother, who has proposed 
 to epen a subscription for the manufacture of pikes." 
 
 " Is it also a woman, and a mother, who proposes to have the 
 Jacobins adopt the red bonnet, the color of blood?" 
 
 ' ' There again your majesty is in error, ' ' replied Gilbert. ' ' They 
 want to consecrate equality by a symbol. It is impossible to make 
 the French Wvsar the same costume; it is easier to adopt only one 
 portion of the costume — the bonnet of the poor peasant s ; they pre- 
 fer red; not because it is the dreadful color of blood, but because, 
 on the contrary, red is gay, lively, pleasing to the crowd." 
 
 " Very well, doctor," said the queen; " 1 do not despair, as you 
 are a partisan of new inventions, to see you come with a pike in 
 your hand and a red cap on your head." 
 
 And, half in raillery, half bitterly, seeing she could not Influenc* 
 this man, the queen retired. 
 
 Mme Elizabeth was about to follow; but Gilbert, in an almost 
 supplicating voice, said: 
 
 " Madame, you love your brother, do you not?" 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVEEHET. 61 
 
 " Oh!" said Mme Elizabeth, " it is not love I feel for him; it is 
 adoration." 
 
 " You are disposed to give him good advice — advice from a 
 friend — are you not?" 
 
 " Oh! tell me if it is really good advice?" 
 
 " In my opinion, it is excellent." 
 
 " Then spealf.I speak!" 
 
 " Well, it is this: When his minister of the Feuillants falls, and 
 "that •will be soon, let him take one very different, with the red 
 honnet the queen is so afraid of." 
 
 And bowing profoundly to Mme. Elizabeth, he left. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A KOLAUD. 
 
 The preceding conversation of the queen and Dr. Gilbert waa 
 "written to show in a simpler manner than a chronological table 
 the succession of events and the situation of the parties; also to 
 vary the recital of historical actions, always a little monotonous. 
 
 Narbonne's ministry lasted three months. A speech of Vergi- 
 naud's killed it. The same as Mirabeau had uttered: "I see a 
 door—" Verginaud, at the news that the Empress of Russia had 
 made peace with Turkey, and that Aiistria and Prussia had signed, 
 on the 7th of February, at Berlin, an offensive and defensive alli- 
 ance, ascending the tribune, cried, " And I also, I can say, from 
 this tribune, I can see the palace where this counter-revolution is 
 hatching, where the maneuvers are plotting that will belra}' us to 
 Austria. The day has arrived when we can bring to terms such 
 audacity and confound the conspirators; fright and terror have 
 often gone out from that palace in ancient times in the name of 
 despotism; let fright and terror enter it again to-day in the name 
 of the law." 
 
 With his powerful gestures, this magnificent orator seemed to 
 <;hase from him the two disheveled goddesses of Fright and Terror. 
 
 In fact, they did enter the Tuileries, and Narbonne, raised by 
 the whisperings of love, was overthrown by the whisperings of the 
 tetcpest. 
 
 His fall was toward the beginning of March, 1793. 
 
 Hardly three months after the queen's interview with Gilbert, a 
 man of short stature, agile, active, nervous, with an intellectual 
 head lighted by eyes full of fire, about fifty-six years of age, 
 though he appeared ten years younger, a face bronzed from camp 
 life, was introduced into the palace. 
 
 He was clad in the uniform of a field officer. He waited hut for 
 ■a. moment in the salon before the door opened and the king en- 
 tered. It was the first time these two found themselves face to face. 
 
 The king glanced at the little man in a stern and impenetrabla 
 manner, which was yet not without penetration; however, the 
 little man glanced at the king in a scrutinizing manner, full of 
 defiance and spirit. 
 
 No one was there to announce the stranger— a proof that he was 
 expected. 
 
 " It is you, Monsieur Dumouriez?" caid the king. 
 
63 AKDEEE DE TAVEElfrEY. 
 
 Dumouriez bowed. 
 
 " Since when did you arrive In Paris?" 
 
 " Ttie beginning of February, sire." 
 
 " Monsieur Narbonne told you to present yourself here? ' 
 
 " To announce I was employed in the army of the Alsace under 
 Marshal Luckner, and that 1 was about to command the DivisioB 
 of Besangon." 
 
 " You have not gone, however?" 
 
 " Sire, I accepted it, but I Ihouglit it my duty to make this obser- 
 Tatiou to Monsieur de Narbonne, that the war being so close " 
 (Louis XVI. trembled visibly), " and threatening to be universal,'' 
 continued Dumouriez, without appearing to remark his agitation, 
 "I thought it best to occupy the south, where one could be 
 attacked and overcome; consequently, it seemed highly important 
 to plan a defense for the south, and to send a general-in-chief there 
 with an army." 
 
 " Yes, and you gave your plan to Monsieur de Narbonne after 
 communicating it to Monsieur Gensonne and several members of 
 the Gironde?" 
 
 " Monsieur Gensonne is my friend, sire, and I suppose, as I am 
 also a friend of the king — " 
 
 " Oh!" said the king, smiling, " I am dealing with a Girond- 
 ist?" 
 
 " You are dealing, sire, with a patriot, a faithful subject of th« 
 king." 
 
 Louis XVI. bit his thick lips. 
 
 " Is it to serve more effectually in the interim the king and his 
 country that you have refused the ofier of Minister of Foreign 
 Affairs?" 
 
 " Sire, 1 have already told you that I prefer my command to a 
 minister, in or out of the interim; I am a soldier, not a diplomat." 
 
 " I have been assured, on the contrary, you are both one and the 
 other, sir," said the king. 
 
 " I am too much honored, sire." 
 
 " And it IS on that assurance that I insist." 
 
 " And that I, sire, continue to refuse, notwithstanding my regret 
 at disobeying you." 
 
 " And why do you refuse?" 
 
 "Because the situation is very serious, sire; it has overthrown 
 Monsieur de Narbonne and compromised Monsieur de Lessort; 
 every man that considers himself something has the right to be 
 employed or not, just as he chooses, or to demand employment, 
 ■whether or not he is worth anything. 1 am worth something or 
 nothing; if I am worth nothing, leave me in my obscurity; who 
 knows what my fate would be? If I am worth anything, do not 
 make me a minister for a day, a power for a moment, but give me 
 something to lean upon, when in your turn you can lean upon me. 
 Our affairs — pardon, sire, your majesty sees I make his affairs 
 mine — our affairs are in too unfavorable a condition among the for- 
 eign powers for the court to dally with a minister interimaire ; thi» 
 interim— excuse a soldier's frankness " (nothing was ever less 
 frank than Dumouriez; but he could assume it if necessary) — 
 ** this interim would be a misfortune against which the assembly 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERKET. 63 
 
 ■would rise, and render me very unpopular with them. I will say 
 more, this interim would compromise the king; it would look as 
 though he wanted to return to his old cabinet, and was only wait- 
 ing for an opportunity to recall it." 
 
 ' If that was my intention, do you think the thing would be im- 
 sible, sir?" 
 
 ' I think, sire, it is time for your majesty to break ofl in good 
 iaith with Ihe past." 
 
 " Yes, and to turn Jacobin, is it not so? You told Laporte so." 
 
 " My faith! if your majesty does that, you will embarrass every 
 party, the Jacobins perhaps more than any other." 
 
 " Why don't you advise me to put on the red bonnet righi 
 away?" 
 
 "Eh, sire, if that would be a way — " said Dumouriez. 
 
 The king looked for an instant in a defiant manner at the man 
 who dared to make him such an answer; then he said: 
 
 " It is a minister without interim you want, sir?" 
 
 " 1 want nothing, sire; I am ready to receive the king's orders; 
 only I would prefer that the king's orders sent me to the frontier 
 instead of keeping me in Paris." 
 
 " And if, on the contrary, I order you to remain in Paris, to take 
 the portfolio of foreign affairs, positively, what will you say to 
 that?" 
 
 Dumouriez smiled. 
 
 " I will say your majesty is influenced by the prejudices he haa 
 heard against me." 
 
 " Yes, entirely so, Monsieur Dumouriez — you are my minister." 
 
 " Sire, I will devote myself to your service, but — " 
 
 " Are there conditions?" 
 
 " Explanations, sire." 
 
 " Go on; I am listening." 
 
 " The office of a minister is not what it once was; wilhout cea«' 
 ing to be a faithful subject of your majesty, in entering politics I 
 become the man of the people. You can not demand from me to- 
 day the same that you did from my predecessors. I only know 
 how to speak for liberty and the Constitution; absorbed in my 
 duties, I could not be courteous to you; I would not have the 
 time; I would break through all royal etiquette, to serve my king; 
 I would only work with you or with the cabinet; and 1 tell you 
 before, sire, it would be a fight." 
 
 " A fight, sir? Why?" 
 
 "Oh! that is very simple, sire; almost all your diplomatic corpe 
 are anti-revolutionary; 1 would want you to change Ihem, 1 would 
 oppose your choice, I would speak to your majesty of things you 
 did not even know the name of, and others that would diisplease 
 you—" 
 
 " In that case, sir—" impetuously interrupted Louis XVI. 
 
 " In that case, sire, when your majesty's repugnance was toa 
 strong, too pronounced, as you are master, I would obey you; but 
 if your choice was suggested by your surroundings, and, to me, 
 seemed made only to compromise you, I would beg your majesty 
 to ciT« me a successor. Sire, think of the terrible dangers that 
 
64 AKDEEE DE TAVBKNET. 
 
 assail your throne; you must sustain the public confidence. Sin^ 
 it depends upon you." 
 
 " Allow me to interrupt you, sir." 
 
 " Sire—" 
 
 And Dumouriez bowed. 
 
 *' These dangers— I have thought of them a long time." Then, 
 stretching his, hand loward the portrait of Charles L, he continued, 
 wiping his face with his handkerchief, " If I wish to forget them, 
 her* is a picture that reminds me of them." 
 
 " Sire—" 
 
 " Wait, 1 have not finished, sir. The situation is the same; th« 
 dangers similar; perhaps the scaffold of Whitehall will raise its«lf 
 on the Place de Qrfeve." 
 
 " That is looking far ahead, sire." 
 
 " It is looking at the horizon, sir. In that case, I will go to th» 
 acaffold as Charles I. went, perhaps not so much of a soldier as he, 
 but not less a Christian. Continue, sir." 
 
 Dumouriez had stopped, thoroughly astonished at such firmness, 
 which he never expected. 
 
 "Sire," he said, "permit me to conduct the conversation to 
 another subject." 
 
 " As you wish, sir," replied the king; " but I wish to show that 
 I do not fear the future as much as I have the reputation of doing; 
 if I am afraid, the less I shall be prepared." 
 
 " Sire, notwithstanding all I have had the honor of telling you, 
 am I to consider myself the Minister of Foreign Affairs?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then to the first council I will bring four dispatches. I warn 
 the king they will not resemble in"any way, neither in style nor 
 context, those of my predecessors; they conform to circumstances. 
 If the first council pleases your majesty, I will continue; if not, I 
 will have all my arrangements made to leave and serve France and 
 my king at the frontier, which, notwithstanding what others have 
 told you about my diplomatic i alents, is my real element, the ob- 
 ject of all my labors for thirty -six years." 
 
 Upon saying which he bowed to leave. 
 
 " Wait," said the king, " we have agreed upon one subject; but 
 there are six others to consider." 
 
 " My colleagues?" 
 
 " Yes; I don't want you to come and tell me you are hampered 
 by such and such a one. Choose your own ministers, sir." 
 
 " Sire, that is giving me a serious responsibility." 
 
 " I believe 1 am serving your interests in doing so." 
 
 "Sire," said Dumouriez, "I know no one in Paris except 
 Lacoste, whom I recommend to your majesty for the navy." 
 
 " Lacoste?" said the king; " is he not merely a commissary of 
 ordnance?" 
 
 "Yes, sire; he tendered his resignation to Monsieur de Boyne* 
 rather than participate in an injustice." 
 
 " That is a good recommendation. And the others, who are 
 UieyT" 
 
 " I will hold a consultation, sire." 
 
 " May 1 linow whom you will coniultt" 
 
ANDRBE DE TAVBRNET. 65 
 
 * Brissot, Condorcet, Petion, Roederer, Gtensonne." 
 
 " In fact, all the Girondists?" 
 
 " Yes, sire." 
 
 " So be it; go for the Gironde; we •will see if they are better than 
 the Constitutionalisls or the Feuillants." 
 
 " There is one thing mote, sire." 
 
 " What is it?" 
 
 " To know if the four letters I intend writing will suit you?" 
 
 " We will see lo night, sir." 
 
 "To-night, sire?" 
 
 " Yes, time presses; we will have an extra session, composed ot 
 yeu. Monsieur de Grave and Secretary de Greville." 
 
 " But Duport du Tertre?" 
 
 " He has tent in his resignation." 
 
 " I will be at your majesty's orders this evening." 
 
 And Dumouriez saluted the king to leave. 
 
 "No," said the king, "wait a moment; I want you to under- 
 stand — " 
 
 He had not finished, when the queen and Mme. Elizabeth en- 
 tered. 
 
 They each held their prayer-books in their hands. 
 
 "Madame," said the king to Marie Antoinette, "here is 'SHon'- 
 sieur Dumouriez, who has promised to serve us faithfully, and 
 with him to-night begins a new ministry." 
 
 Dumouriez bowed, while (he queen looked with curiosity at tho 
 little man ^ ho was to have i-o much influence on the afEairs of 
 France. 
 
 " Do you know Doctor Gilbert, sir?" she asked. 
 
 " No, madame," replied Dumouriez. 
 
 " Well, sir, you must make his acquaintance." 
 
 " May 1 ask why the queen wishes it?" 
 
 " Because he is an excellent prophet. Three months ago he told 
 me you would be Monsieur de Narbonne's successor." 
 
 At that moment the doors of the king's cabinet were opened for 
 Jiim to go to mass. 
 
 Dumouriez went out with the rest. 
 
 All the courtiers fled from him as from a pestilence. 
 
 " As 1 told you," whispered the king, laughing, " you gee how 
 you are compromised." 
 
 " Vis-d-ms to the aristocracy, sire," replied Dumouriez. " This 
 ia a new proof of favor the king has given me." 
 
 And he retired. 
 
 CHAPTER XrV. 
 
 BEHIND THE TAPBSTRT. 
 
 That evening, at the appointed hour, Dumouriez entered witli 
 the four dispatches. De Grave and Secretary de Greville were 
 already there, waiting for the king. 
 
 As if the king only waited for Dumouriez's entrance to appear, 
 as the former entered one door the king appeared at another. 
 
 "The two ministers rose precipitately; Dumouriez was alr«a<^ 
 Standing, and only bowed, which the king returned. 
 
«6 ANDREB DE TAVERNEY. 
 
 Then, taking a chair, he sat down at the table. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " be seated." 
 
 It seemed to Dumouriez that the door by which the king entered 
 wmained open, and the tapestry shook. 
 
 Was it the wind, or was it some one listening behind that veil 
 that intercepted the view, but allowed sounds to pass? 
 
 The three ministers sat down. 
 
 " Have you your dispatch3s, sir'i ' demanded the king of 
 Dumouriez. 
 
 " '\es, siiv,.' 
 I The general took the four letters from his pocket. 
 
 " To which foreign powers are they addressed?" asked the king. 
 
 " Spain, Austria, Prussia, and England." 
 
 " Read them." 
 
 Dumouriez glanced the second time at the tapestry, and by its 
 moving tklt convinced some one listened. 
 
 He began reading his dispatches in a firm voice. The minister 
 spoke in the name of the king, but for the Constitution, without 
 threatening, but also without weakness. 
 
 He discussed the true interests of each foreign power relating to 
 the French Revolution. As each potentate complained on his 
 aide of the Jacobin pamphlets, he criticised the despicable injuries 
 the press inflicted, while on the one hand exposing much evil, ou 
 the other causing much mischief. 
 
 At the end he demanded peace, in the name of a liberated nation, 
 ■whose king was the hereditary representative. 
 
 The king listened, and at each new dispatch became more and 
 more interested. 
 
 "Ah!" he said, when Dumouriez had finished, " I have never 
 beard anything like that, general." 
 
 " See how ministers should always write and talk in the king'g 
 name," said De Greville. 
 
 " Very well," replied the king, " give me the dispatches; they 
 .sha}^ go to-morrow." 
 
 " dire, the couriers are ready, waiting in the coun-yard of the 
 Tuileries," said Dumouriez. 
 
 " I would like to keep a copy to show the queen," said the king, 
 with jmbarrassment. 
 
 " I have anticipated your majesty's desire," said Dumouriez; 
 " here are four certified copies, signed by me." 
 
 " Send j|our dispatches," said Uie king. 
 
 Dumouriez went to the door by which he had entered; an aid- 
 de-camp was waiting; he gave him the letters. A moment after 
 the noise of horses' hoofs was heard galloping out of the court- 
 yard of the Tuileries. 
 
 " It is well," said the king, answering his thoughts, when that 
 significant noise was heard; " and now fiihold your cabinet." 
 
 "Sire," said Dumouriez, "1 desire, first of all, that your 
 majesty beseeches Secretary de Greville to remain with us." 
 
 ' I have already begged him," said the king. 
 
 "' I regret to persist in my refusal, sire; my health grows wocM 
 and worse every day; I need rest." 
 
 " You hear, sir?" «aid the king, turning to Dumourieo. 
 
ANDEEE DE TATEENET. 67 
 
 "Yes, sire." 
 
 " Well, sir," insisted the king, " who compoees your cabinet?" 
 
 " We have Monsieur de Grave, who will remain." 
 
 De Grave stretched forth his hand. 
 
 "Sire," he said, "Monsieur Dumouriez's language just now 
 astonished you by its frankness; mine will astonish you by its 
 humility." 
 
 " Speak, sir," said the king. 
 
 " Wait, sire," replied De (Srave, taking a paper from his pocket; 
 " see this criticism — rather severe, but perfectlyjust — that a woman 
 of considerable merit has written about me. Have the goodness to 
 read it." 
 
 The king took the paper and read: 
 
 " De Grave is for war; he is insignificant in every way; nature 
 has made him meek and timid; his convictions predispose him to 
 flght, while his heart influences him to conciliation. The result 
 is, in his endeavor to be diplomatic, he is nothing. I think I see 
 him marching as a courtier behind the king, his head held high, 
 on his feeble body, showing the whites of his eyes, that he can not 
 keep open after eating, except by aid of three or four cups of 
 coffee, scarcely speaking, as if reserved, but in reality because he 
 has nothing to say, and losing his head in the midst of the affairs 
 of his department so thoroughly that, sooner or later, he will ask. 
 to be dismissed." 
 
 " That shows," said Louis XVI., who had hesitated to read Ut 
 the end, until prevailed upon by Monsieur de Grave, " what a. 
 woman's appreciation is. Is it Madame de Stafil?" 
 
 " No, it is some one more powerful; it is Madame Roland, sire." 
 
 " And you say. Monsieur de Grave, this is your opinion also?" 
 
 " In a great many points, sire. I will remain in the cabinet till 
 I can put my successor au courant with the details of affairs, after 
 which I beg your majesty to accept my resignation." 
 
 " You are right, sir; this certainly is more astonishing language- 
 than Monsieur Dumouriez's. I would like, if you have fully de- 
 cided, to receive a successor from your hands." 
 
 " I was about begging your majesty to permit me to present 
 Monsieur Servan, an honest man in every sense of the word, of 
 solid parts, a pure mind, with all the austereness of a philosopher, 
 and all a woman's geod-heartedness; he is also an enlightened 
 patriot, a brave soldier, a vigilant statesman." 
 
 " Good for Monsieur ServanI We have our three ministers, 
 then: Monsieur Dumouriez for foreign affairs; Monsieur Servan 
 for war; Monsieur Lacoste for the navy. Who shall be placed at 
 the finances?" 
 
 "Monsieur C1avi6res, sire, if you are willing; he is a man of 
 great financial knowledge, and of the greatest skill in controlling- 
 the money market." 
 
 "Yes," said the king; "they say he is very active, a great 
 worker, but irascible, opinionated, punctilious, peevish in discus- 
 sions." 
 
 " That is the usual failing of all the members of the cabinet 
 sirs." 
 
68 ANDKEE DE TAVEKNET. 
 
 " liet us pass by Monsieur Olavilres' defects. Behold him Min- 
 ister of Finance. There is the Court of Justice; who shall be put 
 there?" 
 
 " A lawyer of Bordeaux, Monsieur Duranthom, has been recom- 
 mended to me for that position, sire," 
 
 " The Gironde, that is understood." 
 
 " Yes, sire; he is an enlightened man, a very correct, good 
 citizen, but weak and slow; we must rouse and inspire him with 
 energy." 
 
 " There remains the Interior. 
 
 " The unanimous vote, sire, is, that the department should belong 
 to Monsieur Roland." 
 
 " To Madame Roland, you intend to say." 
 
 " To Monsieur and Madame Roland." 
 
 " Are you acquainted with them?" 
 
 " No, sire; but I am informed the one resembles one of Plu- 
 tarch's heroes, the other a woman of Titus-Livius." 
 
 " Do you know what they will call your cabinet. Monsieur 
 Dumouriez, or, rather, what they call it now?" 
 
 " No, sire." 
 
 " ■ The Ministry aans-culoite.' " 
 
 " I accept the title, sire; they will soon see we are men." 
 
 " Are all your colleague? ready?" 
 
 •" The greater part of them have been notified." 
 
 " Will they accept?" 
 
 " Yes, sire; I am sure of it." 
 
 " Very well, you can go now, sir; the day after to-morrow we 
 \nll hold the first cabinet." 
 
 " Day after to-morrow, sire." 
 
 "You know," said the king, turning to Secretary de Grevilla 
 and De Grave, "you have only till the day after to-mcrrow to 
 decide, gentlemen." 
 
 " Sire, our decisions are made now, and we will only come, the 
 day after to-morrow, to install our successors." 
 
 The three ministers retired. 
 
 But before they had reached the grand stair-way, a groom of 
 the chambers overtook them; he said to Dumouriez: 
 
 " General Dumouriez, the king begs you will follow me; he has 
 something to say to you." 
 
 Dumouriez bowed to his colleagues and waited. 
 
 " Tlie king or the queen?" he said. 
 
 " The queen, sir; but she thought it useless to let those gentle^ 
 men know she wanted you." 
 
 Dumouriez bent his head. 
 
 " Ahl that is what I feared," he said. 
 
 "Do you refuse to come?" demanded the groom of thecham* 
 Ibers, who was no other than "Weber. 
 
 "No; I will follow you." 
 
 " Come." 
 
 The groom of the chambers conducted Dumouries through the 
 dimly lighted corridors to the queen's apartments. 
 
 Then, without announcing the general by name, " Here is th« 
 person your majesty requested," said the groom of the chambers. 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 69 
 
 Dumouriez entered. 
 
 Never at the moment of leading a charge, or storming a breacb,. 
 had his heart beat so violently. 
 
 Because he had never encountered a similar danger. 
 
 The road that opened before him was strewn with the corpses of 
 the dead and living, where he could see Calonne, Necker, Mira- 
 beau, Barnave, and Lafayetle. 
 
 The queen was rapidly walking up and down; her face very 
 Kuch flushed. 
 
 Dumouriez stopped within the door, which closed behind him. 
 
 The queen advanced with a haughty and irritated air. 
 
 "Sir," she said, brusquely, approaching the question in her 
 usual impulsive manner, " you are all-powerful at this moment^ 
 but it is only by the favor of the people, and they destroy their 
 idols quickly. They say you are -very talented; but first of all you 
 must understand that neither the king nor I will allow all these 
 innovations. Your Constitution is a pneumatic machine, in which 
 royalty will stifle, for want of air; 1 have, therefore, sent for you 
 before you go any further, to choose your party and to choose be- 
 tween us and the Jacobins." 
 
 "Madame," replied Dumouriez, " I am distressed at the sad 
 confidences your majesty reposes in me; but having suspected the 
 queen behind the curtain, where she was hid, I expected this." 
 
 " In that case, you have an answer," said the queen. 
 
 " This is it, madame: I stand between the king and the nation; 
 but before all I belong to the country." 
 
 " The country! the countryl" repeated the queen. " The king 
 is no longer anything; everybody belongs to the country, and no 
 one to him I" 
 
 " Madame, the king is always the king; but he has taken oath to 
 the Constitution, and from the day that oath was taken the king 
 should be one of the first slaves of that Constitution." 
 
 " A forced oath, sir, is no oath." 
 
 Dumouriez remained silent an instant, and skillful actor that he 
 "was, regarded the queen with profound pity. 
 
 " Madame," he continued, at last, " permit me to tell you that 
 your safety, that of the king, that of your august children, lies in 
 that Constitution that you despise; you can save them if you will 
 consent to be saved by it. I would serve your interests and that 
 «f the king badly if I spoke otherwise. " 
 
 But the queen, with an imperious gesture, interrupted him. 
 
 " Oh, sir, sir," she said, " you are taking a wrong route, I assure 
 you!" 
 
 Then, with an indefinable, threatening accent: 
 
 "Take care!" she added. 
 
 "Madame," replied Dumouriez, in a perfectly calm tone, "1 
 am over fifty years of age, my life has been cast among many 
 perils^ and in taking the ministry, 1 said to myself, the ministerial 
 responsibility was not the greatest danger I incurred." 
 
 " Oh!" cried the queen, striking her hands together. "You oaa 
 not calumniate me further, sirl' ' 
 
 " Calumniate you, madimst' ^ 
 
70 ANDREE DB TAVEENET. 
 
 ■"Yes. Do you want me to explain the .meaning of the words 
 •you have just uttered?" 
 
 " Tell me, madame." 
 
 " Well, sir, you have Just told me I am capable of having you 
 assassinated. Oh! ohi monsieurl" And two great tears escaped 
 from the queen's eyes. 
 
 Dumouriez had remained as far off as possible; he knew now all 
 he cared to know, that some humane chords still remained in that 
 heart that had been well-nigh drained. 
 
 " God preserve me, " he said, ' ' from injuring my queen with such 
 a suspicion! Your majesty's character is too grand, too noble, to 
 inspiie the crudest of her enemies with such a suspicion she has 
 given proof of heroism that 1 admiie, that attaches me to her." 
 
 " Are you speaking the truth, sir?" asked the queen in a voic« 
 agitated by emotion. 
 
 " Oh! I swear it, upon my honor, madame." 
 
 " Then, pardon me,'" she said, " and give me your arm; I am so 
 weak, there are times when I think I must fall." 
 
 In fact, she did, indeed, grow very pale and throw back her head. 
 
 Was this a reality, or was it that terrible acting the seductive 
 Medea was so versed in? Dumouriez, clever as he was, allowed 
 himself to be persuaded, or, perhaps, cleverer than the queen, 
 feigned that he was persuaded. 
 
 " Believe me, madame," he said, " and I have no interest in 
 deceiving you, I abhor, as much as you, anarchy and crime; be- 
 lieve me, I have some experience; I am better able than your 
 majesty to judge of events; the present is not an intrigue of Mon- 
 sieur d'Orleans, as they have told you; it is not the effect of Mon- 
 sieur Pitt's hatred, as you have supposed; it is not even a moment- 
 ary uprising; it is an almost universal insurrection of a great 
 nation against inveterate abuses. There is, in all that, I know 
 well, grand hatreds that help incendiarisms. Putting on one side 
 cowards and fools, there is nothing to be seen in this revolution but 
 the king and the nation; anything that tends to separate them tends 
 to their mutual ruin. I have come, madame, to work with all my 
 might to reunite them. Aid me, instead of thwarting me. Do 
 you defy me? Am 1 an obstacle in your counter-revolutionary 
 plans? Tell me, madame; I will \;arry on the instant my resigna- 
 tion to the king, and in an obscure spot I will sigh over the fate of 
 your country and mine." 
 
 " No, no!" said the queen; " remain, and excuse me." 
 
 " I excuse you, madame! Oh, I beseech you, do not humiliate 
 yourself thus." 
 
 " Why should I not humiliate myself? Am I still a queen? am 
 I even a woman?" 
 
 She went to the window and opened it, notwithstanding the cool 
 'Of the evening. The silvery moon lighted the heights of the 
 Tuileries. shorn of their trees. 
 
 " All the world requires air and sunshine, do they not? Well, 
 to me alone is sunlight and air denied. I do not dare to go to the 
 window, neither on the courtyard side or the garden. Day before 
 yesterday I went to the court-yard side; a soldier on guard insulted 
 me grossly, and added: ' Oh, that I could have the pleasure of 
 
ANDRBE DB TAVERNET. 71 
 
 •ariying your head at the end of my bayonetl Yesterday I opened, 
 a window on the garden. On one side I saw a man mounted on a 
 chair, reading horrible things out aloud about us; on the other they 
 ■were dragging a priest in the fountain, beating and injuring him; 
 and all this time, as if it was the ordinary course of events, peo- 
 ple were going about their ordinary occupations, playing or walk- 
 ing quietly, without paying the slightest attention to these things. 
 What times, sirl what a home! what a peoplel And you want ma 
 still to consider myself a queen — still to consider myself a woman?" 
 
 And the queen threw herself on a sofa and hid her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 Dumouriez bent his knee to the ground, took respectfully the- 
 hem of the queen's robe in his hand, and kissed it. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " the moment I assume the responsibility" 
 of sustaining the war, you will become again a happy woman, a^ 
 powerful queen, or I will lay my life down in the attempt." 
 
 Rising, he bowed, and left precipitously. 
 
 The queen's looks fell upon him in mute despair. 
 
 " A powerful queen I" she repeated. " Perhaps, thanks to your 
 sword, it may yet be possible; but a happy woman — never, never, 
 never!" 
 
 And she let her head fall among the cushions of the sofa, mur- 
 muring a name that each day became dearer, yet more of an afflic- 
 tion — the name of Charny. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE KED BONNET. 
 
 DuMouKiEZ retired rapidly, as we have seen, first because ths- 
 queen's grief was so painful to him; Dumouriez, scarcely moved 
 by theories, was greatly touched by people; he had no sympathy 
 with the political conscience, but was very tender to human suffer- 
 ing; secondly, Brissot was waiting to take him to the Jacobins, and' 
 Dumouriez did not want to be tardy in his recognizance of that 
 terrible club. 
 
 At the assembly they did not inquire whether he was a man after 
 Petion, Gensonne, Brissot, or the Gironde. 
 
 But he was not a man after Robespierre, CoUot d'Herbois, and 
 Couthon; and it was CoUot d'Herbois, Couthon, and Robespierre 
 that led the Jacobins. 
 
 His presence had not been announced; it was a very audacious 
 move for a minister of the king to appear at the Jacobins; thus, 
 scarcely had his name been pronounced before every eye was 
 turned upon him. 
 
 What did Robespierre do at that sight? Robespierre turned as 
 did the others, lent his ear to the name that ran from mouth to 
 mouth; then, bending his brows, he became silent and cold. 
 
 An icy glance spread around the hall — Dumouriez comprehended 
 he must bum his vessels behind him. 
 
 The Jacobins had adopted as a sign of equality the red bonnet; 
 two or three members only were such good patriots they did not 
 consider it necessary to exhibit any proofs. 
 
 Bobespiene was of that number. 
 
73 ANDKEE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 Dumoariez did not hesitate; he threw far from him his hat, took 
 from the head of the patriot sitting nearest him his red bonnet, 
 which he put on, pulling it down to his ears, and mounting the 
 tribune, appeared with the sign of equality. 
 
 The entire hall broke into plaudits. Something similar to the 
 hissing of a serpent glided into the midst of these plaudits and 
 suddenly stopped them. 
 
 It was " Hush!" coming from Robespierre's thin lips. Damou- 
 riez more than once after that avowed that the hissing of bullets 
 passing within one foot of him had never made him tremble as the 
 iissing of that " Hush !" escaping from the lips of the ex-deputy 
 -of Arras. 
 
 But it was a rude joust that Dumouriez, at once a general and 
 orator, as difficult to overthrow on the battle-field as on the tribune, 
 assisted at. He waited wilh a calm smile till that glacial silence 
 was universal, then in a vibrating yoice, he said: 
 
 " Brothers and friends, all my future life will be consecrated to 
 do the will of the people and to justify I he confidence of the con- 
 stitutional king. 1 carry in my negotiations with the foreign pow- 
 ers all the strength of a liberated people, and these negotiations 
 will result before long in a solid peaje or a decisive war!" 
 
 Here, notwithstanding Robespierre's "Hush!" the plaudits 
 ■broke out anew. 
 
 " If we have this war," continued the orator, " I will cast away 
 my political pen to take my rank in the army, to triumph or die 
 free with my brothers! A weighty burden is laid across my shoul- 
 ders; brothers, help me to carry it; I have need of your counsels: 
 uphold me in your journals; tell me the truth, tell me the truth, 
 the unvarnished truth; repel all calumnies, but do not repel a 
 citizen whom you know to be sincere aud brave, and who is de- 
 voted to the cause ot the revolution." 
 
 Dumouriez had finished and descended in the midst of applause; 
 this applause irritated Collet d'Herbois, the actor so frequently 
 hissed, so seldom applauded. 
 
 " Why this applause?" he cried from his place. "If Dumou- 
 riez comes here as a mini5.ter, there is nothing to reply; if lie 
 wishes to affiliate with us like a brother, he is but doing his duty, 
 snad putting himself on a level with our opinions; we have but one 
 .•answer to make him; let him act as he has spoken!" 
 
 Dumouriez made a sign with his hand, as if to say: " That is the 
 •way 1 understand ill" Then Robespierre aiose with a stern smile; 
 they understood he wanted to go to the tribune; that he wished 
 to speak; they made room for him; they kept silence. 
 
 Except this silence, compared to that they accorded Dumouriez, 
 was a hushed expectancy. He ascended the tribune, and with a 
 solemnity which was habitual: 
 
 " I am not. one of those," he said, " who think it absolutely im- 
 tpossible for a minister to be patriotic, and I also accept with pleas- 
 ure the auguries Monsieur Dumouriez has given us. When he has 
 .accomplished these auguries, and vanquished the enemy aimed 
 against us by their predecessors, and by the tricksters who now 
 direct their government, notwithstanding the expulsion of several 
 ministers, then, and not till then, will I think every good citizen 
 
ANDKEE DE TAVERKBY. 73 
 
 of this society is not his equal; then, and only then, 'will I be dis- 
 posed to sing his praises; the people only in my eyes are grand and 
 respectable; the insigna of ministerial power vanishes before them. 
 It is from this respect for the people, for the minister himself, that 
 1 demand his entry is not signalized by homage that attests the 
 overthrow of public spirit. He asks us for our advice. I promise, 
 for my part, to give him that which will be useful to him and to the 
 public. As long as Monsieur Dumouriez, by brilliant proofs of 
 patriotism, and, above all, by real services rendered to tlie country, 
 shows that he is the brother of good citizens and the country's de- 
 fender, he will have nothing here but help. ] do not proscribe ths 
 society of any minister from this society, but I declare the moment i 
 any minister is more in the ascendant than the citizens, I demand 
 his ostracism. He can never be in the ascendant here." 
 
 In the midst of applause the sarcastic orator descended the tri- 
 bune; hut a trap was laid for him at the last step. 
 
 Dumouriez, feigning enthusiasm, was there, liis arms open. 
 
 " Virtuous Robespierre," he cried; " incorruptible citizen, permit 
 me to embrace you!" 
 
 And, notwithstanding the efforts of his ancient constitutent, he 
 threw himself in his arms. 
 
 They saw the act accomplished, and not the repugnance witk 
 which Robespierre submitted to it. 
 
 The entire hall broke forth again in applause. 
 
 " Come," said Dumoriez, to Brissot, " the comedy is finished. I 
 have put on the red bonnet and embraced Robespierre. I am more 
 than a saint." 
 
 And, in fact, in the midst of the hurrahs of the hall and tribunes 
 he gained the door. 
 
 At the door a young man. dressed with the dignity of door-keeper, 
 exchanged a rapid glance with the minister, and a clasp of the 
 hand still more rapid. 
 
 This young man was the Duke de Chatres. 
 
 Eleven o'clock was sti-iking when Dumouriez, under Brissot's 
 guidance, with hasty footsteps reached the Rolands'. 
 
 The Rolands had always lived in the Rue Guenegaud. They 
 had been advised the day before by Brissot, that Dumouriez — at the 
 instigation of Gensonne and himself — would present to the king 
 Roland as the new Minister of the Interior. Brissot then asked 
 Roland if he felt himself equal to such a burden, and Roland, 
 truthful as ever, replied that he did. 
 
 Dumouriez came to tell him the thing was done. Roland and 
 Dumouriez only knew each other by name; as yet they had never 
 met. 
 
 It was easy to understand they regarded each other with con- 
 siderable curiosity. 
 
 After the usual salutations, in which Dumouriez signified to 
 Roland his great satisfaction in calling to the government a patriot 
 as enlightened and unimpeachable as himself, the conversation 
 naturally fell upon the king. 
 
 " There lies all the difficulty," said Roland. 
 
 " Well, I can assure you that you will there find a nal"vet§ whicii. 
 
74 ANDKEB DE TATEKirET. 
 
 1 can swear to on my honor," said Dumouriez. "I believe th« 
 king to be an honest man and a sincere patriot." 
 Then, noticing Mme. Roland did not reply, but merely smiled: 
 " That is not your opinion, Madame Roland?" asked Dumouriez. 
 " You have seen the king?" she asked. 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Have you seen the queen?" 
 
 Dumouriez, in his turn, did not answer, but contented himself 
 with a smile. 
 
 A council was finally arranged for the next morning at eleven 
 o'clock, after taking the oath of allegiance. On leaving the 
 assembly they were to go to the king. 
 
 It was now half past eleven; Dumouriez felt no fatigue yet, but 
 it was late for simple people like the Rolands. 
 
 Why did Dumouriez linger? 
 
 Ah! for this reason: 
 
 In his comprelien«ive glance on entering that Dumouriez cast oa 
 the husband and wife, he had noticed the great difference in their 
 ages. Roland was ten years older than Dumouriez, and Dumou- 
 riez appeared twenty years younger than Roland, while his wife 
 was in the full bloom of her youth. Madame Roland, daughter of 
 an engraver, had in her childhood worked in her father's work- 
 shop, and. as a wife, in her husband's cabinet: work, that rude 
 protector, had preserved the wife as it had preserved the young 
 girl. 
 
 Dumouriez was one of those men who could never see an old 
 husband without laughing, and a young woman without falling in 
 love with her. 
 
 It was thus he lingered at the Rolands'. And it was thus that 
 they both remarked it was growing late. 
 
 Brissot and Dumouriez left. 
 
 " Well," asked Roland of his wife, when the door closed upon, 
 them, " what do you think of our future colleague?" 
 
 Mme. Roland laughed. 
 
 "There are men," she said, "whom it is not necessary to see 
 twice before forming an opinion about them. His is a crafty mind, 
 an inconsistent characlei, a deceitful glance; he expressed such 
 great satisfaction in the patriotic choice he was commissioned to 
 announce, I would not be astonished if he dismissed you sooner or 
 later. " 
 
 " That is precisely my opinion," said Roland. 
 
 And both of them went to sleep with their habitual calm, neither 
 one or the other dreaming that the iron hand of Destiny was about 
 writing their names in letters of blood on the records of the revo- 
 lution. 
 
 The next day the new minister took his oath at the assembly, then, 
 proceeded to the Tuileries. Roland wore laced shoes, probably be- 
 cause he had no money to buy those with buckles; he wore a round 
 hat, as he had never worn any other. 
 
 He went to the Tuileries in his usual costume, and found himself 
 the last of his colleagues. The master of ceremonies, M. de 
 Breze, let the five first pass, but stopped Roland. Roland was not 
 aware of the reason he was denied adinittance. 
 
ANDREE DB TAYEENET. 75 
 
 "But I, also," he said, " am a minister like the others; the Min- 
 ister of the Interior even." 
 
 The master of ceremonies was not convinced in the least. 
 
 Dumouriez, hearing the discussion, interposed: 
 
 "Why," he demanded, "will you not let Monsieur Roland 
 •nter?" 
 
 " Ehl monsieur," cried the master of ceremonies, wildly geeticu- 
 ilating his arms, " a round hat and no bucldesV" 
 
 " Ah! monsieur," replied Dumouriez, with the utmost coolaess, 
 '' a round hat and no buckles; everything is lo&t!" 
 
 And he pushed Roland in the king's cabinet. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AT HOME AND ABHOAD. 
 
 Thb minister who experienced so much dilSculty in entering th« 
 king's cabinet might have been called the ilinister of War. 
 
 On the 1st of March the Emperor Leopold died in the midst of 
 his Iialian harem, killed by the aphrodisiaques he composed himself. 
 
 The queen, who had read one day in some Jacobin pamphlet that 
 a crust of pate put an end to the Emperor of Austria, had sent for 
 Oilbert to ask if there was a counter-irritant, and she declared 
 loudly her brother had been poisoned. 
 
 When Leopold died, Austria temporized. 
 
 He who ascended the throne, Francis II., whom we have knovra 
 as a contempirary of our own and a past generation, was a mixt- 
 ure of German and Italian. An Austrian born in Florence, weak, 
 violent and deceitful; if it had not been for the priests — an honest 
 man; a hard and bigoted heart, hiding his duplicity under a placid 
 physioenomy, under a mask of amiabiJily, a most set determina- 
 tion; marching to his aim like an automaton, like the statue of 
 the Comraendatore, or the specter of the King of Denmark; giving 
 his daughter to his vanquisher because he did not want to gipe him 
 his estaies; then hitting him behind his back as he began his re- 
 treat toward the cold winds of the north, Francis II., altogether 
 was a man. Behold the protector of refugees, Prussia's ally, 
 France's enemy! 
 
 Fiance s embassador at Vienna, M. de Noailles, was a prisoner ia 
 his palace. France's embassador at Berlin, JI. de Segur, was re- 
 ported to have ferreted out the secrets of the King of Prussia, by 
 making love to his mistresses 
 
 By accident, the King of Prussia had mistresses. M. de Segur 
 presented himself at a public audience at the same time as the en- 
 voy from Cobleulz. 
 
 The king turned his back on the embassador from France, and 
 loudly asked how the Count d'Artois was. 
 
 Prussia believed lierself at that time, as she does to-daj% at the 
 iead of German affairs; she lived in the strange philosophical 
 traditions of King Frederick, who encouraged the resistance of the 
 Turks and the revolution in Poland while crushing the freedom 
 of Holland, a government with a grasping hand, continually plung- 
 ing in the troubled waters of a revolution, first Neuchatel, then a 
 part of Pomerania, then a part of Poland, 
 
76 ANDREB DE TAVERNBT. 
 
 Those were the two declared f nemies, Francis II., and Frederick 
 William; those still undeclared were England, Prussia, and Spain. 
 
 The leader of this coalition was the bellicose King of Sweden, 
 that giant-armed dwarf who was called Gustavus III., and whom 
 Catherine II. held in her hand. 
 
 The ascent of Francis II. on the throne of Austria was mani- 
 fested by the following diplomatic decree: 
 
 1st—" Satisfy our German princes who have possessions in your 
 kingdom — in other words, recognize the imperial sovereignty in 
 your departments— yield to Austria, even in France. 
 
 2d—" Give up Avignon, before, as of old, the province is dis- 
 membered. 
 
 3d— " Re-establish the monarchy on the footing of the 23d of 
 June, 1789." 
 
 It was evident this decree corresponded with the secret desires 
 of the king and queen. 
 
 Dumouriez lifted his shoulders. 
 
 One would have said Austria had gone to sleep on the 83d of 
 June, and after a sleep of three years had awakened on the 24th. 
 The 16th of March, 1792, Gustavus was assassinated in the middle 
 of a ball. 
 
 The day after the assassination, yet unknown in France, the 
 Austrian decree arrived for Dumouriez. 
 
 He took it to Louis XVI. 
 
 While Marie Antoinette, a woman who always went to extremes, 
 desired a war, that she considered would be for her a way of de- 
 liverance, on the contrary, the king, a man of moderate measures, 
 slow of subterfuges and prejudices, feared it. In fact, war once 
 declared presupposed a victory; one side would be at the mercy of 
 the vanquisher. Suppose France was defeated, and the people 
 made him responsible, crying treason, and avenged themselves on 
 the Tuileries. Supposing the enemy penetrated to Paris, what 
 ■would be the result? 
 
 A regency would be appointed. 
 
 Louis XVI. overthrown, Marie Antoinette accused of being an 
 unfaithful wife, the children of France perhaps declared adulter- 
 ous, that would be the result ot the return of the refugees to Paris. 
 The king defied the Ausirians, the Germans, the Prussians, but he 
 feared the refugees. When he read the decree, he understood, 
 however, the hour tor drawing the sword in France had arrived, 
 »nd there was no withdrawal. 
 
 The SOth of April, the king and Dumouriez entered the National 
 Assembly, carrying with them the declaration of war against Aus- 
 tria. 
 
 At that solemn moment, that romance has not the courage to in- 
 scribe and only history dares record, there existed in France tour 
 ■well-defined parties. 
 
 The Absolute Royalists — the queen was one; the Constitutional 
 Royalists — the king pretended to be one; the Republicans; th« 
 Anarchists. 
 
 The Absolute Royalists, the queea's party, had no leader appar- 
 ently in France. 
 
 They were represented among the foreign powers by Monsieur, by 
 
AKDRiM DE TAVBRKEY. 77 
 
 the Comte d'Artois, by the Prince of Conde, and by Duke Charlef 
 of Lorraine. M. de Breteuil at Vienna, M. Meroi d'Argenteau at! 
 Bruxelles, were the nearest representatives of the queen for that 
 party. 
 
 The leaders of the Constitutional party were Lafayette, Bailly, 
 Barnave, Lameth, Duport, and all the Feuillants. 
 
 The king asked for nothing better than to abandon absolute 
 royalty, and to march with them; only he would rather hang back 
 than lead it. 
 
 The leaders of the Republican party were Brissot, Verginaud, 
 Gaudet, Petion, Roland, Isnard, Ducos, Condorcet, and Couthon. 
 
 The principal Anarchists were Marat, Danton, Santerre, Gon- 
 chon, Camille Desmoulins, Hebert, Legendre, Fabre d'Eglantine, 
 and Collot d'Herbois. 
 
 Dumouriez knew what they wanted, provided they could obtain 
 interest and renown. 
 
 Robespierre remained quiet; he was waiting. Who now was 
 ready to carry the banners of the revolution? who was to help Du- 
 mouriez, that theoretic patriot, in the tribune of the assembly? La- 
 fayette, the hero of the Champ de Mars! As tnr LuoUner, France 
 only knew him by the misfortune he had brought upon her during 
 the Seven Years' War. 
 
 Rochambeau, who only wanted war on the defensive, was very 
 much mortified to see Dumouriez giving orders personally to his 
 lieutenants, without first submitting them to older experience. 
 
 The three men commanding the three divisions of the army 
 about to begin the campaign, were as follows: 
 
 Lafayette held the center; he was to descend rapidly down the 
 Meuse, pushing through Givet to Namur. 
 
 Luckner guarded the Franche Comte, Rochambeau, Flanders. 
 
 Lafayette, making use of a division that Rochambeau sent to 
 Flanders under Biron's command, raised the siege of Namur and 
 marched on Brussels, where he waited, all prepared, for the revo- 
 lution of Brabant. 
 
 Lafayette had the best role; he was the avanlgarde; Dumouriez 
 had reserved the first victory for him. 
 
 Lafayette victorious, General-in-Chief, Dumouriez, Minister of 
 War, they could throw the red bonnet to the winds; with one 
 hand they would overthrow the Girondists, with the other the 
 Jacobins. 
 
 A revolution within a revolution. 
 
 But Robespierre? 
 
 Robespierre, as we have said, had withdrawn into the obscurity, 
 and many said there was a subterranean passage from the store of 
 the carpenter Duplay to the royal palace of Louis XVI. 
 
 Was it not from there came the pension that a little later was 
 paid by the Duchess d'Angouleme to MUe. de Robespierre? 
 
 But as usual, Lafayette did not succeed. Because they were 
 making war with the friends of peace, the commisary department, 
 particularly, were the friends of our enemies; they would have 
 •willingly left our troops without munitions or rations, and this they 
 did while furnishing bread and powder to the Prussians and Aus- 
 trians. 
 
78 ANDRBE DB TAVEENEY. 
 
 Throughout everything the man of undermining, back-biting- 
 deeds, Dumouriez, did not neglect his relations with the Orleanists 
 — relations which became his ruin. 
 
 Biron was an Orleanist general. 
 
 Thus Orleanists and Feuillants, Lafayette and Biron, were to 
 strike the first blow, sound the trumpet of the first victory. 
 
 The 28th of April Biron left Quievrain and marched on Mons. 
 
 The next day Theobald Dillon went from Lille to Tournay. 
 
 Biron and Dillon, two aristocrats; two handsome, brave young 
 men — gallant, intellectual, of the school of Richelieu; one frank in 
 his patriotic expressions, the other had not yet had the time to 
 know his own opinions; he was assassinated. 
 
 The dragoons were the aristocratic portion of the army; two 
 regiments of dragoons marched at the head of Biron 's three thou- 
 •and men. Suddenly the dragoons, without even seeing the enemy, 
 cried out: " Save yourselvssl we are betrayed!" 
 
 They turned their horses' bridles, retreated, continually crying 
 out, as they crushed through the infantry, who thought them- 
 selves pursued, and fled in their turn. 
 
 The same thing happened to Dillon, who met a regiment of nine 
 hundred Austrians; the dragoons ot hie advance guard took fright, 
 dragging the infantry with them, abandoning their chariots, ar- 
 tillery, camp equipage, not stopping till they reached Lille. 
 
 There the cowards fastened the blame on their commanders, 
 hanging Theobald Dillon and the lieutenant-colonel, Bertois; after 
 which they left their bodies to the populace of Lille, who danced 
 around the corpses. 
 
 With whom had this panic originated ? Whose aim was to en- 
 gender doubt in the hearts of the patriots, and encourage their 
 enemies? 
 
 The Girondists, who wanted war, who were now bleeding from 
 each side, from the double wound just received; the Girondists — 
 and it must be said appearances were against her — the Girondists 
 accused the court, that meant the queen. 
 
 Its first idea was to return blow for blow. But they left royalty 
 time to invest itself with a cuirass much more solid than the breast- 
 plate that the queen had manufactured for the king, and discov- 
 ered one night, with Andree, was ball-proof. The queen had by 
 degrees reorganized that famous constitutional guard authorized 
 by the Constitution — it did not amount to more than six thousand 
 men. 
 
 And such men! bullies, fencing-masters, who insulted the patriot 
 representatives even in the assembly hall, gentlemen from Brittany 
 and La Vendee, poets from Nlmes and Aries, robust priests, who, 
 tinder pretext of refusing the oath, threw their cassocks to the wind, 
 and took in the place of the holy water the sword, the poniard, 
 and pistol; in fact, a perfect world of chevaliers of the Order of St. 
 Louis, who came no one knew from where, who were decorated no 
 one knew why. Dumouriez himself complains of it in his 
 " Memoirs." No matter what government succeeded the existing 
 one, it would be impossible to restore that beautiful but unfortun- 
 ate order, that in the course ot two years had given more than six 
 thousand crosses. It was at this time the Minister of Foreign 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVERNBT. 79 
 
 Afltaim refused for himself the grand cordon of the Legion of 
 Honor, and had it given to M. de Walteville, major of the StfIss 
 regiment of Ernest. 
 
 It was time to break the cuirass, to attack the king and queen. 
 
 Suddenly a report spread that the ancient military school had a 
 ■white flag; this flag, that was incessantly waving, the king had 
 given them. It recalled the black cockade of the 5th and 6th of 
 October. 
 
 They were so astonished, knowing the anti-revolutionary opin- 
 ions of the king and queen, not to see the white flag floating from 
 the Tuileries, that they fully expected to see it floating some fine 
 morning from some other building. When informed of the exist- 
 ence of this flag, the people rushed to the barracks. 
 
 The officers tried to resist them; the soldiers abandoned their 
 posts. 
 
 They found a white flag, the size of a man's hand, that had been 
 placed in a cake given them by the dauphin. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this unimportant trifle, they discovered 
 verses singing the king's praises, a number of injurious sonnets 
 against the assembly, and thousands of anti- revolutionary pam- 
 phlets. 
 
 Bazire immediately reported this to the assembly. The king's 
 guard broke forth into cries of joy, on hearing the news from 
 Tournay and Quievrain; they expressed the hope that Valenciennes 
 might be taken in three days, and that in eleven the foreign powers 
 might be in Paris. There was still more; a cavalier of that guard, 
 a good Frenchman named Joachim Murat, who was supposed to 
 have entered the Constitutional Guard, as his rank indicated, sent 
 in his resignation. He had been bought and sent to Coblentz. 
 
 This guard was a powerful handle in the hands of the Royalists. 
 Could they not, under the king's orders, march against the assem- 
 bly, surround the hall, take the representatives of the nation pris- 
 oners, or massacre them entirely? More than that; could they not 
 take the king, and leaving Paris with him, conduct him to the 
 frontier, trying a second flight from Varennes that this time would 
 be a success? Thus the 22d of May, that is to say, three weeks 
 after the double check at Tournay and Quievrain, Pelion, the new 
 mayor of Paris, a man appointed through the queen's influence, 
 he who had brought her from Varennes, who protected her out of 
 hate for those who had helped her to fly — Petion wrote to the 
 commander of the National Guard, expressing very plainly his 
 fears on the possible departure of the king, telling them to he 
 " careful, to watch, to increase their patrols in the neighbor- 
 hood!" To be careful, to watch what? Petion did not state. 
 
 To increase their patrols in what neighborhood? 
 
 The same silence. 
 
 But wby name the Tuileries or the king? 
 
 What were they to watch? 
 
 Their enemies. 
 
 Where were their patrols to be increased? 
 
 Around the enemy's camp. 
 
 Where Mi as the enemy's camp? 
 
 At the Tuileries. 
 
80 ANDEEB DE TATERNET. 
 
 Who was their enemy? 
 
 The king. 
 
 Thus were the important questions solred. 
 
 It was Petion, the insignificant lawyer of Chatres, the son of a 
 procureur, who thus ordered the descendant of St. Louis, th» 
 grandson of Louis XIV., the King of France. 
 
 The King of France murmured — he understood that this voice 
 ipoke louder than his — he murmured in a letter that the superin- 
 tendent of the department fastened to the walls of Paris. But 
 Petion paid no attention to it; he did not answer it, he maintained 
 bis order. Thus Petion was the real king. 
 
 If it was doubted, the proof was soon forthcoming. 
 
 Bazire's request demaided the suppression of the Constitutional 
 Guard of the king, and a decree of arrest against M. Brissac, its 
 leader. 
 
 The iron was hot; the Girondists, in rude forges, were trying to 
 beat it cold. 
 
 The question for them was, to exist, or not to exist. The decree 
 was executed the same day. the Constitutional Guard abolished, 
 the Duke de Brissac declared arrested, the National Guard ordered 
 to take charge of the Tuileries. 
 
 Oh, Charny! Charny, where are you? You, who, at Varennes, 
 failed to retake the queen with your three hundred cavaliers, what 
 could you do at ihe Tuileries with six thousand men? 
 
 Charny was happy, forgetting everything in the arms of Andrea. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LA RUE GtrENBQAUD AND THE TUILERIES. 
 
 De Grave's resignation will be remembered; the king did not 
 want to accept it, and Dumouriez refused doing so outright. 
 
 Dumouriez tried to keep De Grave, who was a man after his 
 own heart; but at the news of the double check they had just re- 
 ceived, he was obliged to sacrifice his Minister of War. 
 
 He gave him up— a sop thrown to the Cerbarus of the Jacobins 
 to soothe their death-throes. He took in his place Colonel Servan, 
 the ex-governor of the pages, who had at first been proposed to the 
 king. 
 
 While the queen watched from the mansard windows of the 
 Tuileries the horizon, looking in vain for the coming of the long- 
 expected Austrians, another woman watched in her little salon m 
 the Rue Guenegaud. 
 
 One was anti-revolution; the other, for the revolution. 
 
 It was easy to understand the latter was Mme. Roland. It was 
 she who had raised Servan to the ministry, as Mme. de Stael had 
 raised Narbonne. 
 
 Women's influence was all-powerful during the three terrible 
 years of 1"91, '92, and '93. Servan did not desert Mme. Roland's 
 salon. Like all the Girondists, of which she was the breath, the 
 light, the Egeria, she inspired that courageous heart with incessant 
 ardor that was never extinguished. They said she was Servan's 
 mistress; she let them talk; reassured by hsr conscience, she 
 laughed at the calumny. 
 
ANDEBE DE TAVERNBT. 81 
 
 Each day she saw her husband return overburdened with the 
 struggle; he felt himself drawn toward the abyss; and yet nothing 
 could be seen — everything was hidden. 
 
 The evening Dumouriez came to offer him the position of Minis- 
 ter of the Interior, he made his conditions. 
 
 " I have no other fortune but my honor," he said; " I want t» 
 retain that intact of the ministry. Let a secretary be present at all 
 the deliberations of the cabinet, and write down every one's sug- 
 gestions; one can judge at, the final if I ever betray patriotism or 
 liberty." 
 
 Dumouriez agreed to this; he felt the need of covering the un- 
 popularity of his name with the Girondist manlle. Dumourie* 
 was one of those men who always promise, but never lieep their 
 promises if they can possibly help it. He had not kept his word 
 in this, and Eoland vainly Importuned him for a secretary. Then, 
 as Roland could not oblain tliis secret archive, he had recourse to 
 publicity. 
 
 He established a paper, " The Thermometer;" but he understood 
 very well himself there were cabinet meetings, the immediate reve- 
 lation of which would be treason and in the enemy's favor. 
 
 Servan's nomination aided him. 
 
 But that was not sufficient. Neutralized by Dumouriez, the 
 cabinet could make no advance. The assembly gave them a blow. 
 They had suppressed the Constitutional Guard, and arrested 
 Brissac. 
 
 Roland, returning with Servan the 29th of May, in the evening, 
 brought the news to the house. 
 
 " What will they do with that disbanded guard?" asked Mme. 
 Roland. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " They are free, then?" 
 
 " Yes; only they are obliged to discard their blue uniform." 
 
 " To-morrow they will put on their red uniform and appear as 
 the Swiss Guard." 
 
 In fact, the next day the streets of Paris were filled with Swiss 
 uniforms. 
 
 The disbanded guard had exchanged their uniforms, that was all. 
 
 There they were in Paris, extending their arms to the foreign 
 powers, giving them secret signs, ready to open the barriers. 
 
 The two men, Roland and Servan, could find no remedy for 
 this. 
 
 Mme. Roland took a sheet of paper, and put a pen in Servan'* 
 hands. 
 
 " Write!" said she. " A proposition to establish at Paris, in 
 commemoration of the ffite of the 14th of July, a camp of twenty 
 thousand volunteers — " 
 
 Servan let the pen fall before finishing the sentence. 
 
 " The king will never consent," he said. 
 
 " It is not to the king that we will propose this measure. It is 
 the assembly. It is not as a minister to accomplish it, but as a 
 citizen." 
 
 Servan and Roland, by the aid of this light, saw an immenw 
 liorizoii open before them. 
 
82 ANDREB DB TAVEENET. 
 
 "Oh!" said Servan, " you are right! With that and a decree 
 against the priests, we hold the king." 
 
 " You understand it, do you not? The priests are anti-revolu- 
 tionary between the family and society; they should have added 
 this sentence to the Credo: ' Those who pay their taxes will be 
 danmed.' Fifty forsworn priests have been hung, their house* 
 sacked, their lands devastated. Let the assembly issue an urgent 
 decree against the rebel priests. Finish your document, Servan. 
 Boland will write down his motion." 
 
 Servan finished his manuscript. 
 
 Boland had been writing. 
 
 The departure of the rebel priests outside of the kingdom must 
 take place within a month, if it is demanded, by twenty active citi- 
 zens, approved by the district, pronounced upon by the govern- 
 ment. The refugees will receive three livres for every day to meet 
 their daily expenses, as far as the frontier. 
 
 Servan read his proposition about the camp of twenty thousand 
 volunteers. 
 
 Eoland read his decree as to the project of banishing the priests. 
 
 Everything was contained in those two questions: 
 
 "Would the king meet these frankly? or would he betray them? 
 
 If the king was truly constitutional, he would sanction those two 
 decrees. 
 
 If the king betrayed them, he would veto them. 
 
 " 1 will sign the proposition as to the camp as a citizen," said 
 Servan. 
 
 " Let Vergniaud propose the decree against the priests," said the 
 husband and wife at the same time. 
 
 The next day Servan gave his demand to the assembly. 
 
 Vergniaud put the decree in his pocket and promised to look at 
 it when he had time. 
 
 The evening the order was sent to the assembly, Servan entered 
 the cabinet as usual. 
 
 The deed was acomplished: Roland and Clavifires sustained it 
 against Dumouriez, Lacoste. and Duranthon. 
 
 "Oh! come, sir," cried Dumouriez, "and give an account of 
 your conduct." 
 
 " To whom, if you please?" asked Servan. 
 
 " To the king, to the nation, to me!" 
 
 Servan laughed. 
 
 " Sir," continued Dumouriez, " you have made to-day a most 
 important move." 
 
 " Yes," replied Servan, " I know it, sir; of the highest impor- 
 tance." 
 
 " Have you received orders from the king for this?" 
 
 " No, I must confess, sir, I have not." 
 
 " Did you take the advice of your colleagues?" 
 
 " Not any more than I did orders from the king, I must still 
 further confess." 
 
 " Then, why have you done this?" 
 
 " Because it was my right as a private man and as a citizen." 
 
 " Then, it was as a private man and as a citizen you presented 
 that incendiary motion!" 
 
ANDEEE DE TATBENET. 8S 
 
 •• Yes." 
 
 " Then, why did you add to your signature the title of Minister 
 •fWar?" 
 
 " Because I wished to show the assembly 1 was ready to sustain, 
 as a minister, what I demanded as a citizen." 
 
 " Sir," said Dumouriez, " what you have done, then, showed a 
 bad citizen and a bad minister." 
 
 " Sir," replied Servan, " permit me to be the best judge of 
 things appertaining to my conscience; if I should require a judge 
 in 80 delicate a question, 1 will be careful he is not called Du- 
 mouriez." 
 
 Dumouriez grew pale and stepped toward Servan. 
 
 The latter took hold of the hilt of his sword. 
 
 Dumouriez did the same. 
 
 At that moment the king entered. 
 
 He was still ignorant of Servan's motion. 
 
 They said nothing. 
 
 The" next day the decree demanding the assembling of twenty 
 thousand troops in Paris was discussed in the assembly. 
 
 The king was filled with consternation at the news. 
 
 He sent for Dumouriez. 
 
 " You are a faithful friend, sir,'' he said. " I know the manner 
 in which you took the interests of the crown instead of that mis- 
 erable Servan." 
 
 " I thank your majesty," said Dumouriez. 
 
 Then, after a pause : 
 
 " Does the king know whether the decree has passed?" he asked. 
 
 " No," said the king; " but it will make no difference; I have 
 decided under those circumstances to exercise my right to veto it." 
 
 Dumouriez shook his head. 
 
 " That is not your advice, sir?" demanded the king. 
 
 " Sire," replied Dumouriez, " without any power of resistance, 
 exposed as you are to the suspicions of the greatest part of the na- 
 tion, to the anger of the Jacobins, to the profound politics of the 
 Republican party, a resolution like that on your part would be * 
 declaration of war." 
 
 " Suppose it is war! I have declared it against my friends; 1 
 can do the same to my enemies." 
 
 " Sire, on one side you have ten chances of victory; on the other 
 ten chances of defeat! " 
 
 ' ' But do you know their aim in demanding these twenty thou- 
 «and men?" 
 
 ' ' If your majesty will give me five minutes to speak to you 
 frankly, I hope to prove not only what they want, but what I im- 
 agine will happen." 
 
 " Speak, sir," said the king; " I am listening." 
 
 And, in fact, leaning with his elbow on the arm of the sofa, his 
 head in the palms of his hands, Louis XVI. listened. 
 
 " Sire," said Dumouriez, " those who have conceived this de- 
 cree are as much the enemies of the nation as of the king." 
 
 " You see that plainly!" interruptsd Louis XVI. "You avow 
 it yourself 1" 
 
84 ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 " I say more: its accomplishment will be productive of the 
 greatest misfortune." 
 
 " In what way, pray?" 
 
 " Permit me, sire — " 
 
 " Yes; go on, go on!" 
 
 " The Minisler of 'War is very culpable in demanding an assem- 
 bling of twenty thousand men near Paris, while our armies are yet 
 feeble, our frontiers unprotected, our treasury empty." 
 
 " Culpable!" said the king, " I should think so." 
 
 " Not only culpable, sire, but more, imprudent; that is very evi- 
 dent; imprudent in proposing ihe assembling near the assembly at 
 an undisciplined army, called thither by a name that will exag- 
 gerate their patriotism, and of which the first ambitious one will 
 take advantage." 
 
 " Oh, it is the Gironde that is speaking through Servan's voice!" 
 
 " Yes," replied Dumouriez; " but it is not the Gironde that will 
 profit by it, sire." 
 
 " It is the Feuillants, then, that will profit by this?" 
 
 " It is neither one nor the other; it would lie the Jacobins — the 
 Jacobins whose ramifications extend throughout the kmgdom, and 
 who, among their twenty thousand federalists, will, peihaps, find 
 nineteen thousand adepts. Thus, you may well believe, sire, the 
 promoters of the decree will be overthrown by the decree itself." 
 
 " Ah! if I could believe it, I would be almost consoled!" cried 
 the king. 
 
 " I think, then, sire, that the decree is dangerous for the nation, 
 the king, for the National Assembly, and more than all, for its 
 authors, whose punishment it will be. And now, my advice is, 
 that you can not do better than sanction it; it was evoked by a 
 malice so profound, that I say there must be a woman at the bot- 
 tom of it." 
 
 " Madame Roland, is it not? Why doesn't the woman sew or 
 knit, instead of meddling with politics?" 
 
 " What will you have, sire Madame de Maintenon, Madame de 
 Pompadour, and Madame du Barry made politics their study. 
 The decree, as I have said, was provoked by a profound malice, 
 argued with bitterness, adopted with enthusiasm; all the world is 
 blinded to the rights of that unfortunate decree; if you apply your 
 veto to it, it will not be noticed. Instead of twenty thousand men 
 assembling under the law, who consequently will submit to iu 
 ordinances, there will arrive from the provinces, at the federation 
 that is approaching, forty thousand men without a decree, who 
 can with one blow overthrow the Constitution, the assembly, and 
 the throne. If we were victorious, instead of being vanqiiit^lied," 
 added Dumouriez, lowering his voice; '" if I had the slightes^t pre- 
 text to make Lafayette General-in Chief and to pul a hundred 
 thousand men in your hand, sire, I would say, ' Do not accept it!' 
 We are beaten at home and abroad; I say to you, sire, * Accept 
 it!' " 
 
 At that moment some one knocked at the door of the king. 
 
 " Enter!" said Louis XVI. 
 
 It was thfi valet de chambre Thierr»- 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEBNEY. 85 
 
 " Sire," he said, " Monsieur Duranthon, tlie Minister of Justice, 
 ■wants to speak to your maiesty. " 
 
 " What does he want? Will you attend to it, Monsieur Du- 
 mouriez?" 
 
 Dumouriez went out. 
 
 The same instant the tapestry that fell before Ihe door com- 
 municating with the queen's apartments was raised, and Marie 
 Antoinette appeared. 
 
 " Sire! sire!" she said, " be firm! Dumouriez is a Jacobin, like 
 the rest! Did he not put on the red bonnet? As for Lafayette, 1 
 •would rather be lost without him than saved b}' him." 
 
 And when Dumouriez 's footsteps were heard approaching, the 
 tapestry fell and the vision disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE VETO. 
 
 As the tapestry fell the door opened. 
 
 " Sire," said Dumouriez, " on Monsieur Vergniaud's propo- 
 sition, the decree against the priests has passed." 
 
 "Oh!" said the king, rising; " that is a conspiracy. How was 
 this decree worded?" 
 
 " Here it is, sire. Monsieur Duranthon brought it to you. I 
 thought your majesty would do me the honor to give me your true 
 opinion upon it before speaking in the cabinet. ' ' 
 
 " You are right. Let me see this paper." 
 
 And in a voice trembling with agitation, the king read the de- 
 cree, whose outlines we have seen. 
 
 After having read it he crushed the paper in his hands, throw- 
 ing it far from him. 
 
 " 1 will never sanction such a decree!" said he. 
 
 "Excuse me, sire," said Dumouriez, " to be again opposed to 
 your majesty's opinion." 
 
 " Sir," said the king, " I may hesitate in political matters — in 
 religious matters, never! In political matters I judge with my 
 mind, and that may be mistaken; in religious matters I judge witk 
 my conscience, andi the conscience is infallible." 
 
 " Sire," replied Dumouriez, " a year ago you sanctioned the de- 
 cree that the priests should take the oath." 
 
 " Eh! sir," cried the king, " I was forced into it." 
 ' " Sire, you must put your veto to this; the second decree is only 
 the consequence of the first. The first decree produced all the 
 evils in Prance; this will remedy those evils. It is hard, but not 
 cruel. The first was a religious law; it attacked freedom of 
 thought in matters of religion. This is a political law that only 
 concerns the safety and tranquillity of the kingdom; it assures 
 safety to the unsworn priests against persecution. Far from sav- 
 ing them by your veto, you place them be3'ond the pale of the 
 law, expose them to massacres, and force the French to become 
 their executioners. Sire, my advice is this — excuse a soldier's- 
 frankness — my advice is— dare I say it? — having committed th« 
 fault of sanctioning the decree of the priests taking the oath, your 
 veto applied to the second decree, that can arrest the deluge ot 
 
86 ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 blood that will soon flow, your veto, sire, will burden the con- 
 science ot your majesty with all the crimes the nation may com- 
 imit." 
 
 " But what crimes is he, then, to carry, sir? what greater criaieg 
 than those that have already been accomplished?" cried a voice 
 from the end of the apartment. 
 
 Dumouriez trembled at that agitated voice. He recognized the 
 queen's metallic timbre accent. 
 
 " Ah I madame," said he, " I would prefer terminating this en-- 
 tirely with the king." 
 
 "Sir," said the queen, with a bitter smile for Dumouriez, and a 
 disdainful glance for the king, " 1 have but one question to ask." 
 
 " What, madame?" ) f 
 
 " Do you think the king will support any longer Roland's men- 
 aces, ClaviSre's insolence, and Servan's folly V" 
 
 " No, madame," said Dumouriez. " 1 am as indignant as you. I 
 admire the king's patience, and if we come to that, I will dare im- 
 plore the king to change his entire ministry." 
 
 " Entirely?" gasped the king 
 
 " Yes; let your majesty dismiss all the six, and let her choose, 
 if she can find them, men who do not belong to any party." 
 
 " No, no," said the king; " no, I want you fo remain, you and 
 good Lacoste, and Duranthon also; but do me the favor to dismiss 
 those three factious insolents; for I swear to you, sir, my patience 
 is at an end." 
 
 " It is dangerous, sire." 
 
 " And you recoil before the danger?" said the queen. 
 
 " No, madame," continued Dumouriez; " only I make my con- 
 ditions." 
 
 " Your conditions?" cried the queen, haughtily. 
 
 Dumouriez bowed. 
 
 " Mention them, sir," replied the king. 
 
 " Sire," continued Dumouriez, " I am a butt only of the three 
 factions that divide Paris; the Girondists, Feuillants, Jacobins, try 
 to get the best ot me. 1 am unpopular with all, and as it is only 
 by public opinion one can retain any hold on the government, I 
 can only be useful to you on one condition." 
 
 '• What is that?" 
 
 "It is to give it out, sire, that I have only remained, I and my 
 two colleagues, to sanction the two decrees that have just beea 
 issued." 
 
 " That could not be!" cried the king. 
 
 " Impossible! impossible!" repeated the queei:. 
 
 " You refuse?" 
 
 "My crudest enemy, sir," said the king, "could not impose 
 harder conditions than you are making." 
 
 " Sire," said Dumouriez, " on my faith as a gentleman, on my 
 honor as a soldier, 1 believe it necessary for your safety." 
 
 Then turning toward the queen. 
 
 " Madame," he said, "it is not alone for you; if the intrepid 
 daughter of Maria Theresa not only despises danger, but still 
 further, following her mother's example, is ready to go to still 
 greater lengths— do not, madame, forget you aie not alone — thiuit 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEENET. 87 
 
 «f the king, think of your children, instead of forcing them ovef 
 the abyss, assist me in retaining his majesty on the edge of the prec- 
 ipice where his throne is tottering. If I considered the sanction 
 of the two decrees necessary before his majesty expressed his de- 
 sire to be freed from the three factious ministers that displease 
 him," added he, addressing the king, "you may judge how in- 
 dispensable 1 consider it that they should leave; if you send away 
 your ministers without sanctioning the decrees, the people will 
 have two accusations against you; they will look upon you as an 
 enemy of the Constitution, the dismissed ministers will pass for 
 martyrs, and I would not answer if, at the end of several days, the 
 most serious outbreaks would occur, putting your crown and life 
 in danger. As for myself, your majesty must know that I could 
 not, even to serve him, go — I will not say agaiast my principles, 
 but against my convictions. Duranthon and Lacoste, however, I 
 have no reason to speak for them. As far as I am myself con- 
 cerned, I have told you, and I repeat it, I will not remain in the 
 cabinet unless your majesty sanctions the two decrees." 
 
 The king made an impatient gesture. 
 
 Dumouriez bowed and walked toward the door. 
 
 The king exchanged a rapid glance with the queen. 
 
 " Sirl" she cried. 
 
 Dumouriez stopped. 
 
 "Think how hard it is for the king to sanction a decree that 
 brings to Paris twenty thousand scoundrels that may massacre usl" 
 
 " Madame," said Dumouriez, " the danger, I know, is great; for 
 that reason it should be regarded seriously, though not exag- 
 gerated. The decree states the executive power can indicate the 
 place where these twenty thousand men are to encamp — they are 
 not all scoundrels; it also states the Minister of War is to giv« 
 them their officers and their code of organization." 
 
 " But, sir, the Minister of War is Servanl" 
 
 " No, sire, the Minister of War when Servan retires will be I." 
 
 " Oh! yes, you," said the king. 
 
 " Will you take, then, the Minister of War?" asked the queen. 
 
 "Yes, madame; and I hope to turn against your enemies the 
 sword now suspended over your heads." 
 
 The king and the queen looked at each other again as if in con- 
 ■ultation. 
 
 " Suppose," continued Dumouriez, " I have the camp at Sois- 
 sons, that I appoint as commandant a lieutenant-general jfirm and 
 of great discretion, with two good camp marshals; these men will 
 be formed by battalions; in case there should be four or five di- 
 visions of the army, the minister will accede to the demands of the 
 generals to send them to the frontier. In this way, sire, this de- 
 cree, conceived in a wicked spirit, far from being injurious, will 
 be of use." 
 
 " But," said the king, " are you sure you can obtain permission 
 to assemble this camp at Soissons?" 
 
 " I can answer for it." 
 
 " In that case, then, take office of Minister of War," said tho 
 king. 
 
 " Sin," said Dumouriez, " as Minuter of Foreign A£aiTs, m; 
 
S8 ANDEEE DE TAVERKEY. 
 
 responsibilities are indirect and liglit; it is very different with that 
 of Minister of War. Your generals are my enemies; you will see 
 their feebleness; I must report their faults; but as it is a questioa 
 of your majesty's life, of the queen's safety, and that of your 
 august children, also the maintenance of the Constitution, I will 
 accept it. "We are then agreed on this point, sire, sanctioning the 
 decree of the twenty thousand men?" 
 
 " If you are the Minister of War, sir, I defer entirely to you." 
 
 " Now we come to the decree of the priests." 
 
 " As for that, sir, I told you I would never sanction it." 
 
 " Sire, in sanctioning the first, you have put yourself in the 
 necessity of sanctioning the second." 
 
 " If I have committed a fault, I am soriy; but it is no reason I 
 should commit another." 
 
 " Sire, if you do not sanction that decree, the second fault wiU 
 ^3 greater than the first." 
 
 " Sire!" said the queen. 
 
 The king turned toward Marie Antoinette. 
 
 " You also, madame?" 
 
 " Sire," said the queen, " I must confess that on this point, and 
 after the explanations he has given us, I am of Monsieur Du- 
 mouriez's opinion." 
 
 " Very well, then," said the king. 
 
 " Then, sire?" repeated Dumouriez. . 
 
 " I consent, but on the condition that, soon as possible, you dis- 
 miss those three." 
 
 " Believe me, sire," said Dumouriez, " I will seize the first oc- 
 casion; and I am sure, sire, the occasion will not be long com- 
 ing." 
 
 And bowing to the king and queen, Dumouriez retired. 
 
 Both of them followed the new Minister of War with their eyes 
 till the door closed. 
 
 " You motioned to me to accept," said the king. " Now, what 
 have you to say about it?" 
 
 " First, accept the decree of the twenty thousand men," said the 
 queen; " let them have their camp as Soissous; let him scatter the 
 men, and then — well, then, you can see what you will do about 
 the decree of the priests." 
 
 " But he will recall my word, madame." 
 
 " Good! he will also be compromised, and you can hold him." 
 
 "It is he, on the contrary, who will hold me, madame; he has 
 Kiy word." 
 
 " Bah!" said the queen, " there is a remedy for that when one 
 has been a scholar of Monsieur de la Vauguyon." 
 
 And trking the king's arm, she drew him in the neighboring 
 apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE OCCASION. 
 
 We have said the real war at this moment was between La Kue 
 ^uenegaud and the Tuileries, betwwa the queen and Mme. RO" 
 land. 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEKNET. 89 
 
 A strange coincidence; that both women should exert an influ* 
 •nee over their husbands that led nil four to their graves. 
 
 Except, each went by a different route. 
 
 The events we have just recounted took place on the 10th of 
 June; on the 11th, in the evening, Servan gayly entered Mme. 
 Roland's. 
 
 " Congratulate me, dear friend!" he cried; " I have the honoi: 
 to be dismissed from the cabinet." 
 
 " How is that?" saked Mme. Roland. 
 
 "This is what actually happened; this morning I went to the 
 king to consult him on some of the affairs connected with my de- 
 partment. Then, the affair terminated, I attacked vigorously th« 
 question of the camp of twenty thousand men; but — " 
 
 " But—" 
 
 " At the first word I uttered, the king turned his back upon me, 
 in a veiy bad humor; and this evening, in the name of his maj- 
 esty. Monsieur Dumouriez came to me to take the portfolio of 
 ■war." 
 
 " Dumouriez?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That was an ugly trick; but I am not surprised. Ask Roland 
 what I said about that man the first day 1 saw him. Beside, we 
 are informed he is every day in conference with the queen." 
 
 " He is a traitor!" 
 
 "No; he is an ambitious man. Go and find Roland and 
 ClaviSres." 
 
 " Where is Roland?" 
 
 " He is holding an audience at the Minister of the Interior's." 
 
 " And what are you going to do now?" 
 
 " Write a letter, which I will show you on your return — go." 
 
 " You are truly the famous goddess Reason, whom philosophers 
 have invoked so long." 
 
 " And that men with consciences have found. Don't return 
 without Claviferes." 
 
 " That will keep me probably some time." 
 
 " I need an hour." 
 
 " Proceed, and may the Genius of France inspire youl" 
 
 Servan left. The door was scarcely closed, when Mme. Rolanu 
 was at her desk, writing the following letter: 
 
 " SiBE, — France can not exist in this condition of things much 
 longer; it is passing through a crisis when lawlessness reaches the 
 utmost limits; it must end in a crash which must interest your 
 majesty as it concerns the whole empire. 
 
 " Honored by your confidence, placed in a position that requires 
 truthfulness to you, I must speak; it is an obligation due you. 
 France did not give the Constitution; it was made from rebels and 
 malcontents; the greater portion of the nation wishes to maintain 
 it; she has sworn to defend it with her blood, and she has seen 
 with joy the civil war offering a grand opportunity of declaring 
 herself. Meanwhile, the minority, upheld by faith, has united all 
 its efforts to obtain the advantage; from this comes this intestins 
 war against law, this anarchy in which so many good chizena 
 
90 ANDREB DE TAVERWET. 
 
 groan, and 'which the malcontents take good care to spread t« 
 calumniate the new regime; from this arises these excited differ, 
 ences, tor nowhere exists indifference; they want the Constitution 
 to triumph or to be changed; their endeavor is to sustain or to alter 
 It. I abstain from examining it in ilself, to consider only the ex- 
 isting circumstances, and examining it as disinterestedly as possi- 
 ble, ascertain what is required, and what is best. Your majesty 
 enjoys grand prerogatives that he believes belong to royalty ex- 
 clusively; brought up in the idea of preserving them, he can not 
 see them taken away with pleasure; the desire to keep them is as 
 natural as to regret to see them abolished. These sentiments, be- 
 longing to the very nature of humanity, should have entered into 
 the calculations of the enemies of the revolution; they should have 
 calculated on secret favoritism until circumstances permitted a de- 
 clared protection. These inclinations could not escape the nation's 
 notice, and they held them as worthless. Your majesty, so far, has 
 been constantly alternating in yielding to his early habits, to his 
 particular desires, or to make sacrifices dictated by philosophy, ex- 
 acted by necessity, consequently emboldening the rebels, or agi- 
 tating the nation, or appeasing it in agreeing with it. Everything 
 comes to an end, and temporizing has certainly done so. Can 
 your majesty to-day ally himself with those who pretend to reform 
 the Constitution, or will he enthusiastically devote himself with- 
 out reserve to make it triumphant? The inevitable solution of the 
 actual condition of things make this the real question. 
 
 " As for those ultra-metaphysicians anxious to ascertain if 
 France is sufficiently mature for liberty, that discussion is useless 
 now; it is not the question to ascertain what we may become in a 
 century, but what the present generation is capable of. 
 
 " The Declaration of Rights has become apolitical gospel, and 
 the French constitution a religion for which people are ready to 
 die. Hence the frenzy which has sometimes carried them beyond 
 all limits, and when the law was insufficient to restrain them, have 
 been permitted to punish these brawlers themselves. It is thus 
 the property of refugees, or persons suspected of being connected 
 with them have been exposed to ravages inspired by revenge; It is 
 thus so many departments have been obliged to proceed agamst the 
 priests, whose opinions have proscribed and sacrificed them. In 
 this clashing of interests, every sentiment has been accentuated by 
 passion. Patriotism is no longer a word for the imagination to 
 embellish; it is a condition in which one must make sacrifices, 
 where one is thought more advantageously of by the anxiety thej 
 occasion, by immense efforts they elevate themselves in the midst 
 of this trouble. All their efforts are to excite enthusiasm. 
 
 " How high will this enthusiasm rise, till the armies of our 
 enemies, united and powerful, coalesce with interior intrigues to 
 wreak us woe unspeakable. 
 
 " Rebellion is at a great height in all parts of the empire; it will 
 break forth in a terrible manner unless a reasonable confidence in 
 your majesty's intentions can finally subdue them; but these con- 
 fidences will not be established by protestations; it must have for 
 its foundation deeds. 
 
 " That the constitution of the French nation can advance, that 
 
AKDREE DE TAVERNET. 91 
 
 it may have all the strength that is necessary for it, it is evident 
 your majesty, absolutely desiring the triumph of that Constitution, 
 should sustain the legislative body in all its executive powers, re- 
 move everything that can trouble the people or rouse hopes in th« 
 malcontents. 
 
 " For example, two important decrees have been passed, both 
 bearing essentially on the public peace and salvation of the state. 
 Tour delaying your sanction will only lead to defiance, which, if 
 prolonged, will cause discontent, and I must tell you, in the ex- 
 citement that will ensue, the malcontents will lead everything. 
 
 "There is no time to return; there is no time to temporize. 
 The revolution is an accomplished fact in the minds of the people; 
 it will be finished in bloodshed, and cemented by it if sagacity 
 does not prevent the misfortune while there is yet time for escape. 
 
 " I know the belief is all things can be accomplished by extreme 
 measures; but when force was used to constrain the assembly, when 
 fear was spread through Paris, strife and dismay in the environs, 
 all France rose in indignation, and throwing herself in all tlie hor- 
 rors of civil war, developed that somber energy so prolific of 
 virtues and crimes, always the saddest for those who provoke it. 
 
 " The safety of the state and your majesty's happiness are close- 
 ly allied; no power is capable of separating them; cruel agony and 
 unerring misfortune surround your throne, it you do not support 
 it on the foundation of the Constitution and strengthen it in the 
 peace its maiutainence will finally give us. 
 
 " Thus the inclinations of minds, the course of events, political 
 reasons, your majesty's interests, render it indispensable for you 
 to agree with the legislative body and reply to the nation's desire. 
 It is a necessity that principle presents as a duty; but the natural 
 sensibility of this affectionate nation is ready to find a means of 
 meeting you half-way. You have been cruelly deceived, sire, 
 w^hen you have been inspired with disdain and alienation toward 
 these people who are so easily moved; it must be a perpetual source 
 of anxiety to you, that your conduct has filled them with alarm. 
 Let them feel reassured that you are resolved to sustain this Con- 
 stitution, in which their happiness is centered, and you will soon 
 become the object of their grateful thanks. 
 
 "The conduct of ths priests in a great many places, pretext* 
 made use of by the malcontents for fanaticism, has led to the is- 
 suing of a very wise law against these malefactors. May your maj- 
 esty sanction it! the public peace demands it, and it is necessary 
 for the safety of the priests. If this law is not enforced, the de- 
 partments will be obliged to substitute in all directions more vio- 
 lent measures, and the irritated people will supplement them by 
 excesses. 
 
 " The attempts of our enemies, the agitations that are apparent 
 in the capital, the extreme uneasiness the conduct of your guard 
 has inspired, those who do not deserve the flattering testimonial 
 your majesty gave them in a proclamation which was, undei- the 
 circumstances, most impolitic; the situation of Paris, its proximity 
 to the frontier necessitates the establishing of a camp in its neigh- 
 borhood; the wisdom and urgency of this measure that has im- 
 pKSwd every sensible mind, only awaits your majesty's sanction. 
 
9Z ANDEEB DE TATEENBT. 
 
 Procrastination will only give it an appearance of regret on joxv 
 part, and alacrity would gain all hearts. Already the movements 
 of the commandant of the National Guard in Paris against this 
 decree has caused a suspicion that he is acting under the influence 
 of a higher order; already the declarations of ultra demagogues 
 are arousing suspicions of their connections with those interested 
 in the overthrow of the Constitution ; already public opinion is 
 suspicious of all your majesty's actions. Another delay, and the 
 afflicted people will see in their king the friend and accomplice of 
 conspirators! 
 
 "Just Heaven 1 have you struck with blindness the powers of 
 the earth, are they always to have advice that drags them to their 
 ruin? 1 know the rude language of truth is seldom heard near 
 the throne; I know also, because it has never been heard, revolu- 
 tions have become necessary; I know, moreover, I must uphold it 
 to your majesty, not only as a citizen submitting to the law, but 
 as a minister honored with your confidence, invested with the 
 functions that belong to the office; 1 know of nothing to prevent 
 doing a duty which I owe to my conscience. I reiterate these 
 representations to your majesty, at the same time feeling how 
 necessary, for the observance and execution of the law, a secretary 
 should be present at the meetings of the cabinet; the very exist- 
 ence of the law speaks so forcibly, that its execution should follow 
 immediately; but every means should be employed to preserve the 
 dignity, the wisdom, and necessary maturing of the plans, and for 
 responsible ministers, it will be a means of strengthening their 
 opinions; if such a secretary had existed, I would not now have 
 been obliged to address this document to your majesty. 
 
 " A man who considers his duty first of all, holds his life as 
 nothing; but after the happiness of accomplishing it, the only thing 
 that remains for him is to show he has accomplished it with 
 fidelity; the same obligation rests on,a man in public life. 
 
 " June 10th, 179i, year fourth of Liberty." 
 
 The letter was finished; it had been written in one stroke of a 
 pen, when Servan, Claviferes and Roland entered. In two words, 
 madame unfolded the plan to the three friends. 
 
 The letter that they then read was to be reread the next day, to 
 Dumouriez, Lacoste, and Duranthon. if they approved of it, they 
 would join their signatures to Roland; if they did not, Servan, 
 Clavifires, and Roland would each send in his resignation, on the 
 strength of their colleagues refusing to sign a letter that appeared 
 to them expressed the true opinion of France. Then they would 
 send the letter to the assembly, and France would have no doubt 
 as to the cause of the resignation of these ministers. The letter 
 was read by the three friends, who did not find a word to alter. 
 Mme. Roland had a heart so filled with patriotism every one could 
 drink freely from it. 
 
 But it was different the next day when Roland read it to Du- 
 mouriez, Lacoste, and Duranthon. All three approved the idea, 
 but differed on the manner of expressing it; finally refusing it^ 
 they said it would be better to go in person to the king. 
 
 That was but an excuse. 
 
AKDREE DE TAVEENET, 93 
 
 Roland the same evening sent the letter to the king, signed by 
 himself alone. 
 
 Almost immediately Lacoste sent Roland and ClaviSres their dis>. 
 missal. 
 
 As Dumouriez Lad said, the occasion soon presented itself. 
 
 It wa.s also true ihe king did not hesitate to make use of it. 
 
 The nexi day, as they had agieed upon, Roland's letter was read 
 at the tiibinie at the same time as his dismissal and that of Servaa 
 and Clavicle were announced. 
 
 The assembly declared, with an immense majority, the threa 
 dismissed ministers deserved their country's thanks. 
 
 In this way war was declared at home and abroad. 
 
 The assembly only waited to ascertain, before striking the firat 
 blow, what the king's intentions were in regard to the two decrees. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE DDKB DE LA VAUGUTON'S SCHOLAR. 
 
 The moment the assembly returned by acclamation a vote of 
 thanks to the three retiring ministers, and sent a copy of Roland's 
 letter to all the departments, Dumouriez appeared at the door of 
 the assembly. 
 
 They knew him to be brave, but were not aware he was au- 
 dacious. 
 
 He had heard what had taken place, and had come to take the 
 bull by the horns. 
 
 His excuse for appearing at the assembly was a remarkable re- 
 view on the state of tlie military force. Minister of War since the 
 evening before, he had accomplished, with the aid of others, this 
 work during the night; it was an accusation against Servan, and 
 then De Grave, and also Narbonne, his predecessor. 
 
 Servan had only been minister ten or twelve days. 
 
 Dumouriez ariived, feeling very strong; he had just left the 
 king, whom he implored to be faithful to his word given to sanc- 
 tion both decrees, and the king had replied, renewing his prom- 
 ises, and also affirming that the ecclesiastics he had consulted to 
 ease his conscience were of the same opinion as Dumouriez. 
 
 Thus the Minister of War marched directly to the tribune, and 
 ascended it in the midst of confused cries and ferocious threats. 
 
 Airived there, he coolly asked permission to speak. Permission 
 was given in the midst of a frightful tumult. 
 
 At last curiosity was so great to hear what Dumouriez had to 
 say, that calm was established. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " General Gouvion has just been killed; 
 ■God has recompensed bis bravery; he died fighting the enemies of 
 Trance; he was very fortunate. He did not see our frightful dis- 
 cords. 1 envy his fate." 
 
 These words, delivered in a haughty manner, and with the deep- 
 est melancholy, made an impression on the assembly; besides, this 
 death created a diversion. They deliberated upon taking some 
 steps to show their respect for the deceased, and it was decided 
 that the president should write a letter of condolence to his family. 
 
 Then Dumouriez asked permission to sp«ak again. 
 
94 ANDREE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 It was granted. 
 
 He took his review from his pocket; but scarcely had he read 
 the title, " Memoir upon the Minister of War," than the Girond- 
 ists and Jacobins were so noisy it was almost impossible to hear 
 him. But in the midst of the noise, the minister read his ex- 
 ordium in a tone so elevated and a voice so clear that above all 
 the noise they heard his sentiments directed against the factions, 
 and the duties of the people toward their minister. Such audacity 
 might well exasperate his hearers, even if they had been in a less 
 Irritable condition. 
 
 " Do you hear?" cried Gaudet. " He feels so sure of his power, 
 that he dares to advise us!" 
 
 " Why not?" replied Dumouriez, quietly turning toward his in- 
 terrupter. 
 
 For a long time, the most prudent thing in France was courage. 
 Dumouriez imposed on his adversaries; they kept still, at least, so 
 ^hat one could hear, and they listened to him. The memoir was 
 skillful, clever, and bright; so telling was it against the minister, 
 that in two places they applauded. 
 
 Laucee, who belonged to the military committee, ascended the 
 tribune to answer Dumouriez; the latter rolled up his memoir and 
 put it quietly into his pocket. 
 
 The Girondists saw him, and one of them cried: 
 
 " Do you see him, the traitor? He has put his review in his 
 pocket; he is going with his review 1 Stop him! that paper will 
 do to accuse him!" 
 
 But at these cries, Dumouriez, who had not taken a step toward 
 the door, took the review from his pocket, and gave it to an officer. 
 A secretary also held out his hand for it, and having received it, 
 looked for the signature. 
 
 " Gentlemen," cried the secretary, " the memoir is not signed." 
 
 " Let him sign it! let him sign it!" was heard on all sides. 
 
 " That is my intention," said Dumouriez; " and it is so faith- 
 fully written I do not hesitate to put my name to it. Give me the 
 pen and ink." 
 
 They dipped a pen in the ink and gave it to him. He put his 
 foot on the step of the tribune and signed the memoir on his knee. 
 
 The oflScer wished to take it from him, but Dumouriez pushed 
 aside his arm, and laid the memoir on the desk himself, then, with 
 Blow steps, stopping every moment, he slowly traversed the hall, 
 «nd left by the door situated at the end of the benches at the left. 
 
 Contrary to his entrance, which had been announced with crieR 
 and threats, his departure was accompanied with the greatest 
 silence; the spectators in the tribunes precipitated themselves in 
 the corridors to see this man who had just affronted the whole as- 
 sembly. At the door of the Feuillant he was surrounded by three 
 or four hundred persons who crowded around him with more 
 curiosity than hatred, as if they could see beneath his exterior the 
 man who three months later was to save France at Valmy. Sev- 
 eral Royalist deputies left the assembly and ran after Dumouriez; 
 for them, there was no doubt Dumouriez's star was in the ascend- 
 «iit. That was just what Dumouriea wanted to ascertain, and for 
 
AITDBEE DB TAVEEKET. 95 
 
 tbit reason he had made the king promise to sanction the two do- 
 crees. 
 
 " Oh! general," said one of them, " the devil's to pay down 
 there." 
 
 "All right," replied Dumouriez; "for I don't know who but 
 the devil could do it!" 
 
 " You don't know?" said another; " they are talking of sending 
 you to Orleans, aad of making out an accusation against you. ' ' 
 
 " Qoodl" said Dumouriez. "I need a vacation. I will tak« 
 the baths, and drink goat's milk, and rest." 
 
 " General," cried a third, " they are taking copies of your re- 
 view." 
 
 ' ' So much the better; all the impartial ones will he on my side. " 
 
 In the midst of these friends and these speeches he arrived at th» 
 chateau. 
 
 The king was surprised at the news; he felt he also was com- 
 promised. 
 
 The new cabinet assembled. 
 
 In dismissing Servan, Roland, and Clavifires, Dumouriez was 
 obliged to fill iheir places. 
 
 As Minister of the Interior, he proposed Mourgues of Mont- 
 pellier, a Protestant, a member of several academies, an ancient; 
 Feuillant, but at present retired from the club. 
 
 The king accepted him. 
 
 As Minister of Foreign Affairs, he proposed De Maulde, Semon 
 ville, or Naillac. 
 
 The king objected to Naillac. 
 
 As Minister of Finance, he proposed Yergennes, nephew of th« 
 old minister. 
 
 The king approved of Vergennes, and sent for him on the spot,' 
 but the latter, though profoundly attached to the king, refused 
 
 They finally decided that the Minister of the Interior in the in- 
 terim should also take the responsibility of the Minister of Finance, 
 and that Dumouriez, also in the interim, while waiting for NaUlac, 
 absent from Paris at that time, should take charge of Foreign 
 Affairs. 
 
 Only, outside of the king, the four ministers, who did not de- 
 ceive themselves as to the responsibility of their position, had de- 
 termined that if the king, after obtaining the dismissal of Servan, 
 Clavifires and Roland, did not keep his promise as the price of 
 their dismissal, they would tender their resignation. 
 
 The new cabinet, as we have said, was assembled. The king 
 already knew what had taken place at the assembly; he congratu- 
 lated Dumouriez on the position he had taken, immediately sanc- 
 tioned the decree for a camp of twenty thousand soldiers, but d«- 
 ferred till the next day sanctioning the decree of the priests. 
 
 He still felt some conscientious scruples that he said his con- 
 fessor would remove. 
 
 The ministers looked at one another; their first doubt began to 
 be felt. 
 
 But, after all, the timorous conscience of the king, perhaps, 
 needed this delay to reassure it&elf. Th« next day the uxiniaten 
 ivturned to jruterdaj's question. 
 
^6 ANDEEE DE TATEEN^Ei;. 
 
 But the niglit had done its work: the king's mind, not his con- 
 science, was made up; he declared he would oppose his veto to the 
 decree. The four ministers, one after the other — Dumouriez first, 
 the one lo whom his word had been promised, spoke to him re- 
 spectfully but fiiiiily. 
 
 The kiug listened, and closed his eyes in the attitude of a man 
 whose resolution whs taken. 
 
 In fact, when they had finished: 
 
 " Genllempn," said the king, "I have written a letter to the 
 president of the assembly to apprise him of my determination; one 
 of you had belter sign it, and all four of you carry it together to 
 the assembly." 
 
 It was an order made in all the spirit of the ancient regime, but 
 it grated on the ears of the Constitutional ministers, who felt them- 
 gelves responsible. 
 
 " Sire," said Dumouriez,' after consulting the looks of the other 
 ministers, " have you no other order for usV" 
 
 " No," replied the king. 
 
 And he retiied. 
 
 The ministers demurred, and the council finished, resolved to 
 demand an audience the next day. 
 
 They were ag:eed upon in not entering into any supplication, 
 but to tender a unanimous resignation. Dumouriez went to his 
 home. The king had dared to tritie with him, an apt politician, a 
 ciatty diplomatist, a bold gcncvnl familiar with intrigues. 
 
 He found three letters tri>m diti'erent persons announcing meet- 
 ings in the Faubourg St. Antoiue and a convention at Santerre's. 
 
 He wrote to the king announcing what iie had heard. An hour 
 after he received a note, not signed by the king, but in his hand- 
 writing: " Di) not imagine, sir, I am to be frightened by these 
 menaces; my mind is made up." 
 
 Dumouriez seized a pen, and wrote in his turn: " Sire, you mis- 
 judged me if you supposed me capable of employing such meas- 
 ures. My colleagues and myself have liad the honor to write to 
 your majesty to have the kindness to reteivu us to-morrow at ten 
 o'clock. Your majesty, meanwhile, will choose my successor dur- 
 ing the next twenty-tour hours in the war department, and accept 
 my resignation." 
 
 His secretary took the letter, to be sure of an answer. 
 
 The secretary waited till midnight, and half an hour after re- 
 turned with this note : 
 
 " I will see my ministers to-morrow at ten o'clock, and will 
 speak then upon the subject you have written." 
 
 It was evident a counter-revolution was in progress at the 
 chSteau. 
 
 They had, in fact, strong forces on which to rely. A Constitu- 
 tional Guard of six thousand men, disbanded, it was true, but ready 
 to rally at the first call. 
 
 Seven or eight Imndred Chevaliers of Saint Louis, whose red rib- 
 bon was their rallying badge. 
 
 Three battalions of Swiss Guards of sixteen hundred men each, 
 picked warriors, as indomitable as their own Helvatic rocks. Aai 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNBY. 97 
 
 Hiore valuable than all, a letter from Lafayette, in which was 
 this sentence : , 
 
 " Sire, persist, spite of all the authority of the National Assem- 
 bly, and you will find that all good Fienchmen will range round 
 your throne 1" 
 
 This was what they could do, and this was what they proposed; 
 
 At one tap of the drum, to gather the Constitutional Guard, 
 Chevaliers of St. Louis, and the Swiss Guard; to capture, at the 
 same time, all the cannon; to shut up the Jacobins and the assem- 
 bly; rally all the Royalists of the National Guard, who woilld 
 make up a contingency of about fifteen thousand men, then wait 
 for Lafayette, who in three days, by forced marches, could ar- 
 rived from Ardennes. , 
 
 Unfortunately, the queen would not hear of Lafayette. 
 
 Lafayette was a moderate revolutionist, and by the queer's 
 advice that revolution could have been established, persisted in, 
 and held. The revolution of the Jacobins, on the contrary, would 
 have soon fallen through, having no consistency. 
 
 Oh! if Charny had only been there 1 But they did not even knovj' 
 where Charny was, and if they did, it would have been too undig- 
 nified, not only for a queen, but for a woman, to have recourse to 
 him. 
 
 A stormy night passed at the chateau in deliberating. They had 
 the means of defense and attack, but no hand strong enough to 
 unite and direct them. 
 
 At ten o'clock the ministers were with the king. It was the 
 16th of June. 
 
 The king received them in his chamber. Duranthon spoke first. 
 
 In the name of all of them, with a deep and sympathetic re- 
 spect, he presented the resignation of his colleagues and himself. 
 
 " Yes, I understand — the responsibility!" said the king. 
 
 " Sire," cried Lacoste, " the royal responsibility; yes, as for us, 
 you will believe we are ready to die for your majesty; but in 
 ■dying for the priests we are only hastening the fall of royalty!" 
 
 Louis XVI. turned to Dumouriez. 
 
 "Sir," he said, "are you still of the same opinion you ex- 
 pressed in your letter yesterday?" 
 
 " Yes, sire," replied Dumouriez, " if your majesty will not be 
 convinced of our faithfulness and our attachment." 
 
 " Very well," said the king, with a somber air; " as your mind 
 Is made up, I accept your resignation; I can provide others." 
 
 All four bowed; Mourgues had his resignation in writing; be 
 jave it to the king. 
 
 The three others gave theirs by word of mouth. 
 
 The courtiers were waiting in the antechamber; they saw th* 
 ministers leave, and knew by their looks everything was over. 
 
 Some rejoiced, while others were horror-stricken. The atmos- 
 phere grew omniously heavy, as in hot summer days; they felt 
 the storm coming. At the entrance of the Tuileries, Dumouriez 
 met the commander of the National Guard, M. de Boumalnvillien. 
 
 He had arrived post-haste. 
 
 " gir^" lie said to Dumouriei. " I have come for jour ordan." 
 
98 AKDREB DB TAVERNKT. 
 
 " 1 am no longer minister," replied DumourieE. 
 
 " But there are riots in the faubourgs." 
 
 " Take your orders from the king." 
 
 " Time presses!" 
 
 " Hasten, then! The king has accepted my resignation." 
 
 M. de Roumainvilliers darted off. 
 
 The nth, in the morning, Messrs. Lajard and Chambonnas en- 
 tered General Dumouriez's, presenting themselves before the king, 
 Chambonnas to receive the portfolio of foreign affairs, and Lajard 
 ^he portfolio of war. 
 
 On the morning of the 18th, the king waited for Dumouriez K* 
 go over their last accounts, both public and secret expenses. 
 
 Seeing him reappear at the chfiteau, every one thought he had 
 retaken his position, and crowded around to congratulate him. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Dumouriez, " don't disturb yourselves; you 
 are not talking to a man that comes, but a man who goes. I havo 
 come to render up my accounts." 
 
 He was immediately deserted. 
 
 That moment an officer announced ^ that the king expected M. 
 Dumouriez in his chamber. 
 
 The king had regained all his serenity. Was it from strength 
 of character, or was it from deluded security? 
 
 Dumouriez gave up his accounts. 
 
 The task accomplished, Dumouriez arose. 
 
 "Now then," said the king to him, throwing himself on hii 
 •ofa, " you will go and rejoin Luckner's army?" 
 
 " Yes, sire; I leave with delight this horrible city, and with but 
 One regret, and that is, to leave you in danger. " 
 
 " In fact," said the king, with apparent indifference, " I know 
 the danger that menaces me." 
 
 "Sire," added Dumouriez, "you should know all of it; but 
 now, however, I am not speaking of personal interests; once away 
 from the cabinet, 1 am forever separated from you; but it is from 
 regard, from the purest attachment, from love of my country, for 
 your safety, that of the crown, the queen, your children, in the 
 name of everything that is sacred and dearest to a man's heart, I 
 beseech your majesty not to persist in refusing your veto; that 
 obstinacy will not be of the least avail, and you will be lost, sire." 
 
 "Do not speak to me further on the subject," said the king, 
 with impatience; " my mind is made up!" 
 
 " Sire, sire! you told me the same thing, here in this very room, 
 before the queen, you promised to sanction that decree." 
 
 " I did wrong to make such a promise, sir, and I have repented 
 
 " Sire, 1 repeat, it is the last time I shall have the honor of see- 
 ing you; pardon my frankness: I am fifty-three years of age, and 
 tave had experience. It was not when you promised to sanctioa 
 the decree you did wrong, it is to-day, when you refuse to keep that 
 t)romise. Peoijle are abusing your conecience, sire; they are lead- 
 ing you into civil war; you are without resources, you must suc- 
 cumb, and while history will pity you, it will reproach you to 
 have occaaoaed the misfortunes of Fraiics." 
 
ANDREB DB TAVEBXET. 99 
 
 " The misfortunes of France, sir?" said Louis XVI.; "do you 
 pretend to say they will reproach me for them?" 
 
 " Yes, sire." 
 
 " God, however, is my witness that I only wish it prosperity." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, sire; but God must not only see the purity, 
 hut the earnest endeavors, of your intentions. You think you are 
 saving religion; you are destroying it; your priests will be mas- 
 sacred; your overthrown crown will roll in your blood, in that of 
 the queen, perhaps in your children's. Oh! my king! my kingl" 
 
 And Dumouriez, overcome with emotion, pressed his lips to the 
 hand Louis XVI. extended to him. 
 
 Then the king, with an ineffable serenity and a dignity one 
 would scarcely have credited him with: 
 
 "You are right, sir," he said. "I am awaiting death, and in 
 advance I pardon my murderers. As for you, you have served 
 me faithfully; I esteem you, and you know I am grateful for this 
 mark of sensibility. Adieu, sir!" 
 
 And, rising precipitately, the king retired within the embrasure- 
 of the window. 
 
 Dumouriez slowly gathered together the papers, in order to com- 
 pose himself, and allow the king time to do the same; then, with 
 slow steps, he went toward the door, ready to turn at the first 
 Word uttered by Louis XVL But his first words were also his 
 last. 
 
 " Adieu, sir! Be happy!" said the king. 
 
 After these words there was no excuse for remaining another 
 instant. 
 
 Dumouriez left. 
 
 Eoyalty had broken its last prop; the king was about taking off 
 his mask, and to show what he was before the people. 
 
 And this was what they were doing on their side, these people. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE CONVBNTION AT CHAHENTON. 
 
 A MAW mounted on a large Flemish horse, in the Faubourg St. 
 ^ntoine, had been all the morning pacing backward and forward, 
 shaking hands right and left, kissing the pretty girls, giving silver 
 to the boys. 
 
 It was one of the six heirs of General Lafayette, commanding 
 one of the divisions of the National Guard; it was the chief of 
 'jattalion, Santerre. 
 
 Near him, in attendance as aid-de-camp, curveting on a spirited 
 horse, was a man whose uniform showed him a patriot from the 
 provinces. 
 
 A saber- cut had left its trace on his face; and though the chief 
 of battalion had an open countenance and a frank smile, this one 
 flad a solemn visage and a menacing countenance. 
 
 " Hold yourselves in readiness, my friends! watch over the 
 country! Traitors are conspiring against us, but 'we are ready for 
 them," said Santerre. 
 
 " What must we do. Monsieur Santerre?" aaked the citizens. 
 
100 ANDEEE DE TATEENET. 
 
 " You know you have but to command us I Where are the traitors! 
 Lead us to them." 
 
 " Wait," said San terra, " t'''. the moment arrives." 
 
 " When will ihe moment come?" 
 
 Santerre did not know, but he replied at hazard: 
 
 '* You will hear of it, don't fret." 
 
 The man that followed Santerre, leaning over his horse'o aeck, 
 said in the ear of certain men whom he recognized by signs: 
 
 " The 20th of June— the 20th of June!" 
 
 And the men went away with that date. 
 
 Some distance off a group formed itself around them, and the 
 date circulated, " the 20th of June." 
 
 What was to be done on the 20th of June? No one knew yet, 
 lout wliat they did know was that on the 20th of June something 
 ■Would be done. 
 
 Among the men to whom this date was communicated, there 
 'were to be seen those who were not strangers to the events we have 
 previously related. St. Huruge, whom we left the morning of the 
 5th of October in the garden of the Palais Royal, conducted the 
 first regiment to Versailles; St. Huruge, that deceived husband be- 
 fore 1789, thrown into tlie Bastile, freed the 14th of July, when 
 he avenged himself for his conjugal misfortunes and his illegal in- 
 carceration. 
 
 Verriere — he is not forgotten, is he? He appeared twice, that 
 hunchback of the Apocalypse — once, in the inn at Sfevres, with 
 Marat and t'ue Ouke of Aiguillon, disguised as a woman; again, 
 nt the Champ de Mars, a moment before the firing began. 
 
 Fournier, the American, who had fired on Lafayette from the 
 rvheels of a carriage, but missed, promised to strike higher than 
 She commander of the National Guard the next time; and if his 
 fi;nn missed, he would fight with his sword. 
 
 M. de Beausire — who had noi taken advantage of the time we 
 left him in obscurity to improve — M. de Beausire, who took Oliva 
 from the hands of the dying Mirabeau. as the Chevalier des Grieux 
 jetook Manon Lescaut from the hands that only raised her a mo- 
 ment from the dust to let her fall into the fangs of destruction. 
 Mouchy, a small, crooked, bandy-legged cripple, almost covered 
 iTith an enormous tricolored scart, was a municipal oflicer, a judge 
 < f the peace. Gonchon, the Mirabeau of the people, whom Pitou 
 iound uglier than the Mirabeau of the nobility; Gonchon, who 
 a'isappeared after the riot, but, like a fairy, disappeared only to re- 
 appear later and always more fiery, more terrible, more vicious 
 tlan before — a demon whom the author only requires occasionally. 
 
 Then, in the midst of this crowd gathered around the ruins of 
 tie Bastile, as on another Mount Aventine, there was passing to 
 and fro a young man, thin, pale, with black hair, with eyes full 
 of fire, solitary as an eagle, which, later on, he took for his em- 
 lilem, not knowing anybody, and unknown by anybody. He was 
 « lieutenant of artillery, Bonapaite, by accident in Paris, on leave 
 <f absence. It will be leinembered, Cagliostro predicted strange 
 things of him the day he appeared at the Jacobins. 
 
 By whom was this crowd moved, excited? By a man of pow- 
 «Tful stature, with a lion's mane, with a roaring voice, that San- 
 
ABTDEEE DE TAVERKBT. 101 
 
 terre had found, on returning home in his little hack store, where 
 he was waiting for Danton. It was at the hour of that terrible 
 revolution, that we are all yet familiar with, by the sensation made 
 in the parterre of the Theatre Franpais in De Chenier's representa- 
 tion of " Charles II.," and by that terrible eloquence at the tribune 
 of the Cordeliers, that he made his real appearance on the political 
 scene, where he stretched forth his giant arms. 
 
 Whence came the power of this man that was destined to prov« 
 80 fatal to royalty? 
 
 From the queen herself. 
 
 She did not want Lafayette to be mayor of Paris— that haughty 
 Austrian; she preferred Petion, her companion on the journey 
 from Varennes, who, scarcely in the mayorally, quarreled with 
 the king, and ordered the Tuileries to be guarded. 
 
 Petion had two friends whom he brought with him the day he 
 took possession of the H6tel de Ville : Manuel, on his right, Dan- 
 ton, on his left. He made Manuel Procureur-Generale of the Com- 
 mune; Danton was his substitute. 
 
 Vergniaud said at the tribune, speaking of (he Tuileries: 
 
 " Terror has often issued from that dreary palace in the name 
 of despotism; let it re-enter in the name of the law!" 
 
 At last, the hour had come to demonstrate by actual fact the 
 heautiful yet terrible imagery of the orator of the Girondists; he 
 was about to find that terror in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and to 
 thrust it, horror stricken, with its discordant cries and twisted 
 arms, into the palace of Catherine de Medicis. 
 
 Who was better able to evoke it than thife terrible revolutionary 
 magician who was called Danton? 
 
 Danton had broad shoulders, immense hands, the chest of an 
 athlete, in which beat a robust heart; Danton was the tom-tom of 
 the revolution; any sensation that he received he returned instantly 
 by a powerful vibration, that, spreading throughout the people, 
 intoxicated them; Danton, on one side, reached the communitj 
 through Hebert, on the other, the throne by the Duke of Orleans. 
 JDanton, between the fruit -vender at the comer of the streets, and 
 the prince royal at the corner of the throne, held before him a key- 
 board where the least touch corresponded to a social fiber. Throw 
 your eyes over the game; it reaches two octaves, and harmonizes 
 with his powerful voice; Hebert, Legendre, Gonchon, Rossignol, 
 Momoro, Brune, Huquenin, Eotondo, Santerre, Fabre d'Eglantine, 
 Camille Desmoulins, Dugazon, Lazouaki, Sillery, Genlis, the Duke 
 of Orleans. It will be noticed the^e names embrace only a visible 
 limit. Who can say how far above or below reached this illimitable 
 influence? This was the power that raised the Faubourg St. An- 
 toine. From the 16th instant, a Danton man, the Pole, Lazouski, 
 member of the Council of the Commune, had charge of affairs. 
 
 He announced at the councils that on the 30th of June the two 
 Foubourgs of St. Antoine and St. Marceau would present petitions 
 to the assembly and the king on the subject of the decree relating 
 to the priests, and at the same time intended planting a tree of 
 liberty on the terrace of the Feuillants as a memorial of the SOth 
 ©f June, 1789. 
 
 The council refused to authorize it. 
 
103 ANDKEE DB TAVERNET. 
 
 " It will be passed," whispered Danton in Lazouski's ear. 
 
 And Lazouski repeated out aloud : 
 
 " It will be passed!" 
 
 The aoth of June had thus a visible and a hidden signification. 
 
 One, which was but a pretext, to present a petition to the king 
 and plant a tree of liberty. 
 
 The other, whose aim was only known to a few initiated, was to 
 save Prance from Lafayette and the Feuillants, and avert that 
 incorrigible king, the king of the ancient regime, surrounded as he 
 was by political tempests, from upsetting his throne, his crown, his 
 family, as in the depths of the ocean a vessel is swallowed up with 
 its passengers and freight. 
 
 Danton, we have said, waited for Santerre in his back store. 
 The evening before he had sent word by Legendre that the rising 
 would take place the next day in the Faubourg St. Antoine. Then 
 in the morning Billot presented himself at the patriotic brazier, 
 had given the countersign, and announced that for the day the 
 committee had appointed him as his attache. 
 
 It was thus that Billot, while appearing ostensibly as Santerre 'a 
 aid-decamp, in reality knew more than Santerre himself. 
 
 Danton came to make a rendezvous with Santerre for the next 
 night, in a little house at Charenton, situated on the right of the 
 Marne, near the bridge. 
 
 There those men of strange and unknown existence, who are 
 always found directing the course of revolts, were to meet. Both 
 were punctual at the rendezvous. The ruling passion of these two 
 men were different. From whence did they derive their source? 
 They would all have been sad histories to record. Some were 
 moved from patriotism; many, like Billot, to avenge insult: a still 
 
 greater number from hate, misery, and depravity. On the first 
 oor was a closed room, where the leadeis only were allowed to 
 enter. They came with their final, precise, and exact instructions. 
 One would have said it was a tabernacle where some unknown god 
 received sacrifices. A gigantic diagram of Paris was spread out on 
 the table. Danton's fingers traced the source, the flow, the course, 
 the meeting of this stream, this current, this overflow of men that 
 the next day was to inundate Paris. 
 
 The Place de la Bastile, where it opened into the Faubourg St. 
 Antoine, by the Arsenal, by the Faubourg St. Marceau, weie in- 
 dicated as places of meeting. The assembly was the pretext, the 
 Tuileries was their aim. The boulevard was a large, wide route, 
 in which all this threatening crowd was to gather. The locations 
 assigned, each promising to be there, they separated. 
 
 Tiie general order was: " Finish with the chateau." 
 
 How were they to finish it? That remained to be seen. All 
 during the day of the 19th groups were stationed near the Bastile, 
 in the environs of the Arsenal, in the Faubourg St. Antoine. Sud- 
 denly, in the midst of these groups, there appeared n masculine 
 and terrible Amazon dressed in red, with a belt filled with pistols, 
 and at her side a sword that, after inflicting eighteen other wounds, 
 ■was to seek and find the heart of Suleau. 
 
 This was Theroigne de Mericourt, the beautiful Liegeone. She 
 Jtiad been at Versailles the preceding 6tb of October. What had 
 
AHDBEE DE TAVEKNET. 10? 
 
 13600016 of her since then? Liege had revolted. Theroigne was 
 anjdous to go to her country's succor. She was arrested on the 
 road by Leopold's agents, and held a prisoner in Austria for eight- 
 een months. Had she escaped? had she been allowed to go? or 
 had she broken her barriers herself? or had she cajoled her jailer? 
 It was as myserious as the beginning of her life, terrible as its end. 
 Whatever had happened, she was there. She had returned. The 
 nobility had given her gold, with which she had bought daggers 
 of tempered steel. Damascene pistols, with which to strike her 
 •nemies. 
 
 The people recognized and received her with loud cries. 
 
 The beautiful Theroigne arrived just in time, and appropriately 
 dressed, too, tor the bloody fSte of the next day. 
 
 The evening of the same day the queen saw her galloping along 
 the terrace ot the Feuillants, going from the Place de la Bastile to 
 the Champs Elysees to a popular assembling for a patriotic ban- 
 quet. 
 
 From the roof of the Tuileries, which the queen ascended, hear- 
 ing cries, she could see the decorated tables; the wine circulated, 
 patriotic toasts abounded, and at each mention of the assembly, 
 the Girondists, Liberty, the convivialists pointed toward the 
 Tuileries. The actor Dugazon sung couplets against the king 
 and queen, and from the chateau the king and queen could hear 
 the applause that followed each refrain. 
 
 Who were these convivialists? 
 
 They were confederates of Marseilles, led by Barbaroux, and had 
 arrived the evening before. On the 18th of June, the 10th of 
 August had made its entry into Paris. 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 THE TWENTIETH OP JUNE. 
 
 Dat-bkbak is early in June. 
 
 At five o'clock in the morning the battalions were assembled. 
 
 This time the rebellion was regulated; it took the aspect of an 
 invasion. 
 
 The crowds recognized their leaders, submitted to discipline, had 
 their assigned places, their rank, and their own flags. 
 
 Santerre was on horseback, with his staft from the faubourg. 
 
 Billot did not leave him; one would have thought he had been 
 ordered by some occult power to watch over him. 
 
 The gathering was divided into three army divisions: 
 
 Santerre commanded the first. 
 
 St. Huruge the second. 
 
 Thfiroigne de Mericourt the third. 
 
 Toward eleven o'clock in the morning, upon an order brought by 
 an unknown man, the immense mass began to march. 
 
 On leaving the Bastile, they were composed of nearly twenty 
 thousand men. 
 
 These troops presented an aspect at once strange, savage, terrible. 
 
 The battalion conducted by Santerre presented the most regular 
 appearancej they had quite a number of uniforms, and for arms a 
 pretty fair display of guns and bayonet*. 
 
104 ANDEEB DB TAVEEITBT. 
 
 But the tvf o others were in reality an army of the people clothed 
 in rags, and looking wan and pale; four years of famine and scar- 
 city of bread, and of these four years three of revolution. 
 
 Such waa the origin of this army. 
 
 These had no uniforms, no guns; tattered vests, torn blouses, 
 odd arms seized in the flr.<!t moment of anger; pikes, sticks, blunt 
 lances, sabers without points, knives tied to the end of long sticks, 
 carpenters' hatchets, masons' hammers, saddlers' and shoe-makers' 
 Implements. 
 
 Then for banners, a branch of a tree with a doll fastened to it by 
 a string, representing the queen ; a head of an ox with its horns, 
 and an obscene device twined around them; a heart of a calf struck 
 on top of a stick with these words i 
 
 " CmuR d'AristocratsI" 
 
 Then banners with these sentences: 
 
 " Sanction or Death!" 
 
 " Recall the Patriotic Ministers^" 
 
 " Tyrant, Tremble! Your Hour is Come!" 
 
 The gathering had formed at the corner of the Rue St. Antoine. 
 
 Santerre and his National Guards had followed the boulevard; 
 Santerre in his costume of chief of battalion; St. Huruge, in front 
 3f the hall, on a horse perfectly caparisoned, that had been sent to 
 him by an unknown groom, and Theroigne de Mericourt, lying on 
 a cannon drawn by men with bared arms, had followed the Rue 
 St. Antoine. 
 
 At the Place Vendome they were to join the Feuillants. For 
 three hours the army marched, drawing with it the population of 
 the quarter through which it passed. 
 
 It was like one of those torrents, that as they swell and roll, ac- 
 cumulate. 
 
 At each step it grew, at each corner accumulated. 
 
 The mass of the people were silent; only at intervals, from some 
 unexpected source, they made a great clamor, or sung that famous 
 " Ca Ira " of 1790, which, by modifying a little, became either a 
 song of encouragement or menace; at times also were heard cries of 
 "Vive le nation! Vivent les sans-culottesl A has Monsieur and 
 Madame Veto!" 
 
 Long before the heads of the columns could be seen, the noise of 
 their footsteps could be heard as one hears the waves rising; then 
 from moment to moment their songs would resound, their cries, 
 vague bursts from afar, as one hears the whisperings and mutter- 
 ings of a storm. 
 
 Arrived at the Place Vendome, Santerre's division, that carried 
 the tree that was to be planted on the terrace of the Feuillants, 
 found a division of the National Guard barring their passage. 
 Nothing would have been easier than tor this mass to have ground 
 the guard to pieces, but do; the people had been promised a fete, 
 and they wanted Monsieur and Madame Veto to laugh, to b« 
 amused; they waated to frighten them even, but not to ^ them. 
 
AWDEEB DB TAVERNET. 105 
 
 Ttey abandoned the project of planting the tree oa the terrace, and 
 chose instead the neighboring court of the Capuchins. 
 
 The assembly had heard this noise nearly an hour, when the 
 commissaries of the multitude came in the name of those they 
 represented to ask permission to defile before them. 
 
 Vergniaud demanded permission for them; but, at the same 
 time, he proposed sending sixty deputies to protect the chfiteau. 
 
 They, also, those Girondists, wanted to frighten the king and 
 queen, but wanted no harm to come to them. 
 
 A Feuillant opposed this proposition of Vergniaud, saying that 
 such a precaution would be injurious for the people of Paris. 
 
 Was there not hope, under this apparent confidence, some crime 
 would be committed? Permission was given; the people from the 
 laubourgs filed through the hall under arms. Then the doois 
 opened, admitting thirty thousand petitioners. They began march- 
 ing through at noon, and were three hours before the last man 
 passed. The crowd had obtained the first of their petitions; they 
 had marched before the assembly; their petition had been read; all 
 that was left was to demand the king's sanction. Had the assem- 
 bly received the deputation that the king should not see them? 
 The king surely was not a greater man than the presiaent, for 
 when the king came to see tha president, did he not have a sofa 
 the same as the president's, and even at his left? But the king 
 had said that he would receive a petition presented by twenty per- 
 «ons. The people had not expected to enter the Tuileries; they 
 supposed their deputies would go there while they marched by its 
 windows. All their fiags, with the threatening devices, all their 
 mournful standards, were carried before the windows of the king 
 and queen. All the doors leading into the chSteau were closed; 
 there were in the court and in the garden of the Tuileries three 
 regiments of the line, two squadrons of Infantry, several battalions 
 of the National Guard, and four pieces of cannon. 
 
 The royal family saw from the windows this apparent protection, 
 and appeared quite tranquil. 
 
 Meanwhile, the crowd, without any sinister motive, asked to 
 have the gate opened that led to the terrace of the Peuillants. 
 
 The officers that guarded it refused to open- it without an order 
 from the king. 
 
 Then three municipal officers asked to pass to obtain this order. 
 
 They let them pass. 
 
 Mountjoye, author of the " History of Marie Antoinette," ha« 
 recorded their namea 
 
 They wen Boucher Rene, Boucher St. Sauveur, and Mouchy — 
 Mouchy, that little judge of the peace at Mavais, that warped, 
 hunchbacked, bandy-legged dwarf, with his immense tricolored 
 scarf. 
 
 He was admitted into the chateau and conducted to the king, and 
 ie it was who spoke first. 
 
 " Sire," he said, " a gathering is legally marching under the pro- 
 tection of the law; there is no occasion for being worried; peace- 
 able citizens have united to deliver a petition to the National 
 Assembly, and want to celebrate a civil fSte commemorative of the 
 oath taken at the tennis-court, 178U. These citizens waa. to pass 
 
106 ANDEBB DE TATERBTEY. 
 
 by the terrace of the Feuillants, where not only are the gates closed, 
 hut a battery of cannon defends the entrance. We have come to 
 ask, sire, that the gates may be opened, that we have free passage." 
 
 " Sir," replied the king, " I see by your scarf you are a munici- 
 pal ofiBcer; it is for you to execute the law. If you consider it 
 necessary on the assembly's account, make them open the door on 
 the terrace of the Feuillants; let the citizens defile by the terrac* 
 end go out by the door of the stables. Let this order be undei- 
 gtood by the commanding general of the guard, and, above all 
 things, do not have the public tranquillity disturbed." 
 
 The three municipal officers bowed and left, accompanied by an 
 officer charged to insure that the order for opening the gates war 
 given by the king himself. 
 
 The gate was opened. 
 
 The gate once opened, every one wanted to enter. It was stifling; 
 one knows what a crowd is when it is suflocaling; the air itself 
 was vaporous. 
 
 The gate on the terrace of the Feuillants snapped like an osier. 
 
 The crowd breathed once more, and spread themselves in the 
 garden. 
 
 They had neglected to open the stable doors. Finding these 
 doors closed, they filed past the National Guards ranged in the 
 hedge by the facade of the chSteau. 
 
 Then they went out by the gates of the bridge, and then, as they 
 would be obliged to return to their own faubourgs some time, they 
 wanted to re-enter by the postern of the Carrousel. The posterns 
 were closed and guarded, but the bruised, blood-thirsty, tired-out 
 crowd began to be irritable. 
 
 Before its grumbling, the posterns opened and the crowd spread 
 over the immense place. There they remembered the principal 
 business of the day; it was the petition for the king to take away 
 his veto. 
 
 Instead of continuing on their road, the crowd waited in the 
 Carrousel. 
 
 An hour passed; they were becoming impatient. The avenues 
 weie filled, but it was no business of the keepers. 
 
 They were, instead, men who ■went from group to group, saying: 
 
 " Stay! RemainI The king intends giving his sanction. Do 
 not return without the king's sanction; you will have to commence 
 over again." 
 
 The crowd saw these men were right; but, at the same time, 
 thCT thought this famous sanction was a long time coming. 
 
 "They were hungry; that was the universal cry. 
 
 The scarcity of bread had ceased; more work, more money; still, 
 no matter how cheap bread was, it was not given for nothing. 
 
 All these people had risen at five o'clock in the morning, had 
 Jeft their truckle beds, where many slept from youth to heavy age; 
 ■workmen with their wives, mothers with their chidren, all of them 
 had joined the march with the vague hope the king would sanctioi 
 the decree, and everything would be well. 
 
 The king did not seem disposed to sanction it in the least. 
 
 It was warm, and they were thirsty. 
 
 Hunger, thira^ and heat make dogs mad. 
 
ANDEEE DE TATBRNET. 10? 
 
 So these poor people waited, and were patient. But after awhile 
 they began to shake the gates of the chateau. 
 
 An oflBcer appeared in the com t- yard of the Tuileries and 
 Iiarangued the people. 
 
 " Citizens," he said, " this is the king's house. To enter it witli 
 arms is to molest it. The king is willing to receive your petition, 
 but presented only by twenty deputies." The deputies the crowd 
 had been waiting for, that they thought had been with the king 
 for an hour, had not yet been introduced. Suddenly loud cries 
 had been heard on the side of the bridge. 
 
 It was Santerre and St. Huruge on their horses; it was Theroigno 
 on her cannon. 
 
 " Well, what are you doing before that grating?" cried St. 
 Huruge; " why don't you go in?" 
 
 " That is true," replied the men of the people; " why don't we 
 go in?" 
 
 " But you see the door is closed," objected several voices. 
 
 Theroigne threw herself from her cannon. 
 
 " It is loaded," said she; " open the door with its shot." 
 
 And the cannon was dragged before the door. 
 
 " WaitI waiti" cried the officers. "No violence. They will 
 open the door for you." 
 
 In fact, they leaned on the bar that closed the two doors. The 
 bar moved; the door opened. Everybody rushed. 
 
 Do you know what a crowd is? what a terrible torrent it makes? 
 
 This crowd entered. The drawn cannon rolled vsith the tide, 
 with it traversed the court, mounted with it the steps, and with it 
 lound itself on top of the staircase. 
 
 On top of the staircase were the municipal officers in uniform. 
 
 " What are you going to do with that cannon?" they asked. 
 " A cannon in the royal apartmentsi Do you expect to gain any- 
 thing by such violence?" 
 
 "That is true," replied the men, amazed themselves that the 
 cannon was there. 
 
 And they turned the piece, and tried to descend. The axle-treo 
 of the cannon was caught in a door, and the mouth of the caimoa 
 was turned toward the pople. 
 
 " Well, they have artillery even in the king's apartments!" cried 
 those just entering, who, not knowing how the piece came there, 
 not recognizing Theroigne's cannon, imagined it was pointed 
 against them. 
 
 By Mouchy's order, however, two men with axes cut, hacked and 
 chopped away at the casement of the door till the cannon was dis- 
 engaged and taken down the stairs to the vestibule. This opera- 
 tion, which was only to disengage the cannon, gave the impression 
 the doors were being broken open. 
 
 ' Two hundred gentlemen almost ran to the chSteau, not with 
 the hope of defending it; but they thought the last hours of the 
 king had arrived, and they came to die with him. 
 
 There were among others the old Marshal de Mouchy; M. 
 d'Hervilly, commandant of the disbanded Constitutional Guard; 
 Acloque, commandant of the battalion of the National Guard of 
 Hue Faubourg St. Marceau; three greoadiers of the battalion of ths 
 
108 ANDBEE DE TAVEKNEr. 
 
 Faubourg St. Martin alone remained at their posts — MM. Lecro»- 
 nier, Bridaud, and Gosse; a man dressed in black, who once beforo 
 had offered his breast to the assassin's ball, whose counsel had 
 always been repulsed, came in this hour of danger that he in vaia 
 had endeavoied to prevent, to ofEer himself as a last resource be- 
 tween this danger and the king — Gilbert. The king and queen, 
 very anxious at this frightful uproar of the multitude, were be- 
 coming habituated slowly to the noise. 
 
 It was half past three o'clock; they hoped the end of the day 
 would pass awav as the beginning. The royal family were gath- 
 ered in the king s chamber. 
 
 Suddenly the noise of axes were heard even in this room, while 
 clamorous shouts sounding like distant rumblings of the tempesf' 
 predominated. 
 
 At that moment a man precipitated himself in the bed-chamber 
 of the king, crying: 
 
 " Sire, do not leave me; I will be answerable for everything!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE KING SEES THERE ABB CIRCUMSTANCES WHERE, WITHOTir 
 BEING A JACOBIN, ONE CAN PUT ON THE RED BONNET. 
 
 This man was Dr. Gilbert. 
 
 They only saw him at almost periodic intervals, at the catastro- 
 phes, as it were, of the tremendous drama that was being enacted. 
 
 "Ah, doctor, is that you? What is taking place?" demanded 
 both the king and queen. 
 
 " What is taking place, sire," said Gilbert, " is that the chSteau 
 is invaded; the noise you hear is made by the people, who want to 
 see you." 
 
 " OhI" cried the queen and Mme. Elizabeth together, "you 
 ■will not leave us, sire!" 
 
 " Win the king," said Gilbert, " give me tor an hour the power 
 a captain of a ship has over his vessel during a storm?" 
 
 " I give it to you," said the king. 
 
 At that moment the commandant of the National Guard, 
 Acloque, appeared in his turn at the door, pale, but determined to 
 defend the king to the last. 
 
 " Sir," cried Gilbert, "here is the king; he is ready to follow 
 you; take charge of the king." 
 
 Then, to the King: 
 
 " Go, sire, go!" 
 
 " But I," cried the queen, " I want to follow my husband." 
 
 " And I my brother!" cried Mme. Elizabeth. 
 
 "Follow your brother, madame," said Gilbert to Mme. Eliza- 
 beth; " but you, madame, remain," added he, addressing the 
 queen. 
 
 "Sir!" said Marie Antoinette. 
 
 " Sire, sire!" cried Gilbert, " in Heaven's name, beg the quees 
 to agree with me, or I will not be responsible for the consequences." 
 
 "Madame," said the king, " listen to Monsieur Gilbert s advio^ 
 and, if necessary, obey his ord«rs." 
 
 Then, to Gilbert: 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEENEY. 109 
 
 "Sir," he added, " you will be responsible for the queen and 
 the dauphin?" 
 
 " Sire, 1 will answer for them, or I will die with them; that i» 
 all a pilot can say while the tempest lasts." 
 
 The queen wanted to make another eflort, but Gilbert stretched 
 out his arm to bar the road. 
 
 " Madame," he said, "it is you, and not the king that is in the 
 greatest danger. Right or wrong, it is you that is blamed for th« 
 king's resistance. Your presence is only to expose them, without 
 defending them. Be a lightning-conductor; turn away the crowd 
 if possible." 
 
 " May the lightning strike me alone, sir, and spare my children!" 
 
 " I will answer for you and for them to the king, madame. Fol- 
 low me." 
 
 Then, turning toward Mme. de Lamballe, who had only returned 
 within the mouth from England, and only three days from Ver- 
 non, and toward the other ladies in attendance on the queen: 
 
 " Follow us," added Gilbert. 
 
 The other ladies-in-waiting were the Princess de Tarente, the 
 Trincess de la Tremouille, Mmes. de Touizel, De Mackau, and De 
 ]a Roche- Aymon. 
 
 Gilbert was familiar with the interior of the chateau; he consid- 
 pred. 
 
 What he wanted was a large hall where every one could see and 
 hear; it would be the first rampart to carry; he would put the 
 queen, her children, and the ladies behiud "her, and he in front 
 would be a rampart. 
 
 He thought of the council hall. 
 
 By good luck, it was still empty. 
 
 He pushed the queen, the children, the Princess Lamballe 3n the 
 embrasure of a window. The moments were so precious, they had 
 no time to speak; already they were knocking at the doors. 
 
 He dragged the heavy council table before the window; the ram- 
 part was discovered. 
 
 Mme. Royal was standing by the table, while her brother was 
 ,aeated. 
 
 The queen found herself behind them — innocence defending un- 
 popularity. 
 
 Marie Antoinette tried to place herself before her children. 
 
 " It is very well as it is," cried Gilbert, in the tone of a general 
 who commands a decisive maneuver; " don't move!" 
 
 And as the door was broken down, they saw a crowd of womea 
 in that hurling mass. 
 
 " Enter, ciivyennes," he said, drawing the bolts; " the queen and 
 her children await you." 
 
 The door opened; the stream entered as one crosses a broken pier. 
 
 "Where is the Austrian? where is Madame Veto?" cried hvD 
 hundred voices. 
 
 It was a terrible moment. 
 
 Gilbert felt in that critical moment every issue had passed from 
 human intervention into God's hands. 
 
 " Be calm, madame!" he said to the queen; " I need recommezMl 
 you to be gracious." 
 
110 ANDREB DE TAVEKNET. 
 
 One woman preceiled the others, with flowing locks, brandishing 
 a Siilier, handsome through anger, perhaps with hunger. 
 
 " Where is the AustiianV" slie cried. " She shall only die by 
 mv hand!" 
 
 "Gilbert took her by the arm, and conducted her before the queen. 
 
 " Here she is," he said. 
 
 Then, in her softer voice: 
 
 " Have I ever wronged you personally, my child?" asked the 
 queen. 
 
 " No, madame,'' replied the girl, astonished both at the com- 
 bined majesty and sweetness pf Marie A.ntoinette. 
 
 " Then, why do you want to kill me?" 
 
 " They told me you were ruining the nation," gasped the 
 amazed young girl, letting the point of her saber fall to the floor. 
 
 " Then they deceived you. 1 married the King of France, I am 
 the mother of the dauphin, of this child that you see; hold him. I 
 am French; I will never see my country again; I can never be 
 happy or unhappy again, but in France. Alas! I am happy only 
 ■when you love me." 
 
 And the queen sighed. 
 
 The young girl let her saber fall, and wept. 
 
 " Ah, madame!'" she said, " 1 did not know you. Pardon me; 
 I see that you are good." 
 
 "Continue thus, madame," said Gilbert, in low tones, "and 
 you are not only saved, but all these people will be at your feet in 
 a quarter of an hour." 
 
 Then, confiding the queen to two or three of the National Guard, 
 •who liastened thither, and to the Minister of War, Lajard, who had 
 entered with the people, he ran to the king. The king was pass- 
 ing through a similar scene. Louis XVI. had followed the noise. 
 The moment he entered the hall of (Eil-de-Bceuf, the panels of the 
 door were broken in, and the points of bayonets, lances, and axes 
 ■were thrust forward in the opening. 
 
 " Open the door!" cried the king, " open!" 
 
 "Citizens!" cried loudly M. d'Hervilly, "it is useless to force 
 the door; the king wishes it opened." 
 
 At the same time he raised the bolts and turned the key. The 
 door, partly broken, turned on its hinges. 
 
 M. Acloque and the Duke de Mouchy had the time to push the 
 king in the embrasure of the window, while several grenadiers who 
 were tliere hastened to upturn and pile up the benches before the 
 king. Seeing the crowd invade the hall with their cries, impre- 
 cations, and threats, the king could not help crying: 
 
 " To me, gen'lemenl" 
 
 Four grenadiers immediately drew their .'saberR from their scab- 
 bards, and ranged themselves at each side of the king. 
 
 " Your sabers in their scabbards, gentlemen!" cried the king. 
 " Hold yourselves at my side; that is all I want." 
 
 Indeed, it was almost too late; the reflection cast from the blades 
 of the sabers seemed almost lilie a provocation. 
 
 A man in red tatters, arms bared, pipe in his mouth, rushed t<h 
 "ward the king. 
 
 " Ah, there you are, Veto!" he said. 
 
AKDKEE DE TAVERITET. Ill 
 
 And he tried to strike him with the blade of a knife faatened t« 
 % stick. 
 
 One of the grenadiers, who had not as yet, notwithstanding the 
 king's order, replaced his sword in its scabbard, struck down ths 
 «tick with his saber. 
 
 But it was the king himself, now thoroughly master of the situa- 
 flon, who pushed the grenadier aside, saying: 
 
 " Leave me, sir; what can I have to fear in the midst of my peo- 
 ple?" 
 
 And stepping forward, Louis XVL, wilh a majesty one would 
 not have expected in him, with a courage that heretofore had not 
 heen apparent, presented his breast to the fury of all sorts of weap- 
 ons that were presented at him. 
 
 " Silence!" cried a stentorian voice, in the midst of this horrible 
 tumult; " I want to speak." 
 
 The cannon had vainly attempted to make itself heard amid these 
 clamors and vociferations, but at this voice vociferations and clamors 
 ceased. It was the voice of the butcher, Legendre. He approached 
 almost close enough to touch the king. 
 
 They formed a circle around them. At that moment a man at 
 the extreme edge of the circle, behind the terrible figure of Danton, 
 appeared, and the king recognized the pale but serene face of Dr. 
 Gilbert. 
 An inquiring glance said to him: 
 " What have you done with the queen, sir?" 
 A smile from the doctor replied : 
 *' She is safe, sire." 
 The king thanked Gilbert with a sign. 
 " Sir," said Legendre, addressing the king. 
 At that word Sir, so plainly indicating a fall, the king started as 
 if a serpent had bitten him. 
 
 "Yes, sir — Monsieur Veto, it is to you 1 am speaking," said 
 Legendre. " Listen, now; you were made to listen to us. You 
 are a traitor; you have always deceived us, and you will still con- 
 tinue deceiving us; but take care! the measure is overflowing, and 
 the people are tired of being your playthings and your victims." 
 "very well; I am listening to you sir," said the king. 
 " So much the better. You know what we have come here for? 
 We have come here to demand your sanction of the decree and the 
 recall of the ministers. Here is our petition." 
 
 And Legendre, taking from his pocket a paper which he im- 
 folded, read the same menacing petition he had read in the 
 assembly. 
 
 The king listened, his eyes fastened on the reader; then, when be 
 had finished, without the slightest possible emotion: 
 
 " 1 will do, sir, whatever the law and the Constitution order mo 
 to do," he said. 
 
 "Ah, yes!" said a voice; " that's your grand battle-horse — the 
 Constitution! the Constitution of '911 that permits you to direct 
 the whole machine, to lash France with scourges, and to wait till 
 the Austrians come to crush us!" 
 
 The king turned toward the new voice; he felt that from this 
 source a more serious attack was to come. 
 
113 ■ AKDREE DE TAVEKNET. 
 
 Gilbert also started, and rested his hand on the shoulder oi" the 
 man lbat had spoken. 
 
 " I have seen you before, my friend, ' said the king. " Who are 
 youv" 
 
 And he looked at him with more curiosity than fear, though the 
 man's countenance showed a cliaiacter of terrible resolution. 
 
 " Yes, you have seen me before, sire. You have seen me three 
 times: once on the return from Versailles, the 16th of July; again 
 at Varennes, and last, here. Sire, do you remember my name? it 
 is one of sinister augury — my name is Billot." 
 
 At that moment the cries redoubled; a man armed with a pike 
 tried to dart it at the king. 
 
 But Billot seized the lance, snatched it from the hands of the 
 ■would-be murderer, and breaking it on his knee: 
 
 " No assassinations I" he cried. " There is but one iron that has 
 the right to touch this man — that of the law. They say there was 
 a King of England who was beheaded, judged by the people whom 
 he had betrayed; you ought to know his name, Louis. Don't for- 
 get it." 
 
 " Billot!" murmured Gilbert. 
 
 " Ohl you will have enough to do," said Billot, nodding his 
 head; " this man will be judged and condemned as a traitorl" 
 
 "Yes, traitor!" cried a hundred voices; "traitor! traitor! 
 traitor!" 
 
 Gilbert threw himself between the king and the people. 
 
 " Do not be afraid, sire," he said. " Is there no material demon- 
 stration by which you can try to satisfy these friends?" 
 
 The king took Gilbert's hand and held it to his heart. 
 
 " You see, sir, I am not afraid," he said; " I received the sacra- 
 ment this morning; they can do as they please with me. As for 
 the material sign you want, me to resort to— here, are you satis- 
 fled?" 
 
 And the king, taking a red bonnet from the head of a sans- 
 culotte, put it on his own head. 
 
 Then the multitude broke into applause. 
 
 " Long live the king! Long live the nation!" everybody cried. 
 
 A man broke through the crowd, and approached the king; he 
 held a bottle in his hand. 
 
 " If you love the people as you say, big, fat Veto, prcTO it by 
 drinking the people's health." 
 
 And he presented him with the bottle. 
 
 "Don't drink, sire," cried a voice; "perhaps that wine is 
 poisoned." 
 
 " Drink, sire; I will be answerable for everything," said Gilbert 
 
 The king took the bottle. 
 
 " The people's health!" he cried. 
 
 And he drank. 
 
 Fresh cries of " Long live the King!" resounded. 
 
 " Siie," said Gilbert, " you have nothing more to fear; allow me 
 to return to the queen." 
 
 " Go!" said the king, pressing his hand. 
 
 The moment Gilbert left, Isnard and Vergniaud entered. 
 
ANDBEB DE TAVERNET. 11$ 
 
 They had left the assembly and come to the king's aid with their 
 jwpularity, or, if needs be, to offer up their lives for his sake. 
 
 " The king?" they asked. 
 
 Gilbert pointed toward him, and the two deputies rushed toward 
 him. 
 
 Before reaching the queen, Gilbert had to pass through several 
 rooms, and among others that of the king. 
 The people had invaded everything. 
 
 " Ah!" said the men, trying the royal bed, " that fat Veto, my 
 faith, has a better bed than we." 
 
 The worst, however, was over; the first moment of effervescing 
 had passed. 
 
 Gilbert returned much more tranquil to the queen. He entered 
 the hall where he had left them, glanced around, and drew a long 
 breath of relief. Everything was as he had left it; the little dau- 
 phin, like his father, wore a red bonnet. In the next room a great 
 noise made itself heard, that attracted Gilbert's looks toward the 
 door. 
 
 That noise was Santerre approaching. 
 
 The colossus entered the hall. 
 
 " Ohl oh!" he said, " here is where the Austrian is!" 
 
 Gilbert marched straight toward him diagonally across the hall. 
 
 " Monsieur Santerre," he said. 
 
 Santerre turned. 
 
 " Eh!" he cried, joyfully, " Doctor Gilbert?" 
 
 " Who has not forgotten," he said, " you were one of those who 
 opened the doors of the Bastile. Let me present you to the queen, 
 Monsieur Santerre." 
 
 " To the queen? present me to the queen?" groaned the brazier. 
 
 " Yes, to the queen. Do you refuse?" 
 
 " My faith, no!" said Santerre. " I intended presenting myself; 
 but since you are here — " 
 
 " I know Monsieur Santerre," said the queen. " I know, at the 
 time of the famine, he supported, alone, the greater part of the Fau- 
 bourg St. Antoine." 
 
 Santerre stopped, astonished; then, slightly embarrassed, ho 
 looked at the dauphin, and seeing the perspiration rolling in great 
 drops down the poor child's cheeks: 
 
 "Oh!" he said, addressing the people, "take that hat away 
 from that child; you see he is choking!" 
 
 'The queen thanked him with a look. 
 
 Then, leaning toward her, and resting on the table: 
 
 " Tou have very awkward friends, madame," said, in a lovr 
 Toice, the brave Fleming. " 1 think I can do better than that for 
 you." 
 
 An hour after all this the crowd had left, the king, accompanied 
 by his sister, entered the room where the queen and her children 
 were waiting for him. 
 
 The queen ran toward him and threw herself at his feet; the two 
 children seized his hands; they embraced as if saved from a ship- 
 wreck. It was only then that the king remembered he still had ok 
 the red bonnet. 
 
 " Ahl" he cried, " I had forgotten it." 
 
ll'S ANDREE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 And taking it with both hands, he threw it far from him with 
 disgust. 
 
 A young artillery officer, scarcely twenty -two years of age, had 
 witnessed all the scene, leaning against a tree on the borders of the 
 water: he had seen through the windows all the dangers and all the 
 humiliations the king had passed through, but at the episode of 
 the red bonnet he could no longer contain himself. 
 
 " Oh!" he murmured, " if I had only twelve hundred men and 
 two pieces of cannon, 1 would soon rid the king from all that 
 mob." 
 
 But as he had not the twelve hundred men and the two pieces 
 of cannon, and no longer able to bear the sight of that hideous 
 spectacle, he retired. 
 
 That young officer was Kapoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE REACTION. 
 
 The evacuation of the Tuileries was as sad and subdued as its in- 
 vasion had been noisy and terrible. The crowd had said, aston- 
 ished themselves at the small results of the day: 
 
 " We have obtained nothing; we must return." 
 
 That, however, was too much for a threat, too little for an at- 
 tempt. 
 
 Those who had seen what had previously taken place judged 
 Louis XVI. by his reputation; they remembered the king flying to 
 Varennes in a lackey's liveiy, and they said: 
 
 " The first noise Louis XVI. hears he will hide in a wardrobe, 
 or under a table, or behind a curtain; they will thrust in their 
 swords at hazard, and will be justified in saying, like Hamlet, who, 
 believing he had killed the King of Denmark, cried: 
 
 " A rat!" 
 
 But it had been entirely different; never had the king appeared sb 
 calm; more, he had never been so grand. 
 
 The insult had been immense, but not as great as his resigna- 
 tion. His timid firmness, it one can thus express one's self, 
 needed to be excited, and in that excitement it had taken the ten- 
 acity of steel. Evoked by the dire extremity of the circumstances 
 he found himself in, he had for five hours beheld, without fiinch- 
 ing, axes waved above his head, lances, swords, bayonets, recoil 
 before his breast; no general, perhaps, in ten battles, no matter 
 how bloody they had been, had run a danger similar to that threat- 
 ened in the slow progress of this revolt. The Tlieroigne, the St. 
 Huruge, the Lazouski, the Pournier, the Veriiere, all those 
 would-be assassins had left with the positive intention of murder, 
 and that unexpected majesty that had been revealed to them in the 
 midst of the tempest had made the poniards fall from their bands. 
 Louis XVI. had just passed through his agony; the royal Ecce 
 Homo had shown his head encircled with the red bonnet "as .Tesua 
 had His crown of thorns; and as Jesus, in the midst of insult and 
 sufiEering, had said. " I am your Lord," Louis XVI., in the midst 
 of injuries and outrages, had never ceased for a moment to say, 
 "I am your king.'' This is what happened. The revolutionista 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVEENET. 115 
 
 had believed, in forcing the door of the Tuileries, to find only an 
 inert and trembling shadow of royalty, and, to its great astonish- 
 ment, it had met, alive and vigorous, the faith of the Middle Ages. 
 For a moment two principles were to be seen face to face; one at 
 its rising, the otlier at its setting; there was something supernatu- 
 ral about it, as if one had seen the sun rising before the other sum 
 had set. Onl}- there was more grandeur and ecUit in one than in 
 the other, more faith in the exigency of the people than in the re- 
 fusal of royalty. The royalists were delighted; in fact, the victory 
 ■was with them. 
 
 Forced into the condition of obeying the assembly, the king, in- 
 stead of sanctioning, as he was ready to do, one of the two decrees 
 — knowing that he ran no more risk in i ejecting two than in re- 
 pulsing one — opposed both of the decrees. 
 
 It would seem that royalty had fallen so low on that fatal 20th 
 of June, had, in fact, reached the bottom of the abyss, never here- 
 after to ascend. And, in fact, the thing appeared as if it were 
 so. On the 21st, the assembly declared another such gather- 
 ing of armed citizens would not be admitted to the hall. This 
 disapproval, more than anything else, condemned the perform- 
 ance of the day before. On the evening of the 20(h, Petion arrived 
 at the Tuileries as everything was over. 
 
 " Sire," he said to the king, " 1 have only heard within the hour 
 of your majesty's situation." 
 
 "That is astonishing," replied the king. "It lasted long 
 enough." 
 
 The next day the Constitutionals, the Royalists, and Feuillants 
 demanded the assembly to proclaim martial law. 
 
 Every one remembers what the first proclamation of that law led 
 to on the preceding 17th of July at the Champ de Jlars. 
 
 Petion ran to the assembly. 
 
 They based that demand on some new gatherings that existed, ii; 
 ■was said. 
 
 Petion declared new gatherings did not exist; we would answe\ 
 for the tranquillity of Paris. 
 
 The proclamation of martial law was repealed. 
 
 On leaving the assembly, about eight o'clock in the evening, 
 Petion went to the Tuileries to reassure the king on the condition 
 of the capital. He was accompanied by Sergent. Sergent, the 
 engraver on copper, and Marcean's brother-in-law, was a member 
 of the municipal council, and one of the police administrators 
 Two or three members of the municipality joined them. Crossing 
 the court of the Carrousel, they were insulted by the Chevaliers St. 
 Louis, the National and Constitutional Guard. Petion was attacked 
 personally; Sergent, notwithstanding the scarf he wnre. was struck 
 on the chest and on the face, overthrown with merelj' a blow of a 
 fist. Scarcely introduced in the room, Petion saw he had come to 
 a, combat. 
 
 Marie Antoinette gave him one of those looks as only the eyes of 
 Maria Theresa could look; two glances of hate and disdain, twa 
 terrible and f ulgurant lightnings. 
 
 The king knew by this time ■what had taken place in th» 
 assembly. 
 
116 ANDKEE DE TAVERNBT. 
 
 " "Well, sir," said he to Petion, " it is you that pretends quiet is 
 restored io the capital?" 
 
 " Yes, sire," leplied Petion; " the people have showed you their 
 representatives; Uiey are satisfied and 'juiet." 
 
 "Confess, sir," replied the king, beginning the combat, " that- 
 yesterday's performance was a great scnndal, aud that the municv. 
 pality did not do what they could nor what they should have 
 done." 
 
 " Sire," replied Petion, " the municipality did its duty; public 
 opinion will be its judge." 
 
 " Say the entire nation, sir." 
 
 " The municipality does not fear the criticism of the nation." 
 
 " At this moment, what is the condition of Paris?" 
 
 " Quiet, sire." 
 
 " That is not true." 
 
 " Sire—" 
 
 " Be quietl" 
 
 " A magistrate of the people has no occasion to be quiet, sire, 
 Tvhen he does his duty and tells the truth." 
 
 " That is good; you can retire." 
 
 Petion bowed and retired. 
 
 The king had been so violent, his countenance bore the expres- 
 sion of such profound anger, that the queen, a passionate, fiery 
 amazon, was frightened. 
 
 " My God I" said she to Rosderer, when Petion had disappeared, 
 " do you not think the king was too quick? don't you think his 
 haste will prejudice him with the Parisians?" 
 
 "Madame," replied Rcederer, " no one will be astonished that 
 the king imposes silence on a subject that shows him no respect." 
 
 The next day the king wrote to the assembly to complain of tha 
 profanation of his chateau of royalty and the king. 
 
 Then he issued a proclamation to his people. He had two par- 
 ties: those who had created the 20th of June, and the people to 
 whom the king complained. 
 
 On the 24th the king and queen reviewed the National Guard, 
 and were received with enthusiasm. 
 
 The same day the Directoire of Paris suspended the mayor. 
 
 ■What gave them such audacity? 
 
 Three days after the secret was out. 
 
 t,afayette, leaving camp with a single oflJcer, arrived in Paris on 
 tixe 37th, and went to his friend, M. de la Rochefoucauld. 
 
 During the night the Constitutionals were advised of it, the 
 Fjuillants and the Royalists, and they busied themselves in making 
 a tribune for the next day. The next day the general presented 
 himself at the assembly. 
 
 Three rounds of applause greeted him; but each one was silenced 
 by murmurs from the Girondists. 
 
 There was a presentiment this session would be a terrible one. 
 
 General Lafayette was one of the most truly brave men that ever 
 existed; but his bravery was not audacity; it is very seldom that a 
 really brave man is audacious. Lafayette realized the danger ha 
 ran; alone, against many, he was to run the risk of his popularity; 
 if h» lost it, he too was lost; if he succeeded, he might save t£« 
 
ANDEEE DE TATEENET. 117 
 
 king. What made it still more dangerous on his part ■vr as that he 
 knew the king's repugnance lor him and the queen's hatred. 
 
 " I would rather die by Petion than be saved by Lafayette!" 
 
 Perhaps he had come to fulfill a sub-lieutenant "s bravado, to reply 
 to a challenge. 
 
 Thirteen days before, he wrote both to the king and to th» 
 assembly; to the king, to encourage him to resist; to the assembly, 
 to thfeaten them if they continued to persecute him. 
 
 " He was very insolent in the midst of his army," said one; " we 
 will see whether he wiU use the same language alone in the midst 
 of xis." 
 
 These words were reported to Lafayette in his camp at ^Mauberge. 
 
 Perhaps these words were the real cause of his voyage to Paris. 
 
 He ascended the tribune In the midst of applause from one party, 
 but also with groans and threats from the other. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " I have been reproached for the letter 1 
 wrote from my camp the 16th of June. It was my duty to protest 
 against that imputation of timidity, to leave the rampart the affec- 
 tion of my army surrounded me with, and to present myself alone 
 before you. But a more powerful motive than that called me. The 
 outrages of the 20th of June have roused the indignation of all 
 good citizens, and, moreover, that of the army in which the 
 officers, sub officers, and soldiers were all united. I received from 
 all the corps addresses full of devotion for the Constitutioc, and of 
 hatred against the disaffected. I stopped those manifes'ations; I 
 was alone responsible for the sentiments of the army. I am speak- 
 ing now as a citizen only. It is time to guarantee the Constitution, 
 to assure the liberty of the National Assembly, and the king his 
 dignity. 1 beseech the assembly to order that the escesses of the 
 SOth of June are punished as crimes of high treason; to take effica- 
 cious measures to have the constituted authorities respected, par- 
 ticularly yours and that of the king, and to give the army the 
 assurance that the Constitution will not receive any blow from the 
 interior, while the brave Frenchmen shed their blood on the Iron- 
 ^er. ' ' 
 
 Guadet rose, slowly attaining his height, as he felt Lafayette ap- 
 proaching his peroration in the midst of the applause that he re- 
 <«ived; the acerbated orator of the Girondists stretched forth his 
 hand as a sign he wanted to reply. "When the Girondists wanted 
 to shoot forth an arrow of irony, it was Guadet that held the bow, 
 »nd Guadet had only to take an arrow at hazard from his qaiver. 
 
 Scarcely had the noise of the last applause died away, when the 
 »ound of his vibrating tones followed. 
 
 " The moment I f aw Monsieur Lafayette," he cried, " a consola- 
 tory idea presented itself to me. ' So,' it seemed to say, ' we have 
 no more outside enemies; so,' it said to me, ' the Austrians are 
 vanquished; here is Monsieur Lafayette, who has come to announce 
 the news of his victory and their destruction!' The illusion did 
 1 ot last long. Our enemies are always the same; our external dan- 
 gers have not changed, and meanwhile. Monsieur Lafayette is i» 
 Paris. He has constituted himself a medium of honest men and of 
 ibe army. These honest meo— who are theyt This army— how 
 
118 AKDEEE DE TAVEENEY. 
 
 «an it deliberate? But first let Monsieur Lafayette show us his 
 leave of absence. " 
 
 At these words the Girondisls began to see the tide was turning 
 in their favor; in fact, scarcely were these words pronounced, when 
 a thunder of applause followed them. 
 
 A deputy then arose, antl from his place: 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " you forget lo whom you are speaking, 
 and of whom. You forget, moreover, it is of Lafayette! Lafay- 
 ette is the eldest child of French liberty; Lafayette has sacrificed to 
 the revolution his fortune, his nobility, his life." 
 
 " Ah, (pa!" cried a voice; " you are giving iis a funeral oration." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Dacos, "' the freedom of discussion is pre- 
 Tented by the presence within the walls of the assembly of a 
 strange general." 
 
 " That is not all!" cried Vergniaud. " This general has left his 
 post before the enemy It was to him, and not to a simple field- 
 officer, he has left in his place, that the army he commands was 
 confided. Ascertain it he has left the army without leave, and if 
 he has left it without leave, let him be arrested and tried as a de- 
 serler." 
 
 " That was the object of my remark," said Guadet, " and I leave 
 the proposition to Vergniaud." 
 
 " Put it to vote! put it to vote!" cried all the Girondists. 
 
 " The vote is nominal," said Grcnsonne. 
 
 The nominal vote gave a majority of ten voices for Lafayette's 
 /fiends. 
 
 Like the people on the 20th of June, Lafayette dared too much, 
 or too little; it was one of those victories such as Pyrrhus experi- 
 enced on losing nearly all of his army. 
 
 " Another victory like that," he said, " and I am lost!" 
 
 Petion and Lafaye'te, on leaving the assembly, went to the king. 
 
 They were received with a more amiable countenance, but with 
 a heart none the less sore. Lafayette had sacrificed to the king and 
 queen more than his life; he had just sacrificed his popularity. 
 
 This was the third time he had offered this gift, more precious 
 than any that kings could offer; the first time at Versailles, the 
 6th of October: the second time at the Champs de Mars, the 17th 
 of July; the third time that day. 
 
 Lafayette had a last hope, and he communicated it to his sover- 
 eigns. The next day he was to hold a review of the National 
 Guard with the king. He could have no doubt as to the enthusi- 
 sism the presence of the king and their ancient commanding gen- 
 eral would inspire. Lafayette, profiting by that enthusiasm, would 
 march on the assembly, crushing the Girondists. During the 
 tumult the king could leave and gain the camp of Mauberge. It 
 was a bold stroke, but in the condition of things, almost a surety. 
 
 Unfortunately, Danton, at three o'clock in the morning, went to 
 Petion to warn him of the plot. 
 
 At day-break Petion countermanded the review. Who could 
 lave betrayed the king and Lafayette? The queen? 
 
 Had she not said she woirld prefer to perish by another than to 
 be saved by Lafayette? She had the correct idea; she was to perisU 
 bj Danton. At the hour the review was to have taken place. 
 
ANDBEB DE TATERKET. 119 
 
 Lafayette left Paris and returned to his army. Even then ht had 
 not lost all hope of saving the king. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 VERGINATJD IS TO SPEAK. 
 
 Lafayette's victory, a doubtful victory followed by a retreat, 
 had a singular result. It had crushed the Royalists, while the ap- 
 parent defeat of the Girondists had raised them; it had raised, 
 while showing them the abyss into which they would have fallen. 
 If there had been less hatred in Marie Antoinette's heart, the Gi- 
 rondists at that moment perhaps would have been annihilated. The 
 court must not be allowed to have time to repair the fault they had 
 committed. It was necessary to turn their strength and attention 
 to the revolutionary current, which any instant would turn back 
 in its course, and end in nothing at its source. 
 
 Every one looked and believed they had found a way, but the 
 means proposed were so inefficacious they were renounced. 
 
 Mme. Roland, the mainspring of the party, wanted to create an 
 excitement in the assembly. Who could produce this excitement? 
 Who could give this blow? Vergniaud. But what was this 
 Achilles doing in his tent, or, rather, this Renaud lost in the gar- 
 dens of Armida? He was in love. 
 
 It is so difficult to hate when one is in love! He loved the beauti- 
 ful Mme. Simon Candeille, actress, poetess, musician; his friend? 
 would look for him frequently for two or three flays without meet- 
 ing him; at last they would find him lying at the feet of thii 
 charming woman, one hand stretched on her knees, the other di&. 
 tractedly toying with the strings of her harp. 
 
 Then every night in the orchestra of the theater he was to be 
 seen applauding her whom he adored all day long. 
 
 One night two deputies left the assembly in desperation; this in- 
 action of Vergniaud made them tremble for Prance. 
 
 It was Grangeneuve and Chabot. 
 
 Grangeneuve, the lawyer of Bordeaux, the friebd, rival of 
 Vergniaud, and, like him, a deputy of the Girondists. 
 
 Chabot, the renegade Capuchin, the author, or one of the 
 authors, of "The Catechism of the Sans-culottes, " that spread 
 throughout religion and the kingdom the accumulated malice of 
 the cloisters. 
 
 Grangeneuve, sad and thoughtful, walked near Chabot. 
 
 The latter looked at him, and he thought he saw in his col- 
 league's face the reflection of his gloomy thoughts. 
 
 " What are you thinking of?" asked Chabot. 
 
 " I am thinking," the former replied, " that all these procrasti- 
 nators are enervating the country and killing the revolution." 
 
 " Ah! you are thinking of that," replied Chabot, with his sar- 
 castic smile, that was habitual with him. 
 
 " I think," continued Grangeneuve, " that if the people give 
 their time to royalty, they are lost!" 
 
 Chabot gave one of his strident laughs. 
 
 "I think," finished Grangeneuve, "there is but one hour for 
 
120 ANDREB DE TAVEENET. 
 
 revolutions: those who let It pass will never find it again, and later 
 they can not call upon God or posterity." 
 
 " And you believe tLat God and posterity will demand an ac- 
 count of our laziness and our inaction?" 
 
 " I am afraid of it." 
 
 Thee, after a pause: 
 
 "Hold, Cliabot," replied Grangeneuve, "I have an idea: that 
 is, that the people are tired of their last defeat; they will not again 
 rise without a powerful lever, without some murderous aim; there 
 must he a crisis of rage or terror before their energy is again 
 awakened." 
 
 " How will you give it to them, this access of rage and terror?" 
 asked Chabot. 
 
 "That is what I am thinking of," said Grangeneuve. " I be- 
 lieve I have discovered the secret." 
 
 Chabot drew nearer; the intonation of his companion's voice 
 showed him he was about to propose something terrible. 
 
 " But," continued Grangeneuve, "will I be able to find a man 
 with the necessary resolution for such a deed?" 
 
 " Speak," said Chabot, in such firm aerenfs as to leave no doubt 
 in his companion's mind; " I am capable of anything to destroy 
 those I hate, and I hate the king and the priests." 
 
 " Very well," said Grangeneuve; " in looking at the past, I set' 
 there is precious blood in the cradle of every revolution, from the 
 time of Lucretia Borgia till Sidney's. For statesmen, revolutions 
 are a theory; for the people, revolutions are revenge; or, if neces- 
 sary to push the multitude as far as levenge, they must have a vic- 
 tim; that victim has been refused us by the court; very well, then, 
 let us give them the subject!" 
 
 " I don't understand," said Chabot. 
 
 " Well, one of us — the one best known, the most enthusiastic, the 
 most patriotic — must fall by a blow from the aristocracy." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " It must be the one that falls belongs to the National Assembly, 
 »o that the assembly can revenge him; that victim must be me!" 
 
 " But the aristocrats will not strike you, Grangeneuve; they 
 would take good care of that." 
 
 " I know it; that's why I say a man of resolution must be 
 iound — " 
 
 " To do what?" 
 
 " To strike me." 
 
 Chabot recoiled a step; but Grangeneuve seized him by the arm. 
 
 " Chabot," he said, " just now you declared you were capable of 
 destroying what you hated; are you capable of assassinating me?" 
 
 The monk remained silent, Grangeneuve continued: 
 
 " My word is worth nothing: my life for freedom is useless, 
 ■while, on the contrary, my death will be everything for it. My 
 corpse w';l be the banner of the insurrection, and I will tell you — ' 
 
 Grangeneuve, with a vehement gesture, stretched his hand to- 
 ward the Tuilcries. 
 
 " That fhSleriu and all wi'hin it will disappear in a whirlwind." 
 
 Chabot looked «t Grangeneuve, overcome with admiration. 
 
 " Well?" asked Grangeneuve. 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 131 
 
 "■Wellj sublime Diogenes," said Chabot, "hold your lantern; 
 the man is found'.' 
 
 " There, stop then,'' said Grangeneuve; " let this be finished 
 this niglit. Tn niglit I will walk here fi]one " (they were before 
 the grating o- the Louvie), " in the aarkest and most dismal spot. 
 If you think your hiind will not. be sufflcicul, bring two other 
 patriots; 1 will make this sign iliat they may recognize me!" 
 Grangeneuve tossed his arms in the air. " I promise you if they 
 strike me I will fall without uttering a cry." 
 
 Chabot passed his handkerchief over his face. 
 
 " 'The day," continued Grangeneuve, " they find my corpse, you 
 will accuse the court: the revenge of the people will do the rest." 
 
 " It is well," said Chabot; " to-night!" 
 
 And the two strange conspirators joined hands and parted. 
 
 Grangeneuve went home and made his will, which he dated at 
 Bordeaux, and a year back. 
 
 Chabot went to dinner at the Palais Royal. After dinner he 
 Went to a hardware store and bought a knife. 
 
 Leaving the hardware store, his eyes fell on the theater placards. 
 
 Mme. Candeilie played; the monk knew where lo find Vergniaud. 
 
 He went to the Coniedie Fiangaise, ascended to the reception- 
 Toom of the beautiful actress, and found there her ordinary court: 
 Vergniaud, Talma, Chlnier, and Dugazon. 
 
 She played in two pieces. 
 
 Chabot remained till the end. 
 
 The pieces over, the beautiful actress disrobed, and Vergniaud, 
 ready to conduct her to the Rue Richelieu, where she lived, ho 
 Stepped after his colleague in the carriage. 
 
 " You have something to say to me, Chabot?" asked Vergniaud, 
 ■who saw the Capuchin had business with him. 
 
 " Yes; but be easy, it will not take long." 
 
 " Tell me right away, then." 
 
 Chabot took out his ^vatch. 
 
 " It is not yet time," he said. 
 
 " When will it be time?" 
 
 " At midnight." 
 
 The beautiful Candeilie trembled at this mysterious dialogue. 
 
 " Oh, sir!" she murmured. 
 
 " Reassure yourself," said Chabot; " Vergniaud has nothing to 
 iear; only the country needs him." 
 
 Tlie carriage rolled toward the residence of the actress. 
 
 The inmates of the carriage remained silent. 
 
 At Mme. Candeille's door: 
 
 " Will you ascend?" asked Vergniaud. 
 
 " No; you are coming with me." 
 
 " My God, where will you lake him?" asked the actress. 
 
 " Two hundred feet from here; in a quarter of an hour he will 
 be at liberty, 1 promise you." 
 
 Vergniaud pie.ssed Ihe liand of his beautiful mistress, reassured 
 ier by a sign, and passed up the Rue Traversiere with Chabot. 
 
 They crossed the Rue St. Honore, and took the Rue de rEchelle. 
 
 JLt the corner of that straet the monk laid his hand on Verg> 
 
132 ANDEEB DE TAVERNEY. 
 
 niaud's shoulder, and showed him a man pacing by the walls of 
 the deserted Louvre. 
 
 " Do you see?" asked the monk, of Vergniaud. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "That man." 
 
 " Yes," replied the Girondist. 
 
 " Well, it is our colleague, Grangeneuve. " 
 
 " What is he doing there?" 
 
 " He is waiting." 
 
 " What is he waiting for?" 
 
 "To be killed." 
 
 " To be killed?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who is to kill him?" 
 
 "I!" 
 
 Vergniaud looked at Chabot as one looks at a fool. 
 
 "Remember Sparta, remember Rome," said Chabot, "and 
 listen." 
 
 Then he told him everything. 
 
 As the monk spoke, Vergniaud bowed his head. 
 
 He saw how far he, that efteminate deputy, that amorous lion, 
 was from that terrible republican who, like Decius, only asked for 
 a gulf to precipitate himself in, that his death might save the 
 country. 
 
 " That is well," he said; " I only ask three days to prepare my 
 discourse." 
 
 " And in three days — " 
 
 " Do not worry," said Vergniaud; " in three days I will over- 
 throw the idol, or myself be crushed by it." 
 
 " I havB your word, Vergniaud?' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It is that of a man?" 
 
 " It is that of a republican." 
 
 " Then, 1 require you no longer; go and reassure your mistress." 
 
 Vergniaud retook the road to the Rue de Richelieu. Chabot ad- 
 vanced toward Grangeneuve. 
 
 He, seeing a man advancing toward him, retreated more in the 
 shadow. 
 
 Chabot followed him. 
 
 Grangeneuve stopped at the foot of the wall, unable to go 
 further. 
 
 Chabot approached him. 
 
 Grangeneuve gave the signal agreed upon by throwing up his 
 arms. 
 
 Then, as Chabot remained immovable r 
 
 " Weill" cried Grangeneuve, " why do you stop? Strike." 
 
 " It is useless," said Chabot; " Vergniaud will speak." 
 
 "So be it," said Grangeneuve, with a sigh; "but I think the 
 other way would have been the best." 
 
 What could royalty do against such mea? 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVERNET. 133 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 TERGNIAUD SPEAKS. 
 
 It was time Vergniaud decided upon sometliing. Danger men- 
 aced botli at home and abroad. 
 
 Abroad, at Ratisbon, tiie council of embassadors had unani- 
 mously refused to receive the French miuister. England, who 
 called herself our friend, was preparing an immense fleet. 
 
 The princes of the empire, who were loudly vaunting their 
 neutrality, were secretly introducing the enemy in their domain. 
 
 The Duke of Baden had put the Austrians in Kehl, a mile from 
 Strasbourg. 
 
 In Flanders it was still worse. Luckner, an old, imbecile, 
 "weather-beaten soldier, who countermanded all Dumouriez's plans, 
 the only man, putting aside his genius, that had any head in the 
 wmy. 
 
 Lafayette belonged to the court, and his last act proved to the 
 tissembly, that is to say, Prance, that they could not depend on 
 bim. Finally Biron, a brave man, of great integrity, discouraged 
 by the first reverses, only understood defensive warfare. 
 
 So much for abroad. 
 
 At home, Alsace was loudly demanding arms, but the Minister 
 of War, entirely for the court,, had no authority to send them. In 
 the south, a lieutenant-general of royal blood. Governor of Lower 
 Languedoc and Cevennes, made the nobility verify his power. 
 
 In the west, a simple peasant, Allan Redder, proclaimed that after 
 the celebration of mass a rendezvous with arms was to be held of 
 the friends of the king near a neighboring chapel. Five hundred 
 peasants responded to the first call. Brigandage was established 
 in La Vendee and Brittany; it only required to be roused. 
 
 Finally, from all the official departments there arrived counter- 
 Tevolutionary addresses. The danger was great, imminent, ter- 
 rible; so great that it was no longer men who threatened-— it was 
 the country. 
 
 Thus, without being proclaimed loudly, it was whispered low: 
 
 " The country is in danger!" 
 
 As for other things, the assembly waited. Chabot and Grange- 
 neuve had said: 
 -"In three days Vergniaud will speak." 
 
 And they counted the hours as they fled. Neither on the first nor 
 second day did Vergniaud appear at the assembly. The third day 
 every one came in shaking. Not a deputy was out of his seat; th« 
 tribunes were crowded. 
 
 Last of all, Vergniaud entered. 
 
 A murmur of satisfaction passed around the assembly; the tri- 
 tunes applauded as does the parquet at the entrance of a favorite 
 *ctor. 
 
 Vergniaud raised his head to see who they were applauding; they 
 ledouUed as they saw it was really he. 
 
 Vergniaud was then thirty- three years of age; his character was 
 
ISM: AKDKBB DE TAVERNET. 
 
 meditative and lazy; his indolent genius took pleasure in indol- 
 ence; energetic only for pleasure, one would have said he hastened 
 to gather with both hands the flowers of youth that were to have 
 so short a springtime. He went to bed late, and did not rise till 
 midday; when he wanted to speak, he prepared his discourse three 
 or four days in advance, cut it down, polished it, furbished it up, 
 as a soldier on the eve of battle polishes, furbishes, and shurpens- 
 his arms. He was what, as an orator, is called in a fencing-hall a 
 good tilter; the blow does not appear well unless it is brilliantly 
 X-arried and loudly applauded; he reserved his discourse for the 
 moments of danger— for important moments. 
 
 He was not a man for every day, as a poet has said; he was a 
 man for grand occasions. 
 
 As to his physical appearance, he was rather short than tall; 
 only he had a robust figure like an athlete. His hair was floating 
 and long; and in his oratorical gestures he shook them as a Ion 
 does a mane; underneath his prominent brow, shaded by thick 
 lashes, shone two black eyes full of expression and fire; his nose 
 was short, a little large, proudly opened at the nostrils; his lips 
 ■were thick, and, as from the opening of a water source the stream 
 flows vigorously and abundantly, the words fell from his mouth in 
 powerful cascades, accompanied with froth and noise. Entirely 
 covered with small-pox marks, his skin seemed diamonded like 
 marble not as yet polished by the sculptor's chisel, only in the 
 rough from the workman's hammer; his pale skin was colored 
 purple or livid, as his blood rose to his face or returned to his- 
 heart. In repose or in a crowd he was an ordinary man whom 
 the eye of the historian, no matter how penetrpting, would have 
 discovered no reason for noticing; but when the waves of passion 
 set his blood on fire, when the muscles of his face palpitated, 
 when his extended arms commanded silence and influenced the 
 crowd, the man became a god, the orator was transfigured, the tri- 
 bune became a Tabor. Such was the man who just arrived, his 
 hand closed as yet, but fully charged with electricity. 
 
 At the applause that broke on his ear, he saw what was expected 
 of him. 
 
 He did not ask for leave to speak; he marched directly to the 
 tribune and ascended it, and in the midst of a silence full of shud- 
 ders began his discourse. 
 
 His first words were uttered in the sad, deep, concentrated tones 
 of a broken-down man; he seemed as fatigued at the beginning of 
 the debate as one is ordinarily at the close; it it was because he 
 felt, like Samson, in the supreme effort he was about making, he 
 would irretrievably overthrow, the temple, and in ascending the 
 tribune in the midst of its still standing columns, with its arched 
 roof, he would pull it down and bury beneath it the ruins of 
 royalty. 
 
 As Vergniaud's genius was entirely displayed in this discourse, 
 we give it whole, believing that one will liave the same curiosity 
 in reading it that one feels in visiting a museum, before one of 
 those machines of ancient warfare that destroyed the walls of Sara- 
 gossa, Rome, and Carthage. 
 
 " Citizens," said Vergniaud, in a voice as yet scarcely intelligible^ 
 
ANDKEB DB TAVEBNBT. 125 
 
 •but which was soon to become serious, sonorous, thunderous, 
 ^' citizans, I come to you and 1 ask, what is this strange situation 
 the National Assembly is in? VVhat fatality pursues and dis- 
 tinguishes each day by events, that, carrying disorder in our 
 labors, tlirows us wiihout cessation in the turaultuoua excitement 
 of anxiet}', hope, and o'lier passions? "What is this destiny that is 
 preparing for France, in this terrible effervescence, in which 
 doubts are entertained as to whether the revolution will retro- 
 grade or advance to an end? 
 
 " At the moment our armies at the north appear to be progressing 
 in Belgium, we see them suddenly retreating before the enemy; 
 war is brought into our own territory. Nothing remains to us in 
 unfortunate Belgium but the remembrance of the conflagrations 
 that lighted our retreat. On the Rhine the Prussians are con- 
 stantly encroaching on our unprotected frontiers. Why is it, at 
 the most decisive moment of the crisis for the existence of the 
 nation, the movements of our armies are stopped, and by a sudden 
 disorganization of the ministry, public confidence is destroyed, and 
 the safety of the empire intrusted at hazaid to inexperienced 
 hands? Is it true that our triumphs are doubted? Is it the blood 
 ■of the army of Coblentz or our own they want? If the fanaticisms 
 of the priests threaten to deliver us at the same time to all the hor- 
 rors of civil war and invasion, what is the intention of those who 
 Teject, with an unconquerable obstinacy, the sanctioning of our 
 decrees? Do they want over-abandoned cities, over-devastated 
 fields? What amount of tears, of misery, of blood, of death 
 would be sufficient remuneration? In fact, where are we? And 
 you, gentlemen, that the enemies of the Constitution flatter them- 
 selves in supposing they have crushed your spirit; you whose con- 
 science and truth they try each day to alarm, in deteriorating your 
 love of freedom by the spirit of sedition — as if you had forgotten 
 that a despotic court and the cowardly heroes of the aristocracy 
 ^ave the name of seditionists to the representatives who took the 
 oath at the tennis-court, to the destroyers of the Bastile, to all 
 those who made and sustained the revoultion! — you who would 
 not be calumniated except that you are not members of that caste 
 that the Congtitution has overthrown in the dust, and that degraded 
 men who regret the infamous honor of cringing before, do not give 
 up hope of finding accomplices in you; you whom they wish to 
 alienate from the people, because they know the people are your 
 mainstay, and if by a culpable deseilion of the cause you deserve 
 to be abandoned by them, it will be easy to annihilate you; you 
 whom they wish to divide, but will reserve till after the war your 
 divisi ns and your quarrels, and do not find it so easy to hate you, 
 that you may prefer that infernal enjoyment to the safety of your 
 country; you whom they wanted to frighten by armed petitions, as 
 if you did not know that at the beginning of the revolution the 
 sanctuary of liberty was surrounded by the satellites of despotism, 
 Paris besieged by the army of the court, and those days of danger 
 were days of glory for our first assembly; I want finally to call 
 your attention to the critical condition in which we are. 
 
 "These interior troubles arise from two causes: aristocratic 
 aianeuvering and sacerdotal maneuvers, both tend to the same eudf 
 
136 ANDKEE DE TATEENEY. 
 
 a counter-revolution. The king has refused to sanction your decree 
 on the religious troubles. I do not know whether the ghostly 
 shades of the Medicis and of Cardinal Lorraine still wander amid 
 the arches of the Tuileries, or if the heart of the king is troubled 
 by the fantastic ideas suggested to him; bul it is not for us to think 
 even, witliout injuring him, without accusing him of beiug the- 
 most dangerous enemy of the revolution, that he wislies to encour- 
 age with impunity the criminal attempt of sacerdotal ambition, and 
 give the haughty despots of the tiara the power that is as oppressive 
 for the people as for the king; it is not for us to think, witliout in- . 
 juring him, without declaring liim the most cruel enemy of the 
 empire that he is ready to perpetuate seditions, to encourage dis- 
 orders that will precipitate his ruin by a civil war. I conclude, 
 that if he resists your decree it is because he considers himself 
 sufficiently powerful, without the aid you offer him, to maintain 
 the public peace. If public peace is not maintained, if the torch of 
 fanaticism still threatens to incendiate the kingdom, if religious 
 violence continues to desolate the different departments, it is ^be- 
 cause the agents of the royal authoritj' are themselves the came- 
 of all our woes. Let them answer for all these troubles that 
 religion is the pretext; demonstrate, in this terrible responsibility, 
 the extent of your patience and the anxiety of the nation. 
 
 " Your solicitude for the safety of the frontiers made you pro- 
 claim a camp at Paris; all the soldiers of Prance were to come on 
 tlie 14th of July, and repeat the oath of freedom or die. The 
 poisonous breath of calumny defeated the object; the king refused 
 his sanction. I have too much respect for Constitutional rights to 
 propose to make the ministers responsible for that refusal; but if,, 
 before the battalions assemble, the soil of liberty is profaned, you 
 must treat the traitors as traitors are treated; they must themselves 
 be thrown in the abyss that their negligence or malevolence has 
 opened beneath the path of liberty! Finally, let us tear off the 
 bandage that intrigue and flattery has placed liefore the eyes of the 
 king, and show him the goal to which his perfidious friends are- 
 offering to conduct him. 
 
 " It IS in the name of the king that the French princes are arm- 
 ing against us the courts of Europe; it was to avenge the dig- 
 nity Of the king that the treaty of Pilnitz was concluded; it is to 
 defend the king that we see the old regiments of the body-guard 
 gathering in Germany under the flag of the rebellion; it is to hasten 
 to the king's succor that the refugees are enrolling in the Austrian 
 army, lending themselves to the destruction ot their native land; 
 it is from these courageous chevaliers of royal prerogative that 
 others have abandoned their posts in the presence ot the enemy, 
 brolien their oaths, stolen the equipments, corrupted the soldiers, 
 and placed their honor in cowardice, perjury, insubordination, 
 theft, and assassination. In fact, the king's name appears in all 
 these disasters. 
 
 " I have read in the Constitution: 
 
 " ' If the king puts himself at the head of an army, and directs. 
 it against the nation, or if he does not oppose by a formal act any 
 such enterprise executed in his name, he will be considered to have 
 Abdicated the throne.' 
 
ANDREE DB TAVEBNET. 137 
 
 " How vainly would the king reply: 
 
 " ' It is true that the enemies of the nation pretend their con- 
 duct is only to increase my power; 1 can prove I am not their ac- 
 complice; I have obeyed the Constitution; I have sent troops into 
 the country. It is true, those armies are feeble; but the Constitu- 
 tion did not stipulate the number I vpas to give. It is true, I as- 
 sembled them too lute; but the Constitution did not designate the 
 time I was to gather tliem. It is true, a reserve camp should have 
 re-enforced them; but the Constitution did not oblige me to form 
 a, reserve camp. It is true, that while the generals advanced with- 
 out resistance on the enemy's territory, I ordered a retreat; but the 
 Constitution did not command me to carry off a victory. It is 
 true, my ministers deceived the assembly as to the number, the 
 disposition, and the provisioning of the troops: but the Constitution 
 gave me the right to choose my ministers; they did not order my 
 placing my confidence in the patriots and banishing the counter- 
 revolutionists. It is true, the National Assembly has rendered de- 
 crees necessary for the defense of the country, and that I have re- 
 fused to sanction them; but the Constitution gave me that power. 
 Finally, it is true that the counter-revolutionists will succeed, that 
 despoiism will remit in my hands her iron scepter, that I will 
 crush you, that you will cringe before me, tliat I will punish you 
 to have the insolence to have wished to be free; but all this will be 
 done constitutionally. 1 have done nothing that the Constitution 
 condemns; you can not then doubt my fidelity toward them, nor 
 my zeal for their defense. ' 
 
 " If it is possible, gentlemen, that in the calamities of so dis- 
 astrous a war, in the confusion of a counter-revolutionary over- 
 throw, the King of France holds so devisory a language — if it is 
 possible that he speaks of his love for the Constitution with so in- 
 sulting an irony, will we not have the right to reply: 
 
 " ' A king! who without doubt believes with the tyrant Lysan- 
 der, truth is worth no more than lies, and that men must be amused 
 with oaths, as children are amused with toys; who only feigned to 
 like the law to preserve the power that helped you to defy it; the 
 Constitution, that you would not be precipitated from the throne, 
 where you needed to remain in order to destroy it; the nation, to 
 assume the success of your perfidy by inspiring it with confidence. 
 Do you think you will to-day deceive us with such hypocritical 
 protestations? Do you think to change the cause of our misfort- 
 unes by the artifice of your excuses and the audacity of your 
 sophistry? Is it to defend us, to fight foreign soldiers with 
 a force whose inadequacy leaves no doubt as to the result? Is 
 it to defend us, to deviate from the plans of fortifying the 
 interior of the kingdom or to make preparations for resistance 
 for a period when we shall already be a prey to the tyrant? 
 Is it to defend us, not to reprimand a geneial who violates the 
 Constitution, and to coerce the rnurace nf those who serve him? 
 Is it to defend us, to paralyze the goveinment without cessation by 
 the continual disorganization of the miiiistry? Did the Constitu- 
 tion leave you the choice of mini.'ters for on r prosperity or our 
 Tuin? Were you made commander-in-chief of the B.rmy for our 
 jlory or for our shame? Finally, did they give you the right ot 
 
128 ANDEEB DE TAVBESTET. 
 
 sanction, the civil list, and so many grand prerogatives, to constt 
 tutionally lose the Constitution and the empire? No, no, thou 
 man that the generosity of the French can not move! A maa 
 whom only the love of despotism can aflfectl You have not kept 
 the oath of the Constitution. She may be overthrown, but you 
 will not reap the result of your perjuiy; you are not opposed by 
 any apparent act to the victories obtained in your name against 
 liberty; but you shall not gather the fruit of those shameful tri- 
 umphs! Hereafter you are as nothing to that Constitution you 
 have so basely violated, these people whom you have so cowardly 
 betrayed!' 
 
 " As the facts I have just recalled are not depuded of a very- 
 striking connection with several acts of the king, as it is certain 
 that the false friends who surround him are sold to the conspirators 
 at Coblentz, who are anxious to luin the king, to place the crown 
 on the head of their chief conspirator; as it reflects on his personal 
 safety, as well as the safety of the empire, for his conduct to be 
 open to suspicion, I propose an address to be made which will re- 
 call the truths which I have just uttered, and where he will be 
 shown the neutrality he keeps between the country and Coblentz 
 is treason against France. 
 
 "I ask further that you declare the country to be in danger. 
 You will see, at the cry of danger, every citizen will rally, the 
 ground will be covered with soldiers, and the prodigies that cov- 
 ered the people of antiquity with glory, will be renewed. Are the 
 regenerated French of '79 shorn of patriotism? Has not the day 
 arrived to reunite those who are in Rome and those who are on 
 Mount Aventin? Are you to wait until, wearied from the fatigues 
 of the revolution, or corrupted by the habit of parading around a 
 chateau, weak men will learn to speak of liberty without enthu- 
 siasm, or slavery without horror? For what are we preparing our- 
 selves? Is it a military government that is to be established? The 
 court is suspected of perfidious projects; it talks of military move- 
 ments, of martial law; the imagination is familiarized with the 
 people's blood. The palace of the King of Franc* is suddenly 
 changed into a stronghold. Where are the enemies? Against 
 whom are these cannons and bayonets aimed? The friends of the 
 Constitution have been repulsed by the ministry; the reins of gov- 
 ernment are floating at hazard, at a moment, when, to sustain it, 
 more vigor than patriotism is required. Everywhere discoid is 
 fomented, fanaticism triumphs, the connivance of the government 
 increases the audacity of foreign powers, who belch forth against 
 us men and arms, and chill the people's sympathy, who are offer- 
 ing up secret vows for the triumph of liberty. The cohorts of the 
 enemy are shaking, intrigue and perfidy conspire with treason; the 
 legislative body oppose to these plots vijgorous but necessary de- 
 crees; the hand of the king rends them! Call, while there is yet 
 time— call every Frenchman to save the country! Show them the 
 gulf in all its immensity! It is only by a superhuman effort they 
 can free it. It is for you to propose an electric shock that will 
 arouse the whole empire. Imitate yourselves the Spartans of 'Ther- 
 mopylse, whose aged men of the Roman senate waited on the thres- 
 Jiold of their door tb« death )hat ferocious victors brought to 
 
ANDEEB DE TAVEENBT. 129 
 
 their country. No, you need not take an oath, for the avenger ol 
 your death to spring into birth; the day your blood reddens the 
 earth, tyranny, pride, its palaces, its protectors, will forever vanish 
 before the all-powerful nationality, and before the anger of the 
 people." 
 
 There was in this terrible discourse an ascending force, an in- 
 creasing gradalion, a crescendo of tempestt that beat the air with 
 its wings like a liurricane. Its effect was nlso thut of a whirlwind;. 
 the entire assembly, Fenillants, Royalists, Constituticualihts, Re- 
 publicans, deputies, the benches, the tribunes, all were carried 
 away, entranced, held speH-bound by this wonderful wlilrlpool; 
 every one shouted with entbusiasm. 
 
 The same evening, Barbaroux wrote to his friend, Rebecqui, at 
 Marseilles: " Send me five hundred men who know how to die." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE THIED ANNIVEBSARY OF THE TAKING OF THE BASTILE. 
 
 The nth of July the assembly declared the country to be ia 
 danger. 
 
 But, to promulgate th»t declaration, the king's authority waa 
 necessary. 
 
 The king did not sanction it till the evening of the 21st. In fact, 
 to proclaim the country in danger was an avowal by the authorities 
 of his powerlessness; it was aTi appeal for the nation to save them- 
 selves, as the king could noi or would do nothing more. 
 
 In the interval between the lllh and aist of July great terror 
 agitated the chateau. 
 
 The court expected, on the l-tth, an attempt against the king. 
 
 An address of the Jacobins strengthened this belief; it was dic- 
 tated by Robespierre, and it was easy to recognize his doubie-edged 
 meaning. 
 
 It was addressed to the confederates wno were to come to Paris 
 for the fSte of the 14th of July, so cruelly insanguined the pre- 
 ceding year. 
 
 " Welcome to Frenchmen of the eighty- three departments!'^ 
 said the Incorruptible; " welcome Marseilles! welcome to the pow- 
 erful, invincible patriotism that, on its days of dangers and feasts, 
 gathers its children around it. Let us open our houses to our 
 brothers! 
 
 "Citizens, have you congregated here for a vain ceremony of 
 federation, and for superfluous oaths? No, no; you have hastened 
 to the cry of the nation that called you, threatened abroad, be- 
 trayed at home! Our perfidious leaders are drawing our armies 
 into a trap; our generals respect the territories of the Austrian 
 tyrant and bum the cities of our Belgian brothers; a monster 
 iisifayette! who came to insult to their tace the National Assem- 
 bly, revile, threaten, outrage it, does he still exist? So many at- 
 tempts have at last roused the nation, and you have hastened t» 
 the rescue. The sluggards of the people have tried to seduce you, 
 fly from their caresses, fly from their tables, wher^" they drink 
 moderation and forget their duty; keep theue auspiciona in yM^ 
 imrU; the fatal hour is about to strikal 
 
130 AKDBSi: SE TAYEBKET. 
 
 " Behold the altar of your countryl "Will you allow cowardly 
 idols to be placed between liberty and yourselves, to usurp the 
 worship that is its due? Swear no oath except for patriotism, in 
 the immortal hands of the King of Nature. AH of us recollect at 
 this Champ de Mars the perjury of our enemies; we can not find a 
 single spot that is not soiled with the innocent blood that has 
 been sliedl Purify this soil, avenge that blood, and do not leave 
 that spot until you have decided upon the safety of the countryl" 
 
 It is diflScult to explain it more categorically. Never has as- 
 sassination been advised in more positive terms; never have bloody 
 reprisals been advocated in a clearer or more urgent ^oice. 
 
 And it is Robespierre, it must be noted, that fatal orator, that 
 wily tribune, who, in his soft voice, said to the deputies of the 
 eighty- three departments: "My friends, if you believe me, the 
 king must die!" 
 
 They were in great fear at the Tuileries; the king more than any 
 one else. They were now convinced they had no other object but to 
 assassinate the king in the midst of the brawl on the 20th of June, 
 and that the crime was not committed was due simply to the cour- 
 age the king showed his assassins. 
 
 And there was a great deal of truth in it. All the courtiers that 
 were left to the two condemned ones who were still called the king 
 and queen, declared the crime that failed on the 30th of June had 
 been postponed to the 14h of July. 
 
 So persuaded were they of it, that they begged the king to put 
 on his breast-plate, that if the first ball or thrust reached his chest, 
 his friends would have time to nish to his rescue. Alas! the queen 
 BO longer had Andree to help her, as when the first time, in her 
 nocturnal efforts, she had tried at midnight, with trembling hands, 
 in a secluded corner of the Tuileries, as she had before at Ver- 
 sailles, the solidity of the silken cuirass. 
 
 Fortunately, they had kept the breast-plate that the king, when 
 on his first journey 1o Paris, had tried on to please the queen, but 
 had since refused to wear. 
 
 The king, however, was so closely watched that there never had 
 been an instant to put it on a second time and correct any fault it 
 might have. Mme. Campan carried it three days under her dress. 
 
 At length, one morning, when she was in the queen's room, and 
 she still slept, the king entered, took his coat off quickly, and 
 tried it on, while Mme. Campan closed the doo^s. The breast- 
 plate tried on, the king drew Mme. Campan toward him. Then, 
 in a low voice: "It is to satisfy the queen," he said, " that I put 
 it on. They will not assassinate me, Campan, rest assured of that. 
 Their plan is changed, and I await another kind of death. At any 
 Tate, come to me on leaving the queen; I have somelhiag to coll- 
 ide to you." 
 
 The king went out. 
 
 The queen saw him talk to Mme. Campan without hearing what 
 3ie said. She followed the king with au anxious look, andwbea 
 the door was closed behind him: 
 
 " Campan," she said, " what did the king say to youT" 
 
 Jtm«. Campan, in tears, threw benaU on h«r knew Mora tbt 
 
ANDEEB DE TATBENET. 131 
 
 flueen s bed, who stretched out her arms to her, while she repeated 
 aloud what the king had told her in low tones. 
 
 The queen sadly nodded her head. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " it's the king's opinion, and I begin to agree 
 with him, that what we are now passing Ihrough with in France 
 is similar to what occurred in England during the past century. 
 He reads incessantly the history of the unfortunate Charles — to 
 conduct himself better than the King of England. Yes, yesl I 
 begin to fear a trial for the king, my dear Campan. As for me, I 
 am a foreigner — they will assassinate me. Alasl what will be- 
 come of my poor children?" 
 
 The queen could say no more; her strength failed her. She 
 broke forth into sobs. Then Mme. Campan rose and hastened to 
 prepare a glass of sugared water with ether; but the queen waved 
 her hand. 
 
 " Nervousness, my dear Campan," she said, " is an aflSiction of 
 happy women; but all the medicine in the world can not cure the 
 afflictions of the heart. Since our misfortunes, I no longer feel 
 my body; I only know what my destiny will be. Say nothing of 
 this to the king; but go to him. 
 
 Mme. Campan hesitated to obey. 
 
 " Well, what is it?" asked the queen. 
 
 " Oh, madame!" cried Mrae. Campan, " I wanted to tell your 
 majesty. I have made a corset similar to the king's breast-plate, 
 and on my knees I beseech your majesty to wear it." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear Campan," said Marie Antoinette. 
 
 " Ahl your majesty accepts it, then?" cried the lady of the bed- 
 chamber, rejoicing. 
 
 " 1 accept it as a mark of your devoted affection; but 1 will take 
 good care not to put it on." 
 
 Then taking her hand, in a low voice she added: 
 
 " 1 would be only too fortunate to be assassinated! My Godt 
 they will do more for me than you in giving me life; Ihey will give 
 me deliverance — Go, Campan, go I" 
 
 Mme. Campan went out. 
 
 It was time; she was choking. 
 
 In the corridor she met the king, who was walking before her; 
 seeing her, he stopped and held out his band. Mme. Campan 
 seized the royal hand, and wanted to kiss it; but the king, draw- 
 ing her toward him, kissed her on both of her cheeks. 
 
 Then, before she could recover from her astonishment: 
 
 " Come!" he said. 
 
 Then, walking before her, he stopped in the inner corridor that 
 led from his chamber to the dauphin's, and pressing on a. spring 
 with his hand, he opened a secret wardrobe in the wall, the open- 
 ing of which was concealed in the midst of brown groove", that 
 formed the darker portion of these painted stones. 
 
 It was the iron wardrobe he had hollowed out and made with 
 the aid of Gamain. A large portfolio full of papers was in this 
 wardrobe, one of whose shelves held several millions of louix. 
 
 " Here, Campan," said the king, " take this portfolio, and take 
 it to your rooms." 
 
132 ANDEEB DE TAVEKNBT. 
 
 Mme. Campan tried to raise the portfolio, but it was too lieavj. 
 
 " Sire," said she, " I can not." 
 
 " Wait, wait," said tlie king. 
 
 And, closing the wardrobe, which once closed was perfpctly in- 
 Trisible, he tooli the portfolio and carried it to Mme. Campan's 
 cabinet. 
 
 " Therel" he said, wiping his face. 
 
 " Sire," asked Mme. Campan, " what must I do with this port- 
 iolio?" 
 
 " The queen will tell you, at the same (ime you will see for 
 yourself what it contains." 
 
 And the king went out. 
 
 In case any one should see the portfolio, Mme. Campan, with aa 
 •effort, slipped it between the two mattresses of her bed and re-en- 
 tered the queen's room. 
 
 " Madame," she said, " I h«ve a portfolio that the king has just 
 '1)rought me; he told me your majesty would acquaint me with its 
 •oontenls, and what I should then do." 
 
 Then the queen laid her hand on Mme. Campan, who, on the 
 floor before her bed, awaited her answer. 
 
 " Campan," she said, " they are papers that would be fatal if, 
 «s God pleases, he is brought to trial; but at (he same time, and 
 that without doubl is what he wants me to lell you, there is in that 
 jjortfolio an account of that sitting of the council in which the 
 ting gave his opinion against the war; he made all his ministers 
 •sign it, and in case of a trial he expects that, as other papers fail, 
 this will be of use." 
 
 " But, madame," said the lady of the bed-chamber, thoroughly 
 frightened, " what is to be done with it?" 
 
 " Anything you choose, Campan, provided it is in safe keeping; 
 you alone will be responsible; only you must not be away from 
 me, even if you are not in actual service; circumstances are such, 
 that at any moment I may have need of you. In that case, Cam- 
 pan, as you are one of those friends that can be depended upon, I 
 want to have you under my hand." 
 
 The fete of the 17th of July arrived. 
 
 They were excited about the revolution, and not about assassi- 
 nating Louis XVI. — probably every one had not the same idea — 
 but Petion's triumph over the king was to be declared. We have 
 said that after the 20th of June Petion had been suspended by 
 Ihe Directory of Paris. 
 
 It would have been null without the king's authorization; but 
 that suspension had been contirmed by a royal proclamation sent 
 to the assembly. 
 
 Ou the 13th, that is to say, the evening of the ffite anniversary of 
 :the taking of IheBastile, the assembly, of its own private authority, 
 raised this suspension. 
 
 On tlie 14th, at eleven o'clock in the morning, the king de?cend- 
 >ed the grand staircase with the queen and their children; three or 
 four thousand men belonging to wavering troops escorted the royaZ 
 family. The queen in vain looked on the faces of the soldiers and 
 the National Guard for some mark of sympathy; the most devoted 
 (turned their heads and averted their looks. 
 
ANDKEE DE TAVERNET. 135 
 
 As for the people, there was no concealment to their feelings; 
 the cries of " Lon^ live PetionI" resounded on all sides; then, a» 
 if to give this ovation something more durable tJian the enthusiasm 
 of the moment, on all the hats could be read those three worda 
 that constituted at the same time their defeat and the tiiumph of 
 their enemies: " Long live Petion!" 
 
 The queen was pale and trembling; convinced, notwithstanding- 
 ■what Mme. Campan told her, that an attempt was to be made on 
 the life of the king, she shook at the least thing, believing she saw 
 « hand stretched out armed with a knife, or a pistol aimed at them. 
 
 Arrived at the Cliamp de Mars, the king left the carriage, took 
 his place at the left of the president of the assembly, and advanced 
 toward the altar of the country with him. 
 
 There the queen was obliged to leave the king to ascend with her 
 children to the tribune reserved for them. 
 
 She stopped, refusing to ascend until he had been seated, and 
 followed him with her eyes. At the foot of the altar of the coun- 
 try there was one of those sudden rushes made by the multitude. 
 
 The king disappeared as it crushed. 
 
 The queen screamed, and wanted to throw herself toward him. 
 
 But he reappeared, ascending the steps of the altar of the coun- 
 try. 
 
 Among the ordinary symbols that figured at this solemn feast, 
 such as Justice, Strength, Liberty, there was one that was electrify- 
 ing, mysterious, and awe-inspiring, under a veil of crape, worn by 
 a man dressed all in black, and crowned with cypress. That ter- 
 rible symbol had a mysterious fasciualiou for the eyes of the- 
 queen. 
 
 She was, as if rooted to the spot, scarcelj' reassured to see that 
 the king had reached the summit of llie allai of iiis country. She 
 was unable to take her eyes ofE of that sinister npparition. 
 
 Tlien, witn an effort, she succeeded in loosening her tongue. 
 
 " Who is that man dressed in black, and crowned with cypres*?" 
 she said, without speaking to any one in particular. 
 
 A voice that made her tremble replied : 
 
 " The executioner!" 
 
 " What does he hold under that veil of crape?" continued the 
 queen. 
 
 " Charles the I.'s ax." 
 
 The queen turned pale; it seemed as if she had heard that voice 
 before. 
 
 She was not mistaken. The man who answered her was the one 
 she saw at the Chai;eau de Taverney, on the Sevres bridge, when 
 they returned from Varennes; in fact, it was Cagliostro." With* 
 cry she fell fainting in Mme. Elizabeth's arms. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE CODNTRY IS 3N DANGEli. 
 
 On the 22d of July, at six o'clock in the morning, eight days 
 after the f§te of the Champ de Mars entree, Paris trembled at the 
 sound of a cannon of immense caliber stationed on the Pont !N«u£ 
 
 A cannon from the Arsenal responded as an echo. 
 
134 JLNDBEE DB TAVBEITBY. 
 
 From time to time during the day the terrible noise continued. 
 
 Six legions of the National Guard, conducted bjr their six com- 
 manders, had met, at day- break, at the H6tel de Ville. 
 
 Four processions were organized to carry through Paris and the 
 suburbs a proclamalion that the country was in danger. 
 
 It was Danton who orgar.ized tliis terrible f6te, and asked Ser- 
 gent to arrange the programme. Sergent was a mediocre artist as 
 an engraver, but immense as a scenic delineator. Since the day of 
 the outrages at the Tuileries, his hatred of the court had redoubled. 
 Sergent displayed in the whole programme of this day that great 
 ability that was to come to an end after the 10th of August. 
 
 Both of the two processions left the Hdtel de Ville at six o'clock 
 in the morning, one to go through Paris, the other to go through 
 the suburbs. 
 
 First, they had a detachment of cavalry, with music at the head. 
 The air they played, composed for the occasion, was very somber, 
 like a funeral march. 
 
 Behind the detachment of cavalry came six pieces of cannon, 
 drawn abreast, where the bridges and streets were wide enough, 
 but two by two in the narrow streets. 
 
 Then four officers on horseback, carrying four ensigns, on each 
 of which was inscribed one of these four words: 
 
 " Liberty — Equality — Constitution — Patriotism. " 
 
 Then a dozen municipal officers, in scarfs, with swords at their 
 sides. 
 
 Then alone, isolated as France was isolated, a National Guard 
 on horseback, holding a large tricolored banner on which was 
 written these words: 
 
 " Citizens, the country is in danger!" 
 
 Then, in the same order as the first, there followed six pieces of 
 cannon of deep resonance and loud explosion. 
 
 Then, a detachment of the National Guard. Then, a detach- 
 ment of calvary ended the procession. At each square, at each 
 bridge, at each cross street the procession halted. 
 
 Silence was obtained by the rolling of the drums. The banners 
 waved, and when the noise was subdued, when the hushed breath 
 of ten thousand spectators was held in their breasts, the solemn 
 voice of a municipal officer read the decree of the legislative body, 
 and said: 
 
 " The country is in danger!" 
 
 The last cry was terrible, and shook every heart. It was the cry 
 x>t the nation, of the country, of France! It was like a mother 
 crying in her agony, " Help! my children!" 
 
 And from hour to hour the cannon on the Pont Neuf bellowed 
 with its echo at the Arsenal. 
 
 In all the large squares of Paris — the square before Notre Dame 
 ■was the principal one— amphitheaters had been arranged for vol- 
 untary enrollments. 
 
 In the midst of these amphitheaters was a large plank laid on 
 two drums, serving for a writing-table, and every movement made 
 the drums resound like the rumbling of a distant storm. 
 
 Tents surmounted with tricolored bwoners were erected all 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERKEY. 13i 
 
 around the &ffiphitheater; Ihay were connected with each other by 
 tricolor bannerets and decorated with wreaths of oak leaves. 
 
 Municipal oflflcers in scarfs sat around the table, aud as fast as 
 they enrolled, delivered the certificates to the volunteers. 
 
 At each side of the amphitheater were two pieces of cannon; at 
 the foot of the double stair-way by which they ascended, incessant 
 music; before the tents, at a certain distance, was a circle of armed 
 citizens. 
 
 It was at once terrible and grand; it was an intoxication of 
 patriotism. 
 
 Every one rushed to be enrolled; the sentinels could not keep 
 out those who presented themselves; every instant the ranks were 
 broken. 
 
 The two staircases of the amphitheater — there was one to ascend 
 and another to descend — were insufficient, large as they were. 
 
 Every one wenl up as they could, aided by those already up; 
 then, their name inscribed, their certificate received, they jumped 
 to the ground with fierce cries, holding their piece of parchment, 
 singing the " Qa Ira," and kissing the mouths of the cannon. 
 
 It was the betrothal of the French people with that twenty-two 
 years' war. If it had resulted in nothing in the past, in the future 
 it was to free the entire world. 
 
 Among those volunteers were those who, too old, disguised their 
 age with sublime devotion; others too young, patriotic liars, raised 
 themselves on their toes, and answered, " Sixteen years I" when 
 they were only fourteen. 
 
 The aged La Tour d'Auvergne, from Brittany, and the youth- 
 ful Viala, from the south, joined in this manner. 
 
 Those who were prevented by indissoluble ties from joining, 
 ■wept that they could not go; they held their heads in their hands, 
 and their more fortunate brothers cried: 
 
 " But you can sing, all of you that are not going. You can cry: 
 ' Long live the nationi' " 
 
 And sudden and terrible cries of " Long live the nationi" would 
 burst on the air, while from hour to hour the cannon of the Pont 
 Neuf boomed on the air, together with its echo from the Arsenal. 
 
 The excitement was so great, every one was so utterly carried 
 away, that the assembly themselves were frightened at their own 
 work. They appointed four deputies to scour Paris. They were 
 to sot: 
 
 " Brothers, in the name of patriotism, no disturbance; the court 
 wishes one in order to cover the flight of the king; give the court, 
 no excuse; the king must remain with us.'" 
 
 Then they added in an aside, those terrible sowers of words;. 
 " He must be punished!" 
 
 They clapped their hands whenever these men passed, and" 
 through the multitude passed, as the sighing of the tempest through 
 the forest trees: "He must be punlshedl" 
 
 They did not say who, but every one knew who was to be pun- 
 ished. 
 
 That lasted till midnight. 
 
 UntU midnight the cannon thundered; until midnight the crowd 
 Was stationed around the amphitheaten. 
 
136 ANDKEB DB TAVBRKET. 
 
 Many of the newly enrolled remained there, dating their first 
 bivouac at the foot of the altar of their country. 
 
 Each discharge of the cannon reached the center of the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 The center of the Tuileries was the chamber of the kin^ where 
 Louis XVI., Marie Antoinete, the royal children, and Ihe Princess 
 de Lamballe were assembled. 
 
 They did not leave it during the day; they knew too well their 
 fate was hanging in the balance during that eventful and solemn 
 day. 
 
 The royal family did not separate till after midnight. — till after 
 the cannon had ceased firing. Since the uprising in {he faubourgs, 
 the queen no longer slept on the ground floor. 
 
 Her friends had persuaded her to ascend to an apartment situ- 
 ated between those of the king and the dauphin. 
 
 In the habit of waking at day-break, she would not allow them to 
 close any shutters or blinds, that her slumber might be less sound. 
 Mme. Campan slept in the same room as the queen. 
 
 The occasion of the queen's consenting to any of her ladies 
 deeping near her was this: 
 
 One night when the queen was sleeping — it was near morning-, 
 Mme. Campan, standing before Marie Antoinette's bed, and tak- 
 ing to her, they heard a step in the corridor, then a noise as of two 
 men struggling. 
 
 Mme. Campan wanted to see what was taking place; but the 
 iqueen held her lady of the bed-chamber, or, rather, her friend: 
 
 " Do not leave me, Campan!" she cried. 
 
 While a voice cried from the corridor: 
 
 " Fear nothing, madame; it is a scoundrel who wishes to kill 
 you, but I have him I" 
 
 It was the voice of the valet. 
 
 " My Grod!" cried the queen, raising her hands to heaven, 
 " What an existence! Outrages by day, assassinations by night!" 
 
 Then to the valet: 
 
 " Let that man go," cried the queen, " and open the door.'" 
 
 " But, madame — " cried Mme. Campan. 
 
 "Eh! my dear, if he is arrested, he will be carried around in 
 irlumph by the Jacobins to-morrow." 
 
 They let the man go; he was an assistant valet of the king's. 
 
 Trom that day the king had obtained leave that some one should 
 ■sleep in Ihe queen's chamber. 
 
 Marie Antoinette chose Mme. Campan. 
 
 The night following the proclamation of danger to the country. 
 Maw. Campan awoke about two o'clock in the morning; the rays 
 of the moon, like a nocturnal illumination, or an ardent friend, 
 traversed the windows, and glistened on the queen's bed, giving 
 -her covering a bluish tinge. 
 
 Mme. Campan heard a sigh: she saw the queen was not sleeping. 
 
 " Your majesty suffers?" she asked, in a low voice. 
 
 " I always suffer, Campan," replied Marie Antoinette; " only, I 
 ItiTpe this suflering will finish soon." 
 
 " Good God! madame," cried the lady of the chamber "bara 
 70U got any other suspicion?" 
 
AlfDREE DE TAVEENET. 137 
 
 " No; on the contrary, Campan." 
 
 Then, stretching out a white hand, still whiter from the rays ot 
 the moon : 
 
 " In one month," she said, with deep sadness, " the rays of th« 
 moon will see us liberated and freed from our chains." 
 
 "Ah!" cried Mme. Campan, joyfully, "have you accepted 
 Monsieur de Lafayette's aid, and will you fly?" 
 
 " Monsieur de Lafayette's aid? OhI no, thank God!" said the 
 queen, with an accent of repugnance there was no mistaliing; " no. 
 But in a month my nephew, Francis, will be in Paris." 
 
 " Are you sure, your majesty?" cried Mme. Campan, fright- 
 ened. 
 
 " Yes," said the queen, " everything is decided; an alliance has 
 T)een formed between Austria and Prussia; the two combined 
 powers are to march on Paris; we will be informed of the progress 
 ot the princes, and of the allied armies, and we can say with cer- 
 tainty: ' Such a day our saviors are at Valenciennes; such a 
 day at Verdun; such a day at Paris!' " 
 
 " And you are not afraid — " Mme. Campan stopped. 
 
 " Of being assassinated?" said the queen, finishing the sentence. 
 " There is no danger of that, I Ijnow, but what can one do. Cam- 
 pan? He who risks nothing has nothing." 
 
 " What day do the allied sovereigns hope to be in Paris?" asked 
 Mme. Campan. 
 
 " The 15th or 20th of August," replied the queen. 
 
 " May God hear you!" said Mme. Campan. 
 
 God, fortunately, did not hear; or, if he did, he sent France a 
 succor on which she had not counted — the " Marseillaise!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE MARSEILLAISE. 
 
 What reassured the queen should have alarmed her: the mani- 
 festo of the Duke of Brunswick. This manifesto, which did not 
 reach Paris till the 26th of July — revised at the Tuileries — did not 
 leave till the first days of the ensuing month. 
 
 At the same time the court revised this senseless manifesto in 
 Paris, the effect of which was soon to be seen, let us see what was 
 taking place at Strasbourg. Strasbourg, one of our strongest 
 French cities, just because it once was Austrian. Strasbourg, one 
 of our most solid boulevards, had, as we have said, the enemy at 
 its gates. 
 
 It was at Strasbourg that for the last six months, ever since there 
 had been a question of war, that battalions of young, enthusiastic, 
 and ardent volunteers had assembled. 
 
 Strasbourg, reflecting its sublime spires in the Rhine, which 
 alone separated it from the enemy, was at once the brilliant scene 
 of battles, youth, joy, pleasure, balls, reviews; where the noise of 
 war-like instruments mingled with the music of festivity. 
 
 At Strasbourg, the volunteers entering by one gate, left by an- 
 other, when sufficiently trained into loldiers prepared for battle. 
 
138 AKDREE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 There their friends found, embraced, and bid them adieu. Sister* 
 Wept, mothers prayed, and fathers said: " Go and die for France!" 
 
 And with all that the ringing of the bells, the booming of can- 
 non, two bronze voices calling to God, one to invoke his pity, the 
 other his judgment. At one of these depariures, more than usu- 
 ally solemn, because a larger regiment, the mayor of Strasbourg, 
 Dietrich, a worthy and excellent patriot, invited these brave young 
 men to come to a banquet at his house, to meet the officers of the 
 garrison. 
 
 The two young daughters of the mayor, and twelve or fifteen of 
 Iheir companions, fair and noble daughters of Alsace, that might 
 have been taken, with their golden hair, for nymphs of Ceics, did 
 not preside at the banquet, as much as they embellished and dec- 
 orated it like bouquets of flowers. 
 
 Among the number of convivalists a friend of the Dietrich 
 family, an habitue of the house, was a young noble of French 
 Comte, named Rouget de I'lsle. He appears later, and in writing 
 to us himself, with his own hand fells the story of the birth of that 
 beautiful flower of war, whose opening and blooming the reader 
 can not but admire. Rouget de I'lsle was then twenty yars of age, 
 and as an ofiicer of marked genius, commanded the garrison at 
 Strasbourg. 
 
 A poet and musician, his piano was one of those instruments 
 that gave forth a perfect concert of sounds, his voice was one that 
 resounded amid the loudest and most patriotic. 
 
 Never had a more French, more national banquet been illumined 
 by the ardent sun of June. 
 
 No one spoke of themselves; everj^ one spoke of France. 
 
 Death was there, it was true, as in the antique banquets; but 
 beautiful death, not In its customary accouterments, or its funereal 
 sables, but holding in one hand a sword, in the other a palm. 
 
 They were thinking what they could sing; the old " Qa ira " was 
 a chant of anger and of the civil war; they wanted a patriotic, 
 fraternal, and at the same time a threatening song for the for- 
 eigner. 
 
 Who was the modern Tertius, who, in the midst of the smoke of 
 cannon, the bursting of bullets and balls, was to throw the hymn 
 of France to the enemy? 
 
 At that question, Rouget de I'lsle, enthusiastic, ardent, patriotic, 
 leplied: 
 
 ^* It is II" 
 
 And he rushed from the hall. 
 
 In a half hour, before his absence was noticed hardly, everything 
 was finished, words and music; it was all made together, formed 
 in a mold like a statue of a god. 
 
 Rouget de I'lsle entered, his hair thrown back, his face covered 
 with sweat, breathless for the combat he was about undertaking 
 between the two sublime sisters — music and poetry. 
 
 " Listen!" he said, " listen every one!" 
 
 He was sure of his muse, that noble young man. At his voice 
 every one turned, some glass in hand, others holding trembling 
 fingers in their own. 
 
 Rouget de I'lsle began: 
 
AKDREE DE TAVERNET. 139 
 
 " Aliens, enfants de la patrie. 
 Le jour de gloire est arilvel 
 Contre vous de la tyrauuie 
 L'elendard sanglant est leve. 
 Enlendez-vous amis uos campagnes 
 Rugir ees feroces soldats? 
 lis vieuuenl jusque dans nos bras 
 Egorger nos tils, nos conipagnes! 
 Aux armes, citoyeus! formez vos bataillons: 
 
 Marchons, marclions; 
 Qu'un sang impur abieufe nos sillons!" 
 
 At the first verse, the whole assembly was electrified. 
 Two or three enthusiastic cries broke forth; but voices eager tM 
 hear the rest, cried quickly: 
 " SUence! silence! listen!" 
 Rouget continued with a gesture of intense indignation: 
 
 " Que veut cette horde d'esclaves, 
 De traitres, de rois conjures? 
 Pour qui ces ignobles entraves, 
 Ces feis des longtemps prepares? 
 Fraopais! pour nous, ah! quel outragel 
 Quels tianspoits il doil exciter! 
 C'est nous qu"on ose mediter 
 De rendre a I'antique esclavage! 
 Aux arines, ci toy ens!" 
 
 This time, Rouget de I'lsle had no need to call for a chorus; the 
 words burst from every mouth : 
 
 " Formez vos bataillonsi 
 Marchons, marchons; 
 Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!" 
 
 Then he continued, amid increasing enthusiasm: 
 
 " Quoi! des cohort es etrangferes 
 Feraient la loi dans nos foyers? 
 Quoi! ces phalanges merceuaires 
 Tenasseraient nos tiers guerrie's? 
 Grand Dieu! par des mains enchainees, 
 N(.s fronts sous le joug se ploiraient! 
 De vils despotes deviendraient 
 Les maitres de nos destinees!" 
 
 A hundred breathless voices waited for the refrain, and before 
 it was finished, cried: 
 " No! no! no!" 
 Then, with the peal of a trumpet, the sublime chorus rang: 
 
 " Aux armes, citnyens! formez vos bataillonsi 
 Marchons, marchons; 
 Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!" 
 
 TIus time, there was so much ezcilemeut among the audience. 
 
140 ANDREE DB TAVEENEY. 
 
 that in order to sing his fourth verse, Kouget de I'lsle was obliged 
 to cnll for silence. 
 
 They listened in a feverish condition. 
 
 The indignant voice became tluealening: 
 
 " Tremblez, tyrans! et vous, perfides, 
 L'opprobie de tons les partisi 
 Tremblez I vos projels parricides 
 Vont enfin recevoir leur prix. 
 Tout est soldat pour vous combattrel 
 S'ils tombent nos jeunes heros 
 La terre en produit de nouveaux 
 Centre vout tout prSts ^ se battre." 
 
 "Yes! yes!" cried every voice. 
 
 The fathers pushed before them their sons who could march, 
 the mothers raised in their arms those they still carried. 
 
 Then Rouget de I'lsIe perceived he had forgotten a verse: a song 
 lor the children ; a sublime chorus for the harvest yet to be mowed, 
 of the frrain yet in the germ; while the convivalists repeated fran- 
 tically tliat terrible refrain, he let his head fall on his hands: then, 
 in the midst of noise, rumors, bravos, he improvised the following: 
 
 " Nous entrerons dans la carriSre 
 Quand nos alnes n'y seront plus; 
 Nous y troiiverons leur poussifere 
 Ef la trace de leurs vertus. 
 Bien moint ^aloux de leur survivre 
 Que de partager leur cercueil. 
 Nous aurons le sublime orgueil 
 De les venger ou de les suivrel" 
 
 Mingled with the stifled sobs of the mothers, the enthusiastic 
 voices of the fathers, the pure notes of the children were heard in 
 the chorus : 
 
 " Aux armes, citoyens! formez vos bataillonsl 
 Marchons, marchons; 
 Qu'unsang impur abreuve nos sillons!" 
 
 " Oh! but is there no pardon for those who labor under a mis- 
 take?" murmured one of the convivalists. 
 
 " Wait, wait," cried Rouget de I'lsle, and you will see that my 
 heart dots not deserve that reproach." 
 
 And in a voice full of emotion he chanted that holy verse which 
 expressed all the heart of France: humane, grand, generous, and 
 in its anger, its pity rising above its just indignation even: 
 
 " Frangais! en guerriers magnanimes, 
 Portez oa retenez vous coups: 
 Epargnez ces tristes viclimes 
 8'armant 3, regret centre vous — " 
 
 Applause interrupted the singer. 
 
 " Oh! yes! yes!" came from all sides; " pity and pardon for 
 cur mistaken friends, our friends who are slaves, our friends wlw 
 are urged against us with the whip or bayonetl" 
 
AKDREE DE TAVEENET. 141 
 
 *'Tes," continued Rouget de I'lsle, " pardon and pity for all 
 thosel" 
 
 " Mais ces despotes sanguinaires, 
 Mais les complices de Bouille. 
 Contre ces tigres saus pitie, 
 Decliirant le sein de leur mSrel 
 Aux armes, citoyens! formez vos bataillonsi" 
 
 " Yes," cried every voice, " against tliose." 
 
 " Marchons, marchons; 
 Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillonsl" 
 
 " Now," cried Rouget de I'lsle, " 1o your knees, every one of 
 you!" 
 
 Tliey obeyed liim. 
 
 Rouget de lisle alone remained standing. Springing on one 
 foot into the chair of one of the convivalists, as if on a pedestal in 
 the Temple of Liberty, and raising his arms to heaven, he sung 
 the last verse, an invocation to the genius of France: 
 
 " Amour sacre de la patrie, 
 Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs; 
 Liberte, liberie, cherie. 
 Combats avec tes defenseurs! 
 Sous nos drapeaux, que la victoire 
 Accoure §. tes mSies accents; 
 Que nos enuemis expirants 
 Voient ton triomphe et notre gloire!" 
 
 " Now," cried a voice, " France is savedl" And every voice in 
 that sublime cry, the De Profundis of despotism, the Maguificat of 
 liberty, cried: 
 
 " Aux armee, citoyens! formez vos bataillonsi 
 Marchons, marchons; 
 Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillonsl" 
 
 This time the scene became bewildering. Carried beyond every- 
 thing by the intoxicating excitement, every one threw themselves 
 into their neighbor's arms; the girls took their flowers with both 
 hands— bouquets, wreaths — and covered the feet of the poet. 
 
 Thirty-eight years after, in relating to me this great day, to me, 
 a, young man who, for the first time, heard in 1830, sung by the 
 powerful voice of the people, this sacred hymn— thirty-eight years 
 »fter the poet's face glowed still with the splendid aureole of 1792, 
 
 And it was but right. 
 
 Why was it that in writing these last verses I was utterly un- 
 nerved? Why was it, that while my right hand traced tremblingly 
 the chorus of the children, the invocation to the genius of France, 
 my left wiped away a te&r ready to fall on my paper? It was be- 
 cause the holy " Marseillaise " is not only a war cry, but also a 
 bond of fraternity. It is because it is the royal and powerful hand 
 of France held out to all her people; because it is always the last 
 sigh of liberty that is dying, the first cry of liberty reawakened. 
 
 Meanwhile, how did the hymn, bora at Strasbouig under tb« 
 
142 ANDEEB DB TAVERNEY. 
 
 name of tlie " Song of the Rhine, " suddenly buret forth in tba 
 heart of France under the name of " The Marseillaise." 
 That is what we will tell our readers. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 BAKBAKOtlX'S FIVE HDNDRED MEN. 
 
 Ab if to corroborate the proclamation that the country was in 
 danger, on the 28th of July the manifesto of Coblentz arrived in 
 Pans. 
 
 As we have said, it was a silly piece of work — a threat — and 
 consequently an insult to France. 
 
 The Duke of Brunswick, a high-spirited man, thought the mani- 
 festo absurd; but, beside the duke, there were the kings of the 
 coalition. They received the article revised from the King of 
 France and gave it to their generals. 
 
 According to the manifesto, all France was culpable; every city 
 and every village must be demolished or burned. As for Paris, 
 that modirn Jerusalem was condemned to become a howling wil- 
 derness, not one stone left upon another. 
 
 This was what the manifesto declared on its arrival from Cob- 
 lentz on the 26th, reaching Paris on the 28th. 
 
 Some eagle must have brought it in its claws, that it should have 
 traversed two hundred leagues in thirty six hours. 
 
 It was easy to understand the excitement produced by the mani- 
 festo — if a cannon had exploded in their midst it could not have 
 been greater. Every heart shook, every one was alarmed— all 
 prepared for combat. 
 
 Let us choose one man among these men, one exception among 
 these types. 
 
 We have already named one man : Barbaroux. 
 
 Barbaroux, as we have said, wrote at the beginning of July to 
 Rebecqui, saying: " Send me five hundred men who know how to 
 die!" 
 
 Who was this man who could write in such a manner, and who 
 preserved such an influence over his companions? 
 
 He had all the influence of youth, beauty, and patriotism. 
 
 This man was Charles Barbaroux, fascinating and charming, 
 who troubled Mme. Roland's thoughts even in her conjugal apart- 
 ment — whom Charlotte Corday even dreamed of at the foot of the 
 scaffold. 
 
 Mme. Roland began by defying him. 
 
 Why did sibe defy him? 
 
 He was so handsome. 
 
 This was the reproach cast at these two revolutionists, whose 
 heads, notwithstanding their beauty, appeared fourteen months 
 later, one in the hand of the executioner at Bordeaux, the other in. 
 the hand of the executioner in Paris. The first was Barbaroux; 
 the second Herault de Sechelles. 
 
 This was what Mme. Roland said of them: 
 
 " Barbaroux is a trifler; the adorations lavished upon him by 
 immoral women debar him from any serious sentiment. When I 
 we handsome young men carried away by the impression Uiey 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVERNBT. 143 
 
 nroduce, u Barbaroux and Herault de Sechelles, I can not help 
 but think they adore themselves too much to adore their country 
 as they should." 
 
 She was mlstakeu, this severe Pallas. 
 
 Patriotism was not the only, but Barbaroux's first mistress; ia 
 fact, she it was he loved the best, for he died for her. 
 
 Barbaroux was scarcely tweuty-nve years old. 
 
 He was born at Marseilles, of a family of sturdy navigators, who 
 made a poem of commerce. In figure, gracefulness, ideality, and, 
 moreover, his Grecian profile he looked as tirough he was descend- 
 ed from some of those Phoenicians who brought their gods from 
 Parnassus to the borders of the Khone. Young, he was also very 
 eloquent — an art so well understood by the men of the south, who 
 use it at the same time for a weapon offensive and defensive — then 
 he was a poet; the founders of Marseilles had not forgotten the 
 flower of Parnassus transported from the Bay of Corinth to the 
 Gulf of Lyons. He was besides a physician, and was also in cor- 
 respondence with Saussure and Marat. 
 
 His brilliancy first made itself known during the agitations of 
 his native place, following Mlrabeau's election. He was appointed 
 secretary of the municipality of Marseilles, i^ater there were 
 troubles at Aries. 
 
 In the midst of these troubles, Barbaroux's superb presence ap- 
 peared like an armed Antinous. Paris claimed him for her own; 
 that grand furnace yearned for that fragrant branch; that im- 
 mense crucible for that pure metal. He was sent to give an ac- 
 count of the trouble at Avignon; it was said he had nothing to do 
 with it; that his heart, like that of justice, knew neither friendship 
 nor hate; terrible as it was, that was the simple truth, and it might 
 have been added, he was as great as justice. 
 
 The Girondists began to arrive. The distinguishing traits of 
 the Girondists from the other parties, and what, perhaps, was their 
 destruction, was that they were true artists; they loved whatever 
 ■was beautiful; they held out an indifferent but frank hand to Bar- 
 baroux; then, very proud of their new recruit, they conducted 
 him to Mme. Roland. 
 
 We have seen what she thought of Barbaroux at first sight. 
 
 What, however, astonished Mme. Roland was, that for some 
 time her husband had been in correspondence with Barbaroux, and 
 that the letters of the young man arrived regularly, methodically, 
 and were very sensible. 
 
 She had neither asked the age nor the looks of this serious cor- 
 respondent; he was for her a man of years, a figure bowed with 
 thought, a brow furrowed with care. 
 
 She woke from her dream to find a handsome young man of 
 twenty-five years, gay, laughing, vivacious, fond of ladies' society; 
 an offspring of that sunny, luxurious generation, that, flourishing 
 in "92, was to be cut down in '93. 
 
 If was in this head, that appeared so frivolous, and that Mme. 
 Roland found so handsome, thtt the first idea of the lOih of 
 August arose. 
 
 Storms were in the air; unseen clouds gathered in the north and 
 in the center to sink in the east. 
 
Hi ANDKEE DE TAVEBNET. 
 
 Barbaroux heaped them up on the roof of the Tuileries. 
 
 Before any plan was decided upon he wrote to Rebecqui : " Send: 
 me five hundred men who know how to diel" 
 
 Alasl the true King of France was the Ring of the Revolution, 
 who wrote that he must have five hundred men who knew how to 
 die, and as simply as he asked for them, they were sent. 
 
 Kebecqui himself chose them, recruited from the French party 
 in Avignon. 
 
 They had been beaten for two years; they had hated for ten 
 generations. 
 
 They had been beaten at Toulouse, at Tunis, at Aries; they were 
 made of muscle; as for fatigue, they never spoke of it. 
 
 When the day arrived, they undertook, as a simple march, that 
 route of two hundred and twenty leagues. 
 
 Why not? They were hardy sailors, sturdy peasants, their faces 
 burned by the sirocco in Africa, or the mists of Mount Ventoux, 
 their hands blackened by tar and pitch, or hardened by labor. 
 
 Wherever they stopped, they were called brigands. 
 
 In a halt that they made before Orgon, they chanted the music 
 and words of Rouget de I'lsle's hymn, under the name of the 
 " Chant duRhin." 
 
 Barbaroux sent them viaticism to make the road seem less long. 
 
 One of them deciphered the music, and sung the words; Ihen 
 all, with tremendous shouts, repeated the terrible chant, much 
 more terribly than Rouget de I'lsle had ever dreamed of. 
 
 Sung by these MarseiUais, this chant changed its character, as 
 the words changed their accent. 
 
 It was no longer a hymn of fraternity; it was a hymn of exter- 
 mination and death; it was "The Marseillaise," that resounding 
 hymn, that made us tremble with fear on our mother's breast. 
 
 This little band from Marseilles, traveling from city to village, 
 horrified France by their ardor in singing this new and as yet un- 
 known chant. 
 
 When they were at Montereau, Barbaroux ran to tell Santerre. 
 
 Santerre promised to receive the MarseiUais at Charenton with 
 forty thousand men. 
 
 What Barbaroux expected to do with Santerre's forty thousand 
 men and his five hundred MarseiUais was this: Putting the Mar- 
 seiUais at the head, at one blow they were to take the Hotel de Ville 
 and the assembly, then pass to the Tuileries, as on the 14th of July 
 they had passed to the Bastile, and on the ruins of that Florentine 
 palace proclaim a republic. 
 
 Barbaroux and Rebecqui went to Charenton to await Santerre 
 with his forty thousand provincials. 
 
 He arrived with two hundred men. 
 
 Perhaps he did not want to give the MarseiUais, that was to say 
 strangers, the glory of such a feat. 
 
 The litlle band of fierce eyes, swarthy visages, and strident 
 speech, traversed throughout Paris, the garden of the king at the 
 Champs Elysees, singing ' ' The Marseillaise. ' ' Why should they 
 be called a different name from what they called themselves? 
 
 The MarseiUais camped out on the Champs Elysees, where ■ 
 banquet was to be given them on the morrow. 
 
ANDREE DE TAYERKET. 14S 
 
 In fact, the banquet took place, but between the Champs ElysSes 
 and the Bridge Tournant were grenadiers ranged in the section of 
 Pilles St. Thomas. It was a Royalist Guard that the chateau had 
 placed there as a rampart between themselves and the new-comers. 
 
 The Marseillais and the grenadiers of FillesSt. Thomas " scented 
 the battle from afar." They began by exchanging inquiries, then 
 bjows; when the first blood was shed the Marseillais cried: " Aux 
 armes!" rushed out carrying their guns like a bundle, and charged 
 bayonets. 
 
 The Parisian grenadiers were overthrown at the first blow of 
 these brigands: fortunately they had behind them the Tuileries 
 with their gratings: the Tournant bridge protected their flight and 
 •aved them from their enemies. 
 
 The fugitives found an asylum in the king's apartments. Tra- 
 dition says tlieir wounds were dressed by the queen herself. 
 
 The federates, Marseillais, Bretons, and Dauphinois numbered 
 five thousand; these five thousand men were a power, not from 
 their numbers, but by their faith. 
 
 The spirit of the revolution was in them. 
 
 The 17th of July, they sent an address to the assembly. 
 
 " You have declared the country to be in danger," they said; 
 " but are you not putting it in danger j'ourselves by prolonging 
 the impunity of the traitors? Persecute Lafayette, suspend the 
 executive power, abolish the heads of the departments, renew the 
 judiciary power." 
 
 The 3d of August, Petion himself redemanded the same appeal. 
 
 Petion, in his icy tones, in the name of the Commune, urged 
 the call to arms. 
 
 It was true he had behind him two bull-dogs to worry him: 
 Danton and Sergent. 
 
 "The Commune," said Petion, "denounces the excutive pow- 
 er. To alleviate the woes of France, they must go to their source 
 and lose no lime. We simply want the power to demand Louis 
 XVI. 's immediate suspension; the Constitution is opposed to him, 
 though he constantly appeals to it; we appeal to it in our time and 
 demand his overthrow. Do you hear the King of Paris denounc- 
 ing the King of France; the King of the H6tel de Yille declaring 
 war against the King of the Tuileries?" 
 
 The assembly recoiled before the proposition of this extreme 
 measure. 
 
 What would they do on the morrow in regard to the overthrow? 
 Would they also put themselves in opposition to the people? 
 ' They had better be careful! Did they not know, the imprudent 
 ones, what was going on? 
 
 The 3d of August — the same day Petion demanded the over- 
 throw — the Faubourg St. Marceau was in danger of dying of hun- 
 ger in that conflict that was neither peace uor war; it sent its 
 deputies to the section of the Quinze-Vingts, and said to its friends 
 of the Faubourg St. Antoine: 
 
 " If we marcn to the Tuiieiies, will 3'ou go with us?" 
 
 " We will march with you!" they replied. 
 
 The 4th of August the assembly condemned the insurrectiona! 
 proclamation of the Mauconseil district. 
 
146 ANDREB DE TAVEEKIT. 
 
 The 6th the Commune refused to publish the decree. It wtd 
 not sufficient that the King of Paris declared -war against the Kin|; 
 of France; behold the Commune putting itself in opposition to the 
 assembly. 
 
 All this opposition to decrees came from the Marseillais. Tho 
 Marseillais had arms, but no ammunition. 
 
 They called loudly for ammunition, but no one gave them any. 
 
 The 4th, in tlie evening, an hour after the report spread that th« 
 assembly condemned the insurrectional act of the Mauconseil dis- 
 trict, two young Marseillais appeared at the mayor's office. 
 
 There were only two municipal officers present: Sergent, Dui- 
 ton's man; Panis, Robespierre's man. 
 
 " What do you want?" asked the two magistrates. 
 
 " Ammunition," replied the two young men. 
 
 " We are expressly forbidden to deliver any," said Panis. 
 
 " Forbidden to give any ammunition?" replied one of the Mar- 
 seillais. " But the hour of conflict is approaching, and we hav« 
 nothing to sustain it with." 
 
 " Did they bring us to Paris to kill us?" cried the other. 
 
 The first speaker took a revolver from his pocket. 
 
 Sergent coughed. 
 
 " Threats, young man?" he said. " It is not with threats that 
 you will intimidate two members of the Commune." 
 
 "Who is speaking of threats or intimidation?" said the young 
 man; " this pistol is not for you; it is for me." 
 
 And aiming the pistol against himself: 
 
 " Powder— ammunition! or by the faith of a Marseillais, I will 
 blow my brains out." 
 
 Sergent had an artist's imagination, a Frenchman's heart. He 
 felt the young man's cry was that of France. 
 
 " Panis," he said, " take care of that young man. If he kills 
 himself hia blood will be on our heads." 
 
 " But if we give him ammunition against orders our own heads 
 will fall." 
 
 " What of It? 1 believe the hour has come for our heads to 
 fall," said Sergent " In any case, each tor himself. If I lose 
 mine, take care you do not follow my example." 
 
 Taking a sheet of paper, he wrote an order for ammunition to be 
 delivered to the Marseillais, and signed it. 
 
 " Correct!" said Panis, when Sergent had finished. And he 
 •igned it after Sergent. 
 
 They need have no fears after this. The moment the Marseillais 
 had ammunition they would not allow themselves to be attacked 
 without defending themselves. 
 
 Thus, the Marseillais once armed, the assembly received on tho 
 6th a thundering manifesto addressed to them. They not only 
 received it, but more — they admitted the petitioners to tdl the 
 honors of the council. 
 
 The assembly was afraid; so much afraid that they deliberated 
 on retiring into the provinces. 
 
 Verginaud alone retained them, and why? Was it not to re- 
 main near the beautiful Candeille that Yergniaud wanted to rr 
 main in Paris? 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEENET. 147 
 
 " It is in Paris," said Vergniaud, " that we must assure our- 
 •elves of the triumph of liberty or perish with her! If we leave 
 Paris, it must be like Themistocles, with all the citizens, leaving 
 it in ruins, flying before the enemy, only to leave a grave for them 
 behind as:" 
 
 Thus every one feared the other, and was lost in doubt; every 
 one felt the earth tremble beneath their feet, and expected to see it 
 yawn. 
 
 ' On the 4th of August, the day the assembly condemned the in- 
 surrectional proclamation of the Mauconseil district — the day the 
 two MarseiUais made Panis and Sergent distribute ammunition to 
 their five hundred companions — the same day there was a reunion 
 at Cadran Bleu, on the Boulevard of the Temple. Camille Des- 
 moulins was there on his own account and Damon's. Carra took 
 a pen and drew a plan of insurrection. 
 
 The plan traced, they went to the ex-constituent Antoine, who 
 lived in the Rue St. Honore, opposite the Church of the Assump- 
 tion, at the house of the joiner Duplay, where Robespierre lodged. 
 
 Robespierre knew nothing of this; so when 3Ime. Dupla3" saw 
 Antoine receiving all this band of conspirators, she rushed into the 
 room where they were assembled, crying in terror: 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur Antoine, do you want to kill Monsieur Robes- 
 pierre?" 
 
 " Robespierre is having great excitement made over him for 
 nothing!" replied the ex-constituent. " Xo one, thank God, 
 thinks of him; if he is afraid, let him hide himself." 
 
 At miduight the plan, written out by Carra, was sent to Santerre 
 and -Uexander, the two commandants of the faubourg. 
 
 Alexander would have started, but Santerre said the faubomg 
 was not ready. 
 
 Santerre kiept his word given to the queen on the 10th of June. 
 On the 20th of August he marched when he could not do other- 
 wise. The insurrecfion was thtis adjourned. 
 
 Antoine said they did not think of Robespierre; he was mis- 
 taken. 
 
 The conspirators were so anxious they thought of making him 
 tte lever of a movement — he, the personification of imjnobility! 
 
 Whose idea was thait Barbaroux's! 
 
 They were almost in despair, those fierce MarseiUais; they wer« 
 all ready to leave Paris and return to Marseilles. 
 
 This was what Mme. Roland said : 
 
 " We count very little on the defenses of the north; we examine, 
 with Servan and Barbaronx the chances of saving liberty in the 
 south, and fotmding there a republic; we will take a geographical 
 chart and trace the lines of demsrkation. ' If our Matseillais do 
 not help us,' said Barbaroux, ' we wiU make use of another re- 
 source.' " 
 
 In fact, Barbaroux thought he had found another resource — 
 Bobespierre's genius. 
 
 Or, perhaps. Robespierre wanted to know how Barbaroux stood. 
 
 The Marseillais had left their barracks, as they were too far out 
 of the way, and had gone to the Cordeliers — that is to say, 1* 
 the entrance of the Pont Keuf. 
 
148 AXDEEB DB TAVEENET. 
 
 At the Cordeliers the Marseillais were with Danton. In case of 
 an iusurrectional movement, they were to leave Danton, those ter- 
 rible Marseillais! If the movement was successful, Danton would 
 have all the glory of it. 
 
 Barbaroux asked to see Robespierre. 
 
 Robespierre apparently condescended to accede to his desire; he 
 sent word to Bnrbaroux and Rebecqui he would receive tbem in 
 his apartments. Robespierre, as we have said, lodged at the joiner 
 Duplaj^'s. 
 
 Accident had led him there the night of the disturbance on the 
 Champ de Mars. Robespierre regarded this accident in the light 
 of a providence, not only because, for the moment, their hospi- 
 tality saved him from imminent danger, but still further that he 
 made this the scene of his future plans. 
 
 For a man who wished to deserve the title of the Incorruptible, 
 it was just the place for him. He had not, however, taken it im- 
 mediately; he made a journey to Arras; he brought back his sis- 
 ter, Mme. Charlotte de Robespierre, and he lived in the Rue St. 
 Florentin with that ascetic and meager individual to whom, twenty- 
 eight years later, we had the honor of being presented. 
 
 He tell sick. 
 
 Mme. Duplay, who was crazy about Robespierre and had heard 
 about his illness, came and reproached Mme. Charlotte that she 
 had not taken proper precautions to have averted this malady, and 
 insisted on the sick man being carried to her house. 
 
 Robespierre made no objections; his wish had been, on leaving 
 the Duplay's as guest, to be able to return as a lodger. 
 
 Mme. Duplay had a method in her madness. She too had 
 dreamed of the honor of lodging the Incorruptible, and had pre- 
 pared a narrow, but clean room in the attic, where she had car- 
 ried the best and prettiest furniture the house contained, to match 
 a charming bed of blue and white, very coquettish, something 
 appropriate for a man who, at the age of seventeen years, was 
 painted with a rose in his hand. 
 
 In this attic Mme. Duplay had her husband's workman put up 
 new deal book-shelves for his books and papers. 
 
 The books were not very numerous; Racine and Jean Jacques 
 Rousseau's works form the whole library of this austere Jacobin; 
 outside of these two authors Robespierre read nothing but Robes- 
 pierre. Soon the shelves were laden with his lawyer's briefs, and 
 his speeches as tribune. 
 
 As for the walls, they were covered with all the pictures the 
 fanatic, Mme. Duplay, could find of that great man; Robespierre 
 had only to stretch out his hand to read Robespierre, and on either 
 side that he turned Robespierre only saw Robespierre. 
 
 It was in this sanctuary, in this tabernacle, in this holy of holies, 
 that Barbaroux and Rebecqui were introduced. 
 
 Except the actors themselves, no one could have said how Robes- 
 pierre's wily words led the conversation; he spoke of the Mar- 
 seillais first, of their patriotism, of the fear he had of exciting their 
 bravest feelings; then he spoke of himself, of the services he had 
 given to the revolution, of his discretion in regulating its progress. 
 
 But was it not time to put a stop tO ill Had not the hour ai- 
 
ANDEEE DB TAVERNET. 14S 
 
 lived when all parties should unite, and choosing a popular man, 
 put this revolution in his hands, give him the responsibility ot 
 directing it? 
 
 Rebecqui did not allow him to go further. 
 
 "Ah'' he said, " I see that you are the coming man, Robes- 
 pierre." 
 
 Robespierre hounded from his chair as if a serpent had darted sig 
 him. 
 
 Then, Itebecqui rising: 
 
 "A dictator no more than a kingl" he said; "come, Bar- 
 fearoux." 
 
 And they both left the attic of the Incorruptible. 
 
 Panis, who had conducted them there, followed them to the 
 •treet. 
 
 " Ah!" he said, " you did not catch his idea, you did not un- 
 derstand Robespierre; he merely spoke of a temporary authority, 
 and if that idea was carried out, certainly no one more than Robes- 
 pierre — " 
 
 But Barbaroux interruped him, and repeated his companion's 
 words : 
 
 " A dictator no more than a kingl" 
 
 Then he left with Rebecqui. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 WHAT OCCURRED TO DISSUADE THE QUEEN PROM PLTIN&. 
 
 One thing reassured the Tuileiies; that was just what alarmed 
 the revolutionists. 
 
 The Tuileries, put in a state of defense, became a fortress with a 
 formidable garrison. 
 
 That famous day, the 4th of August, when so much was accom- 
 plished, royalty was not inactive. 
 
 During the night of the 4th and 5th the Swiss Guard were quiet- 
 ly brought from Courbevoie to the Tuileries. Several companies, 
 however, were detached and sent to Gaillon, where the king would 
 perhaps take ref age. Three capable men — three tried commanders 
 were near the queen — Maillardot with the Swiss; D'Hervilly with 
 the Chevaliers of St. Louis and the Constitutional Guard; Mandat, 
 Commandant-General of the National Guard, who promised them 
 twenty thousand resolute, devoted combatants. 
 
 The evening of the 8th a man penetrated into the chateau. 
 
 Everybody Knew him; he reached the queen's apartment with- 
 out any diflSculty. 
 
 Dr. Gilbert was announced. 
 
 " Let him enter," said the queen, feverishly. 
 
 Gilbert entered. 
 
 " Ah! come in, come in, doctor! I am glad to see you." 
 
 Gilbert raised his eyes to the queen; there was something s« 
 joyous and satisfied about Marie Antoinette, that it made hia 
 tremble. He would have preferred to have seen her pale and cast 
 down. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " I fear I arriTC too late, and iu an inop- 
 portune moment." 
 
150 AKDEEB DE TAVBKNET. 
 
 " On the contrary, doctor," replied the queen, with a smile — ut 
 •xpression that almost entirely disappeared from her lips — "you 
 come just in time, and you are very welcome. Tou will see some- 
 thing I have wanted to show you for some time — a king truly a 
 king/" 
 
 " 1 fear, madame," said Gilbert, " that you are mistaken; that 
 you will show me the commandant of a fort rather than a king." 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert, it is posiible we do not understand the sym- 
 bolic character of a king any more than a great many other things. 
 For me, a king is not only a man who says, ' I will not,' but more, 
 a man who says, ' I will. ' ' 
 
 The queen alluded to the famous veto that had led them to the 
 situation they were in. 
 
 " Yes, madame," replied Gilbert, " and for your majesty a king 
 is moreover a man who avenges himself." 
 
 " Who defends himself, Monsieur Gilbert; for, you know, we 
 are openly threatened; we are to be attacked with an army. I 
 have been assured there are five hundred Marseillals, led by one 
 Barbaroux, who have sworn, on the ruins of the Bastile, not to re- 
 turn to Paris till they have camped on the ruins of the Tuileries." 
 
 " I have heard that myself," said Gilbert. 
 
 " And did not that make you laugh, sir?" 
 
 " It frightened me on the king's account and yours, madame." 
 
 " So much so that you came to propose to us to abdicate and to 
 surrender ourselves with discretion into the hands of Monsieur 
 Barbaroux and his Marseillais?" 
 
 " Ah, madame 1 if the king could abdicate and insure, by the 
 sacrifice of his crown, his life, yours, and that of your children!" 
 
 " Tou intend to advise him to do so, Monsieur Gilbert?" 
 
 " YeSj madame; I will throw myself at his feet, i£ that can per- 
 suade him." 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert, permit me to tell you that you are not con- 
 sistent in your opinions." 
 
 " Eh, madame!" said Gilbert, " my opinion is always the same. 
 Devoted to my king and my country, I would like to have seen the 
 king and the Constitution m harmony; from this desire and from 
 my successive views have arisen the different counsels I have had 
 the honor of giving your majesty." 
 
 " And which do you give at this moment. Monsieur Gilbert?" 
 
 " You have never had a more propitious moment to follow my 
 advice, madame." 
 
 " What is it, then?" 
 
 " I advise you to fly, madame." 
 
 "To fly?" 
 
 " Ah! you know it is possible, madame, and a similar oppor- 
 tunity has never presented itself." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " You have nearly three thousand men in the chfiteau." 
 
 " Nearly five thousand, sir," said the queen, with a smile o£ 
 saMsf action, " and double the number at the flrst sign we make." 
 
 " You have no occasion to make any sign that might be misio- 
 terpreted, madame. Your five thousand men will suffice you." 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEKNBY. 151 
 
 " Then, Monsieur Gilbert, according to your advice, what are 
 we to do with those five thousand men?" 
 
 " Put yourself in the midst of them, madame, with the king and 
 your august children; leave the Tulleries the moment they least 
 expect il; two leagues from here, mount your horses, reach Gailloa 
 in Normandy, where they are waiting for you." 
 
 " That is to say, put myself into Monsieur de Lafayette's hands." 
 
 " That at least, madame, will prove his devotion." 
 
 " No, sir, nol With five thousand men, and five thousand tc 
 rally at the first sign we make, I would rather try to do something 
 else." 
 
 " What will you try to do?" 
 
 " Crush the revolt once for all." 
 
 "Ah! madame, madame! he told the truth when he said you. 
 were condemned!" 
 
 " Who was that, sir?" 
 
 " A man whose name I do not dare to recall, madame; a man 
 who has already spoken to you three times." 
 
 " Silence!" said the queen, paling; " they teach him to lie, the 
 false prophet." 
 
 " Madame, I am afraid you deceive yourself!" 
 
 " You think, then, they will dare to attack us?" 
 
 " The public conviction is of that way." 
 
 " And they believe they will enter as on the 20th of June?" 
 
 " The Tuileries is not a strong place." 
 
 "No; but if you will come with me, Monsieur Gilbert, I will 
 show you that it can be held some time. " 
 
 " It is my duty to follow you, madame," said Gilbert, bowing. 
 
 " Come, then!" said the queen. 
 
 Conducting Gilbert to the middle window, the one opening on 
 the Place Carroussel, from whence one had a view, nut only of 
 the immense court, which to-day extends around the fi;?ade of the 
 palace, but of the three small couris inclosed in walls that still 
 exist, that are called the Pavilion of Flora, the " Prince's Court;" 
 that in the middle, the "Court of the Tuileries," and that con- 
 fined in our day to the Rue de Rivoli, the " Court of the Swiss." 
 
 " Look!" she said. 
 
 Gilbert saw that the walls had been pierced to let in a narrow ray 
 of daylight, offering the garrison the first rampart from which the 
 artillerymen could fusillade the people. 
 
 Then this first stronghold taken, the garrison could retire, not 
 only in the Tuileries, where every door faced a court, but behind 
 lateral bastions, in such a way that the patriots, who dared to 
 venture into the courts, would be between three fires. 
 
 " What do you think of that, sir?" asked the queen. " Would 
 you advise Monsieur Barbaroux and his five hundred Marseillais 
 to engage in such an enterprise?" 
 
 " If my advice could prevail with men as fanatical as they are, 
 1 woild offer them the same as I offer you. I come to ask you 
 not to wait to be attacked; 1 would ask them not to attack you." 
 
 " And probably with the same result?" 
 
 " As it has had with you, madama. Alas! it is the misfortunv 
 
153 ANDEEB DE TAVEENBY. 
 
 of humanity to be constantly demanding advice, not to follow 
 It." 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert," said the queen, laughing, "you forget th« 
 counsel you are giving is not solicited." 
 
 " That is true, madame," said Gilbert, falling back a step. 
 
 " But it is not." added the queen, giving her hand to the doc- 
 tor, " the less welcome." 
 
 A light smile curled Gilbert's lips 
 
 At that moment, wagons loaded with heavy oaken plankings 
 rolled openly into the court of the Tuileries, where they wer« 
 seized upon by men who, though clothed like workmen, were un- 
 mistakably soldiers. 
 
 These men measured these planks six feet long and three inchei 
 thick. 
 
 " Do you know what these men are?" asked the queen. 
 
 " Engineers, I should suppose," said Gilbert. 
 
 " Yes, sir, and who are trying, as you see, to blockade the win- 
 dows, reserving only port-holes for the artillerymen." 
 
 Gilbert lookerl sadly at the queen. 
 
 " What is the matter, sir!" asked Marie Antoinette. 
 
 " Ah I I pity you sincerely, madame, to be obliged to force your 
 memory to retain those words and your mouth to utter them." 
 
 " What can one do, sir?" replied the queen. " There are cir- 
 cumstances when it is necessary that women should become men, 
 "when men:-" 
 
 The queen stopped. 
 
 " But at last," she said, tinishing her thought, but not the sen- 
 tence, " the king has made up his mind." 
 
 " Madame," said Gilbert, " now that you have decided on this 
 terrible extremity that is to be your safeguard, I hope you have 
 fortified all the approaches of the chateau; the gallery of the 
 Xiouvre for example — " 
 
 " Ah! you remind me of that. Come with me, sir; I want to be 
 sure they are executing the orders I gave." 
 
 And the queen led Gilbert across the apartments to the door of 
 the Pavilion of Flora that opened into the picture-gallery. 
 
 The door opening showed Gilbert workmen occupied in cutting 
 the gallery every twenty feet. 
 
 "You see," said the queen. 
 
 Then addressing the officer presiding over the work: 
 
 " Well, Monsieur d'Hervilly?" said she. 
 
 " Well, madame, if the rebels leave us twenty-four hours w« 
 ■will be ready for them." 
 
 " Do you think they will leave us twenty-four hours. Monsieur 
 Gilbert?" asked the queen. 
 
 " If there is anything, madame, it will not be till the 10th of 
 August." 
 
 'The 10th? On a Friday? A bad day for a riot, sir! I should 
 have thought the rebels would have had ihe sense to have chosea 
 « Sunday. And she walked before Gilbert, who followed her. 
 
 Leaving the gallery, they met a man in the uniform of a general 
 
 "Well, Monsieur Mandat," asked tha queen, "are all yous 
 prtparations made?" 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVERNBT. 15S 
 
 " Tes, madame," replied tlie commanding general, looking care- 
 fully at Gilbert. 
 
 "Oh I you can speak before this gentleman," said the queen; 
 " he is a friend. ' ' 
 And turning toward Gilbert: 
 
 " Is it not so, doctor?" she said. 
 
 " Yes, madame, " said Gilbert, " and one of your most devoted." 
 
 " Then," said Mandat, " that is another thing. A delachmeaS 
 of the National Guard stationed at the H6tel da v ille let some of 
 the rebels pass, and while Monsieur d'Herville and his men. Mon- 
 sieur Maillardot and his Swiss welcomed them in front, their re- 
 treat was cut off, and they were overwhelmed from behind." 
 
 " You see, sir," said the queen, " your 10th of August will not 
 be the 20th of June." 
 
 " Alas, madame," said Gilbert, " 1 am still afraid." 
 
 " For us — for us?" insisted the queen. 
 
 " Madame," said Gilbert, "you know what I have told your 
 majesty. Much as 1 deplored varennes — " 
 
 "You advise Gaillon! Have you the time to descend into the 
 lower halls. Monsieur Gilbert?" 
 
 " Certainly, madame." 
 
 " Very well, come!" 
 
 The queen descended a small winding stair that led to the 
 ground floor of the chateau. 
 
 The ground floor was a veritable camp, that was fortifled and 
 defended by the Swiss; all the windows had been barricaded, as 
 the queen said. 
 
 The queen advanced toward the colonel. 
 
 " "Well, Monsieur Maillardot," she asked, "what have you to 
 say for your men?" 
 
 " That they are ready, as I am, to die for your majesty." 
 
 " They will defend us to the last extremity?" 
 
 " Once engaged in fire, madame, they will only stop on a writ- 
 ten order from the king. " 
 
 " You hear, sir? Outside the walls of the chfiteau everything 
 is hostile; but inside every one is faithful." 
 
 " It is a consolation, madame, but not a safeguard." 
 
 " You are gloomy; did you know it, doctor?" 
 
 " Your majesty has conducted me where she liked; 'wil' she per- 
 mit me to conduct her to her room?" 
 
 " Willingly, doctor, I am very tired; will you give me your 
 arm?" 
 
 Gilbert bowed before that great favor, so rarely accorded by th» 
 queen to her uiost intimate friends, even during her misfortunes. 
 
 He conducted her to her bed-chamber. 
 
 On reaching there Marie Antoinette fell on the sofa. 
 
 Gilbert bent on his knees before her. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " in the name of your august spoase, in 
 the name of your dear children, in the name of your own security, 
 for the last time I adjure you to avail yourself of the troops you 
 have around you, not to fight, but to fly!" 
 
 " Sir," said the queen, " since the 14th of July I have hoped to 
 flee the king take his revenge; the moment has arnved, we believe; 
 
154 ANDBEE DB TAVEENET. 
 
 we will sava the kingdom, or be interred beneath the ruins of the 
 Tuileriesl" 
 
 " Nnthing can shake you from that fatal resolution, madame?' 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 And at the same time the queen held out her hand to Gilbert, 
 partly lor him to raise her, partly for him to kiss it. 
 
 Gilbert respectfully kissed the queen's hand, and, raising her: 
 
 " Madame," he said, " will your majesty permit me to write a 
 few lines, wlaicti I regard as so urgent they can no longer wait?" 
 
 " Write, sir," said the queen, showing him a table. 
 
 Gilbert sat down and wrote these three lines: 
 
 " Hasten, sir! the queen is in danger of death, if a friend doe« 
 not persuade her to fly, and I believe you are the only friend who 
 possesses any influence over her. " 
 
 Then he signed and addressed it. 
 
 " Without being too curious, sir," asked the queen, " may 1 in- 
 quire to whom you are writing?" 
 
 " To Monsieur de Charny, madame," replied Gilbert. 
 
 " To Monsieur de Charny!" cried the queen, growing pale and 
 trembling at the same time. " And why do you write to him?" 
 
 " That he may obtain from your majesty what I can not." 
 
 " Monsieur de Charny is too happy to think of his unfortunate 
 friends; he will not come," said the queen. 
 
 The door opened, an officer appeared. 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte de Charny, this moment arrived, asks for 
 an audience from your majesty." 
 
 Pale as she was, the queen became livid; she murmured several 
 unintelligible words 
 
 " Let him enter I let him enter!" said Gilbert. " Heaven has 
 sent him!" 
 
 Charny appeared at the door in the uniform of a naval oflRcer. 
 
 " Oh! enter, sir!" said Gilbert to him; " 1 have just written to 
 you," and he gave him the letter. 
 
 " I was aware of the danger her majesty ran, and I have come," 
 said Charny, bowing. 
 
 "Madame, madame," said Gilbert, "in the name of Heaven, 
 listen to Monsieur de Charny; his voice is that of Prance." 
 
 And respectfully saluting the queen and the count, Gilbert left, 
 carrying a last hope with him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE NIGHT OP THB NtNTH OF AUGUST. 
 
 On the first floor of a house in the Rue de rAncienne Comedii 
 near the Rue Dauphine lived Preron. We will pass by his door; ft 
 is useless to knocli; he is on the second floor at his friend Camilla 
 Desmoulins's. While we ascend the seventeen steps that separate 
 one floor from the other, we will glance rapidly over Freron's hi* 
 tory. 
 
 Louis Stanislaus Preron was the son of the famous Eli Catherino- 
 Freron, so unjustly and cruelly attacked by Voltaire; when to- 
 day one reads the criticisms on the author of " La Pucelle," ani 
 
ANDEEB DB TAVERKBT. 155 
 
 the " Dictionnaire Philosophique," and " Mahomet," one is aston- 
 ished to see what that journalist tells us is correct, and a hundred 
 years after we think as he did in 1754. 
 
 Freron, the son, who was thirty-flve years old, irritated by the 
 injustice that accumulated over his father, who died of chagrin in 
 1770, immediately after the suppression, by the censor of the press 
 Miromesuil, of his paper " I'Annee Litteraire " — Freron had em- 
 braced with ardor all the revolutionary pilnclples, and published, 
 or was about to publish, the " Prateur du Peuple." 
 
 The evening of the 9th of August Freron was al Camille Des- 
 moulins's; Brune also, the future marshal of France, was supping 
 there, and in the meantime was the foreman of a composing-room. 
 
 Baibaroux and Rebecqui were the two other guests. Only one 
 woman assisted at this repast, that resembled those taken by the 
 martyrs before going to the amphitheater, and what were called 
 tree repasts. 
 
 This woman was Ijucile. 
 
 Sweet name, and charming woman, who left an unfortunate 
 record of the annals of the revolution! We can not accompany 
 her to the scaffold where she wished to go, a lovely, poetical creat- 
 ure, because it was the shortest route to join her husband: but wa 
 can en passant sketch her portrait in two strokes of the pen. 
 
 One portrait alone remains of the poor child. 
 
 She died so young that the artist was obliged to take it, as it 
 were, on the w'ng. In the admirable collection of Colonel Moria 
 (now unfortunately valuable, as it was all dispersed), we have seen 
 a miniature of Lucile, who appears small, pretty, rebellious-look- 
 ing; but with it all an essentially plebeian air. In fact, she was the 
 daughter of an old commissary of finance and a beautiful creat- 
 ure, who pretended she had been the mistress of the Minister of 
 Finance, Terray: thus, as her name showed, Lucile Dnplessis 
 Laridon was, lil5;e Mme. Roland, of vulgar extraction. A love 
 match in 1791 united this young girl, quite rich for him, to that 
 enfant terrible, that indolent genius that was called Camille Des- 
 moulins. 
 
 Camille, poor, ugly, hard to understand, from the stuttering that 
 prevented him from being an orator, and made him the great writer 
 that he was, had fascinated her by his wonderful mind and his 
 good disposition. 
 
 Camille — although he agreed with Mirabeau, who said: " Unless 
 you unchristianize the revolution you will do nothing with it " — 
 Camille was married at St. Sulpice, but not according to Catholic 
 rites; but in 1793, a son being born, he carried it to the Hotel de 
 Ville to obtain a republican baptism for it. 
 
 It was there, in this apartment on the second floor of the house 
 in the Rue de I'Ancienne Comedie that was concocted, to Lucile's 
 great terror but at the same time great pride, all that plan of in- 
 surrection that Barbaroux confessed naively he had sent three daya 
 before to his laundress in his nankeen breeches. 
 
 Not having the greatest confidence in the success of the attack ha 
 iad prepared himself, and fearing to fall before the power of a 
 victorious court, he exhibited, with a simplicty that partook of the 
 antique, a poison prepared like that of Condorcet by Cabauis. 
 
156 ANDEEE DB TAVERNKT. 
 
 At the beginning of the supper, Oamilli', who had no more hop* 
 than Bnrbaroux, said in Latin, raising hi^ glass, that Lucile might 
 not understand: 
 
 " h'ddiini.i li l/ibamvs. Bras cnim moriemvv !" (Let us eat and 
 drink, for to-morrow we die). 
 
 But Lucile understood. 
 
 "Weill" she said, " why do you speak in a language I don't 
 understand? I can imagine what you say. Go on, Ciimillel do 
 not fret, I will not prevent you from fulfilling your mission." 
 
 With that assurance they spoke aloud, freely. Freron was the 
 JjBOst resolute of all; they knew he loved wilhout any return, but 
 Were ignorant as to who it was. His despair at Luclle's death re- 
 vealed the fatal secret. 
 
 " And you, Freron," asked Camille, " have you any poison?" 
 
 " OhI I," said he, " if we do not succeed to-morrow, 1 will kill 
 myself! I am so weary of life, 1 only want a piett^xt to leave it." 
 
 Rebecqui was one who had llie highest hopes of the result of the 
 flght. 
 
 " 1 know my Marseillais," he said; " I those them with my 
 own hand; I am sure of them, from the first to the last — not one 
 ■will flinch." 
 
 After supper they proposed going to Danton's. Barbaroux and 
 Rebecqui declined, saying thoy were expected at the barracks of 
 the Marseillais. 
 
 It was close by, hardly twenty feet from Camille Desmoulins'* 
 house. 
 
 Freron had an appointment with Sergent and Manuel at the 
 Commune. 
 
 Brune passed the night with Santerre. Camille and Lucile went 
 together to Danton's. The two households were bound together, 
 not only through the men, but through the women. 
 
 Danton was well known We ourselvps, more than once, after 
 artists who have depicted his grander traits, have been called upon 
 to reproduce him. 
 
 His wife was not so well known; we will d^scril)e her. It was 
 also among Colonel Morin's colleelion that a souvenir of this re- 
 markable woman could be seen, only it is not a miniature, as in 
 Lucile's ca-se; it is a bust. 
 
 Mielielet thought it must have been molded after her death. 
 
 Adored by her husband, her character was all goodness, calm- 
 ness, and strength. 
 
 Already ill with the malady that killed her in 1198, she appeared 
 even now sad and nervous, as if on nearing death she could gaze 
 3nto futurity. 
 
 Tradition adds, she was also pious and timid. 
 
 She was, however, one day, notwithstnmling her timidity and 
 piety, deteiniincd enough to ^>ppo^o her will to lliat of her relativcB 
 — that was the day she deehired she would marry Danton. 
 
 Like Lueile with Camille De.smoulins, she l)ad recognized behind 
 that somber, rough-hewn face belonging to an ignorant man with- 
 out reputation or fortune, a god like Jupiler. 
 
 One felt that a stormy «nd terrible future was in store for th» 
 unfortunate creature; but perhaps there was as muchpiety m lov* 
 
AJTDEEE DE TAVERNEY. 157 
 
 for that angel of darkness and light, who was to have the honor 
 of summing up that eventful year of 1792. as Mirabeau had 
 summed up 1791, as Robespierre would have summed up 17M3. 
 
 When Camille and Lucile arrived at Danton's (Ihe two houseii 
 were back of each other, Lucile and Camille, as we have said, in 
 the Rue de I'Ancienne Comedit, and Danton in tlit Hue du Paoa 
 St. Andre), Mme. Danton was weeping, and Danton, with a de- 
 termined air, was trying to console her. 
 
 The two women met and embraced; the men pressed each other's 
 hanris. 
 
 " Do you think there will be anything?" asked Camille. 
 
 " I h.tpe so," replied Danton. " Only Santerre is very indiffer- 
 ent. Fortunately, according to my opinion, the affair to-morrow 
 is not an affair of personal interest of any designing individual; 
 the irritation of a long misery; public indignation, knowing the 
 foreign powers are approaching; Ihe conviction that France has 
 been betrayed — these are the grounds they must take. Forty- 
 seven sections out of fort}'-eight have voted for the king's over- 
 throw; f hey have each named three commissioners to meet at the 
 Commune, and save the country " 
 
 " Save the country," said Camille, nodding his head; " that is 
 verj' vague." 
 
 " Tes: but at the same time, it is well understood." 
 
 " And Marat? and Robespierre?" 
 
 " 2saturally, they are not visible; one is hid in his attic, the 
 other in his cave. The affair over, they will reappear, one like a 
 weasel, the other like an owl." 
 
 " And Petion?" 
 
 " Ah! the weathercock! 'UTio can say where he is? On the 
 4th, be declared war against ttie chateau; on the 8th, he notified 
 the department he could not answer for the safety of the kioir: this 
 morning, he proposed to put the National Guard at the Carroussel; 
 this evening, he demanded from the department twenty thousand 
 francs to send back the Marseillais." 
 
 " He wants to delude the court," said Camille Desmoulinf. 
 
 " I agree with you," said Danton. 
 
 At this moment another couple entered; it was M. and Mme. 
 Robert. 
 
 Unlike the other couples, whose husbands were superior to their 
 wives, here the wife was superior to her husband. 
 
 Robert was a large man, of thirty-five or forty years, a member 
 of the Cordeliers, with more patriotism than talent, with not ths 
 slightest faculty for writing, if one can believe Mme. Roland'5 
 " Memoires," an enemy of Lafayette, C"^ very ambitious. 
 
 Mme. Robert was then thirtj'-four years old; she was small, 
 capable, intellectual, and haughly; brought up by ner father — 
 Guinement de Keralio, Chevalier de St. Louis, member of the 
 Academy — Mile, de Keralio had naturally imbibed literary tastes; 
 at seventeen years, she wrote, translated, compiled; at eighteen, 
 she wrote a romance — "Adelaide." As her allowance from her 
 father did not suffice for her expenses, she wrote in the " Mer- 
 cure " and in the " Journal des Savants," and more than once he 
 signed bis naue to his duughter s articles, who were casting hJA 
 
158 ANDKEH DE TATEEKET. 
 
 into the shade. Thus she cultivated a rapid, ardent, spirited style, 
 that made her one of the most indefatigable journaliste of the day. 
 The Eobert couple came from the Eue St. AJntoine. 
 
 They said everything looked strange. 
 
 Though it was a beautiful night, there was hardly any one in 
 the street; every window was illuminated, as if to light up the 
 streets. It had a peculiar appearance. It was not an illumination 
 for a fSte, and it was not the light placed by the bed of death — it 
 was as if the faubourg had awakened into a feverish life. 
 
 The moment Mme. Robert finished her story, the sound of a 
 clock made every one tremble. It was the first stroke of the tocsin 
 resounding from the Cordeliers. 
 
 " Goodl" cried Danton, "I recognize our Marseillaisl I. ex- 
 pected that they would give the signal." 
 
 The women looked at each other in terror. Mme. Danton's face 
 bore all the marks of fright. 
 
 "The signal?" cried Mme. Robert. " They are to attack the 
 chfiteau during the night, then?" 
 
 No one replied; but Camille Desmoulins, who, at the first stroke 
 of the clock, had passed into an adjoining chamber, re-entered, 
 gun in hand. 
 
 Lucile screamed ; then realizing at this supreme crisis she had no 
 right to deter from his duty the man she loved, she rushed into 
 Mme. Danton's alcove, fell on her knees by the bed, and wept. 
 
 Camille came to her. 
 
 " Do not fret," he said; " I will not leave Danton." 
 
 The men weot out. Mme. Danton looked as if she was about to 
 die. Mme. Robert hung on her husband's neck and begged to ac- 
 company him. 
 
 The three women remained alone. Mme. Danton seated, half 
 unconscious; Lucile crj'ing, on her knees; Mme. Robert pacing 
 the room, and talking, without perceiving every word cut Mme. 
 Danton to the heart. 
 
 " All this, all this is Danton's fault! If my husband is killed, 
 I will die with him; but before I die I will stab Danton." 
 
 Nearly an hour passed thus. 
 
 They heard the door of the house open. 
 
 Mme. Robert precipitated herself first; Lucile raised her head; 
 Mme. Danton remained immovable. It was Danton who entered. 
 
 " Alone!" cried Mme. Robert. 
 
 " Reassure yourselves," said Danton, " nothing will take place 
 till to-morrow." 
 
 " But, Camille?" asked Lucile. 
 
 " But, Robert?" asked his wife. 
 
 " He is at I he Cordeliers, where he is regulating the appeals for 
 arms. I came to tell you the news, to say there will be nothing 
 to-night, and as a proof, I am going to sleep." 
 
 In fact, he threw himself, all dressed, on the bed, and in five 
 minutes he was sleeping as though there was no question of life or 
 death between the royalty and the people. 
 
 At one o'clock in the morning Camille entered the house. 
 I "1 bring you news of Robert," he said; " he has gone to Us* 
 
ANDBEE DE TAYERNBT. 159 
 
 Commune to carry our proclamations. Don't be alarmed, there 
 will be nothing till to-morrow, and yet, and yet — " 
 
 Camille shook his head, as if in doubt. 
 
 Then leaning his head on Lucile's shoulder, he slept in his turn. 
 
 He slept nearly halt an hour, when some one knocked at the 
 door. 
 
 Mme. Robert ran to open it. 
 
 It was Robert. 
 
 He came for Danton to go to the Commune. 
 
 They woke him up. 
 
 *' What is the matter — why don't they let me sleep?" he cried, 
 " to-morrow will be the time." 
 
 Robert and his wife left for their own hoiise. 
 
 In a short time some one else knocked. 
 
 Mme. Danton opened the door. 
 
 She saw a large, fair youth of some twenty years, dressed as a 
 •aptain of the National Guard. He held a gun in his hand. 
 
 " Monsieur Danton?" he asked. 
 
 Mme. Danton called her husband. 
 
 " Well, what is it?" murmured he. " Again?" 
 
 " Monsieur Danton, they are waiting for you down there." 
 
 " Where, down where?" 
 
 " At the Commune." 
 
 " Who is waiting for me?" 
 
 "The commissioners of the districts; Monsieur Billot particu- 
 larly." 
 
 " The madmanl" said Danton. " All right, tell Billot I am 
 coming." 
 
 Then looking at the young man, whose face was not familiar, 
 and who, yet a boy, bore the insignia of an officer. 
 
 " Pardon," he said, " but who are you?" 
 
 " I am Ange Pitou, sir, captain of the National Guard of Hara- 
 mont — " 
 
 "Ahl ah!" 
 
 " An old stormer of the Bastile." 
 
 " Good!" 
 
 " I received yesterday a letter from Monsieur Billot, who told 
 me there would probably be some rough work here, and that they 
 would require all their good patriots." 
 
 " And then?" 
 
 " Then I left with those of my men who were willing to follow 
 me; but as they are not such good walkers as I am, they are rest- 
 ing at Dammartin. They will be here early to-morrow morning." 
 
 " From Dammartin?" asked Danton. " But it's eight leagues 
 from here." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Danton." 
 
 " And Haramont, how many leagues is that from Paris?" 
 
 " Nineteen leagues. We left there this morning at five o'clock." 
 
 " Ah! ahl And y6u accomplished your nineteen leagues of tha 
 journey?" 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Danton." 
 
 " And you arrived?' ' 
 
 " At t«a o'clock in the evening. I asked for Monsieur Billet; 
 
160 ANDKEB DE XAVERNET. 
 
 they said without doubt he was in the Faubourg St. Antoine, st 
 Monsieur Santerre's. 1 went to Monsieur Santerre'g, but there 
 they said they had not seen him, and that I would probably find 
 him at the Jacobins, Bue St. Honore. At the Jacobins they had 
 not seen him, and they sent me to the Cordeliers; at the Cordelier* 
 they sent me to the Hotel de Ville." 
 
 " And at the Hotel de Ville did you find him?" 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Danton; it was there he gave me your address, 
 and said to me: ' Tou are not tired, Pitou?' 'No, Monsieur 
 Billot.' ' All right, go and tell Danton he is lazy, and we ars 
 waiting for him. ' ' 
 
 " The devil!" said Danton, leaping from his bed, " here is a 
 boy who puts me to shame I Come on, my friend, come on I" 
 
 And he went and embraced his wife, then went out with Pitou. 
 
 His wife sighed deeply, and threw her head back on the sofa. 
 
 Lucile thought she was crying, and respected her grief. 
 
 Then, as she did not move after a few moments, she awoke 
 Camille; then she went to Mme. Danton. The poor woman had 
 fainted. 
 
 The first rays of the morning light appeared in the vrindows; 
 the day promised to be beautiful; but, as it it was a bad omen, the 
 rky was the color of blood. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXni. 
 
 We have shown what was taking place in the homes of the tri- 
 bunes; we will now show what took place a hundred feet from 
 there, in the abode of kings. 
 
 There also the women wept and prayed— perhaps they wept 
 more. Chateaubriand says, the eyes of royalty are made on pur- 
 pose for containing a larger quantity of tears. 
 
 But we must be exact. Mme. Elizabeth and Mme. de Lamballe 
 wept and prayed. The queen prayed, but did not weep. They 
 bad supped at the usual hour; nothing ever disarranged the king 
 from his repasts. 
 
 On leaving the table, while Mme. Elizabeth and Mme. de Lam- 
 balle went into the room known as the council-chamber, where it 
 had been arranged the royal family should pass the night to hear 
 the reports, the queen took the king aside, and drew him with her. 
 
 " Where are you faking me, madame?" asked the king. 
 
 " To my room. Do you not want to put on the breast-plate you 
 ■wore on the 14th of July, sire?" 
 
 " Jladame," said the king, " it was well for me to preserve my- 
 self from the ball or poniard of the assassins in the days of plots 
 or an anniversary; but during the day of combat — in a day when 
 my friends are exposing fliemselves for me — it would be cowardly 
 in me not to expose myself with them." 
 
 And with this, the liing left the queen to retire to his apartment, 
 where he shut himself up with his confessor. 
 
 The queen went ani joined them in the council- chamber — Mm& 
 Elizabeth, and Mme. de Lamballe. 
 
 " What is the king doing?" asked Maie. de Lamballe. 
 
ANDEEE DE TATERNET. 162 
 
 "He is at confession," replied the queen, with an accent im- 
 possible to describe. 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and M. de Chamy appeared. 
 He was pale, but perfectly calm. 
 
 " Can the king be seen, madame?" he said to the queen, bow- 
 ing. 
 
 " For the present, sir," replied the queen, " I am the king." 
 
 Charny knew this better than any one; still he insisted. 
 
 " You can go up to the king's apartment, sir," said the queen,- 
 " but I assure you that you will disturb him very much." 
 
 " I understand the king is with Monsieur Petion, who husi just 
 arrived?" 
 
 " The king is with his confessor, sir." 
 
 " Then it is to you, madame," replied Cliarny, " that I inust 
 make my report, as major-general of the chateau." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the queen; " if you will." 
 
 " I have the honor of reporting to your majesty the strength of 
 our force. The cavalry, commanded by Messieurs Rulhi^res and 
 de VerdiSre, as many as six hundred men, are drawn up in battle 
 array on the grand square of the Louvre; the infantry of Paris, 
 intra muros, are stationed at the stables; a post of five hundred 
 and fifty men has been detailed as a guard at the H6tel de Tou- 
 louse, to protect, if necessary, the lockers containing the funds, the 
 accounts, and the equipments. The foot soldiers of Paris, extra 
 muros, composed of only thirty men, are stationed at the small 
 staircase in the Princes' Court; two hundred officers and soldiers 
 of the ancient guard, on horseback or afoot; a hundred young ruy- 
 alists, as many young gentlemen; three hundred and fifty, or four 
 hundred soldiers, gathered in the CEil-de-Boeuf, or the adjoining 
 hallo; two or three of the National Guard are scattered through 
 the court and the gardens; finally, fifteen hundred Swiss — the 
 original force of the chateau— have taken their different stations, 
 and are placed in the grand vestibule, and at the foot of the stair- 
 case, to defend it." 
 
 " Well, sir," replied the queen, " do not all these measures reas- 
 sure you?" 
 
 " Nothing reassures me, madame," replied Charny, '* while it is 
 a question of your majesty's safety." 
 
 " Then, sir, your advice is still for flight?" 
 
 " My advice, madame, is, that you and the king, and the august 
 children of your majesty, should place yourselves in the midst of 
 them." 
 
 The queen made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 " Your majesty dislikes Lafayette; what of that! But you have 
 confidence in the Duke of Liancourt; he is at Rouen, madame; 
 he has hired the house of an English gentleman. Monsieur Car- 
 ring; the commandant of tlie province has sworn fidelity to the 
 king, with all his truops; the Swiss regiment of Salts Samade, 
 who can be depended upon, are stationed on the road. Everything 
 is yet quiet; leave by the Tournant bridge, gain the Barrier de 
 I'Etoile; three hundred cavalry of the Constitutional Guard are 
 'Waiting for you; it will be very easy to gather fifteen hundred 
 
 
163 ANDEEB DE TAVEKNEY. 
 
 gentlemen at Versailles. With four thousand men, I can eseort yoa 
 wherever you want to go." 
 
 " Thanks, Monsieur de Chamy," said the queen; " I appreciate 
 the devotion that impels you to leave your friends, and offer your 
 services to foreigners." 
 
 " The queen is unjust to me," interrupted Chamy; " the exist- 
 ence of my sovereign will always be in my eyes the most precious 
 of any existence, as my duty will always be to me the dearest of 
 aU virtues." 
 
 " Duty, yes, sir," murmured the queen; " but I also, since every 
 one is obliged to do their duty, hope 1 understand mine: and that 
 is, to maintain royalty in all its nobility and grandeur, to guard it 
 that it be not stricken, and fall worthily if need be, as did the 
 gladia'ors of old, who studied how to die gracefully." 
 
 " That is your majesty's last word?" 
 
 " And, moreover, my last desire." 
 
 Chamy bowed, and meeting near the door Mme. Campan, who 
 was about rejoining the princesses: 
 
 " Ask their highnesses, madame," he said, " to put in Iheir pock- 
 ets whatever they consider the most valuable; it may be that, 
 sooner or later, we may be obliged to leave the chSteau." 
 
 Then, while Mme. Campan hastened with her message to the 
 Princess de Lamballe and Mme. Elizabeth, Cliamy returned to the 
 queen: 
 
 " Madame," he said, " it is impossible that you have no other 
 hope outside of our national force; if you have, confide in me; re- 
 member, to-morrow at this hour 1 will have rendered an account 
 to God or man for what has happened." 
 
 "Well, sir," said the queen, "two hundred thousand francs 
 were to be given to Petion, and fifty thousand to Danton; for these 
 two hundred thousand francs, Danton has promised to remain at 
 home, and Petion is to come to the chiXteau." 
 
 " But, madame, are you sure of your mediators?" 
 
 " Petion has already arrived, you said?" 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " That is something, as you see." 
 
 " That is not sufficient — they told me they sent for him three 
 times before he would come." 
 
 " If h" is for us," said the queen, " he will, in speaking to the 
 king, put his first finger on his right eye." 
 
 " But if he is not for us, madame — " 
 
 " If he is not for us, he is our prisoner, and I shall give the most 
 positive orders he is not to be allowed to leave the chateau." 
 
 At that moment the sound of bells ringing was heard. 
 
 " What is that?" asked the queen. 
 
 " The tocsin," replied Chamy. 
 
 The princesses rose with fright. 
 
 "Well," said the queen, " what is the matter with you? The 
 tocsin is the trumpet of the rebels." 
 
 " Madame," said Chamy, who seemed more agitated than the 
 queen over this ominous noise, " I will go and ascertain if titia 
 tocsin announces anything serious." 
 
 " And you will return?" said the queen, quickly. 
 
ANDKEE DE TAVEENET. 16* 
 
 "1 will return and put myself under your majesty's orders, and 
 I ■will not leave until all danger has passed." Charny bowed and 
 ■went out. 
 
 The queen remained quiet for a moment. 
 
 " I will go and see if the king is through confession," she mur- 
 mured, and in her turn went out. 
 
 Then Mme. Elizabeth, removing some of her clothing to enable 
 her to rest more comfortably on a lounge, took from her bodice a 
 coral pin and showed it to Mme. Campan; it was cut to represent 
 a bunch of lilies with an inscription. 
 
 " Read it," said Mme. Elizabetli. 
 
 Mme. Campan approached the candelabra and read : 
 
 " Oubles des offenses, pardon des injures." 
 
 " I am afraid this maxim," said the princess, " would not have 
 much influence with our enemies; but that is no reason he should 
 not appreciate it." As she finished these words, the report of fire- 
 arms resounded from the court. 
 
 The ladies screamed. 
 
 " The first shotl" said Mme. Elizabeth. " Alasl it will not be 
 the lastl" 
 
 They announced Petion'a arrival at the Tuileries to the queen; 
 these were the circumstances under which the mayor of Paris 
 made his entry. He arrived about half past ten o'clock. 
 
 This time he was not obliged to remain in the ante-chamber; 
 they told him, on the contrary, that the king awaited him; only to 
 reach the king he was obliged to pass first the Swiss Guard, then 
 the National Guard, then the gentlemen who were called the 
 Chevaliers of the Poniard. 
 
 Nevertheless, as every one knew, the king had sent for Petion, 
 who could, if he so desired, remain in the Hotel de Ville, his pal- 
 ace, and not venture to throw himself in that den of lions, the 
 Tuileries , but, as he had left it, the names of traitor and Judas- 
 seemed to stare him in the face as he ascended the stairs. 
 
 Louis XVI. waited for Petion in the same room where he had 
 been so rudely treated on the aist of June. Petion recognized the 
 door and smiled. 
 
 Fortune had given him a terrible revenge. At the door Mandat, 
 the commandant of the National Guard, stopped the mayor. 
 
 " Ahl Is that you, sir?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir, it is I," replied Petion, with his usual phlegmatic 
 manner. 
 
 " What have you come here for?" 
 
 " 1 could, if I felt disposed, answer that question. Monsieur 
 Mandat, no*: recognizing your right to question me; however, as I 
 am hurried, I will not stop to discuss with inferiors!" 
 
 " "With inferiors?" 
 
 " You interrupted me, and I told you I was hurried, Monsieur 
 Mandat. I have come because the king has sent for me three 
 times — of myself I would not have come.' 
 
 " Then, as 1 have the pleasure of seeing you. Monsieur Petion, I 
 must ask you why the police administration gave a quantity of 
 cartridges to the Marseillais, when I, Mandat, only received three 
 ior each of my men?" 
 
184 ANDEEB DE TAVERNET. 
 
 " In the first place," replied Petion, without losing his temper, 
 " they asked for no more for the Tuileries — three cartridges foi 
 each National Guard, forty for each Swiss— they were distributed 
 as the liing demarrled." 
 
 " Why such a dillerence in the number?" 
 
 " You must a^-k ilie king, and nol me, sir; probably he distrusts 
 the National Guard." 
 
 " But I, sir," said Mandat, " asked you for powder." 
 
 " That is true; unfortunately, you were not in a condition to 
 receive it." 
 
 "Oh! a very good answer!" cried Mandat; " it was for you to 
 put me in a condition, as the order had come from you." 
 
 The discussion had taken a turn that was difficult to answer; by 
 .good luck the door opened, and Rcederer, the syndic of the Com- 
 mune, came to the aid of the mayor of Paris, saying: 
 
 " Monsieur Petion, the king is waiting for you." 
 
 Petion entered. 
 
 In fact, the liing was waiting for Peticn with impatience. 
 
 "Ah' there you are. Monsieur Petionl" he said. "In what 
 •conditi(m is the city of Paris?" 
 
 Petion gave him something of an account as to its condition. 
 
 " Have you nothing more to say to me, sir?" asked the king. 
 
 " No, sire," replied Petinn. 
 
 " Nothing— absolutely nothing?" 
 
 Petion opened his large eyes, not understanding the king's per- 
 sistence. 
 
 On his part, the king waited for Petion to raise his hand to his 
 eye; that, it will be remembered, was the signal by whicii the mayor 
 of Paris was to indicate that, by the means of the two hundred thou- 
 sand francs, the king could depend upon him. Petion scratched 
 his ear, but did not carry his finger to his eye the least in the 
 world. 
 
 The king had been deceived; a scoundrel had pocketed his two 
 bundled lliousand francs. 
 
 He looked steadily at Petion. 
 
 The queen entered. 
 
 Just at that moment, the king hardly knew what question to put 
 to Petion next, and Petion was waiting for the king to question 
 him. 
 
 " Well," said the queen, in low tones, " is he our friend?" 
 
 " No," said the king, " he has made no sign." 
 
 " He is our prisoner, then!" 
 
 " May I retire, sire?" asked Petion of the king. 
 
 " For God's sake, do not let him go!" said Marie Antoinette. 
 
 " No, sir; in an instant you will be at liberty; but I have some- 
 thing yet to say to you," added the king, raising his voice. 
 " Come into this cabinet." 
 
 This lust was said to those in the cabinet: " I confide Monsieur 
 Petion 10 your care; watch him, and do not let him escape." 
 
 Those in the cabinet were able conspirators, they surrounded 
 Petion, who saw he was a prisoner. 
 
 Fortunately, Mandat was not there; Mandat was debating about 
 «beying a summons to the H6tel de Villa 
 
AKDBEB DB TATEEKEY. 165 
 
 There was a cross fire; they sent for Mandat at the H5tel d« 
 Tille, as they had sent for Petion at the Tuileries. 
 
 Maadat was loath to accept to obey this summons, and did not 
 make up his mind at the first one. As for Petion, there were thirty 
 of them in a small cabinet made to contain four. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, after a moment, "it is impossible to re- 
 main here longer, it is stifling!" 
 
 That was what they all thought, consequently no one opposed 
 Petion's leaving; only every one followed him. 
 
 Perhaps no one dared to openly detain him. He descended the 
 first stair he saw; this stair-way conducted him to a room on the 
 ground floor opening on the garden. 
 
 He was afraid for a moment the door of the garden was closed, 
 but it was open. 
 
 Petion found himself in a larger, more airy prison, only it was 
 as tightly secured as the other. Still it was an improvement. 
 
 A man followed him, and once in the garden, gave him his arm; 
 it was Roederer, the attorney-syndic of the department. 
 
 Both began to walk up and down the terrace before the palace; 
 that terrace was lighted by a row of lamps; the National Guard 
 came and extinguished those in the vicinity of the mayor and 
 the syndic. 
 
 What was their intention? Petion did not think it a good omen. 
 
 " Sir," he said to a Swiss oflicer that followed him, who was 
 named M. de Sails Lizers, " what are their intentions toward me 
 —bad?" 
 
 "Do not worry. Monsieur Petion," replied the ofiBcer, with a 
 strong German accent. "The king requested me to watch over 
 you, and I promise you the first one that kills you, dies the next 
 moment by my hand!" 
 
 Under similar circumstances, Triboulet replied to Francis I.: 
 " What difference would it make to me, sire, what happened the 
 next moment?" 
 
 Petion did not answer, but gained the terrace of the Peuillants, 
 brightly lighted by the moon. It was not then, as now, bordered 
 by a grating; it was inclosed by a wall eight feet high, and closed 
 by three doors, two small and one large one. 
 
 These doors were not only closed, but barricaded; they were, be- 
 sides, guarded by the grenadiers of le Butte des Moulins and des 
 Fille St. Thomas, celebrated for their loyalty. 
 
 There was nothing to be hoped from them. Petion stooped from 
 time to time, picked up a stone, and threw it the other side of the 
 ■wall. 
 
 While Petion was walking up and down and throwing the stones 
 over the wall, Ihey came to tell him two or three times that the 
 king wanted to see him. 
 
 " Wej]," said Roederer, " are you not going?" 
 
 " No," replied Petion; "it is too warm upstairs. I remember 
 that cabinet, and have no desire to enter it again; besides, 1 am 
 making an appointment with some one on the terrace of the Feuil- 
 lants." 
 
 And he continued stooping, picking up stones, and throwing 
 tbeai over the wall. 
 
166 ANDEEE DB TAVERNET. 
 
 " Whom are you making an appointment with?" asked R(» 
 derer. 
 
 At that moment the door of the assembly that opened on the ter- 
 race of the Feuillants was thrown back. 
 
 " I expect," said Petion, " just what I imagined will happen " 
 
 " Order permission for Monsieur Petion to passi" said a voice; 
 " for the assembly requires him at his place, to give an account of 
 the condition of Paris." 
 
 " Really!" said Petion, in a low voice. 
 
 Then, aloud: 
 
 "Here I am," he said, "ready to answer my enemy's sus- 
 picions. ' ' 
 
 The National Guards, believing they sent for Petion as an ac- 
 cused man, let him pass. It was nearly three o'clock in the morn- 
 ing; day begarm to break; only, strange to behold, the sky was th« 
 color of blood. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE KIGHT OP THE NINTH AND TENTff OP AUGUST. 
 
 Petion, sent for by the king, had a presentiment he would not 
 leave as easily as he had entered; he approached a man of rough 
 appearance, rendered still more forbidding by the scar that covered 
 his face. 
 
 " Monsieur Billot," he said, " what report do you bring me from 
 the as.sembly?" 
 
 " They will be in council all night." 
 
 " Very goodi What did you say you had seen at the Pont 
 Neuf?" 
 
 " Cannon and National Guards, placed there by order of Mon- 
 sieur Mandat." 
 
 " And did you not also say, that under the arcade of St. Jean, 
 at the corner of the Rue St. Antoine, a considerable force was as- 
 sembled?" 
 
 " Yes, sir; all by Monsieur Mandat's orders." 
 
 " Very well; now listen. Monsieur Billot." 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 " Here is an order for Messieurs Manuel and Danton to disperse 
 the National Guards at the arcade of St. Jean, and to disarm tha 
 Pont Neuf ; cost what it may, this order must be obeyed, do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " I will take it myself to Monsieur Danton." 
 
 " That is well; meantime, you live in the Rue St. HonorS." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " After giving the order to Monsieur Danton, return home and 
 rest; in about two hours, get up and walk up and down the other 
 side of the wall on the terrace of the Feuillants; if you see or hear 
 gtones thrown over from the Tuileries garden, it is because I am a 
 prisoner, and violently treated." 
 
 " 1 understand." 
 
 " Go to the bar of the assembly and tell my colleagueB to send 
 for me. You understand, Monsieur Billot? it is my life I am put* 
 ling in your bands." 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVEENET. 16T 
 
 " And I will answer for it, sir," said Billot; " have no anxiety." 
 In fact, Petion left, secure in Billot's well-known patriotism, wh« 
 ■would have been responsible for still greater things now that Pitou 
 had arrived. 
 
 He expedited Pitou to Danton, telling him not to return without 
 him. 
 
 Notwithstanding Danton's laziness, Pitou had a hard heart and 
 brought him with him. 
 
 Danton had seen the cannon on the Pont Neuf ; also the National 
 Guards under the arcade of St. Jean; he understood the urgency of 
 not leaving such a force at the rear of a popular army. 
 
 With Petion's order in his hand, Manuel dispersed the National 
 Guards under the arcade of St. Jean, and sent away the cannonierg 
 on the Pont Neuf. By this, the grand route for the insurrection 
 was opened. 
 
 Meantime, Billot and Pitou met at the Rue St. Honore, where 
 Billot always lodged; Pitou nodded to him as to a friend. 
 
 Billot sat down and motioned to Pitou to do likewise. 
 
 " Thank you. Monsieur Billot," said Pitou, " I am not tired " 
 
 But Billot insisted, and Pitou sat down. 
 
 " Pitou," said Billot, " I sent for you to join me." 
 
 "And you see, Monsieur Billot," said Pitou, with that frank 
 smile which showed all his thirty-two teeth, one of Pitou 's pecul- 
 iarities, " I did not make you wait." 
 
 " No. You imagined, did you not, something serious was tak- 
 ing place?" 
 
 " I expected it," replied Pitou; " but do tell me. Monsieur 
 Billot—" 
 
 " What, Pitou?" 
 
 " Why I neither see Monsieur Bailly nor Monsieur Lafayette?" 
 
 " Bailly is a traitor whom we assassinated on the Champ de 
 Mars." 
 
 " Yes, I know, as I rescued you from there when you lay bathed 
 in your own blood." 
 
 " Lafavette is a traitor who wishes to take away the king." 
 
 " Ahl 1 did not know that. Monsieur de Lafayette a traitorl 
 who would have imagined that? And the king?" 
 
 " The king is more of a traitor than anybody else, Pitou." 
 
 " As for that, I am not astonished," said Pitou. 
 
 " The king is in conspiracy with foreigners, and would deliver 
 France over to the enemy; the Tuileries is a nest of conspirators, 
 and they have decided to take the Tuileries. Do you understand, 
 Pitou?'*^ 
 
 " Parbleu! if I understand! Tell me, Monsieur Billot, as w« 
 took the Bastile, eh?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Only it will not be so difficult." 
 
 " There you are mistaken, Pitou." 
 
 " What! will it be more difficult?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It seems to me the walls are lower." 
 
 " Yes; but they are better guarded. The Bastile had only » 
 
168 AKDEEE DE TATERNBT. 
 
 hundred invalids to guard it, while there are three or four thMl* 
 «and men in the chSteau." 
 
 " The devil.' three or four thousand men!" 
 
 " Without taking into consideration the Bastile was surprised, 
 while, since the first of the month, the Tuileries, fearing they 
 would be attacked, have put themselves on the defensive." 
 
 " Well enough to defend themselves?" asked Pitou. 
 
 " Tes, " replied Billot; "particularly now that they have con- 
 fided the defense to Monsieur de Charny." 
 
 " In fact," said Pitou, " he posted yesterday to Boursoimes with 
 hia wife. But is Monsieur de Charny a traitor?" 
 
 " No; he is an aristocrat, that's all; he has always been for the 
 court and has not betrayed the people, simply because he has not 
 asked them to confide in him. 
 
 " Are we to fight against Monsieur de Charny?" 
 
 "Probably, Pitou." 
 
 " How strange! neighbors!" 
 
 " Yes, this is what is called civil war, Pitou; but you are not 
 obliged to flght if it does not suit you." 
 
 "Excuse me. Monsieur Billot," said Pitou; " the moment it 
 «uits you, it suits me also," 
 
 " 1 would like it better not to have you fight, Pitou." 
 
 " Why then did you send for me, Monsieur Billot?" 
 
 Billot's face grew dark. 
 
 "I sent for you, Pitou," said the former, "to give you this 
 paper." 
 
 " This paper. Monsieur Billot?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What is this paper?" 
 
 " It is the draft of my will." 
 
 "What! the draft of yourwihf Eh! Mon.Meur Billot," con- 
 tinued Pitou, laughing, " you don't look like a man that is about 
 to die." 
 
 " No," said Billot, pointing to his gun and cartouche-box hang- 
 ing on the wall; " but I look like a man that may be killed. " 
 
 " Ah! damn it!" sententiously esid Pitou, " we are all mortal." 
 
 " Well, Pitou," said Billot, " I sent for you to give you my last 
 will and testament." 
 
 " To me. Monsieur Billot?" 
 
 " To you, look you, Pitou, as you are mj only legatee." 
 
 " I your only legatee!" said Pitou. " No, thank you. Monsieur 
 Billot, you say that in fun. " 
 
 " I am telling you what is so, my friend." 
 
 " It can not be. Monsieur Billot." 
 
 ■" How! It can not be?" 
 
 ■ Ah! no — when a man has heirs he can not give his wealth to 
 strargers." 
 
 " You are mistaken; he can." 
 
 " Then he should not, 3tonsieur Billot." 
 
 A cloud passed over Billot's face. 
 
 " I have no heirs," he said. 
 
 "Good!" said Pitou. "You have ao iieirs? Pray, what (XO 
 you call Mademoiselle (^atherina?" 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 169 
 
 " I know no one of that name, Pitnu. " 
 
 "Ail now, Monsieur Billot, don't say anything like that, it 
 makes me rebellious." 
 
 "Pitou," said Billot, "the moment anything belongs to me, I 
 can give it to whom 1 choose; ilie same if you die, as eyerything 
 belongs to you. You can give it to any one you like." 
 
 "Ah! ah! verygooJ! Tfes, ' said Pitou, who began to under- 
 fitand; " then if anything happens to you — But how foolish I 
 am! no misfortvne will happen to you!" 
 
 " You said just now, Pilou, we were all mortal." 
 
 "Yes. ''.Veil, after all you aie right; 1 will accept your will, 
 Monsieur BiJlot, with the understanding that if I become your 
 heir, I will have the right to do as I please with your property." 
 
 " Without doubt, as it will belong to you, And to you, a good 
 patriot, there will be no chicanery, as there might be with those 
 ■allied to the aristocracy." 
 
 Pitou understood it better and better. 
 
 " Very well, as it is so, Monsieur Billot, I accept it." 
 
 " Then, as that is all I have to say to you, put that paper in 
 your pocket and rest; because in all probabilily we will have work 
 enough to do to-morrow, or, rather, to-daj", for it is within two 
 hours of daylight." 
 - " Are you going out. Monsieur Billot?" 
 
 " Yes; I have some business on the ten ace of the Feuillants.' 
 
 " And you have no need of me?" 
 
 " On the contrary, you would be in my way." 
 
 " In that case, 1 will eat a little something, Monsieur Billot." 
 
 " That's true," cried Billot; " to think 1 should have forgotten 
 to ask if you were hungry." 
 
 " Oh," said Pitou, laughing, " that was because you knew I was 
 always hungry." 
 
 " I need not tell you where the pantry is?" 
 
 " No, no. Monsieur Billot; don't worry about me. Only— you 
 will be back, will you not?" 
 
 " I will return." 
 
 " If you do not, you must teil me where I could meet you." 
 
 " It is useless. In an hour I shall be here." 
 
 "All right; go, then." 
 
 And Pitnu went to look for something to eat, ■n ilh an appetite 
 ■which, like the king's, never altered, let the circumstances be 
 what they might, while Billot directed his steps tovvaid the ierrace 
 of the Feuillants. We know -^vhiit then took phice. 
 
 He had but just reached there, when a st-,:.;e fell at his feet, then 
 another, and another, telling him w^hat Petiou fcaied had occurred, 
 the ma>or was a piisnner in the Tuileries. 
 
 Soon as possible he followed his directions, and presented him- 
 self at the assembly, who, as we have seen, sent and claimed 
 Petion, 
 
 Petion free, only walked through the assembly, and returning 
 on foot to the Hotel de Ville, left to represent him his carriage in 
 the court of the Tuileries. 
 
 Billot re entered his lodgings, und found Pitou Haishing hjft 
 supper. 
 
170 ANDEEE DB TAVEKNBY. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur Billot, what is there new?" asked Pitou. 
 " Nothing," said Billot, " except that day is breaking and tht 
 sky is as red as blood." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 FROM THKEE TO SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MOKNING. 
 
 Wb have seen how the day broke. 
 
 The sun's first rays fell on two cavaliers whose horses, slowly 
 pacing along, followed the deserted quay of the Tuileries, 
 
 These two cavaliers were the commanding general of the Na- 
 tional Guard, Mandat, and his aid-de-camp. Mandat, called at 
 one o'clock in the morning to the Hdtel de Yille, refused to go at 
 first. 
 
 At two o'clock the order was renewed more imperatively, Man- 
 dat still refused to go; but the syndic, Eoederer, drew near and 
 said to him : 
 
 " Remember, sir, the terms of the law is that the commandant 
 of the National Guard is at the orders of the municipality." 
 
 Mandat then decided to go. 
 
 Moreover, the commanding general was ignorant of two things: 
 
 First, that forty -seven sections out of forty-eight had se'nt three 
 commissioners, whose object was to meet at the Commune and to 
 save the country. Mandat expected to find the old municipality 
 composed as it had beeo heretofore, and never expected to see one 
 hundred and forty new faces. Besides, Mandat was ignorant of 
 the order given by the same municipality to disarm the Pont Neuf 
 and evacuate the arcade St. Jean, the execution of which, so im- 
 portant was it, Danton and Manuel presided in person. 
 
 Thus, on reaching the Pont Neuf, Mandat was stupefied at see- 
 ing it utterly deserted. He stopped and sent his aid-de-camp on a 
 reconnoissance. In about ten minutes the aid-de-camp returned. 
 He had seen neither cannon nor National Guard. The Place 
 Dauphin, the Rue Dauphin, and the quay of the Augustins were 
 as deserted as the Pont Neuf. Mandat continued on his way, 
 thinking of returning to the chateau; but men go where fate leads 
 them. As fast as he advanced toward the H6tel de Ville he seemed 
 to be advancing toward life itself ; as in certain organic cataclysms 
 the blood, leaving the heart, abandons the extremities, that remain 
 pale and cold. All movement, lite, in fact, the revolution itself, 
 was on the Pelletier bridge, on the Place de Grfive, in the Hotel 
 de Ville; here all was activity in the heart of that great body called 
 Paris. 
 
 Mandat stopped at the corner of the Pelletier bridge and sent his 
 aid to the camp at the arcade St. Jean. Through the arcade St. 
 Jean the crowd came and went freely; the National Guard had 
 disappeared. Mandat thought seriously now of returning, but the 
 crowd, closing back of him, pushed him like a wave to the steps 
 of the H6tel de VUle. 
 
 " Stay herel" he said to his aid-de-camp; "if any misfortune 
 happens to me, go and tell them at the chateau." 
 
 Mandat let the crowd carry him in; his aid-de-camp, whose uni- 
 form showed him to be of secondajj consideration, remained at 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVEBNET. 171 
 
 the corner of tlie Pelletier bridge, where he remained unnoticed,' 
 every eye was fixed on the commanding general. 
 
 On entering the large hall of the H6tel de Ville, Mandat found 
 himself face to face with unknown and stern faces. 
 
 It was the entire insurrection who came to demand an account 
 of the ronduct of a man, who not only wished to combat the revo- 
 lution as it developed, but to stifle its very birth. 
 
 At the Tuileries he was the interrogator; his scene with Petion 
 will be remembered. 
 
 Here, he was to be interrogated. 
 
 One of the members of this new Commune — that terrible Com- 
 mune that stiEed the legislative assembly, and battled even with 
 the convention — one of the members of this new Commune ad- 
 vanced, and in the name of all: 
 
 " By whose order did you increase the guard at the chSteau?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 " By order of the mayor of Paris," replied Mandat. 
 
 " Where is that order?" 
 
 " At the Tuileries, where I left it, that it might be executed la 
 my absence." 
 
 " Why did you move tlie cannons?" 
 
 " Because I moved the battalions, and when the battalions move 
 the cannons move with them." 
 
 " Where is Petion?" 
 
 " He was at the chateau when I left it." 
 
 " A prisoner?" 
 
 " No; at liberty, and walking in the garden." 
 
 A member of the new Commune brought in a town letter and 
 asked to have It read aloud. 
 
 Mandat only needed to glance at the letter to know he was lost. 
 
 He recognized his handwriting. 
 
 That letter was an order sent at one o'clock in the morning to 
 the commandant of the battalion posted at the arcade St. Jean, and 
 enjoining him to attack in the rear the mob gathering at the cha- 
 teau while the battalion of the Pont Neuf attacked the flank. 
 
 The order fell into the hands of the Commune after the retreat 
 of the battalion. 
 
 The interrogation was finished. What proof could be obtained 
 against the accused more terrible than that letter? 
 
 TJie Commune decided to have Mandat taken to the Abbaye. 
 
 Then Mandat's sentence was read. 
 
 Tjien came the explanation. 
 
 In reading Mandat's sentence, the president unfortunately made 
 one of I hose gestures the people knew only too well how to inter- 
 pret — a horizontal gesture. 
 
 "The president," says M. Peltier, author of the " Revolution 
 of the lOlh of August, 1792," " made a very expressive horizontal 
 gesture, saying, 'Take him awayl' " 
 
 In fact, all sorts of gestures, a year later, became very expressive; 
 but a hoiizontal gesture that signified so much in 1793 did n(5t 
 signify much in 1793, when the guillotine had not been establiihed; 
 on the 21st of July (here fell on the Place du Carroussel the first 
 royalist head-, eleven days after a horiaontal gesture (unless it was 
 
173 ANDKEE DE TAVEKNBT. 
 
 agreed upon before) could mean, " Kill him!" Unfortunately the 
 result seemed to justify the accusation. Mandat had scarcely 
 taken three steps from the threshold of the H6tel de Ville, the 
 same moment his son ran to meet him, when a pislol-shot grazed 
 the prisoner's head. 
 
 The same thing happened three years before to Fesselles. 
 
 Mand.1t was only wounded; he raised himself, to fall the next 
 instant, struck by twenty pikes. The child stretched out his arms: 
 " My fatherl my fatherl" No one paid any attention to the child's 
 cries. Then soon, from the circle, where nothing was to be seen 
 but arms stretched out in the midst of the flash of sabers and pikee, 
 was raised a bleeding head detached from the body. 
 
 It was Mandat's head. 
 
 The child fainted. The aid-de-camp galloped to announce the 
 news at the Tuileries. The assassins divided into two bands; some 
 left to throw the body in the river; others promenaded through 
 the streets of Paris with Mandat's head on the end of a pike. 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock in the morning. 
 
 Let us go to the Tuileries before the aid-de-camp reaches it, and 
 see what has happened. 
 
 The king confessed — and from the moment his conscience was 
 quiet, he felt reassured as to the rest— the king, -svho never could 
 resist any of nature's demands, went to sleep. It was true, he 
 slept all dressed. 
 
 When the tocsin redoubled its clamor, and the generals knocked 
 at his door, they woke the king. He who awoke the king — M. de 
 Chesnaye — to whom Mandat, on leaving, had confided his com- 
 mand, awoke the king that he might show himself to the National 
 Guard, and by his presence, and by a few appropriate words, re- 
 animate their enthusiasm. 
 
 The king awoke, stunned, trembling, half roused; his wig had 
 been powdered, and all one side, on which he had lain, was flat- 
 tened out. 
 
 They looked for the coiffeur; he was not there. The king left 
 his room without having his hair dressed. The queen, hearing in 
 the council-chamber that the king was about to show himself to 
 his defenders, ran to meet him. 
 
 Contrary to the king, with his mournful expression, eyes averted 
 from every one, with the muscles of his mouth distended and 
 palpitating with an involuntary movement, with his violet-colored 
 clothes looking as if he was in mourning for royalty — the queen 
 was pale but burning with fever, her eyelids were dry, but red. 
 She drew toward that shadow of royalty who, instead of appearing 
 at midnight, showed himself at daylight with his large ej'es wink- 
 ing and blinking. 
 
 It was much better that these royal exhibitions took place in the 
 king's apartments, where the National Guard, mingling with the 
 gentlemen, paid their homage to the king — that poor man so weak 
 and sluggish, who had prospered so badly since his last similar 
 experience on M. Sauce's balcony at Varennes. One might well 
 ask if that was the hero of the 20th of June, that king for whom 
 the priests and the women began to embroider on funereal crape a- 
 poetical legend. 
 
ANDKEE DB TATERKBT. 173 
 
 And the answer would have been no; this was not the king 
 whom the National Guard expected to see. 
 
 Just at that moment the old Uuke de Mailly, with one of those 
 good intentions destined to add one more pavmg-stone to the floor 
 of hell — just at that moment, as we have said, the old Duke de 
 Mailly drew his sword, and throwing himself at the knees of the 
 king, swore, in a trembling voice, that he and the nobility he repre- 
 sented were ready to die for Henry IV. 's grandson. 
 
 Here were two inappropriate speeches, instead of one : the Na- 
 tional Guard had no very great sympathy for that nobility of 
 France represented by M. de Mailly; besides, they had not come 
 thereto defend Henry IV. 's grandson, but for the Constitutional 
 king. Thus, in answer to some cries of "Long live the king!" 
 the cries of " Long live the nationi' ' broke forth on all sides. 
 
 They must take another tack. They pushed the king to descend 
 to the" royal court. Alasl that poor king, his regular meals dis- 
 arranged, had slept one hour instead of seven; his material nature 
 had no will left; he was an automaton, receiving impulsion from 
 outward forces. 
 
 Who gave him this impulsion? 
 
 The queen, with her nervous nature, who had neither eaten nor 
 slept. 
 
 There are some unfortunate organization^, who, let them once 
 become the prey of circumstances, will tind it impossible to rise 
 above them. Thus it was with Louis XVI. Instead of attracting 
 the wavering ones, he seemed to approach them expressly to show 
 how little prestige royalty leaves a man, when that man has neither 
 genius nor force within himself. Here, as within doors, there was 
 a weak attempt at " Long live the king!" but a tremendous cry of 
 " Long live the nationi" was the response. 
 The royalists had the fool hardiness to insist: 
 '* No, no, no!" cried the patriots; " no other king than the na- 
 tion!" 
 And the king, almost in a supplicating voice, replied: 
 " Yes, my children, the nation and your king will never be 
 divided!" 
 
 " Bring the dauphin," said Marie Antoinette, in a low voice, to 
 Mme. Elizabeth; " perhaps the sight of the child will touch their 
 hearts." They went for the dauphin. 
 
 During this time the king continued this sad review; he had the 
 unfortunate idea of approaching the artillerymen. It was a mis- 
 take; the artillerymen were nearly all republicans. If the king 
 had known how to speak; if he could have made those men listen, 
 instead of being carried away by their convictions, it would have 
 been a bold strt)ke and might have succeeded; but there was noth- 
 ing attractive either in Louis XVI.'s words or gestures. He hesi- 
 tated; the royalist-, thinking tn cover his hesitation, again attempted 
 that unfortunale cry of " Long live the king!" which had alieady 
 twice failea; this time it nearly led to a coUisioB. 
 
 Two cannoniers quitted their post, and thiowing themselves to- 
 ward the king, shook their fists at him. 
 
 " Do you think," they said, " we will fire on our brothers to d«t- 
 iend a traitor like you?" 
 
174 ANDEEE DE TAVEENEY. 
 
 The queen drew the king back. 
 
 " The dauphinl the dauphinl" cried several voices; " Long liT» 
 the dauphinl" 
 
 No one took up the cry; the poor child had not arrived in time, 
 as they saj' in the theater; he had missed his cue. 
 
 The king retook the path to the chateau; it was a veritable re- 
 treat, almost a flight. 
 
 Arrived in his apartments, Louis XVI. sunk out of breath on the 
 fauteuil. 
 
 The queen remained at the door, glancing at the eyes, looking at 
 every one around her, as if seeking succor. 
 
 She saw Charny leaning against the threshold of her apartment 
 before her; she went to him. 
 
 '* Ah I sir," she said, " everything is lost," 
 
 " I fear so, madame," replied Charny. 
 
 " Can we fly yet?" 
 
 " It is too late, madame." 
 
 " Then, what is there for us to do?" 
 
 " Diel" replied Charny, bowing. 
 
 The queen sighed and entered her room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 FROM SIX TO KINE O'CLOCK IH THE MORNING. 
 
 Scarcely was Mandat killed, when the Commune appointed 
 Santerre commandant general in his place, and Santerre, having 
 ordered this proclaimed throughout all the streets, gave the order 
 to have the tocsin redoubled in all the churches; then he organized 
 patriot patrols, to watch the Tuileries, and even penetrate into the 
 assembly. 
 
 During the night other patriots had watched the environs of the 
 National Assembly. 
 
 About ten o'clock they had arrested at the Champs Elysees 
 eleven armed persons — ten with pistols and swords, the eleventh 
 carried a pike. 
 
 These eleven persons were taken without any resistance, and 
 conducted to a guardroom in the Feuillants. 
 
 During the night eleven other prisoners were taken. 
 
 They were put in separate apartments. At seven o'clock in the 
 morning, they led into the court of the Feuillants a young man, 
 »bout twenty-nine or thirty years of age, in the uniform and cap 
 of the National Guard. The freshness of his uniform, the brill- 
 iancy of his arms, the elegance of his whole appearance, made 
 them suspect he was an aristocrat, and had led to his anest. With 
 it all, he was very calm. 
 
 A man named Bonjour. an old naval oflicer, presided that day 
 *ver that department of the Feuillants. 
 
 He interrogated the National Guardsman. 
 
 " Where were you arrested?" he asked. 
 
 " On the terrace of the Feuillants," replied the prisoner. 
 
 " What were you doing there?" 
 
 " I was going to the chateau." 
 
 "With what object?" 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERNET. 175 
 
 " To obey an order from the municipality." 
 
 " For what were you given that order?" 
 
 " To verify the condition of things, and to make my report to 
 the general altormy — syndic of the department." 
 
 " Have you that order?" 
 
 " Here it is." 
 
 And llie young man took a paper from his pocket. The presi- 
 dent unfolded the paper and read: 
 
 " The bearer of tliis present order, belonging to the National 
 •Guard, is to go to the chateau to veiify the condition of things, 
 and make his report to the general attorney — syndic of the depart- 
 ment. 
 
 'ErRouLX, \ ^^■^i<'iP^'- Officers:' 
 
 The order was positive; only, they feared the signatures wer« 
 false, and they sent a man to the Hotel de Ville to ascertain as to 
 their veracity. 
 
 This last arrest had drawn a great many people to the H6tel de 
 Ville, and in the midst of this multitude, some voices— there are 
 always such voices in popular assemblies — some voices began to 
 demand the prisoner's death. 
 
 An officer of the municipality who was there said he would not 
 answer to let these voices gain an ascendency. 
 
 He mounied a staging to harangue the crowd and persuade 
 them to retire. 
 
 At the moment the crowd was about yielding to the influence of 
 these merciful words, the man sent to verify the signature of the 
 two officers returned, saying the order was genuine, and they could 
 liberate the man named Suleau, who carried it. 
 
 A<> the name of Suleau, a woman lost in the crowd raised her 
 head, and cried fiercely: " Suleau! Suleau! the compiler of the 
 ' Acts of the Apostles;' Suleau! oue of the assassins of the LiSge 
 Independence. Come to me, Suleaul 1 demand Suleau's death." 
 
 The crowd opened to give room to a small, active woman, 
 dressed en Amazon, in the colors of the National Guard, armed 
 with a saber, which she carried in her shoulder-belt. She ad- 
 vanced toward the municipal officer, forced him to descend from 
 his eminence, and mounted in his place. 
 
 Scarcely had her head appeared above the crowd, when they 
 burst forth into the cry: " Theroigne!" 
 
 Theroigne at that time was a very popular woman; her co-opera- 
 tion on the 5th and 6th of October, her arrest at Brussels, her so- 
 journ in the Austrian prison, her aggressiveness en the 20lh of 
 June, had given her such an immense popularity, that Suleau, in 
 his comic, journal, had given her, for a lover, the citizen Populus, 
 meaning the entire population. This was a double entendre tor 
 Theroigne's popularity and her easy morals. 
 
 Besides, Suleau had published, in Bru.=sels, " Lb Tocsin dea 
 Bois," and had thus sucteeded in crushing the revolution in LiSge, 
 and thus returned to the Austrian yoke and the bishop's miter a 
 iioble people who wished to remain Frenchmen and free. 
 
 Theroigne could very easily, at tiiis time, have caused Suleau'* 
 
176 ANDEEE DE TAVEENEY. 
 
 arrest; but she wanted more Suleau's death, together with the 
 eleven prisoners with him. 
 
 Suleau heard that voice in the midst of applause, eager for his 
 death, and that of his companions. He called to his aid the chief 
 of the post that guarded them, who was stationed at the door. 
 
 This post consisted of two hundred men of the National Guard. 
 
 " Let me go," he said; " I am sentenced; they will kill me, and 
 that will he all. My death will save eleven lives." 
 
 They refused to open the door. 
 
 He tried to get out of the window; his companions drew him 
 back and held him. 
 
 He could not believe they would give him up to be murdered !■ 
 cold blood. 
 
 He was mistaken. 
 
 The president, Bon jour, intimidated by the cries of the multi- 
 tude, allowed Theroigne to have her way, by forbidding the Na- 
 tional Guard to resist the rush of the people. 
 
 The National Guard obeyed, fled, and in leaving the door was 
 left unguarded. 
 
 The people precipitated themselves into the prison, and seized 
 the first comer. 
 
 The first comer was an abbe, named Bouyon, a dramatic author, 
 as well known by the epigrams of " Cousin Jacques "as by the 
 failure the greater part of his pieces had at the theater of Mon- 
 tansier. He was a colossal man. Snatched from the arms of a 
 municipal officer, who tried to save him, he was drawn into the 
 court and began a desperate fight with his assassins; though he 
 was unarmed, two or three of the wretches were stretched at his 
 feet. 
 
 A blow from a bayonet nailed him to the wall; he expired before 
 his last blows reached his enemies. 
 
 During the fight two of the prisoners escaped. The abbe's suc- 
 cessor was a former body-guard of the king, name Solminiac; his 
 defense was none the less vigorous than his predecessors; his death, 
 if anything, was more cruel; then a third was massacred, whoss 
 name was unknown. Suleau came the fourth. 
 
 " Hold!" said a woman to Theroigne, " there is your Suleaul" 
 
 Theroigne did not know him by sight; she thought he was a 
 priest, and she called him the Abbe Suleau; like a tiger cat she 
 jumped at his throat. 
 
 Suleau was young, strong, and courageous; witli one hand he 
 threw Theroigne ten feet from him, then cleared himself with a 
 powerful blow from three or four men who had seized him, and 
 snatching a sword from one of the assassins, with a couple of 
 thrusts laid two of them at his feet. 
 
 Then a terrible fight began; constantly gaining ground, con- 
 stantly advancing toward the door, Suleau freed himself three 
 times, and reached that unfortunate door; but obliged to return to 
 Open it, he was exposed for an instant, without any defense, to the 
 mob; that instant sutflced for twenty sabers to reach him. He fell 
 at ThSroigne's feet, 'wlto enjoyed her cruel revenge by giving him 
 bis last thrust. 
 
ANDEEE DB TAVEKNBT. 177 
 
 Poor Suleau had been married ibout two months to a charming, 
 ^oman, daughter of the celebrated painter Hal. 
 
 "While Suleau fought against his murderers, a third prisoner 
 found means of escapmg. 
 
 The fifth, who appeared to have been dragged from the National 
 Guard by the assassins, was a member of the body-guard named 
 Du Vigier, who was known as handsome Vigier; even when the 
 mob saw him they could not repress a cry of admiration. As h« 
 was as courageous as he was handsome, as skillful as he was brave, 
 he battled for more than fifteen minutes, falling three times, rising 
 three times; the entire length of the court was stained with hig 
 blood, and also that of his assassins. At length, like Suleau, he 
 was overcome by numbers. 
 
 The death of the three others was simply murder; their namea 
 were unknown. 
 
 Their nine bodies were dragged to the Place Vendome, where 
 they were beheaded; then their heads, placed on pikes, were pa- 
 raded throughout Paris. 
 
 That evening, a servant of Suleau, by paying so much in gold, 
 obtained his master's head, and tried to find the body. SuleRu's 
 pious wife, two months enciente, with screams and tears was calling 
 for his precious remains to inter them. 
 
 Thus, before the fight began, blood had flowed in two places; 
 on the steps of the H6tel de Ville, and in the court of the Feuil- 
 lants. It was soon to flow in the Tuileries. First the drop, then 
 the stream, then a river. At the time these murders were taking 
 place, between eight and nine o'clock in the morning, ten or eleven 
 thousand National Guards, lallied by General Santerre and Bar- 
 baroux's tocsin, marched down the Rue St. Antoine, surrounded 
 that famous arcade of St. Jean, so strongly guarded the night be- 
 fore, and filed down the Place de Greve. 
 
 These ten thousand men demanded an order to march on the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 They made them wait an hour. 
 
 Two rumors ran through the crowd: 
 
 The first was, there were hopes of concessions from the chS,teau. 
 
 The second, that the Fji.ubourg St. Marceau was not taken, and 
 they could not march without it. 
 
 A thousand men with pikes grew impatient; as usual, the worst 
 armed were the most enthusiastic. They penetrated the ranks of 
 the National Guard, saying they would proceed and take the cha- 
 teau alone. 
 
 Several of the federated Marseillais and ten or a dozen of the 
 French Guard — that same I'rench Guard who, three years before, 
 had taken the Bastile — put themselves at their head, and by gen- 
 eral acclamation were elected chiefs. They were the advance 
 guard of the insurrection. Meanwhile, the aid-de-camp who had 
 seen Mandat assassinated, returned to the Tuileries, dipffing his 
 spurs in his horse; it was just as the king and queen leturned from 
 that sorrowful promenade in the court, that he joined Ihem and 
 repeated his sad tidings. The queen experienced a shock such as 
 ■we all feel when we hear of the death of one who has but just left 
 Bi; she could not believe it; she OMde him repeat the scene a 
 
178 ANBEEE DE TATEENEY. 
 
 second time in all its details. Meanwhile, the noise of a scuffla 
 made itself heard through the open windows. 
 
 The gendarmes, the National Guards, and the artillery patriots 
 — ^those who had cried: " Long live the nation!" began at last to 
 provoke the royalists by calling them " gentlemen of the royal 
 grenadiers," saying that the Butte des Moulins grenadiers and 
 those of the Filles St. Thomas were men bought by the court; and 
 as they were still ignorant of the death of the commanding general 
 ■faelow stairs, although they knew it above, a grenadier called out 
 aloud : 
 
 " Apparently that rascal of a Mandat has nothing but aristocrats 
 in the chateau." 
 
 Mandat's eldest son was in the ranks of the National Guard — we 
 have seen where the youngest was, who vainly attempted to save 
 his father on the steps of the H5tel de Ville. At this insult to his 
 absent father, the eldest son rushed from the ranks, sword in hand. 
 Three or four artillerymen threw themselves in front of him. 
 
 Weber, the queen's valet de chambre, was there in the National 
 Guard, among the grenadiers of St. Boche. He ran to the young 
 man's rescue. The clashing of swords was heard; the quarrel 
 spread among both parties. The queen, drawn to the window by 
 the noise, recognized Weber. She called Thierry, the king's valet 
 de chambre, and sent him to help her foster-brother. 
 
 Weber came upstairs and related all to the queen. 
 
 In her turn, she announced Mandat's death to him. 
 
 The noise continued under the windows. 
 
 " What are they doing, Weber?" asked the queen. 
 
 " What are they doing, madame? the cannoniers are abandoning 
 their pieces; the mob have spiked them and rendered them use- 
 less!" 
 
 " What do you think of all that, my poor Weber?" 
 
 " I think," said the good Austrian, " that your majesty better 
 consult Monsieur Boederer, who seems one of the most faithful 
 left in the chateau." 
 
 " Yes; but where can I speak to him without being heard, spied, 
 interrupted?" 
 
 " In my room, if the queen wishes," said Thierry. 
 
 "Soil!" said the queen; then turning, she said to her foster- 
 brother: " Go and find Monsieur Boederer, and take him to 
 Thierry's room. ' ' 
 
 Then, as Weber left by one door, the queen left by another, fol- 
 lowing Thierry. 
 
 The clock at the ch&teau struck nine. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 FROM NINE o'clock TILL NOON. 
 
 When one reaches as important a point in history as this at 
 ■which we have arrived, no detail should be omitted: one event is 
 so connected with another in forming the length and breadth of 
 the historical tapestry, that the past unrolls before the eyes of the 
 future. 
 
 At the moment Weber came to anaounce to the eyndic of ths 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERNBT. 178 
 
 commune the queen wanted to speak to him, the Swiss captain 
 Durler ascended to the king's apartments, to ask him or the 
 major-general for their last orders. 
 
 Charny perceived Ihe good captain, and looked for an officer or 
 Talet de chambre to introduce him to the king. 
 
 " What do you want, captain?" said he. 
 
 " Are you not the major-general?" asked M. Durler. 
 
 "Yes, captain." 
 
 " I came to take your last orders, sir, before the head of the in- 
 surrection columns appears in the Carroussel." 
 
 " All that is to be said is, not to let them force an entrance, sir; 
 the king has decided to die in the midst of you." 
 
 " Have no fears, major," simply replied Durler. And he took 
 that order to his companions — it was their sentence of death. 
 
 In fact, as Captain Durler said, the advance guard of the insur- 
 rection began to appear. 
 
 It was those thousand men, armed with pikes, at whose head 
 marched twenty Marseillais and twelve or fifteen of the French 
 Guard; in the ranks of these last were the gold epaulets of a young- 
 captain. 
 
 This young captain was Pitou, who, recommended by Billot, had 
 been charged with a mission that will soon be disclosed. 
 
 Behind this advance guard, quarter of a mile back, c'ame a con- 
 siderable body of National Guards and Federalists preceded by a 
 battery of a dozen pieces of cannon. 
 
 The Swiss Guard, when the major-general's order was com- 
 municated to them, ranged themselves silently but resolutely at 
 their posts, never once breaking that cold, gloomy silence of deter- 
 mination. 
 
 The National Guards, less severely disciplined, brought more 
 noise and disorder, but an equal determination to their aid. 
 
 The gentlemen, badly organized, bearing only short arms — 
 swords or pistols— knowing, this time, a mortal combat was before 
 them, saw, with a sort of feverish delirium, the moment approach 
 when they were to be brought in contact with the people — their old 
 adversary— that eternal athlete, that warrior ever vanquished, and 
 for eight centuries still increasing. 
 
 While the besiegers, or those who were about to become such, 
 knocked at the door of the Cour Royale, several voices cried: " A 
 parley! a parley!" others displayed a white handkerchief over tb» 
 jWall fastened on a lance. 
 
 They went for Roederer. 
 
 They found him close by. 
 
 " They are knocking at the Cour Eoyale, sir," they said. 
 
 " I heard the blows, and 1 was coming." 
 
 " What is to be done?" 
 
 "Open it." 
 
 The order was given to the concierge, who opened the door, and 
 ran away as fast as he could go. Rcederer found himself before th«' 
 advance guard of the men with pikes. 
 
 " My friends," said he, " you asked to have the door opened iat 
 a parley, not to admit an army. Where Is your speaker?" 
 
180 ANDKEB DK TAVEKNET. 
 
 "Here I am, sir!" said Pitou, with his sweet voice and good- 
 natured smile. 
 
 " Who are you?" 
 
 " I am Captain An^re Pitou, chief of the federals of Haramont." 
 
 Koederer did not know who the federals of Haramont were; but 
 time was precious, he did uot consider it wise to inquire. 
 
 " What do you want?" he said. 
 
 " I want an entrance for myself and friends." 
 
 Pitou's friends, in lalteied red clothes, blandishing their pike«, 
 with tierce hungry eves, appeared more like dangerous enemies. 
 
 " An entrance! What for?" 
 
 " To surround tlie assembly. We have twelve pieces of cannon; 
 not one will be charged if they do as we wish." 
 
 " And what do you wish?" 
 
 " The king's overthrow." 
 
 " Sir," said Roederer, " that is serious!" 
 
 ' Very serious; yes, sir," said Pitou, with his accustomed polite- 
 ness. 
 
 " It requires consideration." 
 
 " That is reasonable'" replied Pitou. 
 
 And he looked at the clock of the chSteau. 
 
 " It is a quarter of ten," he said; " we will give you till ten 
 o'clock; if ten o'clock strikes, and we have no answer, we will be- 
 gin the attack." 
 
 " While waiting you will allow us to close the door?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Then addressing his satellites: 
 
 " My friends," he .said, " allow them to close the door." And 
 he motioned to those in front to fall back with their pikes. 
 
 They obeyed; and the door was closed \\ itUout difficulty. 
 
 During the moment the door was opened the besiegers could 
 judge something of the formidable preparations made for their re- 
 ception. 
 
 The door closed; Pitou's men seemed still desirous of parleying. 
 
 Some of them were hoisted on their comrades' shoulders to the 
 wall, set astride of it, and began talking to the National Guard. 
 
 The National Guard shook hands with them and talked. 
 
 Thus the quarter of an hour passed. 
 
 Then, a man came from the chateau, and ordered them to open 
 ♦he door. 
 
 This time the concierge was locked in his lodge, and the Na- 
 tional Guard raised the bars. 
 
 The besiegers believed their reqnest was granted; as soon as the 
 doors were opened they entered like men who have waited a long 
 time, and who are pushe 1 from brhind, in dense crowds, calling 
 loudly on the Swiss Guard, putting their caps on the ends of their 
 swords and pikes, and Cidling: " Loucr live tlie nation! Long live 
 the National Gua'd! Lodl' live the Swi^s Guardl" 
 
 The National Guard leplied to the cries of " Long live the na- 
 tion!" 
 
 The Swiss Guards maintained a gloomy and sad silence. 
 
 At the cannon's mouth, the assailants stopped and looked befora 
 and around. 
 
ANDREE DE TATERNET. 181 
 
 The grand vestibule was full of the Swiss Guard, placed three 
 deep; one row held each step of the staircase; thus permitting six 
 rows to fire at once. 
 
 Several of the insurgents began to reiiect. Among these wa« 
 Pitou; onl}'. it was rather too late for that. 
 
 The result was as usual under similar circumstances, where the 
 character of a worthy people is like that of a child, sometimee 
 good, sometimes horrid. 
 
 The National Guard had no objections to a little fun, but the 
 Swiss were as serious as ever; for five minutes before the appa- 
 rition of the insurrectional advance guard, something had oc- 
 curred. As we related in the preceding chapter, the patriotic Na- 
 tional Guard, at the end of the quarrel raised about Mandat, had 
 become separated from the royal National Guards, and separated 
 from their compatriots, at the same time they said farewell to the 
 Swiss, whose courage they admired and pitied. 
 
 They were adding they wanted to see in their homes, as brethren, 
 those of the Swiss who survived. 
 
 Then two Vandois, answering a call made in their own tongue, 
 left their ranks, came to throw themselves in the arms of the- 
 French, their real countrymen. 
 
 But at the same instant, two pistol shots from the windows cf 
 the chateau struck the deserters, in the arms even of their new 
 friends. 
 
 The Swiss officers, excellent shots, hunters of the chamois and 
 elk, found this means of cutting short desertion. 
 
 This had made, as might be understood, the Swiss even more 
 serious. 
 
 As for the men who had just been introduced in the court, armed 
 with old pistols, guns, and broken pikes, less protected than if 
 they had none, they were strange peroursors of a revolution; such, 
 however, as are always seen at the head of all great movements, 
 who laughingly run over the abyss that is to ingulf a throne — 
 often more than a throne — a monarchy. 
 
 The cannoniers went over to them. The National Guard ap- 
 peared ready to do the same; they tried to persuade the Swiss to 
 follow suit. 
 
 They did not notice that the time had flown. Their chief, 
 Pitou, had given M. Roederer till ten o'clock, and it was a quarter 
 past. 
 
 They amused themselves; why should they count the minutes? 
 
 One of them, without a pike, without a gun, without a sword, 
 with only a branch of a tree, said to his neighbor: 
 
 " Suppose 1 fish for one of the Swiss?" 
 
 " Fish for himl" said another. 
 
 And the man hooked the Swiss Guard with his stick, and drevr 
 him toward him. 
 
 The Swiss Guard made every appearance of resisting, but ihat 
 •was all. 
 
 " I have a bite!" cried the fisherman. 
 
 " Now then, go gently I" cried the other. 
 
 The man with the stick drew him in gently, and the Swiss Guard' 
 
182 ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 passed from the vestibule into the court, as a fish passes from the 
 river to the beach. 
 
 Then arose exclamaHons and great bursts of laughter. 
 
 "Another! another!" came from all sides. The fisherman 
 Bshed for another Swiss Guard, whom he brought in as he had the 
 first. After the second came the third, then a tourth, then a fifth. 
 
 All Ihe regiment would have passed thus if they had not heard 
 the words: " Take aim." 
 
 Oa seeing the guns lowered with that regular and mechanical 
 noise that accompanies the movements of regular troops, one of 
 the assailants — there always are under similar circumstances some 
 senseless creature to give the signal for a massacre — one of the as- 
 sailants fired his pistol at one of the chateau windows. During the 
 short interval separating the words, "take aim," and "fire," 
 Pitou comprehended all that happened. 
 
 " To the ground!" he cried to his men; " to the ground, every 
 one of you, or you are dead men!" And, adding example to pre- 
 ■cept, he threw himself to the ground. 
 
 Before his advice could be followed, the word " Fire!" resound- 
 ed through the vestibule, which filled with noise and smoke, with, 
 the crashing of balls, as if a mortar had exploded. 
 
 The compact mass — the greater part ot the column, perhaps, had 
 ■entered the court — the compact mass wavered like a meadow swept 
 by the wind, then like a meadow mown by the reaper they fell mo- 
 tionless on one another. 
 
 Even the last row was hardly left intact, but they fled, passing 
 between the fires of two lines and the barracks; lines and barracks 
 fired alternately. The sharpshooters picked out their men, as if 
 there was no such thing as a thick mass of men between. 
 
 The curtain of smoke rose; four hundred men were stretched on 
 the pavement, of which three hundred were killed outright. 
 
 The hundred others, more or less mortally wounded, groaned, 
 tried to rise, fell again, giving certain portions of this field of 
 bodies the appearance of a dying wave frightful to witness. 
 
 Then, little by little, they became exhausted, except some ob- 
 stinate ones, who refused to die, and all became immovable. 
 
 The refugees spread through the Carroussel, separated, some on 
 the bridge, others on the Rue St. Honore, crying, " Murderl They 
 are killing us!" 
 
 Near the Pont Neuf they met the main array. The main army 
 was commanded by two men on horseback, foUowed by a man on 
 foot, who seemed also an officer in command. 
 
 " Ah!" cried the refugees, recognizing in one of the two cava- 
 liers the biazier of the Faubourg St. Antoine, conspicuous for his 
 colossal stature, while his enormous Flemish horse served as a 
 pedestal. " Oh! Monsieur Santerre, helpl help! they are killing 
 our brothers!" 
 
 " Where is that?" demanded Santerre. 
 
 " The Swiss! they fired upon us while we were with them 
 cheek by jowl." 
 
 Santerre turned toward the second cavalier. 
 
 " What do jrou think of that, sir?" he asked. 
 
 *' By my faith!" said the second cavalier, a small fair man, witk 
 
ANDKEB DE TATEENBT. 183 
 
 » Terj; itrongGennan accent, wearing his hair cut close; " I think 
 there is a military proverb which says, ' The soldier must go where 
 he hears the noise of battle.' Let us go to the battlel" 
 
 " But," said the man on foot to one of the survivors, " you had 
 with you a young officer; 1 don't see him." 
 
 " He was the first to fall, and it was a pity, for he was a brave 
 young man." 
 
 " Yes, he was a brave young mani" he replied, growing white. 
 " Yes, a brave young man, and he must be bravely avenged! 
 Forward, Monsieur Santerrel" 
 
 "I think, my dear Billot," said Santerre, "in so serious aa 
 aflair we must not only call to our aid courage, but experience." 
 
 "That is so." 
 
 " Consequently, I propose to remit the generalship to Citizen. 
 Westerman, who is really a general, and a friend of Danton. I 
 ■will be the first one to offer to obey him as a simple soldier." 
 
 " Anything you like," said Billot, " provided we march whh- 
 out losing an instant." 
 
 "Do you accept the command. Citizen Westerman?" asked 
 Santerre. 
 
 " I accept," replied the Prussian, laconically. 
 
 " In that case, give your orders." 
 
 " Forward!" cried Westerman. 
 
 And the immense column, stopped for a moment, started again. 
 At the moment the advance guard penetrated into the Carroussel 
 by the wicket of the Eue I'Echelle and by the bridge, eleven 
 o'clock sounded from the Tuileries. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 FROM NINE o'clock TILL NOON. 
 
 On re-entering the chateau, Roederer found the valet de chambre 
 was looking for him. He himself was looking for the queen, 
 feeling that at that moment she was the true strength of the chS- 
 teau. 
 
 He was therefore glad to hear she was waiting for him in the 
 confined spot, where she could speak to him alone, without inter- 
 ruption. He ascended after Weber, and found the queen sitting 
 by the fire-place, her back toward the window. 
 
 As the door opened she turned quickly. 
 
 " Well, sir?" she asked, without any positive aim in her ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " The queen did me the honor to send forme," replied Roe- 
 derer. 
 
 " Yes, sir; you are one of the first magistrates of the city; your 
 presence in the chateau is a shield for royalty. Sent for you to as- 
 certain what we have to hope or to fear." 
 
 " To hope, very little, madame; to fear, everything! The peo- 
 ple are decidedly marching against the chateau. Thei.' advance 
 guard is in the Carroussel, and is parleying with the Swiss Guard." 
 
 " Parleying, sir? But I gave the Swiss orders to repulse them 
 fcy force. Are they inclined to disobey?" 
 
 " No, madame; the Swiss will die at their post flist" 
 
184 ANDRES DE TATEBNET. 
 
 " And we at ours, sir; as the Swiss are soldiers in our gervicf^ 
 so we are soldiers in the cause of royalty." 
 
 Roederer was silent. 
 
 "Am I unfortunate enough not to agree with you?" said th« 
 queen. 
 
 " Madame," said Roederer, " I have no opinion unless your maj- 
 esty does me the honor to ask it." 
 
 " Then I ask your opinion." 
 
 " Very well, madame; I came to tell you, with the earnestness 
 of a convinced man, that if the king remains in the Tuileries he is 
 lost." 
 
 " But, if we can not remain in the Tuileries, where will we go?" 
 cried the queen, raising herself in fright. 
 
 " There is only one asylum left at this time for the royal family," 
 said Roederer. 
 
 " Which is that, sir?" 
 
 " The National Assembly." 
 
 " What did you say, sir?" demanded the queen, opening her 
 «yes and looking as if she did not understand. 
 
 " The National Assembly," repealed Roederer. 
 
 " And do you think, sir, that I would ask anything from those 
 people?" 
 
 Roederer said nothing. 
 
 " Enemies on all sides, it seems, sir; but I prefer those who at- 
 tack us to our face to those who would destroy us behind our backs 
 and in the dark." 
 
 " Very well, madame, you must decide; go and fight the peo- 
 ple, or begin and retreat toward the assembly." 
 
 " Begin a retreat? But are we so deprived of defenders that we 
 are forced to retreat before firing a gun?" 
 
 " Before you decide, madame, suppose you hear the opinion of 
 some competent man, and know just what you have to depend 
 upon?" 
 
 " Weber, go and find one of the officers of the chateau; either 
 Monsieur Maillard or Monsieur de la Chesnaye, or " — she intended 
 to say — " or the Comte de Charny," but she stopped. 
 
 Weber went on. 
 
 " If your majesty will go to the window, she can see for her- 
 self." 
 
 The queen, with a visible repugnance, took several steps toward 
 the window, opened the curtains, and saw that the Carroussel and 
 the Cour Royale were filled with men armed with pikes. 
 
 " My Godl" she cried, " what are these men doing?" 
 
 " As 1 told your majesty, they are parleying." 
 
 " But they have entered the court of the chateau." 
 
 " I hoped to gain time, to give your majesty an opportunity of 
 making a decision. " 
 
 At that moment the door opened. 
 
 "Enter! enter I" cried the queen, without knowing whom she 
 -was addressing. 
 
 Oharny entered. 
 
 " Here I am, madame," he said. 
 
ANDKEB DE TAVERNET. 185 
 
 . " Ahl it is youl then I have nothing to ask you; for you have 
 told me all that was left for us to do." 
 
 " But, besides, sir," asked Roederer, " there remains for you?" 
 
 " To die!" said the queen. 
 
 " You see what I propose is preferable, madame. " 
 
 " Oh, as I live, 1 don't know!" said the queen. 
 
 " What do you propose, sir?" asked Charny. 
 
 " To conduct the king to the assembly." 
 
 " That is not death," said Charny; " but the shame of itl" 
 
 " You hear, sir!" said the queen. 
 
 " Is there nothing else?" said Rcederer. 
 
 Weber advanced. 
 
 " I know very little," he said, " and I know it is very bold in 
 me to speak in this presence; but perhaps my devotion inspires me. 
 How would it answer to ask the assembly to send a deputation 
 to watch over the king's safety?" 
 
 " Very well; so be it," said the queen; " to that I will consent. 
 Monsieur de Charny, if you approve of that measure, go, 1 pray 
 you, and submit it to the king." 
 
 Charny bowed and went out. 
 
 " Follow the comte, Weber, and bring me the king's answer." 
 
 Weber left behind the comte. 
 
 Charny's presence, cold, grave, devoted, was for the queen's, as 
 ■well as for the woman, such a cruel reproach, that she never saw 
 lim without trembling. 
 
 Perhaps she had a presentiment that something terrible was 
 about taking place. 
 
 Weber re-entered. 
 
 " The king agrees, madame," he said, " and Messieurs Cham- 
 pion and Dejoly have this moment gone to the assembly to carry 
 his majesty's request." 
 
 " But look there!" said the queen. 
 
 " What, madame?" said Rcederer. 
 
 " What are they doing there?" 
 
 The besiegers were occupied in fishing the Swiss. 
 
 Roederer looked, but before he could form an idea as to what 
 was taking place, a pistol-shot was heard, followed by a more 
 formidable discharge. 
 
 The chateau trembled as if shaken to its foundation. 
 
 The queen screamed, recoiled a step, then, led by curiosity, re- 
 turned to the window. 
 
 " Oh! see! see!" she cried, with eyes on fire, " they fly! they are 
 disordered! What do you say now, Monsieur Roederer, that we 
 have no other resource than the assembly?" 
 
 "Will your majesty be kind enough to follow me?" said Roe- 
 derer. 
 
 "See! seel" continued the queen, " see the Swiss make a sortie 
 *nd pursue them! Oh! the Carroussel is free! Victory! victory!" 
 
 " In pity for yourself, madame," said Rcederer, " follow me." 
 
 The queen turned and followed the syndic. 
 
 " Where is the king?" asked Roederer of the first valet de cham- 
 ire they met. 
 
 " The king is in the Louvre gallery," he replied. 
 
186 ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 " Thfttfe Just where 1 wish to conduct your majesty," said R<»- 
 derer. 
 
 The queen followed without an idea of her guide's intention. 
 
 The gallery was barricaded nearly its entire length, divided into 
 three divisions. Two or three hundred men defended it, who 
 could retire into the Tuileries by means of a drawbridge, which, 
 kicked by the last refugee, would fall to the ground below. 
 
 The king was at a window with Messieurs Chesnaye, Maillordot, 
 and five or six genllemen. He held a field-glass in his hand. 
 
 The queen rushed to the window, and needed no glass to see 
 what was taking place. 
 
 The army of the insurrection approached wide and long, entire- 
 ly covering the quay, and extending as far as the eye could reach. 
 
 By the Pont Neuf the Faubourg 8t. Marceau joined the Fau- 
 bourg St. Antoine. 
 
 All the clocks of Paris frequently rang the tocsin, the clanging 
 of Notre Dame with its deep tones completely hushing the other 
 bells. 
 
 A burning sun glistened in arrows of light on the cannon, the 
 guns, the lances. 
 
 Then, like the distant muttering of the storm, was heard the 
 hollow roll of the artillery. 
 
 " Well, madame?" said Roederer. 
 
 About fifty people were gathered behind the king. The queen 
 glanced over the crowd that surrounded her— thai look went to 
 their very hearts — as if to see what devotion was still left for her. 
 
 Then, mute, poor woman, she seized her boy, and not knowing 
 ■whom to address, nor whom to pray to, she showed him to the 
 Swiss otBcers, to the officers of the National Guard, to the gentle- 
 men. It was not a queen demanding a throne for her heir; it was. 
 a mother in distress in the midst of a mob, crving, " My child! 
 Who will save my child?" During this time the king talked in 
 low tones with the syndic of the Commune, and Roederer repealed 
 to him what he had already told the queen. 
 
 Two distinct groups formed around these august personages: 
 the king's group, cold, sedate, composed of counselors who seemed 
 to approve of Roederer's advice; the queen's group, large, aident, 
 enthusiastic, composed of the flower of chivalry, waving their hats, 
 their swords, raising their hands toward the dauphin, kissing on 
 their knees the queen's robes, swearing to die for both. 
 
 In this enthusiasm the queen felt a little encouraged. 
 
 At thaf moment the group around the king mingled with those 
 around the queen, and the king, with his usual impassaliility, 
 found himself the center of the mixed groups. That impassability 
 was perhaps ccnrage. 
 
 The queen seized two pistols from M. Maillordot's belt — the 
 commander of the Swiss Guaid. 
 
 " Go, sire!" she said; " this is the moment to show yourself, or 
 to perish in the midst of your friends!" 
 
 "This movement of the queen carried enthusiasm to its height; 
 everybody waited for the king's response with open mouth »nd 
 auspended breath. 
 
 ▲ king, young, handsome, courageous, with glowing eyes and 
 
ANDRES DE TATEENEY. 187 
 
 trembling lips, throwing himself, those two pistols in his hands, in 
 the midst of the combat, could perhaps have won the fickle god- 
 dess Fortune. They waited, they hoped. 
 
 The king took the pistols from the hand of the queen and re- 
 turned them to M. Maillardot. 
 Then turning toward the syndic of the Commune: 
 " You say, sir, that I must go to the assembly?" he asked. 
 " Sire," replied Roederer, bowing, " that is my advice." 
 " Come, gentlemen," said the king, " there is nothing more t< 
 be done here." 
 
 The queen sighed, took the daupliin in her arms, and addressinf 
 Mesdames de Lamballe and de Tourzel: 
 
 " Come, ladies," she said, " as the king also wishes it." 
 It was as much as to say to the others: " I abandon you." 
 Mme. Campan waited for the queen in the corridor wliere s? 
 
 The queen saw her. " Wait in my apartment." she said; '' I 
 will join you there, or I will send for you to go — God knows 
 where I" 
 
 Then lower, leaning toward Mme. Campan: " Oh!" she mar- 
 mured, " for one walk by the sea-shore." 
 
 The abandoned gentlemen looked at one another, as if to say: 
 " Is it for such a king we have come here tri die?" 
 
 M. de la Chesnaye understood that mtite interrogation. 
 
 " No, gentlemen," he said; " it is for royalty itself! Man is 
 but mortal; principle immortal!" 
 
 As for the unfortunate women, and there were a great many, 
 some of them absent from the chateau made unheard-of 
 efforts to enter; as for these women, they were completely terri- 
 :fied. One would have said more to the marble statues placed in 
 the corridors and down the staircase. 
 
 At last the king thought of those he was leaving. 
 
 At the foot of the staircase he stopped. 
 
 " But," said he, " what will become of every one I am leaving 
 here?" 
 
 " Sire," replied Rcederer, " nothing will be easier than for them 
 to follow you; they are in civilian's clothes, and can pass by the 
 garden." 
 
 " That is true," said the king. " Let us go!" 
 
 "Ah! Monsieur de Charny," said the queen, perceiving the 
 comte, who was waiting at the door of the garden, with drawn 
 sword, " why did I not listen to you yesterday when you advised 
 me to fly?" 
 
 The comte did not answer; but approaching the king: 
 
 " Sire." he said, " will the king take my hat, and give me his, 
 that he may not be recognized?" 
 
 " Ah! you are right," said the king, " on account of the white 
 leather. Thank you, sir " 
 
 And he took Charny's hat and gave him his own. 
 
 " Do you think, sir," said the queen, " the king runs any dan- 
 ^r in this walk?" 
 
 " You see, madame, if danger exists, I have done all I caa i» 
 «Uter it from reaching the king." 
 
18S ANDKEE DE TAVEENEY. 
 
 "Sire," asked the Swiss captain charged with protecting tli«. 
 king's passage through the garden, " is your majesty ready?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the liing, putting Charny's hat on his head. 
 
 " Then," said the captain, " let us go!" 
 
 The king advanced in the midst of two files of Swiss Guard, 
 ■who marched with him. 
 
 Suddenly loud cries were heard at the right. The door opening: 
 on the Tuileries near the cafe of Flora had been forced; a crowd 
 of people, knowing the king was going to the assembly, precipi- 
 tated themselves in the garden. 
 
 A man who seemed in charge of this band, carried as a banner 
 a head on a pike. The captain halted and carried arms. 
 
 " Monsieur de Charny," said the queen, " if you see me about 
 to fall into the hands of these wretches, you will kill me, will yoa 
 not?" 
 
 " I could not promise that, madame," said Charny. 
 
 " Why not?" cried the queen. 
 
 "Because, before a single hand could touch you I would be 
 dead." 
 
 " Hold," said the king; "is not that poor Monsieur Mandat's 
 head? I recognize it I" 
 
 The band of assassins did not dare to approach nearer, but they 
 poured insults on the king and queen; five or six shots were fired; 
 one of the Swiss fell dead, another was woimded. The captain 
 ordered the men to arm; they obeyed. 
 
 "Do not fire, sir!" said Charny, "or perhaps none of us will 
 reach the assembly alive." 
 
 " That is true, sir," said the captain. " Port arms!" 
 
 The soldiers carried arms, and they continued to advance, cut- 
 ting diagonally across the garden. 
 
 The first heats of summer had dried the lilacs; though not yet 
 the end of August, the yellow leaves strewed the ground. 
 
 The little dauphin rolled them under his feet, and amused him- 
 self trying to push them under his sister's feet. 
 
 " Tlie leaves are falling early this year," said the king. 
 
 " Did not one of those men write, ' Royalty would not be over- 
 thrown till the fall of the leaf?' " said the queen. 
 
 " Yes, madame," replied Charny. 
 
 " What was the name of that wonderful prophet?" 
 
 "Manuel." 
 
 Then a new obstacle presented itself before the royal family; it 
 ■was a considerable group of men and women, who awaited them, 
 with menacing gestures and threatening arms, in the terrace and 
 stairs they were obliged to traverse on leaving the Tuileries garden 
 to reach the assembly. 
 
 The danger was greater as the Swiss Guard had no means of de- 
 fending the king. The captain, neverthe'iess, tried to penetratft 
 the crowd, but manifested .so much rage, Roederer cried: 
 
 " Take care, sir; you will kill the king!" 
 
 They halted, while a messenger apprised the assembly of th* 
 icing's desire to lake refuge there. 'The assembly sent a deputa- 
 tion to escort him, but the sight of the deputation redoubled the 
 iury of the multitude. 
 
ANDBEE DB TAVEKNBY. 189 
 
 They heard furious cries of " A bas vetol" "A has I'Autri- 
 chinnel" " Overthrow or death!" 
 
 The two children, understanding that It was their mother that 
 waa threatened, pressed closer to her. The little dauphin asked: 
 
 " Monsieur de Charny, why do all those men want to kill mam- 
 ma?" 
 
 A man armed with a pike cried louder than the others: "A 
 has vetol a mort I'Autrichinne," and tried to dart his pike first at 
 the queen and then at the king. 
 
 The Swiss escort little by little dwindled away; the royal family 
 had only the six gentlemen who had left the Tuileries with them, 
 M. de Charny and the deputation the assembly had sent to meet 
 them. 
 
 They had more than sixty yards to make in the midst of a com- 
 pact crowd. 
 
 It was evident they would attempt the king's, and more than aU, 
 the queen's life. 
 
 At the foot of the steps the fight began. 
 
 " Put your sword in its scabbard, sir," said Roederer to Charny, 
 ■" or i will not answer for the consequences." 
 
 Charny obeyed without a word. 
 
 The royal group was carried by the crowd, as a bark in a tem- 
 pest is carried by the waves, away from the assembly. The king 
 was obliged to repulse a man who tnrust his fist in his? face; the lit- 
 tle dauphin, almost stifled, cried and stretched forth his arms as if 
 for help. A man dashed forward, grasped him, and snatched him 
 from his mother's arms. 
 
 " Monsieur de Charny, my sonl" she cried; " in Heaven 3 
 name, save my son!" 
 
 Charny took several steps toward the man who carried the child, 
 t)ut hardly had he exposed the queen, before two or thret arms 
 were stretched toward her, and a hand seized her by the fichu that 
 covered her breast. 
 
 The queen screamed. 
 
 Charny forgot Rcederer's advice, and his sword disappeared en- 
 tirely in the body of the man who had dared to seize the queen. 
 
 The crowd howled with rage on seeing one of their number fall, 
 and hurled themselves more violently upon the group. 
 
 The women cried: 
 
 " Kill her now, the Austrian! give her to us that we may strangle 
 ierl A mort! A mort!" And twenty bare arms were stretched 
 out to seize her. But she, beside herself with grief, never thought 
 of herself, or ceased crying: 
 
 " My sonl my son!" 
 
 They had almost reached the threshold of the assembly; the 
 crowd made a last effort; they felt their prey escaping them. 
 
 Charny was so pressed upon that he could only strike with the 
 handle of his sword. He saw amid all those clinched and threat- 
 -ening hands one armed with a pistol aimed at the queen. He 
 dropped his sword, seized with his two hands the pistol, wrenched 
 it from the man who held it, and discharged it in the heart of the 
 sian next to him. 
 
 Tlie man, killed outright, fell. 
 
190 ANDEEE DB TAVERNET. 
 
 Charny stooped to pick up his sword. 
 
 Tlie sword was already in the hands of a man who was trying ta 
 strike the queen. 
 
 Charny threw himself upon the assassin. 
 
 At that instant the queen entered, with the king's suite, the 
 vestibule of the assembly; she was saved. 
 
 It is true, the door was closed behind her; on the very step of 
 the door Charny fell, struck at the same time on the head with an 
 iron bar, and a thrust from a pike in his breast. 
 
 "Like my brothers!" he murmured as he fell. "Poor An- , 
 dreel" ' 
 
 Charny's destiny was accomplished, as was that of Isidore, as 
 was that of George. The queen's wab still to be accomplished. 
 
 At the same moment a frightful discharge of artillery announced 
 that the insurgents and the defenders of the chateau had begun 
 firing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 FROM NOON TO THKEB O'CLOCK. 
 
 For an instant — as the queen had thought in seeing the flight of 
 the advance euard — the Swiss general believed they were flghting- 
 the army itself, and that it had fled. 
 
 They had killed nearly four hundred men in the Cour Royale, 
 a hundred and fifty or two hundred in the Carroussel; they had 
 also secured seven pieces of cannon. As far as they could see, there 
 Was not one man left to defend himself. 
 
 A little isolated battery, established on the terrace of a house op- 
 posite the Swiss Guard, continued its fire, notwithstanding 
 efforts were made to silence it. As they, however, considered 
 themselves masters of the situation, they were about taking meas- 
 ures to subdue the battery, cost what it might, when they heard 
 from the side of the quay the roll of drums and the more fore- 
 boding rumble of artillery. 
 
 It was the army the king had seen, with his glasses, from the 
 Louvre gallery. 
 
 At the same time the rumor spread that the king had left the 
 chateau, and had gone to demand an asylum at the assembly. 
 
 It would be diflacult to describe the effect produced by this news, 
 even among the most devoted royalists. 
 
 The king, who had promised to die at the royal post, deserting 
 it, and going over to the enemy, or at any rate giving himself up 
 as a prisoner without even fighting. 
 
 From that time the National Guard considered themselves ab- 
 solved from their oath, and nearly all retired. 
 
 Several gentlemen followed, thinking it useless to perish in a 
 cause that they themselves considered lost. 
 
 The Swiss alone remained, silent, somber, but slaves to dis- 
 cipline. 
 
 From the terrace of the Pavilion of Flora, and from the win- 
 dows of the Louvre gallery, they saw those heroic burghers com- 
 ing, that no army yet had been able to resist, and that in one dajr 
 
ANDREB DB TAVEENET. 191 
 
 iad overturned the Bastile, that fortress whose feet had heen rooted 
 in the soil for over four centuvies. 
 
 The assailants had a plan; they supposed the king in the cha- 
 teau, and inlendsd to surround it to take him. 
 
 The i(.liuan following the quay on the left side of the river con- 
 sequently received the order to force the gate hordcring on the 
 veater; those who ariived by the Rue St. Honore were to force the 
 door of the Feuillanis, while the column on the right side, com- 
 manded by Westerman, having under him Santerre and Billot, 
 were to attack them in front. 
 
 This last filed suddenly down by all the gates of the Carroussel, 
 singing " (^a ira." 
 
 The Marseillais led the head of the column, dragging in their 
 midst two small pieces of four-pounders, fully charged. 
 
 Nearly two hundred Swiss were lighting on the Carroussel. 
 
 The insurgents marched directly at them. The moment the lat- 
 ter lowered their guns to fire, they unmasked their cannon and 
 fired fiist. 
 
 The soldiers discharged their guns, but retired immediately into 
 the chateau, leaving in their turn thirty dead, besides the wounded, 
 on the pavement of the Carroussel. 
 
 Then the insurgents, having at their head the federate Marseil- 
 lais and Bretons, rushed upon the Tuileries, carrying both courts; 
 the Cour Royale, where there were so many dead (the center court), 
 and the Court of the Princes, next to the Pavilion of Flora and the 
 quay. 
 
 Billot wanted to fight where Pitou had been killed; he hoped the 
 poor boy had only been wounded, and that he could return in the 
 Cour Royale the service Pitou had rendered him in the Champ de 
 Mars. He entered among the first in the center court; the odor of 
 blood was such that one could have believed it to be an abbatoir; 
 it exhaled from this pile of bodies like smoke. The sight, the 
 odor, exasperated the assailants; they precipitated tJismselves to- 
 •ward the chateau. Even if they had wished to return, it was im- 
 possible; the masses incessantly pressing in by the gates of the 
 Carroussel, much narrower then than now, pushed them forward. 
 But, it must be understood, though the fagade of the chateau re- 
 sembled fireworks, no one thought of taking any steps for the de- 
 fense of the back. Then, when once entered in the center court, 
 the insurgents, like those whose blood they marched in up to their 
 ankles, found themselves between two fires, the firing from th» 
 vestibule of the clock and the double row of barracks. 
 
 First, they must extinguish the fire from the barracks. 
 
 The Marseillais threw themselves upon them like bull-dogs on 
 their prey: but they could not demolish them with their hands; 
 they wanted levers, mattocks, and pickaxes. 
 
 Billot asked for cartridges. 
 
 ■Westerman comprehended his lieutenant's plan. 
 
 They brought cartridges with matches. 
 
 At the risk of setting off the powder in their hands, the Mar 
 seillais set fire to Hie cartridges and threw Ihem into the barracks. 
 
 The barracks blazed; their defenders were obliged to evacuate 
 them and take refuge in the vestibule. 
 
193 ANDKEE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 There, it was fire against fire, bayonet against bayonet. 
 
 Suddenly Billot felt himself pushed from behind; he turned, 
 supposing it to be an enemy; but on seeing who had hold of him, 
 he cried with joy. It was Pitoul Pitou unrecognizable, ccered 
 with blood from head to foot, but Pilou safe and sound. Pitou 
 without a single wound. 
 
 At the moment he saw the guns of the Swiss lowered, as we 
 have said, he cried, " To the ground!" and set the example him- 
 self. 
 
 But this example his companions did not have the time to follow. 
 
 The fusillade, like an immense scythe, mowed down three quar- 
 ters of that human crop which had taken twent3'-five years t» 
 ripen, and which in a second was mowed down and cast away. 
 Pitou wns literally covered with bodies, then bathed with th» 
 overflowing crimson tide. 
 
 Notwithstanding Pitou's disagreeable situation, stifled with the 
 weight of the dead, bathed in their blood, he resolved not to utter 
 a sound, and wait for a favorable moment to give a sign of life. 
 
 He had waited for that favorable moment for more than an 
 hour. 
 
 Every moment of that hour seemed an hour. At length, when 
 he heard his companions' cries of victory, and Billot's voice call- 
 ing him, he thought the time propitious. 
 
 As Encelades rages under Mount Etna, he tossed aside the canopy 
 of bodies that covered him, and standing up, recognized Billot in 
 the front ranks; he rushed toward him, and pressed him to his 
 heart, without caring which side he was on. 
 
 A discharge from the Swiss, which laid a dozen men low, re- 
 called Billot and Pitou to their situation. 
 
 Six hundred feet of batteries blazed away from the right to the 
 left of the central court. 
 
 The weather was heavy; there was not a breath of air; the smoke 
 from their own firing, and the fusillading, weighiL,^ on the com- 
 batants like a leaden cover, it filled the vestibule of the chateau; 
 all the front, every window of which belched forth fire, was cov- 
 ered with a veil of smoke; they could not see where to aim, or if it 
 had been correct. 
 
 Pitou, Billot, the Marseillais, the head of the column, marched in 
 advance, and, notwithstanding the smoke, penetrated into the ves- 
 tibule. They found themselves before a wall of bayonets. It was 
 the Swiss Guard. 
 
 It was then the Swiss began their retreat — a heroic retreat — in 
 •which, slep by step, foot by foot, leaving one of their rank on each 
 stair, the battalion slowly ascended. 
 
 In the evening they counted forty-five bodies on the stairs. 
 
 All at once, throughout the apartments and corridois of the chfl- 
 teau, this cry was heard: 
 
 " 'The king orders the Swiss to cease firingi" 
 
 It was two o'clock. 
 
 What was taking place at the assembly, from whence proceeded 
 the order to cease tiring? an order which possessed the double ad- 
 Tantage of diminishing the exasperation of the vanquishers and 
 covering the vanquished vdth honor. 
 
ANDRBE DE TATERNET. 183 
 
 The moment the door of the Feuillants closed behind the queen, 
 Just as 6he passed the threshold, she saw iron bars, bayonets and 
 pikes menacing Charny; she screamed, and held out her arms to- 
 ward the door; but diawn to the side of the hall by those who ac- 
 companied her, at the same time her maternal instinct telling her 
 before all things to follow her child, she entered the assembly in 
 the king's suite. 
 
 There a great joy awaited her; she saw her son sitting on the 
 president's <iesk; the man who had brought him placed his red 
 bonnet triumphantly on the young prince's head, and cried joy- 
 fully: 
 
 " I saved my master's soni Long live the dauphin!" 
 
 But, her sonsafe, the queen's heart returned to Charny. 
 
 " Gentlemen," she said, " one of my bravest officers, one of my 
 most faithful servitors, is at the door in danger of his life; I ask 
 help for him." 
 
 Five or six deputies obeyed that voice. 
 
 The king, the queen, the royal family, and the persons who ac- 
 companied them, directed their steps toward the seats destined for 
 the ministers, and took their places. 
 
 The assembly had received them, not from etiquette due crowned 
 heads, but from respect to misfortune. 
 
 Before taking his seat, the king motioned that he wanted to 
 speak. 
 
 They were silent. 
 
 " I came here." he said, " to prevent a great crime. I thought 
 I could not be safer than in your midbt. " 
 
 " Sire," replied Vergniaud, who presided, " you can depend on 
 the stability of the National Assembly; its me i. hers have taken 
 the oath to die in defending the rights of the people and the con- 
 etituted authorities," 
 
 The king took his seat. 
 
 At that moment a frightful fusillade was heard almr.st at the 
 ■very doors of the riding-schoc.l; (he National Guard iiiiLi;liiig with 
 the insurgents, fired on the terrace of the Feuilluuit, upon llic cap- 
 tain and the Swiss soldiers, who had escorted tlje rcyal family. 
 
 An officer of the National Guard, who willjout doubt liad lost 
 his head, entered, all excitement, never ceasing till he l■e^;ch^d the 
 bar to cry; " The Swiss! the Swiss! we are attacked!" 
 
 The assembly thought for an instant that the victorious Swiss 
 had lepulsed the insurrection ana were marching on tlie riding- 
 school 10 recover their king; for, at that time, I'e it known, Lnuia 
 XVI. was more the king of the Swiss than of the French. The 
 hall rose with a spontaneous, unanimous movement, p.iid the repre- 
 sentatives of the people, spectators in the tribunals. National 
 Guards, secretaries, every one, stretched forth their hands crying, 
 " Whatever happens, we swear to live and die fiee!" 
 
 The king and the royal family had nothing to do with that oath; 
 •0 they remained seated. That cry, uttered by three thousand 
 mouths, passed like a thunder-storm over their heads. 
 
 The error did not last long, but that moment of enthusiaew wm 
 Sublime. 
 
 i. quarter of an hour after, another cry was heard. 
 1 
 
3S4 AM'DBBB DB TATBENET. 
 
 " The chStean is taken 1 the insurgents are marching on the a* 
 aembly to annihilate the king. 
 
 Then those same men, who in their hatred of royalty swore to 
 die freemen, rose with the same excess of enthusiasm and swore 
 to defend the king to the dealh. 
 
 At that moment they summoned, in the name of the assembly, 
 the Swiss captain Durler to put down his arms. 
 
 " I serve the king, and not the assembly," he said. " Where is 
 She king's order?" 
 
 The messengers from the assembly had no written order. 
 
 "I hold my commission from the king," said Durler; "I will 
 «aly return it to him." 
 
 They took him almost by force to the assembly. . He was black- 
 ened wilh powder, crimsoned with b'ood. 
 
 " Sirel" he said, " they want me to lay down my arms. Is it 
 the king's order?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Louis XVI.; "give up your arms to the Na- 
 tional Guard. I do not want brave men like you to perish." 
 
 Durler bent his head, sighed, and went out; but at the door ho 
 aaid he would only obey a written order. 
 
 Then the king took a paper and wrote: 
 
 " The king orders the Swiss to lay down their arms and retire 
 3nto their barracks." 
 
 It was that cry which was heard in the rooms, corridors, and 
 atairways of the Tuileries. 
 
 As that order restored some tranquillity to the assembly, the 
 {president rang the bell. 
 
 " Let us resume our session," he said. 
 
 But a representative rose and stated that an article of the Con- 
 stitution prohibited deliberations in the presence of the king. 
 
 " That is true, " said Louis XVI. ; " but where will you put us?" 
 
 " Sire," said the president, " we have the office of the paper, the 
 ' Logographer, ' to offer you. It is empty. The paper has ceased 
 to appear." 
 
 " That will do," said the king; " we are ready to go." 
 
 " Officers!" said Vergniaud, conduct the king to the office of 
 the ' Logographer.' " 
 
 The oracers hastened to obey. 
 
 The king, the queen, and the royal family undertook to leave 
 ■fihe hall the same way they had entered, and found themseives in 
 the corridor. 
 
 " Wliat is this on the ground?" asked the queen. 
 
 They told her, blood. 
 
 The officers did not answer; if those stains '■"ere blood, perhap* 
 they were ignorant whence they came. The stains grew larger and 
 more frequent as they approached the office. 
 
 Then, to spare the queen's feelings, the king quickened his stepi^ 
 And opening the office door himself, said: 
 
 " Enter, madame. " 
 
 The queen pressed forward; but putting her foot on the thresh- 
 (Mid of the door, she uttered a cry of horror, and with her 1 
 <aliier her eyes threw herself back. 
 
AKSBEE DE TAYEBNET. 19S 
 
 The presence of the stains were explained; a corpM had bee«. 
 laid in the office. 
 
 It was this corpse — that the queen, in her haste, had almoet 
 struck with her foot — that had made her scream and throw herself 
 back. 
 
 "Stop!" said the king, in almost the same tones in which he 
 had said, " It is poor Monsieur Mandat's headl" — " StopJ it is the 
 corpse of that poor Comte de Charny." 
 
 It was, indeed, the corpse of the comte, that the deputies had 
 4eized from the hands of his murderers, and had ordered to be 
 placed in the oflBce of the " Logographer, " never supposing that a 
 few minutes after the royal family would go there. 
 
 They carried away the corpse, and the royal family entered. 
 
 They wanted to wash or wipe the stains away, for the floor wa» 
 covered with blood; but the queen made a sign of opposition, and 
 "vas the first to take her place. No one saw her break the strings 
 of her shoes, and put her trembling feet in contact with that blood 
 that still flowed. 
 
 " Oh!" she murmured, " Charny! Chamyl why does not my 
 blood flow here to the last drop, to mingle in eternity with thine I 
 Three o'clock struck. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 FROM THRKB TO SIX O'CLOCK. 
 
 We abandoned the ch§,teau when the hall in the middle was 
 forced, and the Swiss retreated step by step as far as the king's- 
 apartments, when a voice cried through the rooms and corridors^ 
 " Order the Swiss to lay down their arms!" 
 
 This chapter is probably the last we shall write about this terri- 
 ble epoch; as the recital advances, we leave this ground never to 
 return. For this reason we place this eventful day before our 
 reader's eyes with all its details, without any hatred, malice, or 
 aforethought, without any reference to party. 
 
 The reader has entered Cour Koyale in the suite of the Mar- 
 selllais; he has followed Billot in the midst of flame and smoke; 
 he has mounted with Pitou, that bleeding specter rising from the 
 dead, each step of the staircase on whose top we left him. 
 
 From this moment the Tuileries were taken. 
 
 "Who was the somber genius who presided at the victory? 
 
 The anger of the people, would be the answer. 
 
 Yes, no doubt; but who directed that anger? 
 
 A man whom we have but just glanced at — a Prussian officer oa 
 a, small black horse by the side of that giant Santerre on his colos- 
 sal Flemish horse — the Alsatian, Westerman. 
 
 Who was this man, that, like a star, only made himself visibla 
 in the midst of the tempest? 
 
 One of those men whom God hides in His storehouse of destiny — 
 •whom He does not bring out of obscurity till He needs him — till the 
 /lOur has struck. 
 
 His name was Westerman, the sleeping lion. 
 
 Who invented him? who originated him? who was the mediatoB 
 between him and Godt 
 
186 ANDKEE DE TAVEKNET. 
 
 Who had told this brewer, that giant cut out of a block of ma- 
 terial clay, that he must give a heart to that war where Titans wera 
 to dethrone a God? Who completed Santerre with Westerman? 
 Danton. 
 
 Where did that terrible tribune look for this conqueror? In a. 
 sewer, a sink, in a prison at St. Lazare? 
 
 Westerman had been accused, but not yet sentenced, of making 
 counterfeit money, and was consequently arrested. 
 
 Danton needed for the work of the 10th of August a man who 
 would not turn back, because, if he turned back, he would ascend 
 the pillory. 
 
 Danton kept this mysterious prisoner in view; the day and the 
 hour he wanted him he broke his chains and his bolts with his own 
 iands, and said to the prisoner, " Gomel" 
 
 The revolution intended not only to put those above who were 
 at the bottom, but more, to put the captives at liberty, and those at 
 liberty in prison; not only free men, but the powerful of the earth, 
 the mighty, princes, kings! 
 
 Doubtless it was in this aim that Danton was so absorbed during 
 the feverish excitements that preceded the bloody sunrise of the 
 10th of August. He had the day before sown the wind; he had 
 nothing left to do — certain that he would reap the whirlwind. 
 
 The wind was Westerman, the tempest Santerre, that gigantic 
 personification of the people. 
 
 Santerre scarcely showed himself that day; Westerman did all, 
 was everywhere. 
 
 It was Westerman who directed the movement at the junction of 
 the Faubourg St. Marceau and the Faubourg St. Antoine at the 
 Pont Neuf ; it was Westerman who, mounted on his little black 
 horse, appeared at the head of the army at the gates of the Car- 
 roussel; it was Westerman who, as if about to open the door of a 
 barracli for his regiment at the end of a march, knocked with his 
 sword at the door of the Tuileries. We have seen how that door 
 was opened, how heroically the Swiss did their duty, how they 
 had accomplished their retreat without flying, how they had been 
 destroyed without being vanquished; we followed them step by 
 step up the staircase, which was covered with their dead; let ua 
 follow them into the Tuileries, which was scattered with bodies. 
 
 The moment they learned the king was about to leave the chS- 
 teau, the two or three hundred gentlemen who came to die with 
 the king met in the hall of the Queen's Guards, to ask if the king 
 was no longer there to die with those he had solemnly pledged 
 himself to — they had better die without him. 
 
 Afterward they decided, as the king had gone to the National 
 Assembly, they had better join him there. 
 
 They rallied all they Swiss the could find, twenty of the National 
 -Guards, and numbering five hundred, they descended toward the 
 carden. The passage was clo«ed by a gate called the Queen's 
 Gate; they tried the lock, but it resisted. The strongest picked up 
 a bar and succeeded in brealung it; but the opening only allowed 
 one to pass at a time. 
 
 They were thirty feet Irom the battalions posted at the Foot 
 Boyal. 
 
ANDEEE DB TAVEENET. 1&7 
 
 Two Swiss soldiers were the first to go out by the narrow pas- 
 aoge; both were killed before they had taken tour steps. 
 
 All the others passed over their bodies. 
 
 The troop was riddled with gun-shots; but as the Swiss, with 
 their brilliant uniforms, offered the easiest aim, it was at the Swiss 
 that the balls were fired; for two gentlemen killed and one 
 wounded sixty or seventy Swiss fell. The two gentlemen killed 
 were Messieurs de Carteja and De Clermont d'Amboies; the 
 wounded gentleman was M. de Viomesnil. 
 
 In marching toward the National Assembly they passed before a 
 guard-house on the terrace by the water's edge placed under the 
 trees. 
 
 The guard came out, fired on the Swiss, killing eight or ten 
 more. 
 
 The rest of the column that in forty-eight steps had lost forty- 
 eight men, tried to reach the steps of the Feuillants. 
 
 M. de Choiseul saw them from a distance, and ran to them un- 
 der cover of the firing from the PonI Royal and the Pont Tournant, 
 trying to aid them. 
 
 " To the National Assembly 1" he cried. 
 
 And thinking himself followed by the four hundred men that 
 remained, he dashed down its corridors and traversed the staircase 
 that led to the council-chamber. 
 
 On the last step he encountered Merlin. 
 
 "■What are you doing here, wretch, sword in hand?" said th« 
 deputy. 
 
 M. de Choiseul looked around; he was alone. 
 
 "Put your sword in its scabbard, and go to the king," said 
 Merlin; " I am the only one that has seen you; so no one has seen 
 you." 
 
 What had become of the troop M. de Choiseul thought was fol- 
 lowing him? 
 
 The cannon-shot and the fusillade had turned upon them like a 
 torrent of dry leaves, and had followed them to the terrace of the 
 orangery. 
 
 From the terrace of the orangery the fugitives dashed through 
 the Place Louis XV., and then toward the Garde Meuble in order 
 to gain the boulevard or the Champs Elysees. 
 
 M. de Viomesnil, eight or ten gentlemen, and five Swiss took 
 refuge in the hotel of the embassador of Venice, situated on the 
 Rue St. Florentine, whose door was open. These were saved. 
 
 The rest of the column tried to reach the Champs Elysees. 
 
 Two discharges of cartridges from the cannon hit the foot of thft 
 statue of Louis XV. and broke the column in three divisions. 
 
 One fied by the boulevard, and met the gendarmerie just arriv- 
 jng with the battalion of Capucines. 
 
 They thought themselves saved. M. de Villiers, an old aid major 
 of the same gendarmerie, ran to one of the cavaliers, his arms open, 
 Ciying, " Help, friends!" 
 
 The cavalier took a pistol from his pocket and blew his brain* 
 out. 
 
 At that sight thirty Swiss and one gentleman, a ci-devant pag« 
 of the king, precipitated themselves in the Hdtel de llornne. 
 
198 ANDREE DB TAVEKNET. 
 
 There they considered what was best to be done. 
 
 The thirty Swiss thought it best to surrender themselve* prifr 
 «mers, and seeing eight sans-culottes appear, laid down their arms. 
 <crying: 
 
 " Long live the nation!" 
 
 "Ahl traitors!" said the sans-culottes: " you give yourselves up 
 because you see that you are taken. You cry ' Long live the na- 
 tion!' because you think that cry will save you! Ko; no quarter!" 
 
 At the same time two Swiss f?!l, oue struck by a blow of a pike, 
 the other by a pistol-shot. Then their heads were cut off and put 
 on top of the pikes. 
 
 The Swiss, furious at the death of their two comrades, seized 
 their guns and fired simultaneously. 
 
 Seven sans-culottes fell dead or wounded. 
 
 The Swiss dashed toward the main door to save themselves, and 
 lound them in front of them. They fell back; the cannon ad- 
 vanced; they huddled in an angle of the court; the cannon turned 
 on a pivot and discharged. 
 
 Twenty-three out of the twenty-eight were killed. 
 
 As good luck would have it, as they wailed for the smoke to 
 clear to discharge it again, a door opened behind the five Swiss 
 and the ex-page that remained. 
 
 All six precipitated themselves through the door, which closed 
 Immediately; the patriots had not seen the trap that deprived them 
 of the survivors; they thought they had killed them all, and went 
 away dragging their cannon with triumphal cries. 
 
 The second portion was composed of thirty soldiers and gentle- 
 imen; they were commanded by M. Forestier de St. Venant. In- 
 «losed on all sides at the entrance of the Champs Elys#es, their 
 chief wanted at least to die game; at the head of his thirty men, 
 •with fixed bayonets, he, sword in hand, charged three times at the 
 Ibattalion massed at the foot of the statue; in those three charges he 
 lost fifteen men. With his fifteen others he tried to pass a vacant 
 space, and gain the Champs Elysees; a discharge of musketry 
 ■killed eight men; the seven others were dispersed, pursued, and 
 <cut to pieces by the gendarmerie. 
 
 M. de St. Venant tried to find a refuge in the cafe of the em- 
 Jbassadors, when a gendarme, spurring his horse, reached a gutter 
 that separated the promenade from the principal road, and shot 
 klffi through the loins. 
 
 The third divison, composed of sixty men, had reached the 
 Champs Elysees, and tried to reach Courbevoie with that instinct 
 that pigeons have for the dove-cote, sheep for the fold. 
 
 At Courbevoie were the barracks. 
 
 •Surrounded by the gendarmerie and by the people, they were con- 
 'ducted toward the H6lel de "Ville, where they hoped to be placed in 
 security; two or three thousand fanatics, gathered on the Place de 
 Orfeve, tore them from their escort, and massacred tliera. 
 
 A young gentleman, the Chevalier Charles d'Autichamp, flying 
 from the chateau by the Rue de I'Echelle, with a pistol in each 
 liand, was stopped by two men; he killed both. The populace threw 
 themselves upon him, and dragged him to the Place de la Grfive, 
 tto be solemnly executed. But, fortunately for him, they forgot ta 
 
ANDEEE DB TAVEENET. 198P 
 
 search him; in the place of the two pistols, which he had throwia 
 away as useless, a knife remained; he opened it in his pocket, 
 waiting for an opportunity to use it. Just as they arrived at the 
 equare of the H6tel de Ville, they were murdering the sixty Swiss 
 that had been brought there; this spectacle distracted those who 
 guarded theai; he killed his nearest neighbor with l wo thrusts of 
 his knife; then, gliding through the crowd like a snake, disap- 
 peared. 
 
 The hundred men who had taken the king to the National A»- 
 ijembly, and had found a refuge at the Feuillants, weie disarmed^ 
 the five hundred whose history we have recounted, some isolated 
 fugitives, like M. Charles d'Autichamp, who was so fortunate as 
 to escape death, were the only ones who left the chateau. The rest 
 were killed in the vestibule, on the stairs, on the roof, or were mur- 
 dered in the chapel. Nine hundred bodies strewed the interior ot 
 the Tuileries. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 PROM SIX TO KINB O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING. 
 
 The people had entered the chSteau as one enters the retreat of 
 a ferocious beast; they betrayed their feelings by these cries: 
 " Death to the wolll death to the she-wolf I death to the cub!" 
 
 If they had met the king, the queen, and the dauphin, they had 
 certainly, without hesitation, thinking they were doing justice^, 
 have knocked ofE their three heads with a single blow. 
 
 Let us acknowledge that this had been happy for them. 
 
 In the absence of those whom they pursued with their cries — 
 whom they searched for even in the closets, behind the tapestries,, 
 under the couches — the vanquishers revenged themselves upon all' 
 — on things as well as men; they killed and broke with the saw* 
 immovable ferocity, these walls where St. Bartholomew had been 
 decreed, and the massacre of the Champ de Mars, calling for terri- 
 ble vengeance. 
 
 One sees we do not palliate the people; we show them, on the 
 contrary, stained and bloody as they were. 
 
 At all events, let us hasten to say the victors left the chateau with 
 red but empty hands. 
 
 Peltier, who can not be accused of partiality in favor of the 
 patriots, relates that a wine-merchant, named Mallet, carried to the 
 assembly one hundred and seventy-three gold louis, found on a. 
 priest killed at the chateau; that twenty-five robbers brought a 
 trunk full of the king's plate; that a combatant I hrew a cross of 
 St. Louis on the president's desk; that another gave up the watch, 
 of a Swiss; another a roll of due bills; another a bag of dollars;, 
 another jewels; another diamonds; another even a jewel-box be- 
 longing to Ihe queen, and ctrntaining fifteen hundred louis. 
 
 " And," ironically adds the historian, without doubting that he 
 was making all these men a magnificent eulogy — ' ' and the asseia- 
 blj expressed its regret at not knowing the names of the modest 
 citizens who had come to faithfully replace in its midst all these 
 treasures stolen from the king. " 
 
 We are not flatterers of the people; we know them; they are tb» 
 
wo AlfDKEE DE TAVEKlfET. 
 
 most ungrateful, the most capricious, the most inconstant of aS. 
 masteri; we tell, then, their crimes as wtll as tiieir virtues. 
 
 This day they were cruel; they reddened their hands with de- 
 light; this day gentlemen were tlirown living oul of tlie windows; 
 Swiss, dead, or dying, disemboweled on tlie naiis; hearis torn from 
 the breasts and pressed between the hands likp a spoHgc; heads cut 
 off, and carried on the ends of spears; this day, this pe.iple. who 
 thought it a dishonor to steal a watch or a tros.- of St. Louis, gave 
 themselves all the somber joys of vengeance and cruelly. 
 
 And nevertheless. In the midst of this massacre of the living, of 
 this profanation of the dead, still, as the satiated lion, they had 
 pity- 
 
 Mesdames Tarente, de Roche Aymon, de Ginestons, and Mile. 
 Pauline de Tourzel had remained in the Tuileries, abandoned by 
 the queen; they were in the room of Marie Antoinette. The castle 
 taken, they heard the cries of the dying, the threats of the victors, 
 the steps that came nearer, hurried, terrible, pitiless. 
 Mme. Tarente opened the door. 
 " Enter," said she; " we are but women." 
 
 The victors enter, their guns smoking, their bloody swords in 
 tbeir hands. 
 The women fall on their knees 
 
 The cut-throats had already raised their knives over them, call- 
 ing them the advisers of Mme. Veto, the confidants of the Austrian, 
 when a man with a long beard, sent by Petion, cried out from the 
 door-sill: 
 
 " Have mercy on the women; do not dishonor the nation!" 
 And they were pardoned. 
 
 Mme. Campan — to whom the queen had said, " Wait for me; I 
 will come back, or I will send for you to join me — God knows 
 where I" — waited in her room till the queen came back or sent to 
 look for her. 
 
 She herself relates that she had completely lott her wits In the 
 midst of the horrible tumult, and that, not seeing her sister, hid 
 behind some curtain, or crouched behind some furniture, she 
 thouglit lo find her in a room on the ground floor, and descended 
 liipidly to this apartment; but there she saw but two chamber-maids 
 helonging there, and a kind of a giant, who was a jester of the 
 queen s. 
 
 At tlie sight of this man, Mme. Campan, witless as she was, com- 
 iprehcnded that he, and not she, was in danger. 
 
 "Fly!" cried she; "fly, unhappy one! Ihe footmen are already 
 ;far away — fly! there is still time!" 
 
 He tried to raise himself, and fell back. Crying in a plaintive 
 voice: " Alas! I can not, I am fritjhtened to dea(%." 
 
 As he said this, a troop of drunken men, furious, bloody, ap- 
 peared on the sill, threw themselves on the jester, and cut him to 
 pieces. 
 Mme. Campan and the two women fled by a little staircase. 
 A party of cut-throals seeing these thiee women fleeing, dashed 
 on in their pursuit, and had soon reached them. 
 
 The two chamber-maids fell on their knees, breatliless, supplicat" 
 Ing the murderers, the svrord bladee between their hands. 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNEY. 201 
 
 Mme. Campan, arrested at the top of the stairs in her course, 
 Ihad felt a furious hand laid on her hack to seize her clothing; she 
 ;saw like deadly lightning the blade of a sword shine above her 
 head; she measured, notwithstanding this short instant that sepa- 
 rated life from eternity, and which, short thougu it was, confained, 
 nevertheless, a whole world of memories, when, from the foot of 
 the staircase, a voice with the accent of command ascended. 
 
 " What are you doing up there?" asked this voice. 
 
 " The devil!" replied the murderer, " what do you wart?" 
 
 " We do not kill the women, do you hear?" said again the voic« 
 from below. 
 
 Poor Mme. Campan was on her knees; already the sword waf 
 Taised over her head, already she felt the agony she was about to 
 suffer. 
 
 " Arise, jade!" said her executioner to her; " the nation pardons 
 thee." 
 
 What was the king doing during this time in the lodge of the 
 " LogographerV" The king was hungry, and asked for his dinner. 
 They brought him bread, wine, a chicken, cold meats, and some 
 fruits. 
 
 Like all the princes of the House of Bourbon, like Henry IV., 
 like Louis XIV., the king was a great eater; behind the emotions 
 of his soul, rarely betrayed by the muscles of his soft and puffy 
 face, wafched incessantly these two great needs of the body, slee.) 
 and hunger. We have seen him obliged to sleep in the cMteau, 
 we will see him obliged to eat at the assembly. 
 
 The king broke bread, and cut his chicken as if he was at thfi 
 meet at a hunt, without caring the least in (he world whose eyeii 
 saw him. 
 
 Among those eyes were two that burned, not being able to cry; 
 they were those of the queen. 
 
 She refused everything; despair sustained her. It seemed to 
 ler, when her feet were in Charny's blood, she could have remain- 
 ed there forever, and like grave flowers, witliout any other nourish- 
 ment than that from the dead. She had sufiered greatly on the 
 return from Varennes; she had suffered greatly in her captivity at 
 the Tuileries; she had suffered greatly the night before, and In that 
 journey that had just passed; but she suffered much more in look- 
 ing at the king eat. Nevertheless, the situation was serious enough 
 to destroy the appetite of any other man than Louis XVI. I 
 
 The assembly, whose protection the king sought, were in need 
 of protection themselves; they did not conceal their feebleness. 
 
 In the morning they wanted to prevent Suleau's massacre, and 
 they could not. 
 
 At two o'clock they wanted to prevent the massacre of the Swiss, 
 and they could not. 
 
 And now they were threatened by an exasperated crowd, crying: 
 "Overthrow! overthow!" 
 
 A commission assembled with closed doors. Vergniaud took 
 part in it; he gave the presidency to Guadet, that the power might 
 come from the hands of the Girondists. 
 
 The deliberations of the commissioners were short; their cou" 
 
302 ANDBEE DE TAVEBNEY. 
 
 sultation took place during the resounding echoes of f ftflillade and 
 cannon-shot. 
 
 It was Vergniaud who took the pen and wrote the act of the 
 provisory suspension of royalty. He re-entered the assembly sad 
 and cast down, trying neither to hide his sadness nor gloom. It 
 was the last pledge he could give the king o^ his respect for roy- 
 alty, as a host, for his respecting hospitality. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " 1 come in the name of an extraordinary 
 commission to present to you a very vigorous measure; but I leave 
 it to the sorrow with which you are penetrated to judge how neces- 
 sary it is for the country's safety that you adopt it immediately. 
 
 " The National Assembly, considering that the dangers of the 
 counlry have reached their height; that the evils under which thn 
 empire groans are derived principally from the defiance inspired b} 
 the conduct of the chief of the executive power, in a war under 
 taken in his name against the Constitution and the national inde- 
 pendence, that his defiance has provoked all the parties in the em- 
 pire to ask for the revocation of the authority confided in Louis 
 XVI.; nevertheless, considering that the legislative body does not 
 wish to encroach on ils proper authority by any usurpation; that 
 it can not conciliate its oath to the Constitution, and its steadfast 
 wish to save its liberty except by appealing to the sovereignty of the 
 people, 
 
 " The following motions have been adopted: 
 
 " The French people are invited to form a National Convem- 
 tion. 
 
 " The chief of the executive power is temporarily suspended 
 from ils functions. A decree will be proposed during the day for 
 the nomination of a regent for the prince royal. 
 
 " The payment of the civil list is entirely suspended. 
 
 " The king and the royal family will live within the walls of the 
 legislative body until peace is established in Paris. 
 
 " The department will prepare the Luxembourg for their resi- 
 dence under a guard of citizens." 
 
 The king listened to the decree with his usual impassability. 
 
 Then, returning toward the office of the " Logographer," and 
 addressing Vergniaud, before he retook his place as president: 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " what you are doing is not very con- 
 stitutional?" 
 
 "That is true, sir," replied Vergniaud, "only it is the sole 
 means of saving your life. If we do not grant the overthrow, they 
 will have your head." 
 
 The king shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say, " Is it pos- 
 sible?" and took his seat. 
 
 At that moment the clock above his head struck. 
 
 He counted each stroke. 
 
 Then, when the last died away: 
 
 " Nine o'clock," he said. 
 
 The decree of the assembly that the king and royal family should 
 live within the walls of the legislature until peace was established, 
 was carried. 
 
 At nine o'clock the inspectcrs of the apartments came to coo- 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 303 
 
 duct the king and queen to the temporary lodgings proyided for 
 them. 
 
 The king made a motion for silence. 
 
 In fact, they were occupied with a nomination not without inter- 
 est for him. They were electing the new ministry. 
 
 The Minister of War, the Minister of the Interior, and the Minis- 
 ter of Finance were elected. They were the ministers dismissed by 
 the king — Roland, Clavifire and Servan. 
 
 There remained to be nominated the Marine, Justice, and Foreiga 
 Affairs. 
 
 Danton was named for Justice; Monge for Marine; Lebrun for 
 the Minister of Foreign AfEairs. 
 
 When the last minister was called : 
 
 " Let us go," said the king. 
 
 And rising, he was the first to leave. 
 
 The queen followed; she had taken nothing since she left th« 
 Tuileries, not even a glass of water. 
 
 Mme. Elizabeth, the dauphin, Mme. Boyale, Mesdames de Lam- 
 balle and de Tourzel made up the rest of the cortege. 
 
 The apartments prepared for the king were on the upper floor of 
 the old monastery of the Feuillants; they had been inhabited by 
 the Archbishop Camus, and were composed of four rooms. 
 
 In the first, which was only, properly speaking, an ante- cham- 
 ber, the followers of the king that had remained faithful to his 
 stricken fortune waited. 
 
 They consisted of Prince de Poix, Baron Aubier, Messieurs da 
 St. Pordon, de Goguelat, de Chamille and Hue. 
 
 The king took the second room. 
 
 The third was offered to the queen, the only one that was pa- 
 pered. On entering it, Marie Antoinette threw herself on the bed, 
 ■without, as yet, any pillows, and gave herself up to a grief which 
 nothing short of being racked on the wheel itself could equal. 
 
 Her two children remained with her. 
 
 The fourth room, narrow as it was, remained for Mme. Elizabeth 
 and Mesdames de Lamballe and de Tourzel, who established them- 
 selves as they best might. 
 
 The queen was in need of everything; silver, as they had taken 
 her purse and her watch from her in the tumult at the door of the 
 assembly; linen, as of course she had taken nothing from the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 She borrowed twenty-five coins from Mme. Campan's sister, and 
 sent for linen to the Embassador of England. 
 
 In the evening, the assembly read, by torch-light, throughout the 
 streets of Paris, the resolutions of the day. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 rROM NINE o'clock TILL MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Those torches, in passing before the Carroussel, through the Rue 
 St. Honore, and on the quays, lighted up a sad sight. 
 
 Actual fighting was over, but war lasted yet in every one's heart, 
 for hate and despair survive war. Contemporary recitals, royal 
 .egends, were tenderly and pitifully lengthened out, for the august 
 
204 ANDEEE DE TATEKNET. 
 
 heads from whom that terrible day had snatched the crown, they 
 lauded the courage, the discipline, the devotion of the Swiss and 
 the gentlemen. They counted the drops of blood shed by the de- 
 fenders of the throne; they did not count the corpses of the people, 
 the tears of the mothers, sisters, wives. 
 
 To God, who, in His mighty wisdom, not only permits, but mor«, 
 directs events here bplow, blood is blood and tears are tears. 
 
 The number of deaths were more considerable among the people 
 than among the Swiss and the gentlemen. 
 
 This is what the author of the " History of the Revolution of th» 
 10th of August," the same Peltier, says, though he was a royalist: 
 
 The 10th of August cost humanity about seven hundred soldiers 
 and twenty-two officers, twenty royalist National Guards, fire 
 hundred federates, three commanders of the national troops, forty 
 tendarmes, more than a hundred persons belonging to the king's 
 household, two hundred men killed for their valuables, the nine 
 citizens massacred at the Feuillants, Monsieur de Clermont d'Am- 
 holes, and about three thousand men of the people, killed on the 
 Carroussel, in the Tuileries garden, and on the Place of Louis 
 XV.; altogether about four thousand six hundred men." 
 
 It was highly probable. We have seen the precaution taken to 
 fortify the Tuileries; the Swiss had usually fought behind solid 
 walls; their assailants, on the contrary, received their wounds on 
 their breasts. 
 
 Three thousand five hundred insurgents, without counting the 
 two hundred fusilladed, had perished. It was natural to suppose 
 there were some wounded; the historian of the revolution only 
 speaks of the dead. 
 
 Many among the three thousand five hundred — in fact, most of 
 them — were married men, poor fathers of families, that unendura- 
 ble misery had driven to fight with the first weapon that had fallen 
 into their hands, or without weapons, and who, in seeking death, 
 had left in their hovels famished children, despairing women. That 
 death they had found either in the Carroussel, where the battle had 
 begun, or in the apartments of the chateau, where it had been con- 
 tinued, or in the garden of the Tuileries, where it had stopped. 
 
 From three o'clock in the afternoon till nine o'clock at night 
 they had hastily carried off and thrown into the cemetery of the 
 Madeleine all the bodies in uniform. 
 
 As for the corpses of the men of the people, it was a different 
 thing; undertakers took charge of them and carried them to their 
 respective homes; almost all were from the Faubourg St. Antoine 
 and the Faubourg St. Maiceau. There — particularly on the Place 
 de la Bastile and the Arsenal, on the Places Maubert and the Pan- 
 theon — there they were laid side by side. Each time one of these 
 somber wagons heavily rolling, leaving the trace of blood behind, 
 entered one or the other of the faubourgs, a crowd of mothers, of 
 ■women, of sisters, of children, snironnded them with a mortal 
 agony; then, as the living recognized the dead, cries, threats, sobs 
 broke forth: then were unheard of and unknown maledictions 
 raised like a swarm of norturnal birds of evil augury, beating their 
 wings in obscurity, and flying plaintively toward the sad Tuileriea 
 All h»d for their aim, like flocks of raveiM on the battle-field, the 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVEEITBT. 206 
 
 kinr, the queen, the court, that cordon of Austrians that surround- 
 ed them, the nobles that advised them; some promised themselves 
 vengeance in the future, and they took it on the second day of 
 Beptember and the 2Tst of January; others, again, took up a pike, 
 a sword, a gun, and delirious from blood they drank in through 
 their eyes, re-entered Paris to kill. Kill whom? All they could 
 iind of the Swiss, the nobility of the court — to kill the king, tho 
 queen, if they could find them. They might have been answered: 
 ' But in killing the king, the queen, you will make tbeir children 
 orphans! in killing the nobles, you will make their wives widows, 
 their sisters mourn!" Women, sisters, children might have said: 
 •But we, also, are orphans; we, also, are sisters in grief; we, also, 
 sre widows!" and, with their hearts breaking, they went to the as- 
 sembly, to the Abbaye, and beating their heads against their dooM, 
 cried: 
 
 " Vengeance! vengeance!" 
 
 The Tuileries presented a terrible spectacle, blood-stained, 
 smoking, deserted by every one, except the three or four detaoh- 
 nients, who watched those who, under pretext of searching for their 
 dead, could pillage this poor royal dwelling during the night, with 
 iits broken doors and windows. 
 
 There was a detachment in each vestibule, at the foot of each 
 ^itaircase. 
 
 The detachment of the Pavilion de I'Horloge, that is to say, the 
 grand staircase, was commanded by a young captain of the Na- 
 tional Guard, inspired, beyond doubt, if we could judge by tbe ex- 
 pression of his physiognomy, with great pity for each corpse as it 
 was carried out, as it were, under his supervision. His physical 
 nature, however, was no more influenced by it than the king's hfid 
 been; for about eleven o'clock at night he was trying to satisfy a 
 monstrous appetite with a piece of bread weighing four pounds, 
 which he held in his left hand, while with his right he cut great 
 pieces, which he put into a mouth whose size seemed adapted to the 
 amount of nourishment he intended to take. 
 
 Leaning against one of the columns of the vestibule, he looked at 
 the procession passing like ghosts — motbers, wives, daughters, who 
 came lighted by torches, appearing from time to time, demanding 
 from this crater the corpses of their fathers, husbands, sons. 
 
 Suddenly at the sight of a veiled shadow the young captain 
 trembled. 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse de Charnyl" he murmured. 
 
 The shadow passed without hearing or stopping. 
 
 The young captain motioned for his lieutenant. 
 
 The lieutenant came to him. 
 
 " Desire," he said, " here is a poor lady, one of Docloi Gilbert's 
 friends, who no doubt has come to look for her husband among the 
 dead; 1 must follow her, in case she needs help and care. 1 will 
 Jeavp the command of the post to you; watch for both of usi" 
 
 "The devil!" replied the lieutenant, whom the captain had 
 Called Desirg, and to which we shall add the name of Maniqutt — 
 " your lady looks like a proud aristocrat." 
 
 " She is an aristocrat," said the captain; " she is a counteaa." 
 
 " Then go. I will watch for both." 
 
206 ASTDREE DE TAVERNBT. 
 
 The Countess de Charny had already turned the corner of the 
 staircase, when the captain, leaving his post, began to toUow her 
 at the respectful distance of fifteen feet. 
 
 He was not mistaken. It was poor Andree, looking for her hus- 
 band. She was looking for him. not with tlie auxious alternations 
 of doubt, but with the sad conviction of despair. 
 
 When, in the midst of his joy and happiness, the events taking 
 place in Paris. resounded in his ears, Charny, pale, but determined, 
 said to his wife: " Dear Andree, the King of France is in danger 
 of his life, needs all his defenilers. What shall I do?" 
 
 Andr6e replied: " Go where thy duty calls thee, my Olivier, and 
 die for the king, if necessary." 
 " But thou?" Charny had asked. 
 
 " Oh, do not fret about me," replied Andree. " As I can only 
 live with you, God, no doubt, will permit me to die with you." 
 
 Then, everything being arranged between those two great hearts, 
 nothing more was said about it. Post-horses were bought; they 
 left; and five hours after they reached the little hotel in the Rue 
 Coq-Heron. 
 
 The same evening, Charny, as we have seen— just as Gilbert, 
 counting on his influence, had written to beg his return to Paris — 
 attired in his naval uniform, appeared at the queen's side. From 
 that hour he had never left her 
 
 Andree remained alone with her women, shut up in her apart- 
 ments, praying. Once she tiought of imitating her husband's de- 
 votion, and of demanding her place by the queen, as her husband 
 had of the king; but she had not the courage, 
 
 The day of the 9th passed for her in agony, but without bring- 
 ing her anything positive. 
 
 On the 10th, about nine o'clock in the morning, she heard the 
 first discharge of a cannon. 
 
 It is needless to say, every echo of that thunder of war made 
 every fiber of her heart vibrate. 
 
 About two o'clock, even the fusillade was over. 
 
 Were the people victorious or defeated? she inquired. 
 
 The people were victorious. 
 
 What had become of Charny in this terrible fight? She knew 
 Vie had taken, as 'usual, an important post. She inquired still 
 further. They told her all the Swiss had nearly been killed, but 
 that nearly all the gentlemen were saved. 
 
 She waited. 
 
 Charny could re-enter in any disguise. He would, perhaps, wish 
 to fly without delay. The horses were harnessed and attached to 
 the carriage. Horses and carriage awaited their master; but An- 
 dree well knew, no matter what danger he ran, the master would 
 not leave without her. 
 
 She opened the doors, that nothing would retard Chamy's flight, 
 if Charny were flying; and she" waited. The hours passed. 
 
 " If he is hiding anywhere," said Andree, " he can not fly till 
 night — wait till darki" 
 
 The night came. Charny did not appear. 
 
 In August nightfall comes late. 
 
ANDREE DE TATERKET. ^07 
 
 At t«i o'clock Andree lost all hope. She put a veil orer her 
 head and went out. 
 
 Through the streets she met groups of women, torches In their 
 hands, and bands of men, crying: " Vengeance!" 
 
 She passed through the midst of both; tlie grief of one and the 
 anger of the other were her safeguard. Besides, it was men, not 
 women, they wanted that night. 
 
 On one side and the other women were crying. Andree reached 
 the Carroussel; she heard the decrees of the assembly proclaimed. 
 
 The king and queen were under the guardianship of the nation; 
 that was all she could understand. She saw in the distance two 
 or three hearses, and asked whose remains they contained ; they 
 told her they were corpses found in the Place du Carroussel and in 
 the Cour Royale. That was only a mausoleum at present. 
 
 Andree told herself that it was neither in the Carroussel nor in 
 the Cour Royale that Charny would be fighting, it was at the door 
 of the king or queen. 
 
 She crossed the Cour Royale, passed through the grand vesti- 
 bule, and mounted the staircase. It was at that moment that Pitou, 
 in his capacity of captain in charge of Ihe post of the grand vesti- 
 bule, saw, recognized and followed her. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 It is impossible to form an idea of the devastation presented by 
 the Tuileries. 
 
 Blood ran through the bedrooms, and rolled in cascades down 
 the staircase; several corpses yet strewed the apartments. 
 
 Looking, she went on her way to the apartments of the king and 
 queen. 
 
 Pitou watched her. 
 
 There, as in the other rooms, she searched uselessly. Then, for 
 a moment, she appeared undecided, not knowing where to go. 
 
 Pitou saw her embarrassment, and approached her. 
 
 " Alas!" he said, " I am afraid 1 know what Madame la Com- 
 tesse is looking for." 
 
 Andree turned. 
 
 " Has Madame the Comtesse need of me?" 
 
 " Monsieur Pitou!" said Andree 
 
 " Can 1 serve you, madame?" 
 
 " Oh! yes, yes!" said Andree, " I need you greatly!" 
 
 Then, going up to him, and taking his two hands: 
 
 " Do you know what has become of the Comte de Charny?" 
 
 " No, madame," replied Pitou; " but I can help you to seek." 
 
 " There is some one," continued Andree, " who could tell us if 
 he is living or dead; and, living or dead, where he is." 
 
 " Who is that, Madame la Comtesse?" asked Pitou. 
 
 " The queen," murmured Andree. 
 
 " Do you know where the queen is?" asked Pitou. 
 
 " At the assembly, I believe; and I still have a hope that Mon- 
 sieur de Charny may be there with her." 
 
 " OhI yes, yeel" said Pitou, seizing that hope, not bec»u8e then 
 
208 ANDREE DE TATBRNET. 
 
 •was any foundation in it, tut on account of the widow. " Will yor 
 go to the asaembly?" 
 
 " But if they refuse to open the doors — " 
 
 " I will see that they are opened." 
 
 " Come, then!" 
 
 Andree threw her torch away from her, at the risk of setting the 
 Tuileries on fire. But what were the Tuileries to her in her great 
 y;rief, so deep she could not cry? 
 
 Andree knew Ihe interior of the chateau from having lived there. 
 She took a private staircase that descended to the ground floor and 
 led to the grand vestibule, so tliat, without passing again through 
 those bloody apartments, Pitou could find the detachment in the 
 Court I'Horloge. 
 
 Maniquet was keeping good watch. 
 
 " Well," he said; " your comtesse?" 
 
 " She hopes to iind her husband at the assembly. We are going 
 there." 
 
 Then, in low tones: 
 
 " As we can easily recover the comte, though dead, send to me, 
 ftt the door of the Feuillants, four good boys whom I can depend 
 upon to defend the corpse of an aristocrat as it it were the corpse 
 of a patriot." 
 
 " All right: go with your comtesse! you will have your men." 
 
 Andree wailed before the garden gate, where they had placed a 
 sentinel. As Pitou had placed that sentinel there, he naturally let 
 them pass. 
 
 _ The Tuileries garden was lighted with lamps, that had been 
 lighted in different spots, particularly on the pedestals of the 
 statues. 
 
 It was nearly as warm as during the day; hardly a breeze moved 
 the leaves of the trees; the light from the lamps was immovable, 
 appearing like lances of fire, and lighted for some distance not 
 only the cultivated open parterres of the garden, but under the 
 trees, where corpses were strewn here and there. 
 
 But Andree was so convinced lliat it would be only at the assem- 
 bly she would find news of her husband, that she marched on with- 
 out turning to the right or left. 
 
 Thus they reached the Feuillants. 
 
 The royal fnmily had left the assembly an hour before, as we 
 have seen, and reentered the apartments that had been provided 
 for them. 
 
 Before arriving at the royal family there were two obstacles to 
 overcome: first, the sentinels watcliing outside; then the gentle- 
 men watching inside. 
 
 Pitou, as captain of the National Guard commanding the 
 Tuileries, had the countersign, and was consequently able to con- 
 duct Andree as far as the gentlemen's ante-chamber. 
 
 It then remained for Andree to introduce herself to the queen's 
 room. 
 
 We know how the apartments were situated that the royal family 
 occupied; we have spoken of the queen's despair; we have seen 
 how she threw herself on the bed without pillows, in that little 
 room with green paper, alone with her sobs and tears. 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERNET. 209 
 
 Certainly, she who lost a throne, liberty, life itself, perhaps, lost 
 enough without one seeking bihind that fall for a grief thai was so 
 great as to bring tears from her eyes, sobs from her breast. 
 
 From sentiments inspired by f hat supreme sorrrw, they left the 
 queen alone at first. The queen beard the door of her room, that 
 opened into the king's apartment, open and close, but she did not 
 moved as the step approached her bed, except to bury her head still 
 further in the bed. 
 
 But suddenly she jumped up as if a serpent had stung her. 
 
 A well-known voice pronounced one word, " Madame." 
 
 " Andree!" cried Marie Antoinette, turning around, " v>rhat do 
 you want of me?" 
 
 " 1 want, madame, what God wanted from Cain when he asked, 
 ' Cain, what have you done with your brother?' " 
 
 " With this difference," said the queen, " that Cain killed his 
 brother, while I — oh! I would have given not only my life, but ten, 
 if I had them, to save his." 
 
 Andree shook; a cold sweat passed over her; her teeth chattered. 
 
 " Was he killed, then?" she asked, making a supreme effort. 
 
 The queen looked at Andree. 
 
 " Do you think," she said, " that it is for my crown I am weep- 
 ing?" 
 
 Then she showed her her bloody feet. 
 
 " Do you think, if this blood was mine, I would not wash my 
 feet?" 
 
 Andree grevy pale as death. 
 
 " Do you know where his body is?" she asked. 
 
 " If they will let you go out, I will take you to him," replied the 
 queen. 
 
 " I will wait for yoa on the stairs, madame," said Andree. 
 
 And she went out. 
 
 Pitou waited at the door. 
 
 '• Monsieur Pitou," .laid Andree, " one of my friends wishes to 
 take me 1o Monsieur de Charny's body; it is one of the queen'a 
 ladies; can she go?" 
 
 " You know if she goes," replied Pitou; " it is only on condition 
 that I bring her back again." 
 
 " You can bring her back," said Andree. 
 
 "That is well." 
 
 Then, returning toward the sentinel; 
 
 " Comrade," said Pitou, " one of the ladies of the queen is go 
 ing out to seek with us the body of a brave officer whose widow i,, 
 here. I will answer for thai lady with my body, if necessary." 
 
 " That is sufficient, captain," replied the sentinel. 
 
 At the same time, the door of the ante-chamber opened, and with 
 her face covered with a veil, the queen appeared. 
 
 In descending the stairs, the queen went first, Andree and Pitou 
 following. 
 
 After a session of twenty-seven hours, the assembly finally dis- 
 persed from the hall. 
 
 That immense hall, where so many wars and rumors of wars had 
 X>assed within the last twtnty-seven hours was mute, empty, and. 
 •omber as a sepulcher. 
 
310 ANDEEE DE TATERNBT. 
 
 " A lightl" said the queen. 
 
 Pitou lighted an extinguished torch, then a lantern, and gave it 
 to the queen, who continued her stfips. 
 
 In passing before the entrance door, Marie Antoinette pointed to 
 it with her torch, sayiug: 
 
 " Here is the door wliere he was killed." 
 
 Andree did not answer; one would have taken her for a specter 
 following her invocntor. 
 
 In passing through the corridor the queen lowered her torch to- 
 *Tard the floor. 
 
 " Here is his blood," said she. 
 
 Andree remained mute. 
 
 The queen marched on toward a sort of cabinet immediately in 
 front of the office of the ' Logographer," opened the door of the 
 cabinet, and lighting the interior with her lantern: 
 
 " Here is his body!" she said. 
 
 Still mute, AndrSe entered the cabinet, sat on the floor, and by 
 an effort took Olivier's head on her knees. 
 
 "Thank you, madame," she said; "that is all I will ask of 
 you." 
 
 " But I have something to ask you," said the queen. 
 
 "Ask it." 
 
 "Will you pardon me?" 
 
 There was an instant's silence as if Andree hesitated. 
 
 " Yes," she replied at length; " for to-morrow I will be with 
 him." 
 
 The queen took from her breast a pair of gold scissors that she 
 had hidden there, as one hides a poniard, as a weapon to be used 
 in case of extreme danger. 
 
 " Take them," she said, almost supplicatingly, and presenting 
 the scissors to Andree. 
 
 Andree took the scissors, cut a lock of hair from poor Olivier'* 
 head, then gave the scissors and lock of hair to the queen. 
 
 The queen seized Andree's hand, and kissed it. 
 
 Andree ultered a cry, and snatched away the hand, as if Marie 
 Antoinette's lips had been a red-hot iron. 
 
 " Ah!" murmured the queen, looking her last at the body, 
 " who can tell who loved him the best?" 
 
 "Oh, mv beloved Olivier!" murmured Andree on her side, "I 
 hope you know now who loves you best." 
 
 The queen retook the way to her room, leaving Andree in the 
 cabinet with her husband's corpse, upon which, like a friend's 
 glance, through the small barred window, fell a pale ray of moon- 
 Tirfit. 
 
 TPi'ou, without knowing who she was, reconducted Marie An- 
 toinette till he saw her enter her own apartment, then, his responsi- 
 bility over, in regard to the sentinel, he went out on the terrace to 
 see if the four men he had asked Desire Maniquet for were there. 
 
 Tlie four men were waiting. 
 
 " Cornel" said Pitou to them. 
 
 They entered. 
 
 Pitou, lighting them by the torch he had taken from «lie queen, 
 conducted them to the cabinet, where Andree still sat looking at bar 
 
ANDBEE DB TAVERNBT. 211 
 
 husband's pale but ever handsome face by the light of the moon. 
 The blaze of the torch made her raise her eyes. 
 
 " What do you want?" she asked of Pitou and his men, as If 
 she feared these unknown had come to take away her well-beloved 
 husband. 
 
 " Madame,'" replied Pitou, " we have come to seek the body ot 
 Monsieur de Charny, to carry it to the Rue Coq-Heron." 
 
 " You swear to me it is for that?" asked Andree. 
 
 Pitou extended his hand over the body with a dignity one would 
 have thought him incapable of. " I swear it to you, madame!" 
 he said. 
 
 " Then," continued Andree, " I thank you, and I will pray to 
 God in my last moment that He will spare you and yours the sor- 
 row that crushes me." 
 
 The four men took the corpse, laid it on their guns, and Pitou, 
 with his drawn sword, put himself at the head of the funeral cor- 
 tege. 
 
 Andr§e walked by their side, holding the comte's hand, already 
 stiff and cold. 
 
 On reaching the Rue Coq-Heron, they laid the body on AndrSe's 
 bed. 
 
 Then, addressing the four men: 
 
 " Receive," said the Comtesse de Charny, " a woman's bene- 
 dictions, who to-morrow will on high supplicate God for you." 
 
 Then to Pitou; 
 
 " Monsieur Pitou," she said, " I owe you more than I can ever 
 repay; will you do me yet another favor?" 
 
 " I am at your orders, madame," said Pitou. 
 
 " To-morrow at eight o'clock will you see that Doctor Gilbert is 
 here?" 
 
 Pitou bowed and left. 
 
 As he went out he turned around and saw Andree kneeling be- 
 fore the bed as before an altar. As he closed the street door the 
 clock of St. Eustache struck three. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 WHY ANDREE WANTED DR. GILBERT. 
 
 The next day at eight o'clock precisely, Gilbert knocked at the 
 little hotel in the Rue Coq Heron. When Pitou made his request 
 in Andree's name, Gilbert astonished, made him relate yesterday's 
 events with all their details. 
 
 Then for a long time he was buried in thought. 
 
 On going out the next morning he called Pitou, then sent him 
 to bring Sebastian from Abbe Berardier's to the Rue Coq-Heron. 
 
 On reaching there, Pitou waited at the door for Gilbert. With- 
 out doubt, the old concierge had been expecting the doctor; for, 
 on recognizing him, he ushered him into the salon preceding the 
 bedrooms. Andree awaited him, dressed entirely in black. It 
 was apparent she had neither slept nor cried since the night before 
 — her face was pale, her eyes dry. 
 
 Never had the lineaments of her face— lineaments that indicated 
 
212 ANDKEE DE TAVEKXBT. 
 
 a determination carried as far as obstinacy — appeared so flnalj 
 get. 
 
 It was diflBcult to say what determination that heart of diamond 
 had taken; but it was easy to see she had taken one. 
 
 Gilbert, a skillful reader, a philosophical physician, saw that at 
 the iirst glance. He bowed and waited. 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert," said Andree, " I sent for you " 
 
 " You see, madame, " said Gilbert, " I came punctually at the 
 time." 
 
 " I ask for you, and not another, because I wished the one whom 
 I asked not to refuse me." 
 
 " You were right, madame, not perhaps in what you intended to 
 ask me, but in saying you had the right to exact everything from 
 me, even my life." 
 
 Andree smiled bitterly. 
 
 "Your life, sir, is one of those lives so precious to humanity, 
 that I would be the first to ask God to preserve and prosper you, 
 instead of shortening it. But think, if your life is placed under so 
 happy an influence, how many there are influenced by an unlucky 
 star. ' ' 
 
 Gilbert was silent. 
 
 "Mine, for instance," continued Andree, after an instant's 
 silence; " what do j'ou think of mine, sir?" 
 
 Then, as Gilbert dropped his eyes without speaking: 
 
 " Let me recall it to you in two words — have no tear, I will re- 
 proach no one." 
 
 Gilbert motioned her to proceed. 
 
 " I was born poor," she said; " my father was ruined before my 
 birth. My youth was sad, isolated, solitary; you knew my father, 
 and you knew better than any one the depth of his affection for 
 me. 
 
 " Two men, one of whom has ever remained unknown to me, 
 and the other a stranger, possessed a mysterious and fatal influence 
 over my life, in which my will was for nothing; one disptsed of 
 my heart, the other took my body. I found myself a mother, with- 
 out knowing I had ceased to be a maid. 
 
 " I lost, in this sad event, the affection of the only being who 
 had ever loved me— my brother. 
 
 " 1 sought consolation in the hope of being a mother, and of be- 
 ing loved by my child; my baby was taken away from me an hour 
 after \ts birth. I found myself a wife without a husband, a moth- 
 er without a child. 
 
 " The friendship of the queen consoled me. 
 
 " One day accident planed in the same carriage with us a young, 
 handsome, gallnnt man; fate willed that 1, who had never loved 
 anything, should love him. 
 
 " He loved the queen 
 
 ' I became the confidante of this love. I believe you have loved 
 without being loved, ^lousieur Gilbert. You can understand, 
 then, what I have suffered. As if that was not enough, one day 
 the queen said to me, ' Andree, save my lifel save more than my 
 life, save my honor 1' I was obliged, while remaining a strange* 
 
ANDBEB DB TAVERKBY. 313 
 
 to bim, to become the wife of a man whom 1 had loved for three 
 years. 
 
 " I became hJs wife. 
 
 " Five years I lived near that man, ice outwardly, but inwardly 
 a devouring flame, a statue with a deart on firel Physician, tell 
 ine, can you understand what suffering I endured? One day, a day 
 of ineffable delight, my devotion, my silence, my abnegation, 
 touched that man. For seven years I loved him without his sus- 
 pecting it even by a glance, when he came and threw himself trem- 
 bling at my feet, saying, ' I know all, and I love youl' 
 
 " God, who wished to recompense me, allowed me, at the same 
 time I found my husband, to find my child. A year fled like a 
 I lay, an hour like a minute; all my life was in that year. Four 
 I lays ago the thunder-bolt fell at my feet. His honor told him to 
 , J^eturn to Paris and to die. I said nothing; I did not even shed a 
 i ear; I parted with him. 
 
 " Scarcely returned to me, he left me. 
 
 " The past night I found him — dead; he is there in that room. 
 
 " Do you think it is too ambitious on my part, after such a life, 
 i o wish to sleep in his tomb? Do you think you can refuse me that 
 request, the request I am about asking you? Monsieur Gilbert, 
 ;rou, a skillful physician, a thorough chemist; Monsieur Gilbert, 
 you have been guilty of great wrongs toward me, you have a great 
 ileal to expiate. So give me a poison rapid and sure, and 1 will 
 Hot only pardon you, but I will die with my heart full of thank- 
 fulness!" 
 
 " Madame," replied Gilbert, " your life has been, as you say, a 
 sorrowful martyrdom, and that martyrdom will be rewarded. You 
 'l»ave supported it bravely, nobly, like a saint." 
 
 Andree nodded her head as much as to say, " 1 am listening." 
 
 " Meanwhile, you say to your executioner: ' You will relieve 
 me from a cruel life; give me a gentle death.' You have the right 
 to say that; you have every reason to add: ' You will do as I say, 
 -for you have no right to refuse anything I ask — ' " 
 
 " Well, sir?" 
 
 " Do you still insist upon poison, madame?" 
 
 " I beseech you to give it to me, my friend." 
 
 " Your life is se dreadful, it is impossible for you to support it?" 
 
 " Death would be the greatest boon man could give me, the 
 greatest blessing God could grant." 
 
 " In ten minutes, madame," continued Gilbert, " you shall have 
 what you ask." 
 
 He bowed and stepped back. 
 
 Andree held out her band to him. 
 
 " Ah! in one moment you have accomplished more good for me 
 than you have evil in your whole life," she said. " God bless you, 
 Gilbert!" 
 
 Gilbert went out. 
 
 At the door he found Sebastian and Pitou waiting for him in a 
 flacre. 
 
 " Sebastian," he said, taking from his breast a small vial that 
 was attached to a gold chain, which contained a liquid the color of 
 opal, " Sebastian, give this, from me, to the Countess da Charny." 
 
!814 ANDEEE DB TATERNET. 
 
 " How long shall I remain there, father?" 
 
 " As long as you like." 
 
 " Where shall I find you?" 
 
 " I will wait here." 
 
 The young man took the vial, and entered the house. A quar- 
 ter of an hour afterward he came out. Gilbert gave him a rapid 
 glance; he brought back the vial intact. 
 
 " What did she say V" asked Gilbert. 
 
 " She said: ' Oh! not from thy hand, my childl' " 
 
 " What did she do?" 
 
 " She cried." 
 
 " She is saved, then!" said Gilbert. " Come, my child." And 
 he embraced Sebastian more tenderly, perhaps, than he had ever 
 embraced him. 
 
 Gilbert reckoned without Marat. 
 
 Eight days after, he learned the Countess de Chamy had beam 
 arrested and taken to the prison of the Abbaye. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE TEMPLE. 
 
 But before following Androe in the prison where she was sent 
 on suspicion, let us follow the queen, where she was taken con- 
 demned. 
 
 We have spoken of the antagonism of the assembly and the 
 commune. 
 
 The assembly, even before it became a constituted body, had 
 not taken the same course as individuals; it had urged the people 
 on to the rising of the 10th of August, then they remained in the 
 background. 
 
 The districts had improvised the famous council of the com- 
 mune, that had in reality been preached by the assembly the 10th 
 of August. 
 
 And the proof was, that against the commune the king had 
 , ,ought refuge in the assembly. 
 
 The assembly gave an asylum to the king, whom the commune 
 A'ould not have been sorry to have surprised in the Tuileries, to 
 have stifled between two mattresses, strangled between two doora, 
 with the queen and the dauphin, the she-wolf and the little wolves. 
 
 The assembly destroyed that project, whose success, infamous as 
 it would have been would perhaps have for them been great good 
 fortune. The assembly then, protecting the king, the queen, the 
 dauphin, the court itself, was royalist ; the assembly resolving the 
 king should live at Luxembourg, that is to say, a palace, was roy. 
 alist. 
 
 It was time, as in everything else, there were degrees in royal- 
 ism; what was royalism in the eyes of the commune, or even in the 
 «yes of the assembly, was to others revolutioning. 
 
 Lafayette proscribed as a royalist in France, had he not beea 
 imprisoned by the Emperor of Austria as a revolutionist? 
 
 The commune began to accuse the assembly of ruyalism; then, 
 from time to time, Robespierrs would leave the hole where he was 
 
AKDBEE Di: TAY£BKIST. SIS 
 
 hiding; and from his small smooth head would issue pointed and 
 venomous calumnies. 
 
 Robespierre was just in train to say at that crisis that a powerful 
 party, the Girondists, were offering the throne to the Duke of 
 Brunswick. The Oirondists, be it understood, the first voice that had 
 cried : " To armsl" the first arm that was offered to defend France! 
 
 The revolutionary commune, before attaining the dictatorship, 
 were obliged to offset all that the royalist assembly had done. 
 
 The assembly had appointed the Luxembourg for the king's lodg- 
 ings. 
 
 The king declared they would not answer for the king if he 
 went to the Luxembourg; the cellars of the Luxembourg the com- 
 mune assigned them communicated with the Catacombs. Th« 
 assembly did not want to break with the commune for so little, so 
 they gave them the choice of the royal residence. 
 
 The commune chose the temple. 
 
 Their choice was a wise one. 
 
 The temple was not as the Luxembourg, a palace leading by it« 
 cellars to the Catacombs, by its walls to the plains, forming a^ 
 acute angle with the Tuileries and H6tel de Ville. No, it was a 
 prison placed at the door, and under the eye of the commune; they 
 had only to stretch out their hands to it; they could close and open 
 its doors; it was an old isolated dungeon inclosed with a moat; it 
 was an old low tower, strong, somber, gloomy. Philippe le Bel, 
 that is to say, the royalty crushed the moyen dge that revolted 
 against him; royalty re-entered it crushed by the new dispensa- 
 tion. 
 
 How was it this old tower had remained there in that populous 
 4uarter, black and gloomy like an owl in plain daylight? 
 
 It was there the commune decided the king and his family should 
 Jive. 
 
 Was it design that had assigned as the king's domicile that place 
 of refuge where the ancient banqueters had coiffed the green bon- 
 net, and frapper du cul la pierre, as the law says in the moyen dge, 
 after this nothing made any difference? 
 
 No, it was chance, fatality, we would have said Providence, if 
 the ■word did not seem too cruel. 
 
 In the evening of the 13th, the king, the queen, Mme. Elizabeth, 
 Mesdames de Tourzel, Lamballe, M. Chemilly, valet of the king, 
 and M. Hue, the dauphin's valet, were transferred to the temple. 
 
 The commune was so hasty in its decision to have the king 
 conducted to his new residence that it was not ready. 
 
 The royal family were consequently introduced to that portion 
 of the building previously inhabited by M. le Comte d'Artois 
 whenever he came to Paris, which was called the palace. All 
 Paris was overjoyed ; three thousand live hundred citizens, it is true, 
 were dead; but the king — but the friend of foreign powers, the 
 great enemy of the revolution, the ally of nobles and priests — the 
 king was a prisoner. 
 
 All the bouses opposite the temple were illuminated. Theiie 
 were lamps even on the battlements of the tower. 
 
 When Louis XVX descended from his carriage, he found Sbd- 
 
316 AKDEEB DB TAVBRNET. 
 
 terre on horseback ten feet from the door. Two municipal oflSctrs 
 attended the king, their hats on. " Enter, sirl" they told him. 
 
 The king entered, and naturally deceived as to his future resi- 
 dence, asked to see the apartments of the palace. 
 
 The oflScers exchanged a smile, and without saying_ how useless 
 the promenade was, as it was the donjon he was to inhabit, they 
 let him visit the temple room by room. 
 
 The king distributed all the apartments to his servitors, and the 
 officers enjoyed the error which they were soon to turn into bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 At ten o'clock supper was served; during the repast Manuel 
 stood behind the king; it was no longer a servitor prompt to obey; 
 it was a jailer, a master, a watchman. 
 
 If there were two contradictory orders: one given by the king, 
 one by Manuel, it was Manuel's order that was executed. From, 
 this be^an the real captivity. 
 
 Leaving the 13th of August in the evening, the king had been 
 vanquished on the summit of monarchy, and leaving that supreme 
 height, had descended with rapid steps that elevation at whose foot 
 the guillotine waited. 
 
 It had taken him eighteen years to reach the high summit and 
 maintain it; it only required five months and eight days to pre- 
 cipitate him from his throne. 
 
 They moved him rapidly this evening. 
 
 At ten o'clock they were in the dining-room of the palace; at 
 eleven o'clock in the salon. 
 
 The king still existed, or thought he did. He was ignorant of 
 what had taken place. 
 
 At eleven o'clock one of the commissioners came, and giving 
 what little linen he had to the two valets, MM. Hue and ChemUly, 
 told them to follow him. 
 
 " Where shall we follow you?" asked the valets. 
 
 " To the night residence of your masters," replied the commis- 
 sioners; " the palace is only the day residence." 
 
 The king, the dauphin, the queen, had no more independence 
 than their own valets. 
 
 At the door of the palace was a municipal officer who walked 
 before them with a lantern. They followed. By the feeble light 
 of tliat lantern, and thanks to the illumination, which was begin- 
 ning to abate, M. Hue looked around for the king's future habila- 
 tion; he only saw before him a somber donjon, rising in the air lik« 
 a granite giant, in whose heart blazed a crown of fire. 
 
 " My God!" cried the valet, stopping, " are you intending to 
 take us to that tower?" 
 
 "Just so," replied the officer. "Ah! the time for palaces has 
 passed; you will see how the assassins of the people are lodged." 
 
 And saying these words, the man with the lantern ascended the 
 steps of a winding staircase. 
 
 "The valets stopped on the first landing, but the man with the 
 lantern continued up the stair.i. At the second landing he stopped, 
 taking a corridor at the right of the staircase, and opening a cham- 
 ber situated at the right of the corridor. Only one window lighted 
 
AUDKEE DE TAVEENET. 317 
 
 Siis room; three or four chairs, a table, and a poor bed formed all 
 the furniture. 
 
 " Which of you is the liing's servant?" aslied the municipal 
 officer. » 
 
 " 1 am his valet de chambre," said M. Chemilly. 
 
 " Valet de chambre or servant, it's all the same." 
 
 Then he showed Ihem the bed. 
 
 "Here," he added, "is where your master will sleep." And 
 the man with the lantern threw on a chair a coverlet and a pair of 
 •heets, lighted with his lantern two candles on the mantelpiece, 
 and left the two valets alone. 
 
 Then he went to prepare the qpeen's apartments, situated on the 
 first floor. 
 
 MM. Hue and Chemilly looked at each other, stupefied. They 
 Still had in their tearful eyes the reflection of the splendor of royal 
 households; it was not even a prison the king was thrust in — he 
 »7as lodging in a hovel. 
 
 The majesty of a mise en sicne was wanting for this affliction. 
 
 They examined the room. 
 
 The bed was in an alcove without curtains; an old osier sledge, 
 leaning against the wall, indicated a precaution against bugs; an 
 insufficient precaution, as might be seen. 
 
 They were not discouraged, however, and cleared the room and 
 made the bed to the best of their ability. 
 
 As one was sweeping and the other dusting, the king entered. 
 
 " Oh, sire!" they said in the same voice, " what infamy!" 
 
 The king — was it from fortitude or was it indifference? — re- 
 mained impassible. He looked around, but said nothing. 
 
 The wall was covered with pictures; as some of them were of 
 an obscene character, he took them off. 
 
 " I do not wish," he said, " to leave such objects before my 
 daughter's eyes." 
 
 Then, his bed made, the king slept as tranquilly as if he had 
 still been in the Tuileries — perhaps more so. 
 
 It is very certain that if, at this moment, they had given the king 
 thirty thousand livres income, a country residence with a forge, a 
 library of travels, a chapel where mass was said, a chaplain to tell 
 him what to do, a park of ten acres where he could live free from 
 all intrigue, surrounded by the queen, the dauphin, Mme. Royale; 
 that is to say — the sweetest words on earth— his wife and children, 
 the king would have been the happiest man in his kingdom. 
 
 It was not thus with the queen. If she did not rage at the sight 
 of her cage, that proud lioness, it was because so cruel a sorrow 
 filled her heart that she was blind and insensible to all her sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 Her apartments were composed of four rooms: an ante-cham- 
 ber, where Mme. de Lamballe remained; a chamber where the 
 queen wasinslalled; a cabinet which was given up to Mme. deTiur- 
 zel; and a second chamber which was Mme. Elizabeth's and the 
 two children's. All these were little better than the king's. 
 
 Afterward, as if Manuel was ashamed of the manner in which he 
 had tricked the king, he announced that the architect of the com- 
 mune. Citizen Palley — the same who had been intrusted with tbe i 
 
218 ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 demolition of the Bastile — would consult with the king, to maka 
 their future residence as comfortable as possible. 
 
 Meantime, while Andree lays in the tomb the remains of her 
 well-beloved; while Manuel installs in the temple Ihe king and the 
 royal family; while the carpenter builds the guillotine in the Place 
 du Carroussel — the field of victory which was soon to be trans- 
 formed into the Place de Grfive — let us glance into the interior of 
 the Hotel de Vilie, where we have already gone two or three times, 
 »nd see the power that succeeded Bailly and Lafayette, which 
 tended as a substitute for the legislative assembly toward a dicta- 
 torship. 
 Here are the men — we will explain their acts. 
 On the evening of the 10th, when everything was finished, when 
 the noise of the cannort had died away; when the noise of the 
 fusillading was extinguished; when there were no more assassina- 
 tions, a troop of drunken, ragged vagabonds carried in their arms, 
 into the midst oi the council of the commune, the man of shadows 
 — ^the owl with the closed eyes — the prophet of the populace — the 
 divine Marat. 
 
 He let them take him — there was nothing more to fear; victory 
 Was decided and the way open for wolves, owls, and vultures. 
 
 They called him the " Conqueror of the 10th of August." They 
 had caught him the instant he put his head out of his cave to 
 breathe. 
 
 They had crowned him with laurel, and, like Caesar, naively kept 
 llie crovim on his head. 
 
 They came, the citizens, sans-culottes, and tossed, as we have 
 said, their god Marat in the midst of the commune. 
 It was thus they threw lame. Vulcan into the council of the gods. 
 At the sight of Vulcan, the gods laughed. At the sight of 
 Marat, some laughed — others were disgusted — some trembled. 
 The last were right. 
 
 And as yet Marat was not a member of the commune; he had 
 not been, as yet. elected a member; he had only been carried there, 
 and he remained there. 
 
 They made for him — enlirely for him — a journalistic oflSce; only, 
 instead of journalism under the hand of the commune, as the " Lo- 
 gographer " had been under the hands of the assembly, it was the 
 commune that was the claw in Marat's paw. 
 
 As in the beautiful drama of Victor Hugo, Angela was over 
 Padua, but felt Venice was over him, so the commune was over the 
 assernhly, but felt Marat was over it. It was thus they obeyed 
 Marat, tliat common altar; the assembly also obeyed it. Here is 
 one of Ihe first decisions it made: " First, the press of the poison- 
 ous royalists will be confiscated and given to the patriot printers." 
 The morning after the decree was passed, Marat put it in execu- 
 tion; he went to a royal printing e.ilablishment, had the press 
 dragged to his house, and carried in a bug all the matter belonging 
 to it. Was he not the first of patriot printers? 
 
 The assembly was horrified at the masiiicre of the 10th; it had 
 been powerless to prevent it; the massacres had taken place in its 
 eortidors, its court, at its doors, even. Danton had said: 
 " We have begun to do justice, from heuce popular vengeance 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNKT. 319 
 
 nnst c»ase. Before this assembly, 1 take an oath to protect tha 
 men within its walls; I will march at their head; I will be respon- 
 sible for them." 
 
 Danton said this before Marat arrived at the commune. The 
 moment JIaiat appeiired at the commune, he answered nothing 
 further. Before the .-eipeiit tlie lion liows; he tries to play fox. 
 
 Lacroix, lliat old officer, that athletic deputy, one of Danton's 
 hundred arms, ascended the tribune and asked that the command- 
 ant of the Nalional G\iard, Hanterre — the man whom the royalists 
 themselves felt in a ceitain way a pity for — Lacroix aslced that he 
 should call fc.r a cnurl-marlial, to judge without favor the Swiss, 
 both officeis and soldiers. 
 
 The following was Lacroix's idea, or, rather, Danton's: That 
 court-martial was to be taken from the men who had been beaten; 
 these men who had been beaten were men of courage — or men who 
 appreciated or respected courage. 
 
 Otherwise, if tsUen from those who were conquerors, they would 
 have scorned the idea of condemning the vanquished. 
 
 Have we not seen those conquerors, delirious with blood, reeking 
 with carnage, sparir>g the women, protecting them, guiding them? 
 
 A court-martial chosen among the federated Bretons or Mar- 
 seillais, among the conquerors, in fact, would have been the salva- 
 tion of the prisoners; as a proof, it was a measure of clemency, 
 and the commune repudiated it. Marat preferred massacre; it was 
 sooner over. He wanted heads, more heads, always heads! His 
 sum, instead of diminishing, always increased; it was fifty thou- 
 sand heads at first, then a hundred thousand, then two hundred 
 thousand; at the close he asked for two hundred and seventy- three 
 thousand. 
 
 Why that bizarre amount, those strange fractions? It would have 
 embarrassed him even to answer. He wanted a massacre, that was 
 all, and the massacre was organized. 
 
 Thus, Danton no longer put his foot in the commune; his work 
 as minister absorbed him, he said, 
 
 What did the commune do? 
 
 It expedited the assembly's deputation. On the 16th three de- 
 putations succeeded one another; the 17th a new deputation pre- 
 sented itself. 
 
 " The people, " it said, "were tired of not being avenged. Is 
 there danger that they will not have justice? That night at mid- 
 night the tocsin would sound. There would be a criminal tribunal 
 at the Tuileries; a judge for each section. Louis XVI. and An- 
 toinette wanted blood. Let them see the blood of their satellites 
 flow^l" 
 
 That audacious movement made two men start — the Jacobin 
 Choudieu, the Dantonist Thuriot. 
 
 " Those who come here to demand a massacre," said Choudieu, 
 " are not the people's friends: they are flatterers. They want an 
 inquisition; I will resist it to the death." 
 
 " You want to dishonor the revolution!" cried Thuriot; "the 
 revolution is not only in France, but throughout humanity!" 
 
 After the petitions came threats; then those from the districti 
 entered in their turn, sayjax: 
 
220 ANDKEB DE TATERNET. 
 
 " If, after two or three hours, a directn"- of ths jurjria not named, 
 if the jurors are not in a condition to judye, great misfortunes will 
 be lei loose over Paris." 
 
 At thii last threat the assembly felt forced to obey; it voted the 
 creaiioD of an extra tribunal. 
 
 The demand was made on the 17th. On the 19th the tribunal 
 was created. On the 20Lh the tribunal was installed, and con- 
 demned a royalist. 
 
 On tlie 2l8t the condemned of the day before was executed by 
 torch-light on the Place du Carroussel. 
 
 The effect of this first execution was terrible — so terrible that 
 the executioner himself could not resist it. 
 
 At the moment he showed the people the head of the first victim 
 that was to open so large a route to funeral chariots, he uttered a 
 cry, let the head fall on the pavement, and fell backward. 
 
 His aids raised him; he was dead. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE I< EVOLUTION OF BLOOD. 
 
 The revolutions of 1789, that is, those of Necker, Sieye, and 
 Bailly, ended in 1790, those of Barnave, Mirabeau, and Lafayette 
 finished in 1793; the great revolution, the bloody revolution, Dan- 
 ton's, Marat's, and llobespierre's revolution, was beginning. 
 
 In joining together these three names, it must be understood that 
 they are not to be merged or confounded together; on the contrary, 
 they repi^esent three very distinct individuals — the three heads and 
 fronts of the three years. Danton's began in 1792, Marat's in 
 1793, Robespierre's in 1794. 
 
 Events crowded upon one another, as we have seen. To notice 
 llie means by which the commune and the National Assembly pre- 
 cipitated them will be our next task. 
 
 As for the personages themselves, we seem to have fallen into 
 history itself. All the heroes of our book, with few exceptions, 
 have been ingulfed in the revolutionary tempest. What has be- 
 come of the three Charny brothers, George, Isidore, and Olivier? 
 They are dead. Wlinf has become of the queen and Andree? 
 They are prisoners. "What has become of Lafayette? He is a 
 refugee. 
 
 The ] 7th of August, Lafayette, by an address, called upon the 
 army to march upon Paris, re-establish the Constitution, overthrow 
 the lOih of August, and restore the king. Lafayette, like the 
 other royaliiits, had lost his head. What he wanted to do, was to 
 conduct the allies diiectly to Paiis. 
 
 The army instinctively repulsed I'^e idea; but eight months 
 later, they repulsed Dumouriez. 
 
 History would have connecied the names of these two men — we 
 would have said joined— if Lafayette, detested by the queen, had 
 not had the good fortune to have been arrested by the Austrian* 
 and sent to Olmutz: captivity made tlie desertion forgotten. 
 
 On the 18th, Lafaj'ette pissed the frontier. On the 21st, those 
 tnemies of France, those allies of royalty against whom the 10th of 
 .A.ug«st was inaugurated, ajfainst whom the 2d of September was 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVEEKET. 221 
 
 to be celebrated; those Austrians that Marie Antoinette called to 
 her aid during that moonlit night, when she watched the day-break 
 on her bed, those Austrians invested Longwy. 
 
 After a bombardment of twenty- four hours, Longwy surrendered. 
 The evening of tliat capitulation, at the other extremity of France, 
 La Vandee rose; tlie insistence of the ecclesiastical oath was the 
 pretext. 
 
 To strengthen these resolutions, the assembly nominated Du- 
 mourit'z to the command of the Army of the East, and declared 
 Lafayette to be under arrest. 
 
 It declared as soon as the city of Longwy returned to the French 
 denominaiion, all its houses, with the exception of national ones, 
 should be destroyed and razed; they passed a law banishing from 
 the territory all priests not under oath; it authorized domiciliary 
 yisits, confiscated and sold the property of the refugees. 
 
 During this time, what was the commune about? We have said 
 ■who their oracle was — Marat. 
 
 The commune had its guillotine on the Place Carroussel. They 
 gave him a head a day; it was not many; but, in a brochure that 
 appeared at the end of August, the members of the tribunal showed 
 the enormous work that was necessary to obtain this result, un- 
 satisfactory as it was. It was true the brochure was signed, Fou- 
 quer Tinville! Thvis we see what the commune was dreaming 
 about. We will help them after awhile to realize that dream. 
 
 The evening of the 23d, the prospectus was out. Followed by 
 a mob gathered from the gutters of the faubourgs and markets, 
 a deputation from the commune presented itself, in the assembly, 
 at midnight. 
 
 What did they want? The Orleanists prisoners sent to Paris, to 
 be submitted to the torture. But tlie Orleanists prisoners had not 
 been sentenced. That was of no consequence, the commune ooild 
 dispense with that formality. 
 
 The f6te of the 10th of August came to their aid. Sergent, its 
 artist, was the designer; he had already arranged the " procpssion 
 of the country in danger," and you know the result. 
 
 This time, Sergent surpassed himself. 
 
 He tried to fill with mourning, vengeance, murder, the hearts of 
 all those who had lost a dear one, the 10th of August. 
 
 Opposite the guillotine, fulfilling its functions, on the Place du 
 Canoussel, he raised, in the midst of the grand fountain of the 
 Tuiieries, a gigantic pyramid, entirely covered with black serge; 
 each side recalled the massacres the royalists had been guilty of — 
 the massacres of Nancy, Nlmes, Montauban and the Champs de 
 Mars 
 
 The guillotine said: " I will kill!" the pyramid said: " Kill!" 
 
 It was the evening of Sunday, the 27th of August, five days after 
 the insurrection of La Vendee by the priests; four days after the 
 capitulation of Longwy, which General Clerfayt took possession 
 of in Louis XVI. 's name, that the expiatory procession began to 
 march its mysterious majesty enhanced by the shade of night. At 
 first, between clouds of burning incense, advanced the widows and 
 orphans of the 10th of August, draped in white robes, with black 
 belts, cariying under an arch, constructed on the model of an an- 
 
232 AXDEEE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 tique arch, Mme. Rnland's petition, whose blood-stained leavM 
 •were found scattered throughout the Champs de Mars, and whicli 
 from the 17th of July called for a republic. Then came a gigan- 
 tic black sarcophagus, containing allusions to those hearses, with 
 their burdens leaving the Tuileries the evening of the 10th of 
 August for the faubourgs, creaking from the weight of the corpses,- 
 then banners of mourning and danger, demanding blood for blood; 
 then Law, a colossal statue, armed with a sword. She was followed 
 by the judges of the tribunes, at whose head marched the rtvolu- 
 tionary tribimal of the 10th of August, the one who excused itself 
 for only taking off one head a day. All this advanced majestical- 
 ly, in the midst of Chenier's sad chants, Gossac'9 severe music, 
 keeping time with an assured step. Arrived at the commune, the 
 bloody mother of this bloody tribunal, carrying in its ranks a statue 
 of Liberty, as high as that of Law, then the assembly, carrying its 
 civil crown, that perhaps consoled the dead, but was insufficient 
 for the living. A portion of the night of the 27th and the 28th of 
 August passed, in the accomplishment of this expiating ceremony, 
 this funereal fSte of the crowd, during which time they shook 
 their lists at the empty Tuileries, threatening the prisons, those 
 strong fortresses given to the king and the royalists in exchange 
 for their palaces and chSteaus. 
 
 Then at length, the last lamp extinguished, the last torch re- 
 duced to smoke, the people retired. 
 
 The two statues of Law and Liberty alone remained to guard the 
 immense sarcophagus; but as no one was left in charge, during 
 the night the two statues were stripped of all their vestments; in 
 the morning the two poor goddesses were leps than women. At 
 this sight, the people uttered a cry of fury; they accused the roy- 
 alists, rushed to the assembly demanding vengeance, takiner thsir 
 statues with them, redraping them, and carrying them as a repara- 
 tion to the Place Louis XV. 
 
 Later the scaffold followed, and gave them, the 21st of January, 
 a terrible reparation for the outrages committed on the 2Bth of 
 August. That same dajr, the 28th of August, the assembly passed 
 a law inaugurating domiciliary visits. The report began to spread 
 among the people of the vicinity of the Austrian and Prussian 
 armies, and the taking of Longwy by General Clerfayt. 
 
 Thus the enemy, called by tlie king, the nobles, the priests, were 
 marching on Paris, and if nothing stopped them, would be there 
 in six days march. Then, how would it be in Paris, boiling like 
 a crater, whose eruptions for three years had shaken the world? 
 What Bouilles had said, the insolent pleasantry at which every one 
 had laughed, would become a reality; not one stone would remain 
 upon another. There was more: they spoke as a certainty of a 
 terrible, inexorable, general judgment, which, after destroying 
 Paris, would destroj' the Parisians. By what means and by whom 
 wou'd this judgment lie rendered? The writings of the times say: 
 Tlie bloody hand of the commune was to be seen throughout that 
 legend, which, instead of relating the past, recounted the future. 
 Else, why was this legend not believed? This is what they saw in 
 a letter found in the Tuileries the 10th of August, which is yet t« 
 be seen in the archives: 
 
ANDBEE D£ TAYEBKET. 223 
 
 "The judges will arrive behind the army; the paTliamentar7 
 Tefugees will hold on the road, in the camp of the King of Prussia, 
 a Jacobite court, and prepare sentences. So that when the Prus- 
 sian and Austrian armies arrive in Paris, the necessary instructions 
 will have been giren, and judgment rendered. AH that will re- 
 main will be to put it in execution." 
 
 As if to confirm this letter, the official bulletin of the war pub- 
 lished the following: 
 
 " The Austrian cavalry in the neighborhood of Sarrelouis have 
 carried off prominent patriots and republicans. The Uhlans, hav- 
 ing taken municipal officers, have cut ofi their ears and nailed 
 them to their foreheads." 
 
 If such acts were committed in the unoffending provinces, what 
 would they do in revolutionizing Paris? 
 
 What they would do was no longer a secret. 
 
 This was the news that spread, was discussed at every corner, 
 spreading from every center to the extremities. 
 
 A grand throne was to be built for the allied kings in sight of 
 the ruins which once was Paris; all the population prisoners were 
 to be dragged, pushed, chased as captives to the foot of the throne; 
 there, as at the day of judgment, there would be a division of the 
 good and evil: the good, that is to say the royaHsts, the nobles, the 
 priests, would pass to the right, and France would be given to 
 them to do what they pleased; the wicked, which meant the revo- 
 lutionists, were to pass to the left; there they would tind the guil- 
 lotine, that instrument invented by the revolutionists, and by which 
 the revolution was to perish. 
 
 The revolution, that was to say France, and not only France, 
 for that existed no longer; the people were made only to serve as 
 a holocaust to an idea; not only France, but the ideas France 
 gave rise to. 
 
 Why was France the first to utter the word liberty? She thought 
 she was proclaiming something holy, light to the eyes, life to the 
 soul, when she said: "Liberty for France! Liberty for Europe! 
 Liberty for the world!" She thought she was doing a great thing 
 in emancipating the earth. See how mistaken she was, how she 
 ended. Se* how God has requited her; how Providence has turned 
 against her. See, when thinking herself innocent and sublime, 
 she was guilty and infamous. See, when she thought herself capa- 
 ble of someihing great, she committed a crime. See how she is 
 convicted, condemned, decapitated, dragged to the ends of the 
 earth; and the earth, for whose safety it has died, applauds its 
 death. 
 
 Thus Jesus Christ, crucified to save the world, died in the midst 
 of railleries and insults. But perhaps as a plea for the foreign 
 powers, these poor people may have had some influence over them? 
 Those that they liked, that they had enriched, those that they had 
 prayed to defend them perhaps? No. 
 
 Their king had conspired with the enemy, and from the temple, 
 where he was shut up, continued to correspond with the Austrians 
 and Prussians; their nobility marched against them, organized un 
 
234 AXDKEE DE TATERN-ET. 
 
 der their princes; their priests made the peaeants revolt. From fh« 
 depths of their prisons, the condemned royalists clapped their 
 hands at the defeats of France; the Prussians at Longwy made 
 those at the temple and the Abbaye utter a cry of joy. 
 
 Thus Danton, a man of extremes, wrathfully entered the as- 
 sembly. 
 
 The Minister of Justice thought justice powerless, and came to 
 demand force; thus justice took up the march leaning on force. 
 
 It mounted the tribunals, it bearded the lion in its den, it 
 •tretohed out its powerful hand that on the 10th of August 
 •rushed in the door of the Tuileries. 
 
 ' ' There must be created a national convulsion to put an end to 
 despots," it said. " Until now we have only had a simulated war: 
 it is no lonaer a question of that miserable trifling. The people 
 must rise eh masse to exterminate their enemy at a single blow; at 
 the same time, every conspirator must be put in chains, they must 
 be prevented from mischief." 
 
 Danton demanded a rising en masse, nocturnal perquisitions, 
 domiciliary visits, with pain of death against whoever conspired 
 against the operations of the provisionary government. 
 
 Danton obtained all he aslied for. 
 
 If he had asked for more, he would have obtained more. 
 
 " Never," says Michelet. " has a nation been so dismembered 
 before death. When Holland, with Louis XIV. at its doors, with 
 no other resource but to inundate and drown itself, she was in less 
 danger; entire Europe was for her. When Athens saw the throne 
 of Xerxes on the rock of Salamis, and losing ground, threw herself 
 in the waves, with nothing but water for country, she was in leas 
 danger; she was entire on her fleet, powerful, organized under the 
 hand of the great Themistocles, and more fortunate than France, 
 for she had no treason in her midst." 
 
 France was disorganized, dissolute, betrayed, bought and sold. 
 France was like Iphigenia under the knife of Calchas. The sov- 
 ereigns surrounding it only awaited its death towing their flight 
 through il on the pinions of despotism; she stretched out her hands 
 to the gods, but llie gods were deaf. 
 
 But at last, when she felt the cold hand of death touch her, by a 
 violent and terrible contraction she rallied herself; then the vol- 
 cano of life lighted in her entrails (hat flame which for half a cent- 
 ury lighted the world. 
 
 It was true, to sustain that sun required blood. 
 
 The blood stains of the 2d of September; that is approaching; 
 then we will see who spilled this blood, if France is to bear the 
 blame. But before we finish this chapter let us borrow two pages 
 from " Michelet," as follows: 
 
 " Paris looked like a stronghold; one would have thought one's 
 self at Lille or at Strasbourg. Throughout were consignees, 
 functionaries, military precautions to be seen, premature though 
 it was; the enemy was yet fifty or sixty leagues away. What was 
 more serious, really touching, was the sentiment of deep, admirable 
 tmanimity that revealed itself throughout; all the addresses^ 
 qteeches, and prayers were for the couutry; every one became a 
 
AKDREB DE TAVEENET. 225 
 
 recruiter, went from house to house, offering to those who could 
 go uniforms and arms. All the world turned orators, preaching, 
 discoursing, and singing patriotic songs. Who was not an au- 
 thor, a printer, an actor, a bill-poster at this time? The most 
 touching scenes took place oq all tlie public squares; the enlisting 
 olfices, the tribunals where every one enrolled themselvei^; every- 
 where were heard songs, cries, (ears of enthusiasm or adieus; and 
 above all these voices one great voice souuded in all heaits, in a 
 minute voice, but all the more deep — the voice of Prance, eloquent 
 in all its terms, pathetic in ils most tragic tones; the holy and 
 terribly patriotic signal of the country's danger hung in the win- 
 dows of the H6tel de Ville, an immense banner, floating to the 
 winds, as if urging the patriotic legions to hasten on their march 
 from the Pyrenees to the Escaut, from the Seine to the Rhine. 
 
 " To fully comprehend what this sacrifice meant, it was neces- 
 sary to see in each hut, in each house, the agony of the women, the 
 travail of the mothers, in this second birth, which was a Imndred 
 times mort cruel than when the babe made its first entrance in the 
 world; to see the old women, with broken hearts and dry eyes, 
 hastily gatlieri»g their savings for the children to carry oif, the 
 touching economies, the pennies saved from thrift, robbing them- 
 selves for their sons, for that day of utter sorrow, giving their chil- 
 dren up to that war that opened with so little chance, immolating 
 them on that desperately extreme situation, it was asking too 
 much. They succumbed to their wives, then by a natural reaction 
 fell into an accession of fury; they let all iheir affairs go, they 
 feared nothing; what could harm them while they were waiting 
 lor death? 
 
 " One day has been brought down by tradition — no doubt in 
 August or September — when a band of these incensed women met 
 Danton in the street, heaped opprobrium upon him as they did 
 upon the revolution, reproaching him for it, the blood that had 
 been spilled, their children's death, cursing him, invoking God to 
 punish him. He did not seem surprised, though he almost felt 
 their fingers on him, but he turned suddenly and looked at the 
 women pityingly. 
 
 " Danton had a good deal of heart; he mounted a stump, and ta 
 console them, began to insult them in their own language; the first 
 wojds were violent, exaggerated, obscene. They were stunned-, 
 his zeal or simulated fury disconcerted theirs. This wonderful 
 orator, both impulsive and calculating, had at the bottom a strong 
 sensLial temperament. He was all material, dominated by the 
 things of time and sense. Danton was before everything else an 
 athlete — there was a good deal in him of the lion and the bull-dog. 
 His mask frightened them, the overweening ugliness of his rough- 
 hewn face lent to his brusque words, sharpened by anger, a sort of 
 savage influence. The masses, who loved force, felt before him all 
 that fear and pity could experience; then under that violent, furi- 
 ous mask, they saw there was a heart, and finally, that this terrible 
 man, who only spoke by threats, was at heart brave and good. 
 The excited women around him, in their agitation felt all this, and 
 allowed themselves to be harangued, dominated, mastered; he led 
 them where be liked; be explamed bastily what was the duty of 
 
236 ANDREE DE TAVERNBT. 
 
 woman love, humanity; they did not bring children into the world 
 for themselves, but for their country. Then he no longer spoke of 
 them, but of himself. All his heart went out in words of agitated 
 pity for France, and his peculiar face, pitted with small-pox resem- 
 bling (he scarified fields of Vesuvius and Mount Etua, was wet 
 with tears. The women could no longer contain themselves, they 
 wept for France instead of their children, and sobbing, hid their 
 faces in their aprons." 
 
 Oh, tv>u great Michelet, where art thou? At Nerri? 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 THE BVB OP THE SECOND OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 " When the country is in danger," Danton said, the 88th of 
 August, in the National Assembly, " everything belongs to th« 
 courtry." 
 
 Tuey knew to what he referred: the domiciliary visits were about 
 taking place. 
 
 As if by the stroke of a magic wand, at the first rolling of the 
 drum, Paris underwent a wonderful change; populous before, it 
 became a desert. 
 
 The open stores closed; each street was closed and occupied by 
 a platoon of sixty men. 
 
 The barriers were guarded; the river was guarded. 
 
 At one o'clock in the morning, the visits began. 
 
 The commissioners of the districts knocked at the street doors in 
 the name of the law, and the door was opened. 
 
 They knocked at each apartment, always in the name of the law, 
 and opened by force the lodgings that were unoccupied. 
 
 They seized two thousand guns, arrested three thousand persons. 
 
 They wanted terror; they had it. 
 
 There was one result they had never expected, or perhaps had 
 overestimated. 
 
 These domiciliary visits opened the dwellings of the rich to the 
 poor; the men following the magistrates looked with amazement 
 on the decorated and guilded suites in the magnificent hotels, still 
 inhabited by their proprietors, or perhaps vacant. It redoubled 
 their hatred if it gave them no inclination to pillage. 
 
 There was .so little pillaging that Beaumarchais, who was already 
 in prison, relates, that in the magnificent gardens of the Boule- 
 vard St. Antoiue, a woman picked a rose, and for that they wanted 
 to throw her into the water. 
 
 And that at the moment the commune declared the venders of 
 silver would lie punished with capital Imprisonment. 
 
 Thus was the commune substituted for the assembly; it decreed 
 capital punishment. It gave Chaumette the right of opening th« 
 prisons and freeing the confined; it arrogated to itself the right of 
 pardon. It ordered at last that at the door of each prison a list 
 should be posted of those within; it was an appeal to their hatred 
 and vengeance; every one guarded the stronghold of his enemy. 
 The assembly saw the abyss that menaced them; against their owa 
 wishes they were about to soil their hands with blood. 
 
ANDRES DE TAVERNET. 327 
 
 Whence came thisT Its enemy, the commune. 
 
 Only the occasion was wanting for a terrible war to break out. 
 
 On the 29th of August, the day of the domiciliary visits, the 
 commune, by its journal, called to the bar Girey Dupre, one of th» 
 holdest, because one of the youngest Girondists. 
 
 Girey Dupre took refuge at the Ministry of War, not having time 
 to go to I lie assembly. 
 
 Huguenin, president of the commune, surrounded the home of 
 the minister to take the Girondist minister by force. 
 
 The Girondists were always in the majority in the assembly; in- 
 lulted through some of its members, it rose, and demanded in its 
 turn President Huguenin at the bar. 
 
 President Huguenin did not respond to the assembly's appoint- 
 ment. 
 
 On the 30th they passed a law which crushed the municipality 
 of Paris. 
 
 A deed which showed the horror they had at that time of rob- 
 bery contributed greatly to the decree. 
 
 A member of the commune, or an individual stating he was a 
 member, opened the arsenal and took from it a small silver can- 
 non, a gift from the city to Louis XIV., when a child. Canibon, 
 who had been appointed guardian of the arsenal, had the man 
 brought to the public bar; the man did not deny it or excuse him- 
 fself, merely saying, so precious an object ran the risk of being 
 stolen, and he thought it was safer at his house than elsewhere. 
 
 That tyranny on the part of the commune weighed heavily, and 
 seemed far-fetched to many. Louvet, a man of courageous im- 
 pulses, president of a section of the Rue des Lombard, declared in 
 his district that the council general of the commune had been 
 guilty of usurpation. Finding themselves upheld, the assembly 
 then announced that the president of the commune, that Huguenin, 
 ■who would not of himself come to the bar, should be brought there 
 by force, and within twenty-four hours a new commune should be 
 appointed by the districts. 
 
 The resolution was passed the 30th of August, at five o'clock in 
 the evening. 
 
 The hours must now be counted; for, from this moment, we are 
 inarching to the massacre of the 2d of September; every moment a 
 forward step is taken by that bloody goddess, with extended aims, 
 disheveled hair, horrified eyes, that is called Terror. 
 
 It was not very good logic, but the assembly declared, in break- 
 ing up the commune, that it was well deserving of the country; 
 that it was probably from some remnants of fear. Oi'nanduni, 
 P)llendum ! said Cicero, speaking of Octavius. 
 
 The commune followed Octavius's example. They all allowed 
 themselves to be elevated, but not overthrown. 
 
 Two hours after the decree was given, Tallien, the little secre" 
 tary, boasted loudly that he was Danton's man; Tallien, secretary 
 of the commune, proposed marching against the Thernes district, 
 to the Lombards. 
 
 Ahl this time it was in reality civil war, no longer the people 
 against the king, bourgeois agamst the aristocracy, huts against 
 
S28 ANDEEB DB TAVEENET. 
 
 cMteaus, homes against palaces, but districts against districta^ 
 pikes against pikes, citizens against citizens. 
 
 At the same time Marat and Robespierre, Ihe latter as a member 
 ■of the commune, the first as an amateur, raised their voices. 
 
 Marat demauded the massacre of the National Assembly; that 
 was DOlhing; they were accustomed to have him make such mo- 
 tions. But Robespierre, the prudent, the wily one; Robespierre, the 
 vague, generalizing denunciator, insisted on taking up arms, and 
 not only in self-defense, but to attack. 
 
 Robespierre must have known the commune was very strong to 
 dare speak thus. 
 
 In fact, in was so strong, that the same evening his secretary, 
 Tallien, went to the assembly with three thousand men armed with 
 pikes. 
 
 " The commune," he said, " and the commune alone, has raised 
 the members of the assembly to the rank of representatives of a 
 free people; the commune passed resolutions against the disaffected 
 priests, and arrested those men against whom no one dare raise a 
 hand; the commune," said he, finally, " should within a few days 
 purge the soil of liberty of their presence." 
 
 Thus it was during the night of the 80th and 3)st of August, be- 
 fore the assembly even, who was about to crush it, that the first 
 word of massacre was uttered. 
 
 Who uttered the first word? who, thus to speak, reddened the yet 
 white programme? We have seen it was Tallien, the man of the 
 »th Thermidor. 
 
 To do the assembly justice, be it said at this they rose. Manuel, 
 the steward of the commune, saw that they had gone too far; they 
 Arrested Tallien, and insisted that Huguenin should make repara- 
 tion to the assembly. 
 
 All the while Manuel, who arrested Tallien, who insisted Hu- 
 guenin should make the amende Iwnorabls, knew very well what 
 was taking place, for this is what he did, the poor pedant with the 
 little mind but honest heart. 
 
 He had a personal friend at the Abbaye: Beaumarchais. 
 
 Beaumarchais, the great critic, had criticised Manuel; as he 
 passed Manuel by gorged with others, they would have attributed 
 this murder to a mean vengeance of his pride. He ran to the Ab- 
 Taaye and called on Beaumarchais. When the latter saw him he 
 tried to excuse himself by giving explanations to his literary vic- 
 tim. 
 
 " We are not debating here literature, criticism, or journalism. 
 There is an open door; save yourself to-day if you do not want to 
 be strangled tomorrow!" 
 
 The author of " Figaro " needed no other hint; he slipped 
 through the halt-open door and disappeared. 
 
 If it had been CoUot d'Herbois he was talking about instead of 
 criticising the author Manuel, Beaumarchais would have died. 
 
 It was the 31st of August, that great day that had decided the 
 ftssembly against the commune— that is to say, between modera- 
 tion and terror. The commune decided to remain at any price. 
 The assembly had given it its dismissal in favor of a new a,ssem- 
 bly. 
 
ANDBEE DB TAVEKNET. 329 
 
 The commune naturally went further than the decision intended. 
 
 "Without knowin" where they wanted to go, the people wanted 
 to go somewhere. Thrown to the front on the 20fh of June, thrown 
 Btill further on the ]Oth of August, they felt a vague need of blood 
 and destruction. 
 
 It must be said, Marat on one side, and Hebert on the other, led 
 them a frightful dance. Tliere was only Robespierre who was 
 «nxic7.c to reconquer his shaking popularity; entire France wanted 
 ■war; Robespierre advised peace— it was only Robespierre who tried 
 •omething new, and who, by the absurdity of his ideas, surpassed, 
 himself. 
 
 A powerful party, he said, had offered the throne to the Duke of 
 Brunswick. 
 
 Who were the three powerful parties now fighting? The as- 
 sembly, the commune, the Jacobins; and yet the commune and 
 the Jacobins at a pincli could be called one. 
 
 It was neither the commune nor the Jacobins; Robespierre was a 
 member ol the club and of the municipality; he was not crimi- 
 nated. This powerful party was the Girondists. We have said 
 Robespierre surpassed in absurdity the most absurd innovations; 
 what in fact could be more absurd than to accuse the Girondists, 
 who had declared war on Prussia and Austria, of offering the throne 
 to the common enemy? 
 
 And who were the men they accused of this? The Vergniauds, 
 the Rolands, the Clavifires, the Servans, the Gensonnes, the Guadels, 
 the Barbarouxes, that is to say, the most ardent patriots, and at the 
 same time the most honest men in France. 
 
 But there are moments when a man like Robespierre says every- 
 thing, and the worst of it is, these are moments when people be- 
 lieve everything. 
 
 They were in this condition the 31st of Augist. A physician 
 who could have had his fingers on the pulse of France, he would 
 have felt that day the pulsations aiigmenling every moment. 
 
 The 30th, at five o'clock in the evening, the assembly, as we 
 have said, broke up the commune; the decree staled that in twenty- 
 four hours the districts must nominate a new general council. 
 
 Then, on the 31st, at five o'clock in the evening, the decree was 
 put in execution. 
 
 But Marat's vociferations, Hebert's menaces, Robespierre's cal- 
 umnies, weighted the commune so heavily on Paris, that the dls-r 
 tricts did not dare to vote. They gave as a pretext of their abstain- 
 ing, that the decree had not been officially announced. 
 
 The 31st of August, about noon, the assembly were advised theit 
 decree of the day before had not been executed, and would not be. 
 Force was necessary, and one knows what force would have been 
 for the assembly. 
 
 The commune had Santerre by his brother-in-law Panis. Panis, 
 one must remember, was that fanatic of Robespierre who had pro- 
 posed to Rebecqui and Barbaroux to name a dictator, and who had 
 hinted that he should he the incorruptible; Santerre represented the 
 faubourgs; the faubourgs were as irresistible as the ocean itself. 
 
 The faubourgs broke in the doors of the Tuileries; they would 
 equally as well break in the assembly. 
 
230 ANDKEB DE TATERNET. 
 
 Then the assembly feared, if it armed itself against tlie com- 
 mune, not only to be abandoned by the extreme patriots, by thos* 
 •who wished for a revolution at any piict; but more — and what 
 was more — to be sustained, spite of themselves, by the moderate 
 royalists. 
 
 Then it would be completely lost. 
 
 About six o'clock the rumor spread through its benches that 
 there was a great tumult around the Abbaye. 
 
 They had just liberated one M. de Montmorin; the people be- 
 lieved it came from the minister who had signed the passports by 
 which Louis XVI. had attempted to fly; they went en masse to the 
 prison, calling with loud cries for the traitor's death. They had 
 the greatest difficuly in making them see their error; all night the 
 streets of Paris were in a state of frightful fermentation. 
 
 Any one could see that by the next day the slightest event would 
 be sufficient to make this excitement assume colossal proportions. 
 
 This event, which will be recited somewhat in detail, as it treats 
 of one of the heroes of our history, occurred in the prisons of 
 ChStelet. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIU. 
 
 MONSIEOR DE BEAUSIRE. 
 
 As the day closed on the 10th of August, a special tribunal had 
 been organized to examine into the robberies committed at the 
 Tuileries. The people had, as Peltier relates, shot on the spot two 
 robbers taken in the very act; but beside those there were others, 
 as might easily be imagined, who were not caught. 
 
 Among the number of these chevaliers d'indusirie was M. de 
 Beausire, an old soldier of the king's, who entered the chateau after 
 every one else; he was a man of too good sense to be silly enough 
 to be among the first to enter, or even one of the first, if there was 
 the slightest danger. 
 
 It was not M. de Beausire's political opinions that led him to the 
 king's palace, or for the sake ot mourning over the royal fall, or to 
 applaud the triumph of the people. No; M. de Beausire came 
 there as an amateur, to give those whom he met the benefit of his 
 opinions on the mutability of human events, and, still another aim, 
 to see if those who had just lost a throne had not left behind them 
 some bijnu, more easily carried and put in a place of safety. 
 
 To save appearances, M. de Beausire wore the red bonnet, was 
 armed with an enormous sword, after having slightly stained his 
 shirt and hands in the blood of the first dead man he met; like a 
 wolf following the conquering army, like a boaster planted after 
 the combat on the battle-field, a superficial glance might take him 
 for the conqueror. 
 
 It was indeed for a conqueror to take the part of those who were 
 heard crying: "Death to the aristocrats 1" who were to be seen 
 ferreting under the beds, opening armoires, even the drawers of the 
 bureaus, in order to assure themselves no aristocrat was concealed 
 there. 
 
 Unfortunately for M. de Beausire, there entered a man with him 
 ■who neither shouted, nor looked under the beds, nor opened tha 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVEKNET. 231 
 
 ■wardrobes, but was in the midst of the firing, though he was un- 
 armed, with the victors, though he had conquered nothing, prome- 
 naded, his hands behind his back, as if he was in one of the public 
 gardens on a f@te night, calm and cold, under his black clothes, so 
 precise and neat; he occasionally raised his voice to say: 
 
 " Do not forget, citizens, you must not kill the women, nor 
 touch the jewels I" 
 
 To those who killed the men, and threw the furniture in the 
 street, he did not think he had the right to say anything. He 
 noticed at. the first glance that M. de Beausire was not one of these 
 latter. Thus, about half past nine o'clock, Pitou, as we have 
 already seen, having obtained, as a post of honor, the guarding of 
 the vestibule of the Horloge, saw coming toward him a sort of 
 colossal giant, melancholy and polite, but firm as if he had a mis- 
 sion to bring order out of disorder, justice from revenge, who said: 
 
 " Captain, you will see a man descending with a red bonnet on 
 his head, holding a sword in his hand, and gesticulating wildly; 
 arrest him, and have him cared for by your men. He has stolen a 
 tiara of diamonds." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Maillard," replied Pitou, carrying his hand to 
 his head. 
 
 " Ah I ah I" said the old huissier, " you know me, my friend!" 
 
 " I should think 1 did remember you!" said Pitou. " You don't 
 remember me. Monsieur Maillard? We took the Bastile together." 
 
 " Is it possible'/" asked Maillard. 
 
 " Then on the 5th and 6th of October we were at Versailles to- 
 gether. " 
 
 " That is true, I was there." 
 
 " The devil! I remember how you protected the women, and had 
 a duel at the door of the Tuileries with a guardian who would not 
 let you pass." 
 
 ''^Now, you will do," said Maillard, "all that I ask you, will 
 you not?" 
 
 " That is another thing. Monsieur Maillard; all that you order! 
 Ah! you are a patriot!" 
 
 " I never boast," said Maillard; " and for that reason we must 
 not allow the name we bear to be dishonored. Look! here is the 
 man." 
 
 At that moment M. de Beausire descended the staircase, waving 
 his great sword, and crying, " Long live the nation!" 
 
 Pitou motioned to Tellierand Maniquet, who, without any appar- 
 ent intention, placed themselves before the door and waited for M. 
 de Beausire on the last step. 
 
 He had noticed the preparations, and without doubt those prep- 
 arations worried him, for he stopped as if he had forgotten some- 
 thing, and began to ascend the stairs. 
 
 " Excuse me, citizen," said Pitou, " but they pass here." 
 
 "Ah! they pass here, do they?" 
 
 " They have ordered the Tuileries to be evacuated." 
 
 Beausire nodded bis head and continued on his way, carrying hii 
 Jiand to his red bonnet and affecting a military air. 
 
 " You see, comradts," he said; '" can 1 pass, or not?" 
 
S33 AKDEEE DE TATERNET. 
 
 "Pass; but first, " said Pitou, "you must srtiult to a little 
 formality." 
 
 " Humph! And -what is that, captain?" 
 
 " You must be searched, citizen. 
 
 " Searched?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Search a patriot, a conqueror, a man who comes to extirpate 
 the aristocracy?" 
 
 " That is the countersign; so, comrade, if you are a comrade," 
 said Pitou, " put up your sword — it is useless, as all the aristocrats 
 are killed — do it willingly, or I will be obliged to use force." 
 
 "Force?" said Beausire. "Ah! you talk that way, my fine 
 captain, because you have twenty men under your orders; if we 
 were alone — " 
 
 " I* we were alone, citizen," said Pitou, " this is what I would 
 do: I would take your sword from your hand and break it under 
 my foot, as not worthy to be touched by the hand of an honest 
 man, having been held by a robber!" 
 
 And Pitou, putting his theory in practice, broke the blade of the 
 sword as he snatched it away from Beausire, and threw the rest 
 away. 
 
 " A robber!" cried the man with the red bonnet; "la robber — 
 I, Monsieur de Beausire?" 
 
 " My friends," said Pitou, pushing the old soldier in the midst 
 of his men, " search Monsieur de Beausire." 
 
 " Very well, search me!" said the man, stretching his arms out 
 like a victim; "search me." 
 
 They did not require M. de Beausire's permission to proceed with 
 the search; but, to Pitou's great astonishment and M. Maillard's, 
 after a thorough search, turning out his pockets, penetrating into 
 the most secret recesseSj they only discovered a pack of playing- 
 cards, the figures almost invisible from age, then eleven sous. 
 
 Pitou looked at Maillard, who made a gesture as much as to say, 
 " What can you do?" 
 
 " Begin again!" said Pitou, whose principal quality was pa- 
 tience. 
 
 They began again, but with no more success than the first time: 
 all they found were the same pack of cards and eleven sous. 
 
 M. de Beausire was triumphant. 
 
 " Well, sir," he cried, " is the sword dishonored because it was 
 in my hands?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Pitou; " and to prove it, if you are not satisfied 
 with my apology, one of my men will lend you his, and I will givt 
 you any other satisfaction you please." 
 
 " Thanks, young man," said M. de Beausire, putting on his coat; 
 "you acted according to your orders, and an old soldier like my- 
 self knows that is a sacred thing. Now, I expect Madame de Beau- 
 sire is anxious at my long absence, and if 1 am allowed to retire — ' 
 
 " Go, sir," said Pitou; " you are at liberty." 
 
 Beausire bowed nonchalantly and left. 
 
 Pitou looked around for Maillard; he was gon& 
 
 " Have you seen Monsieur Maillard?" he asked. 
 
ANDREE TE TAVEKNET. 233 
 
 " I thought," replied one of the guaidsmen, " I saw him ajscend 
 the stairs. 
 
 " That is true," said Pitou, " for he is coining down." 
 
 Malllard was indeed descending the staircase; thanks to his long 
 limbs, he only took every other step, and in a moment he was in the 
 ■vestibule. 
 
 " Well," he asked, " have you found anything?" 
 
 " No," replied Pitou. 
 
 " 1 have been more fortunate than you. I have found the dia- 
 dem." 
 
 " Then we were wrong?" 
 
 " No, we were right." 
 
 And Maillard displayed the tiara, the gold mounting only, all the 
 precious stones that enriched it having been taken out. 
 
 " What does that mean?" said Pitou. 
 
 " That means that the scoundrel was on the lookout. He took 
 out the diamonds, and thinking the mounting too embarrassing, 
 threw it in the cabinet where I found it." 
 
 " Very good!" said Pitou; " and the diamonds?" 
 
 " He found a way to dupe us." 
 
 "Ah! the wretch!" 
 
 " How long has he been gone?" asked Maillard. 
 
 " As you came down he went through the middle door." 
 
 " Which way did he go?" 
 
 " Toward the quay." 
 
 " Adieu, captain." 
 
 " You are going, Monsieur Maillard?" 
 
 " I want to satisfy myself," said the ex-huissier. 
 
 And opening his long legs like a compass, he started in pursuit 
 «f M. de Beausire. 
 
 Pitou remained buried in thought over what had occurred, when 
 he saw the Comtesse de Charny, and with her sad search forgot the 
 trifling incident, whose finale requires an entire chapter to unravel 
 successfully. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE BXPITRG A T ION. 
 
 Bapid as were his footsteps, Maillard could not see M. de Beau- 
 sire, who had three things in his favor: first, ten minutes in ad- 
 vance; next, the shades of night; lastly, the numbers constantly 
 crossing the court of the Carroussel, in the midst of which M. de 
 Beausire had disappeared. 
 
 Once arrived on the quay of the Tuileries, the ex-huissier of 
 Chatelet no longer continued advancing. He lived, as we have 
 Said, in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and his road, or nearly his road, 
 was to follow the quay as far as the Place de la Grfive. 
 
 A great concourse of people were crowding on the Pont Neuf 
 and the Pont au Change. There had been an exposition of bodies 
 on the square of the Palais de Justice, and every one rushed there, 
 in hopes, or rather in fear, of finding a brother, a relative, or a 
 friend. 
 
 Maillard followed the crowd. 
 
334 ANDKEB DE TAVEEKET. 
 
 At the comer of the Rue de la Barillerie and the square of the 
 palace, he had a friend, a druggist; at that time, they called them 
 apothecaries. Maillard went 1o his friend's, sat down, and talked 
 about the atfair of the day, while the surgeons came and went, 
 procuring bandages, unguents — everything necessary to succor the 
 •wounded; for among the dead were occasionally heard, from time 
 to time, a cry, a sigh, a gasp for breath, from an unfortunate liv- 
 ing being, who was instantly dragged from the midst of the bodies, 
 his wounds dressed, then carried to the Hotel Pieu. There was 
 consequently great excitement in the offices of the worthy apothe- 
 cary; but Maillard felt no uneasiness; on such days, a patriot of 
 Maillard's stamp was received with pleasure, when "others flour- 
 ished like a green bay-tree," in the city and faubourgs. 
 
 He had been there scarcely a quarter of an hour, his long limbs 
 folded under him, when a woman of thirty seven or thirty-eight 
 years entered, who, under an aspect of most abject misery, pre- 
 served a certain appearance of former opulence— a certain some- 
 thing betrayed her aristocracy more natural than acquired. 
 
 But what struck Maillard particularly was the woman's strange 
 resemblance to the queen; he would have uttered a cry of amaze- 
 ment if he had not restrained himself. 
 
 She held by the hand a small boy of eight or nine years of age, 
 and approached the counter with a sort of timidity, hiding as she 
 best might the misery of her drapery, which was the more striking 
 from her delicate hands and face. For some time it was impossi- 
 ble to make herself heard, the crowd was so great; at last, speaking 
 to the master of the establishment: 
 
 " Have you," she said, " a purgative for my husband, who is 
 sick?" 
 
 " What sort of a purgative do you want?" asked the apothecary. 
 
 " Anything you have, sir, as long as it only costs eleven sous." 
 
 That sum of eleven sous struck Maillard; that was exactly the 
 sum that had been found in M. de Beausire's pocket. 
 
 " "Why do you only want one that costs eleven sous?" asked the 
 apothecary. 
 
 " Because that is all the money my husband has." 
 
 " Make a mixture of tamarind seed and senna," said the apothe- 
 canr to his assistant. 
 
 The aasistant mixed the preparation, while the apothecary at- 
 tended to other demands. 
 
 But Maillard, who had nothing to distract him, concentrated all 
 his attention on the woman with the purgative and the eleven 
 sous. 
 
 " Here, citoyenne," said the assistant, " here is your medicine " 
 
 " Now, Toussaint," said the woman, in a drawling voice, which 
 seemed habitual, " give me the eleven sous, my child." 
 
 " Here they are," said the little l)oy. 
 
 And, laying his coins on the counter: 
 
 " Come, Mamma Oliva," he said, " come quick, papa is wait 
 Ing." 
 And he tried to drag away his mother repeatedly: 
 " Now, come. Mamma Olivat come nowl" 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEBJTET. 235 
 
 " Pardon me, citoyenne," said the assistant, " but here are only 
 nine sous." 
 
 " Only nine sous — how is that?" said the woman. 
 
 " Count them yourself," said the assistant. 
 
 The woman counted them — there were only nine sous. 
 
 " What have you done with the two others, naughty childt" 
 asked the woman. 
 
 " I don't know," replied the child; " come. Mamma Clival" 
 
 "You should know, because you wanted to carry the moaey, 
 and I gave it to you." 
 
 " I have lost it," said the child; " come, now!" 
 
 "You have a charming child there, citoyenne," said Maillard; 
 " he seems full of intelligence, but you must take care he does not 
 become a robber." 
 
 "A robberl" said the woman whom the little boy had desig- 
 nated by the name of Mamma Oliva. " Why that, I beseech you, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Because he has not lost the two sous, but has them hid in his 
 shoe." 
 
 " I have not," said the child. " It is not true!" 
 
 " In the left shoe, citoyenne; in the left shoe," said Maillard. 
 
 Mamma Oliva, in spite of young Toussaint's cries, took off his 
 left shoe and found the money. She gave the two pieces to the 
 assistant, and threatened the child with a punishment that seemed 
 terrible to the hearers, if they had not faith in the softening influ- 
 ence of a mother's tenderness. 
 
 This event, unimportant in itself, would certainly have passed 
 unperceived in the midst of the more serious circumstances that 
 were occurring, had not the remarkable resemblance of that wom- 
 an to the queen struck Maillard. 
 
 And the result of this preoccupation was that he approached hi* 
 friend, the apothecary, and seizing him in a moment of leisure: 
 
 " Did you notice?" he said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The resemblance of the citoyenne that went out from here — " 
 
 " To the queen?" said the apothecary, laughing. 
 
 " Yes; you noticed it as I did." 
 
 " Long time ago?" 
 
 " How, a long time ago?" 
 
 " Certainly; it is a historical reseimblance." 
 
 " 1 don't understand you." 
 
 " Don't you recollect Collier's famous story?" 
 
 " Oh! there is not a huissier in the Ch&telet who could have for- 
 gotten that storj'." 
 
 " Then you must remember a certain Nicole Legay, called Made- 
 moiselle Oliva!" 
 
 "Ah! the devil! that is true! who took the part of the queen, 
 by Cardinal Rohan." 
 
 " And who lives svith a black sheep, an old soldier, a scoundrel, 
 a spy, called Beausire." 
 
 " What?" exclaimed Maillard, as if stung by a serpent. 
 
 " Called Beausire," repeated the apothecary. 
 
 ' And it's this Beausire she calls Iter husband?" asked Maillard. 
 
-'336 I^ANDEEB DB TAVEBNBT. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And it was for him slie came for the inedicineT" 
 
 " The knave has indigestion, probably." 
 
 " A purgative medicine?" continued Maillard, like a man fol 
 Jowing out an idea and not daring to lose sight of it. 
 
 " A purgative medicine, j'es." 
 
 " Ah!" cried Maillard, striking his forehead, " I have my mani" 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 " The man with the eleven sous." 
 
 " Who is the man with the eleven sous?" 
 
 " Monsieur de Beausire, hang iti" 
 
 " You want him?" 
 
 " Yes: if I only knew where he lived." 
 
 " 1 know, if you do not." 
 
 " Good I Where is it?" 
 
 " Rue de la Juiverie, No. 6." 
 
 "Here — close bv?" 
 
 " A step or so. 
 
 " Well. 1 am not surprised now." 
 
 " At what?" 
 
 " That the young Toussaint stole two sous from his mother." 
 
 " Why are you no longer astonished?" 
 
 " It is Monsieur de Beausire's son, is it not?" 
 
 " His living picture." 
 
 " A chip of the old block! Now, my dear friend," continued 
 Maillard, " with your hand on your conscience, how soon will your 
 medicine take effect?" 
 
 " Seriously?" 
 
 " Most decidedly." 
 
 " Not before two hours." 
 
 " That is all I want; 1 have the time." 
 
 " Then you are interested in Monsieur de Beausire?" 
 
 " So great an interest, that, fearing he will not be taken good 
 care of, I am going — " 
 
 " For what?" 
 
 " Your trained nurses. Adieu, my dear friend." 
 
 And leaving tbe apothecary's with a quiet smile much greater 
 than his lugubrious face ever indulged in, Maillard went toward 
 the Tuileries. 
 
 Pitou was away; we remember how he had followed Andree's 
 steps, while looking for the Comte de Charny; in his absence Mani- 
 quet and Tellier were in command. 
 
 They recognized each other. 
 
 " Afil it is you, Monsieur Maillard," said Maniquet; " well, did 
 you find your man?" 
 
 " No," said Maillard; " but I am on hie track." 
 
 " Faith, that'.x lucky," said Tellier; " though there was nothing 
 found on hiro, I'll wager be has the diamonds!" 
 
 " Bet, citizen," cried Maillard; " bet, and you will win." 
 
 "Good!" said Maniquet; " and do you think you can ge*. Mm?" 
 
 " 1 hope so, if you will assist me." 
 
 " How, Citizen Maillard? We are at your orders." 
 
ANDKEE DE TAVERNBT. 237 
 
 Mafflard motioned to a lieutenant and sub-lieutenant to dra^ 
 near. 
 
 " Choose two good men from your platoon for me." 
 
 " Do you mean brave?" 
 
 " No, honest." 
 
 " OhI then take them as they come." 
 
 Then returning to his post: 
 
 " Two good, willing men," said Desire. 
 
 A dozen men rose. 
 
 " Here, Boulanger," said Maniquet, " come herel" 
 
 One ot the men approached. 
 
 " And you, Molicar." 
 
 A second stepped to the side of the first. 
 
 " Do you want any more. Monsieur Maillard?" asked Tellier. 
 
 " No, that's sufficient. Come, comrades!" 
 
 The two Haramontors followed Maillard. 
 
 Maillard led them to the Rue de la Juiverie, and stopped before 
 No. 6. 
 
 " Here is the place," he said; " let us go upstairs." 
 
 The two men passed into a corridor with him, then up the stairs, 
 then to the fourth floor. 
 
 These, guided by Toussaint's cries, not yet consoled for the cor- 
 rection, anything but maternal, he had suffered — for M. de Beau- 
 sire, on learning the extent of his fault, had thought it necessary to 
 interfere and add some more blows with his hard dry hands, to 
 the whipping not quite so severe, given her dear son by Mile. 
 Oliva. 
 
 Maillard tried to open the door. 
 
 The bolt was slipped inside. 
 
 He knocked. 
 
 " Who is it?" asked Mile. Oliva's drawling voice. 
 
 " Open in the name of the law!" answered Maillard. 
 
 There ensued some conversation in a loud voice, that resulted in 
 the young Toussaint keeping quiet, believing it was for the two 
 sous he had stolen from his mother that the law was thus agi- 
 tated, while Beausire, putting it to the account of domiciliary 
 visits, uneasy though he was, tried to assure Oliva. 
 
 At length Mme. de Beausire decided, and the moment Maillard 
 knocked for the second time, opened the door. 
 
 The three men entered, to the great terror of Mile. Oliva and 
 Toussaint, who ran to hide behind a big straw chair. 
 
 M. de Beausire was lying down, and on the table, lighted by a 
 poor candle, in an iron candlestick that was smoking, Maillard 
 perceived with satisfaction an empty bottle. The medicine had 
 been taken; nothing remained but to await its effect. 
 
 During the discussion, Maillard related to Boulanger and Molicar 
 •what had occurred at the apothecary's; so that, arrived finally in 
 M. de Beausire's room, they were acquainted with the situation of 
 affairs. "Then, after installing them each side of the bed, " Citi- 
 zens," he contented himself by saying, " Moniieur de Beausire is 
 precisely in that condition which the princess in the ' Thousand 
 and One Nights ' found herself, who, only speaking when obliged 
 to, dropped a diamond every time she opened her mouth. Let 
 
238 ANDREE DE TATERNET. 
 
 nothing fall from Monsieur de Beausire's mouth without ascertain- 
 ing wbat the contents are. I will wait for you at the municipality; 
 when lliis gentleman has nothing more to say to you, conduct him 
 to the Cliafelet, where you can recommend him to Citizen Mail- 
 lard, then join me at the Hotel de Ville with whatever he has given 
 you." 
 
 The two guardsmen howed, and carrying arms, placed them- 
 selves on each side of M. de Beausire's lied. 
 
 The apothecary was not mistaken; in two hours the medicine 
 took efifect, lasting about an hour. 
 
 About three o'clock Maillard saw the two men coming. 
 
 Tliey brought with them a million francs' worth of diamonds, of 
 the lirst water, from the result of M. de Beausire's medicine. Mail- 
 lard laid in his and the names of the two Haramonters the dia- 
 monds on the def k of the procureur of the commune, who gave them 
 a certificate stating the three had deserved well of the country. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 The result of the serio-comic event just related was: 
 
 M. de Beausire, thrown in the prison of the ChStelet, had been 
 tried by a jury specially charged to examine into the thefts com- 
 mitted on the lOtii of August and the days following. 
 
 There was no escape for him; the thing was too clearly proved. 
 
 Thus, the accused humbly confessed his guilt, and implored par- 
 don from the court. 
 
 The court ordered an examination info M. de Beausire's ante- 
 cedents, and not particularly edified by the result of the examina- 
 tion, condemned the old soldier to five years at the galleys, and to 
 be branded. 
 
 In vain M. de Beausire alleged he had been drawn into the theft 
 by the most honorable sentiments, that of assuring a tranquil fut- 
 ure to liis wife and son ; nothing could palliate the sentence, and in 
 its capacity of a Supreme Court, there was no appeal; the next day 
 judgment was to be executed. 
 
 Alas! it should have been executed instantly. Fate willed the 
 evening of the day M. de Beausire was to be branded they intro- 
 duced into the prison one of his ancient comrades. After the. 
 recognition, came mutual confidences. The new arrival said there 
 was a completely organized plot about breaking out on the Place 
 de Grfive or the Palace Square. 
 
 The conspirators were to rally in considerable numbers, on the 
 pretext of seeing the first branding which was to take place at that 
 time— at that time they branded prisoners both in the Place de 
 Grfive or in front of the Palace of Justice — and, on the cries of 
 " Long live the king!" " Long live the Prussians!" " Death to the 
 Nation!" they would seize upon tlie HStel de Ville, call to their aid 
 the National Guard, half of whom were royalists, or at least Con- 
 stitutionalists, maintain the abolition of the commune, and finally 
 •ccomplish a royalist counter-revolution. 
 
 Unfortunately, it was M. de Beausire's friend who was to give 
 the signal; the conspirators, ignorant of his arrest, would go to the 
 
ANDREB DE TAVEKNEY. 239 
 
 •pot the day the branding was to take place, and as no one would 
 be there to cry " Long live the king!" " Long live the Prussians!" 
 " Death to the Nation!" the rising would fall to the ground. 
 
 It was the more to be regretted, added the friend, as a conspiracy 
 had never been better organized or promised a result more certain. 
 
 M. de Beausire's friend's arrest was the more deplorable, as cer- 
 tainly, in the midst of tumult, the condemned man could not help 
 but be delivered, fly, and escape the double punishment of brand- 
 ing and the galleys. M. de Beausire, without having any settled 
 opmions, had always at the bottom inclined toward royalty; he 
 began by sympathizing for the king in the first place, and himself 
 in the second, that the movement could not succeed. Suddenly he 
 struck his head; he was inspired with a bright idea. 
 
 " But," he said to his comrade, " this first branding is to be 
 mine." 
 
 "Certainly; as I told you, this would have been a great thing 
 for you." 
 
 " And you say your arrest is yet unknown?" 
 
 " Entirely so." 
 
 " The conspirators VMI rally the same as if you were not ar- 
 rested?" 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " So that in case any one gave the signal the conspiracy would 
 break forth?" 
 
 " Yes; but to whom could I give it, now I am arrested and 
 can not communicate with any one?" 
 
 "To me?" said Beausire, in the tone of Medea in Comeille's 
 tragedy. 
 
 " You?" 
 
 " Certainly! I will be there, as I am the one to be branded. 
 Very well, I will cry: ' Long live the king! Long live the Prus- 
 sians! Death to the Nation!' That is not very difficult, I think." 
 
 Beausire's comrade remained as if astounded. 
 
 " I always said," he declared, " that you were a man of genius!" 
 
 Beausire bowed. 
 
 "If you do that," continued the royalist prisoner, " you will 
 not only be delivered, not only pardoned, but more, I will pro 
 claim that to you is due the success of the conspiracy, and you may 
 be assured beforehand of receiving a handsome recompense." 
 
 "It is not for that object I would undertake it," replied Beau 
 sire, with the most disinterested air in the world. 
 
 " Tlie devil!" said his friend; " never mind, the recompense will 
 be offered; I would advise you not to refuse it." 
 
 " If you advise it," said Beausire. 
 
 "I do more. I beg, if necessary; I insist!" majestically de- 
 clared the friend. 
 
 " So be it!" said Beausire. 
 
 " Now we will breakfast together. The jailer will not refuse 
 that last favor to two comrades. We must drink a good bottle of 
 wine to the success of the conspiracy." 
 
 Beausire had some doubts as to the jailer complying with their re- 
 quest. But if he breakfasted or not with his friend, he had de- 
 cided to keep his promise. 
 
340 ANDREE DE TATERNEY. 
 
 To their great satisfaction, their request was granted. 
 
 The two friends breakfasted together. They not only drank one 
 ■bottle of wine, but two, three, and four. 
 
 At the fourth, M. de Beausire was a furious royalist. Fortun- 
 ately, they came to take him to the Place de Grfeye before the fifth 
 bottle was begun. 
 
 He ascended the cart of the condemned as a triumphal chariot, 
 looking contemptuously on the crowd for whom he was preparing 
 BO great a surprise. 
 
 At the edge of the Notre Dame Bridge a woman and small boy 
 waited to see him pass. 
 
 M. de Beausire recognized poor Oliva in tears: and the young 
 Toussaint, who, seeing his father in the hands of the gendarmes, 
 cried : 
 
 "That is right. Why did he beat me?" 
 
 Beausire sent them a protecting smile, with a gesture which 
 would have been full of majesty if his hands had not been tied. 
 
 The square of the H6tel de Ville was filled. Every one knew 
 the condemned man was to expiate a theft committed at the 
 Tuileries. From the account of the trial, the circumstances ac- 
 companying the theit were known, and there was no pity for the 
 condemned man. 
 
 When the cart stopped at the foot of the pillory, the guards had 
 the greatest difficulty in keeping back the people. 
 
 Beausire regarded the excitement, the tumult, the crowd, with, 
 an air which seemed to say: 
 
 " You will see; it will soon be different." 
 
 When he appeared on the pillory there was a universal " Hur- 
 rah;" but when the moment approached when the hangman ex- 
 posed the culprit's shoulder, and stooped to take the hot iron from 
 the furnace, what always happens occurred, and that was before 
 the supreme majesty of the law —all the world was awed. 
 
 Beausire profiled by this moment, and, rallying all his strength, 
 with a full, sonorous, resonant voice, cried: 
 
 " Long live the king! Long live the Prussians! Death to the 
 Nation!" 
 
 The tumult M. de Beausire created surpassed his expectations^ 
 there were not only cries, but roars. 
 
 The entire trowd, with a unanimous rush, made for the pillory. 
 
 This time the guard was powerless to protect M. de Beausire; 
 their ranks were broken, the scaffold overrun, the liangman thrown 
 to the foot of the railing, the condemned man seized from the stake 
 and thrown into that devouring caldron called the multitude. 
 
 He would have been killed, pnunded, pulled to pieces, when, 
 fortunately, a man precipitated himself, girded with a scarf, from 
 the balcony of the Hotel de Ville, where he was overlooking the 
 branding. 
 
 This man was the procureur of the commune — Manuel. 
 
 He was a most tender-hearted rnan, though often obliged to con- 
 ceal his sentiments; on such occasions his feelings escaped him. 
 With great difficulty he reached M. de Beausire, laid his hand upon 
 him, and in a loud voice: 
 
 " In the name of the law," he said, " I claim this manl" 
 
ANDEEB DE TAVEBNET. 341 
 
 The people hesitated to obey. Manuel took off his scarf, and, 
 letting It float to the wind, cried: 
 
 " Helpl every good citizen."* 
 
 Twenty men rushed close to him. 
 
 They took Beausire from the hands of the crowd. He was near- 
 ly dead. 
 
 Manuel had him carried to the H6tel de Ville. That, however, 
 was soon seriously threatened, the exasperation was so great. 
 
 Manuel appeared on the balcony. 
 
 " This man is guilty," he said, " but of a crime for which he 
 has not been tried. Call a jury from among yourselves; that jury 
 can assemble in one of the halls of the Hotel de Ville, and give a 
 verdict as to his guilt. The sentence, whatever it is, will be exe- 
 cuted, but let there be a sentence." 
 
 Was it not strange that, on the eve of the massacre of the pris- 
 oners, one of the men accused of the massacre held, at the peril of 
 his life, such language? 
 
 There are an anomalies in politics, explain them who may. 
 
 This promise appeased the crowd. A quarter of an hour after, 
 tbey announced they had a jury composed; it consisted of twenty- 
 one members; these twenty- one members appeared on the balcony. 
 
 " Are these your delegates?" asked Manuel of the crowd. 
 
 Their response was a clapping of hands. 
 
 " That is well," said Manuel; " here are your judges. Now 
 justice will be done." 
 
 And, as he had promised, he installed the jury in one of the halls 
 of the H6tel de Ville. M. de Beausire, more dead than alive, ap- 
 peared before the improvised court. He tried to defend himself, 
 but the second crime was more patent than the first; only in the 
 people's eyes it was more serious. 
 
 To cry " Long live the king!" when the king was known to be 
 a traitor, and was a prisoner in the temple; to cry " Long live the 
 Prussians!" when the Prussians had taken Longwy, and were only 
 sixteen leagues from Paris; to cry "Death to the Nationl" when 
 the nation was writhing on its bed of agony, was a heinous crime, 
 and merited the severest punishment. 
 
 Thus the jury decided he was not only guilty of capital punish- 
 
 * We have not the slightest intention of glorifying Manuel, one 
 of the most abused men of the revolution, we only wish to tell the 
 truth. Michelet speaks of it thus : 
 
 " The first of September, a frightful scene took place on the 
 Place de Grdve. 
 
 " A thief was branded, and without doubt being drunk, was pd- 
 vised to cry; ' Long live the King! Long live the Prussians! 
 Death to the Nation!' He was instantly seized from the pillory, 
 and would have been torn to pieces; the procureur of the commune, 
 Manuel, threw himself among the people, took him from their 
 clutches, and took him to the Hotel de Ville; he was himself in 
 extreme peril, and was obliged to promise that a popular jury 
 would give their verdict on the criminal. The jury's verdict was 
 death. The authorities declared the sentence was good and valid; 
 it was put in execution; the man perished the next day." 
 
243 AKDREE DE TATEBKET. 
 
 ment, but to attach to his death the shame that the law felt itself 
 necessary to use in substituting (he guillotine for torture tor hav- 
 ing despised the law, the culprit would be hung in the place where 
 he had committed tlie crime. 
 
 Consequently, on the scaffold the pillory was erected, and the 
 executioner had orders to prepare the torture. The sight of this 
 work, and the knowledge that the prisoner was also in sight, 
 guarded, succeeded in calming the crowd. 
 
 This was the event, as we stated in the preceeding chapter, that 
 occupied the assembly. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, an aggravating circumstance. The 
 assembly understood everything was tending toward a massacre. 
 The commune intended maintaining itself at all hazards; the mas- 
 sacre — that is to say, terror — was its surest way. 
 
 The assembly recoiled before tlieir decision taken a day or m 
 previously; they reconsidered their decree. 
 
 Then one of the members rose. 
 
 " It is not sufficient to recall your decree," he said. " Two days 
 since, in giving it, you declared the commune dessrved praise from 
 the country; that eulogy was too vague; while in the future, you 
 can say the commune deserved praise from the country, at present, 
 however, some of the members of the commune are not comprised 
 in the eulogy. These members should be particularized. It should 
 state, not the commune, but the representatives of the commune." 
 
 The assembly voted that the representatives of the commune de- 
 served praise from the country. 
 
 At the time the assembly produced this decree, Robespierre made 
 at the commune a long discourse, in which he stated that the as- 
 sembly had, by infamous maneuvers, lost the public confidence for 
 the general council; it was time for them to retire, and to employ 
 the only means remaining to save the people, that is to say, " Put 
 the power in the hands of the people." 
 
 Put the power in the hands of the people; what did that phrase 
 signify? 
 
 Did they mean to subscribe to the assembly's decree and accept 
 the re-election? Not likely. Was it to dispose of the legal power, 
 and, in disposing of it, declare by that very act that the commune, 
 after enacting the 10th of August, regarded itself as powerless to 
 continue that great work of the revolution, and intrusted the peo- 
 ple to finish it? 
 
 The people, without restraint, their hearts full of vengeance, de- 
 termined to continue the work of the 10th of August— the massacre 
 of the men who had fought against them that day, and who, since 
 then, had been shut up in the difEerent prisons in Paris. 
 
 Such was tbe condition of things the 1st of September, in the 
 evening. There was a storm coming; already the lightnings and 
 thunder-bolts were seen and heard. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE NIGHT OP THE FIRST AND SECOND OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Such was the slate of things, when on the Ist of Sepember, at 
 nine o'clock in the evening, GUtiert's office-twy (the name of aerr- 
 
ANDREE DB TAVEKNET. 243' 
 
 ant had been abolished as anti-republican) — Gilbert's office-boy 
 •ntered the doctor's room, saying: 
 
 " Citizen Gilbert, the carriage is at the door." 
 
 Gilbert pulled his hat over his eyes, battoaed up his overcoat to 
 the tliroat, and started to go, but at the door of the apartment stood 
 a man, enveloped in a cloak, his face shaded by a large hat. 
 
 Gilbert recoiled a step or two; in the obscurity, and at such a 
 moment, every one was an enemy. 
 
 " It is I, Gilbert," said a familiar voice. 
 
 " Cagliostro!" cried the doctor. 
 
 " Good! See that you don t forget I am no longer called Cag- 
 liostro, but the Baron Zanoni! It is true that for you, dear Gilbert, 
 I neither change my name nor heart— I am always, I hope, J^oseplL 
 Balsamo." 
 
 " Oh, yes!" said Gilbert; " and the proof is, 1 was just going tO' 
 your house." 
 
 " I doubted it," said Cagliostro, " and for that reason came here; 
 you might be sure, in these days, 1 would not, as Monsieur de 
 Robespierre has just done, go to the country." 
 
 " 1 scarcely recognized you, and am delighted (o see you. Come 
 in, I beg, come in." 
 
 "Well, here I am. Tell me. what do you want?" asked Cag- 
 liostro, following Gilbert into the most retired apartment of the 
 doctor's. 
 
 " Sit down." 
 
 Cagliostro sat down. 
 
 " You know what has passed?" said Gilbert. 
 
 "You mean to say, what is to happen," replied Cagliostro; 
 " for at this moment nothing is taking place." 
 
 " No, you are correct; but something terrible is to take place, is 
 there not?" 
 
 " Terrible, indeed! It is one of those times when the terrible 
 becomes a necessity." 
 
 " Sir, when you pronounce those words with such inexorable 
 coolness, you make me tremble," said Gilbert. 
 
 " What will you have? I am but an echo — the echo of Fate." 
 
 Gilbert bowed his head. 
 
 " Do yon recollect, Gilbert, what I told you when I saw you at 
 Bellevue, the 6th of October, when I predicted the Marquis d« 
 Favras' death?" 
 
 Gilbert trembled. 
 
 He, so strong before men, and even events, felt, before that mys- 
 terious individual, feeble as an infant. 
 
 " 1 told you," continued Cagliostro, " that if the king had in hia 
 poor body a grain of that spirit of conservatism, which I hoped he 
 had not, he would fly." 
 
 " Well," replied Gilbert, " he did fiy." 
 
 " Yes, but I told you, when there was time. When he did go— 
 damn it! — you know il was too late. I added — you have not for- 
 gotten it — that if the king resisted, if the queen resisted, if the 
 nobles resisted, we would have a revolution." 
 
 " Yes; you are right again this time. The revolution is an ao 
 complished fact," said Gilbert. 
 
244 AKDEEE DB TAVEKNET, 
 
 "Not exactly," replied Caglioatro; "but it is progressing, a> 
 you see, Gilbert. You remember, I spoke of an instrument in- 
 vented by one of my friends. Doctor Guillotin? Have you passed 
 by the Tuileries, in Carroussel Square? Well, that instrument, 
 that I showed to the queen at the ch&teau of Taverney in a carafe, 
 you remember— you were there, a little boy, no higher than that, 
 already the admirer of Mademoiselle Nicole — wait! whose husband, 
 Monsieur de Beausire, has just been sentenced to be hung — well, 
 that instrument is in operation." 
 
 " Yes," said Gilbert, " but too slowly it seems, as they are add- 
 ing to it swords, pikes, and poniards." 
 
 " Listen!" said Cagliostro; " one thing must be admitted. We 
 have a headstrong obstinacy to deal with. The aristocracy, the 
 court, the king, the queen, have had all kinds of warning given 
 them; they paid no heed to them; the Bastile was taken, that made 
 no difference; the 5th and 6th of October occurred, that was of no 
 consequence; the 20th of June, that was the same; the 10th of 
 August, it made no difference; the king was placed in the temple, 
 the aristocracy in the Abbaye, La Force, and the BicStre; it was of 
 no consequence. The king, in the temple, rejoiced at the taking of 
 Longwy by the Prussians; the aristocracy, at the Abbaye, cried: 
 'Long live the king! Long live the Prussians!' They drank 
 champagne in the very face of the poor people who drank water; 
 they eat their pStes de truEEes before them, when they were starv- 
 ing! It is not only to King William of Prussia they write: ' Take 
 ■care! If you pass Longwy — if you step a foot nearer the heart of 
 France — it will be the sentence of death for the king!' And the 
 answer: ' Frightful as is the situation of the royal family, the 
 armies can not go back. 1 hope, with all my heart, to arrive in 
 time to save the King of France; but, first of all, my duly is to 
 «ave Europe!' And they will march on Verdun. It must be fin- 
 ished." 
 
 " How finished?" cried Gilbert. 
 
 *' With the king, the queen, the aristocracy." 
 
 " You will assassinate the king, the queen?" 
 
 " Oh, no, not thati that would be a great mistake; they must be 
 judged, condemned, and publicly executed as was Charles I. ; but 
 as for the rest, they must be disposed of, and that, doctor, as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 " And what has decided that?" cried Gilbert. " Is it enlighten- 
 ment, is it humanitVjis it the conscience of these people of whom 
 you are speaking? When you have Mirabeau as its genius, Lafay- 
 ette for its loyalty, and Vergniaud for its justice, if you come to 
 me Id the name of those three men, ssying, ' They must be killed!' 
 I would tremble as 1 have trembled; but 1 would have my doubts. 
 In whose name to-day do you come to tell me this? In the name 
 of Hebert, a seller of checks; of Collot d'Herbois, a venomous his- 
 torian ; Marat, with his morbid mind, whose physician is obliged to 
 prescribe, every time he asks for it, fifty, a hundred, two hundred 
 thousand heads! Let me, dear master, except these mediocre men, 
 who must have these rapid and pathetic crises, this change of base^ 
 these miserable actors, impotent rhetoricians, who are pleased witk 
 Audden distractions, who consider themselves skillful magiciani^ 
 
ANDKEE DE TATEENET. 245 
 
 ■because, simple mortals, they have overthrown the work of God 
 ■who consider it wonderful, grand, sublime, to turn back th» 
 stream of life that sustains the world, and exterminate with s 
 word, a sign, a glance — to overwhelm in a breath a living obstacle 
 that has taken twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years to create I These 
 men, dear master, are miserable — you do not belong to these men." 
 
 " My dear Gilberi," said Cagliostro, " you do these men too 
 much honor; you are again mistaken in calling them men; they are 
 only instruments." 
 
 " Instruments of destruction!" 
 
 " Yes, but blessed with one idea. That idea, Gilbert, is the free- 
 dom of the people — it is liberty, it is a republic — not a French one. 
 God keep me from any such egotistical ideal — but the universal 
 republic, the fraternity of the world! No, these men are not 
 geniuses; no, they have no loyalty; no, they have no mind; but they 
 have what is stronger, more inexorable, more irresistible than all 
 that — they have instinct." 
 
 " The instinct of an Attila." 
 
 " Exactly so, as you say. Attila, who has been entitled God's 
 Immmer, who, with the barbarous blood of the Huns, the Alains, 
 the Surabians, revolutionized the Roman civilization, corrupted by 
 four hundred years of Nero's Vespasian's, and Heliogabalus's, 
 reign." 
 
 " But now," cried Gilbert, " instead of generalizing, what will 
 we gain by massacre?" 
 
 " Oh! a very simple thing; the assembly, the commune, the 
 people, entire Paris. Paris must be steeped in blood ; you under- 
 stand that Paris, the brain of France, that dream of Europe, that 
 heart of the world, knowing there is no more pardon for them, 
 will rise like a single man, and, pushing France before them, will 
 throw the enemy far from the sacred soil of the country." 
 
 " But you are not French," cried Gilbert; " what difference 
 does it make to you?" 
 
 Cagliostro smiled. 
 
 " You, too, Gilbert; you, a superior intelligence, you, a power- 
 ful organization, you can say to a man, ' Do not mix up yourself 
 in the affairs of Prance, for j'ou are not French?' Are not the 
 affairs of France, Gilbert, the world's affairs? Is France to suffer 
 for herself alone, poor egoist? Did Jesus die for Jews alone? 
 What right have you to say to an apostle, ' Thou art not a Naza- 
 rene?' Listen, listen, Gilbert; I have discussed all these things with 
 a genius stronger than my own, than yours, with a man or a de- 
 mon who is called Althotas, one day when he calculated how much 
 blood must flow before the sun rose on the liberty of the world. 
 Well, that man's reasonings did not shake my conviction; I 
 walked, and walked, and walked, overthrowing everything belore 
 me, saying, with a calm voice and serene glance ' Perdition seize 
 all obstacles! I am the future!' But you want to demand pardon 
 for some one, do you not? That pardon I grant in advance. TelJ 
 me, who is it you want to save?" 
 
 " I want to save a woman that neither you nor I can allow te 
 die." 
 
 " You want to save the Comtesse de Chamyt" 
 
S46 ANDEEB DE TAVERNET. 
 
 " I want to save Sebastian's mother." 
 
 " Tou know that Danton, as Minister of Justice, holds the keys 
 of the prison." 
 
 " Yes; but I also know you can tell Danton, ' Open or shut that 
 door.' " 
 
 Cagliostro rose, approached the secretary, traced on a piece of 
 paper a sort of cabalistic desi^, and gave the paper to Gilbert. 
 
 " Take this, my son," he said; " go to Danton and ask him any- 
 thing you like." 
 
 Gilbert rose. 
 
 " Afterward," asked Cagliostro, " what do you intend to do?" 
 
 " After what?" 
 
 " After these days have passed; when the king's turn has come." 
 
 " I expect," said Gilbert, " if I can, to be appointed member of 
 the convention, and with all my might oppose the king's death." 
 
 " Yes," said Cagliostro, " 1 understand that. Do as your con- 
 science dictates; but promise me one thing, Gilbert." 
 
 " What is that?" 
 
 " There was a time when you promised without conditions, Gil- 
 bert." 
 
 " Then you come to tell me people are to be cured by assassina- 
 tion, a nation by murder." 
 
 "The devil! Well, Gilbert, promise me that when the king is 
 judged and executed you will follow my advice." 
 
 Gilbert gave him his hand. 
 
 " Any advice from you will be precious, master." 
 
 " Will you follow it?" asked Cagliostro. 
 
 " I swear it, if not against my conscience." 
 
 "Gilbert, you are unjust," said Cagliostro. "I have offered 
 you a good deal; have 1 ever exacted anything from you?" 
 
 " No, master," said Gilbert; " and even now you have given me 
 a life that is dearer than my own." 
 
 " Then go," said Caglioslio; " and may the genius of France, 
 of whom you are one of the noblest sons, guide you!" 
 
 Cagliostro left. Gilbert followed him. 
 
 The carriage had waited; the doctor got in, and ordered the 
 driver to stop at the Ministry of Justice; Danton was there. 
 
 Danton, as Minister of Justice, had a special reason for not ap- 
 pearing_ at the commune. Why should he appear? Marat and 
 Robespierre, were they not there? Robespierre would not be out- 
 done by Marat; together they marched toward their aim — murder. 
 Besides, Tallien was keeping watch. 
 
 Two things awaited Marat; supposing he decided for the com- 
 mune, a triumvirate with Marat and Robespierre; supposing the 
 assembly decided for him a dictatorship as Minister of .Justice. 
 
 He did not want Robespierre or Marat; but the assembly did not 
 want him. 
 
 When Gilbert was announced, he was with his wife, or, rather, 
 his wife was at his feet; the massacre was so well known before- 
 hand that she was supplicatiug him not to permit it. Sue died of 
 {tief, poor woman, during the massacre. 
 
 Danton could not make her, however, comprehend one thing 
 jbat was very clear, and that was his inability to accomplish any- 
 
ANDEEB DB TAVERNBT. 847 
 
 thing ■without a dictatorial authority conferred by the assembly, 
 with the assembly was a chance of victory; without the assembly 
 there was certain defeat. 
 
 "Rather die! die! diel if necessary," cried the poor woman; 
 " but do not let the massacre take place." 
 
 " A man in my position does not die uselessly," replied Danton: 
 *' 1 would be willing to die, if my death could be of use to my 
 country." 
 
 Dr. Gilbert was announced. 
 
 " I will not leave," said Mme. Danton, " until you promise me 
 you will do all in your power to prevent that abominable crime." 
 
 " Stay, then," said Danton. 
 
 Mme. Danton stepped back and allowed her husband to meet 
 the doctor, whom she knew by sight and reputation. 
 
 "Ah, doctorl" he said, "you come in the very time; if I had 
 known your address, 1 would have sent for you " 
 
 Gilbert bowed to Danton, and seeing behind him his wife, he 
 bowed. 
 
 " This is my wife, the wife of Citizen Danton, Minister of Jus- 
 tice, who thinks 1 am capable alone to prevent Messieurs Marat and 
 Robespierre, urged by all the commune, to do as they please — that 
 is to prevent them from killing, exterminating, plundering." 
 
 Gilbert looked at Mme. Danton; she was crying, her hands 
 clasped. 
 
 " Madame," said Gilbert, " vrill you allow me to kiss those mer- 
 ciful hands?" 
 
 " Goodl" said Danton, " here is a re-enforcement I" 
 
 " Oh, tell him then, sir," cried the poor woman, " that if he 
 permits that, it will be a stain of blood for all his life!" 
 
 "It it was only that," said Gilbert, " if that task fell to a man, 
 and thinking himself necessary to his country, necessary for France 
 to fulfill that duty, and that stain should attach itself to his name, 
 that man should devote himself to that task, and throw his honor 
 into the gulf as Decius threw himself. In circumstances lil<e tliese, 
 what is the honor, the reputation, the life even of a citizen? Only 
 a drop to France!" 
 
 "Citizen," said Danton, " wjhen Vesuvius overflows, tell me 
 ■where is the man strong enougjn to stop the tide of lava, or when 
 the sea rises, ■where is the arm strong enough to repulse the ocean?" 
 
 " When they call Danton, they do not ask who is this man; they 
 say, ' Behold him I' They do not ask whose arm it is; they take 
 it." 
 
 " Stop," said Danton; " you are both beside yourselves. I must 
 tell you what I never intended saying. 'Tis true, I have the will; 
 'tis true, 1 have the genius; also, if the assembly desires it, force. 
 But do you know what would happen to me then? What happened 
 to Mirabeau; his genius could not triumph over his bad reputation. 
 I am not the fanatic Marat to inspire the assembly with terror; 1 
 am not the incorruptible Robespierre to inspire it with confidence; 
 the assembly refuses to give me the means to save the state. 1 
 must carry the stigma of my bad reputation; it adjoins, it drags 
 along. It is whispered that I am a very immoral man, a man to 
 ■whom the absolute, entire, arbitrary pover could not b* given t« 
 
248 ANDREE DB TAVERNIT. 
 
 for three days even; a commission of honest men has been ap- 
 pointed, and during that time tlie massacre will take place, and, as 
 you have said, the blood of a thousand criminals, the crime of 
 ■three or four hundred drunkards, will illuminate the scenes of the 
 revolution with a crimsun cloud that will rise to heights sublime! 
 Then," he added, with a magnificent gesture, " it shall not be 
 Trance that is accused of this; no, ii shall be me; I will turn aside 
 the malediction of the world, and let it roll around my head." 
 
 " And I, and llie children?" cried the unhappy woman. 
 
 " You," said Danton; "you will die, you say; and they can 
 not accuse you of being my accomplice, as my crimes have killed 
 you. As for my children, they are boys; they will be men one 
 day, so be tranquil; they will have their father's heart, and they 
 will carry the name of Danton with an uplifted brow; or they may 
 be weak and deny me. All the better; my race is not weak, and! 
 ■will deny them beforehand." 
 
 " But, at least," cried Gilbert, " you will ask for authority from 
 the assembly?" 
 
 " Do you think I waited for your advice? 1 have sent to Thu- 
 riot. to Tallien. See if they are there; let Thurlot come in." 
 
 Mme. Danton left quickly. 
 
 " I have placed my intentions before you. Monsieur Gilbert," 
 said Danton; " you will be a witness to posterity as to the eflorta 
 I made." 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 " Here is Citizen Thuriot," announced Mme. Danton. 
 
 " Come here," said Danton, holding out his large hand to him 
 who sustained to Danton the rOle of an aid-de-camp to a general. 
 " You uttered sublime words the other day at the tribune: ' The 
 French Revolution does not belong to us alone; it belongs to the 
 world, and we are responsible for it to humanity entire. Well, 
 for this revolution we are about making a last ellort to sustain it 
 in all its purity." 
 
 " Speak," said Thuriot. 
 
 " To-morrow, at the opening of the session before any discus- 
 sion arises, this is what you must ask : that three hundred mem- 
 bers of the general council of the commune may be so advised that, 
 in maintaining the old members, created on the 10th of August, 
 they may also aunihiliite them. They became members on a basis 
 fixed by the Paris representatives; we will aggrandize the com- 
 mune, but at the same time noutraiize it; we will augment their 
 numbers, but we will modify their opinions. If this proposition 
 does not pa.'^, if you can not catch my idea, then wait with La- 
 croix; tc'A him frankly the entire plan; that punishment of death 
 is the sEijtence of those who, directly or indirectly, refuse to 
 execute or furtlier the orders given, or the measures taken by the 
 executive "oouer. If the proposition passes, it is the dictatorship; 
 the cxecu'.ive power is myself; I will enter, claim it; if theyhesitat* 
 to give it to me, I will take it." 
 
 " How will you do it?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 " I will seize ii flag; instead of the bloody and hideous demon of 
 massacre, whom 1 will consign to the shades, I will invoke the 
 aoble and serene genius of battle, who, without fear or angw, 
 
ANDBEE DE TAVERNEY. 24» 
 
 strikes, who regards death with peace. I will ask all that bdnd if 
 they have assembled to destroy unarmed men; I will declare those 
 who menace the prisons infamous. Perhaps many approve of 
 massacres; but those willing to massacre are few. I will lake ad- 
 vantage of the military excitement reigning throughout Paris; I 
 will surround the small number of murderers with a whirlwind of 
 real volunteer soldiers, who only await orders to leave, and I will 
 march to the frontier, that is, against the enemy, with a foul ele- 
 ment, but dominated by a worthy element." 
 
 "Do that! do thati" cried Gilbert, "and you will accomplish 
 something grand, magnificent, sublime!" 
 
 " Eh! my God!" said Danton, shrugging his shoulders with a 
 singular mixture of strength, nonchalance, and doubt; " it is the 
 easiest Ihing in the world. 1 only want help, then you will see." 
 
 Mme. Danton kissed her husband's hands. 
 
 " You will be helped, Danton," she said. " Who would not be 
 on your side, hearing you talk thus?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Danton; " but, unfortunately, I can not talk 
 thus; for if I should make a mistake in thus speaking, they would 
 begin the massacre by me." 
 
 " Well, would it not be better to perish that way?" said Mme. 
 Danton, quickly. 
 
 " Woman, you talk like a woman! If I were dead, what would 
 become of the revolution, between that sanguinary fool called 
 Marat and that deceitful schemer called Robespierre? No, I ought 
 not, I do not want to die yet; it is my duty to prevent the massacre 
 if I can. If the massacre takes place in spite of me, to exonerate 
 France and shoulder it myself. I will reach, just the same, my 
 .aim, but the road will be more terrible. Call Tallien." 
 
 Tallien entered. 
 
 " Tallien," said Danton to him, " to-morrow, perhaps, the com- 
 mune may write to ask me to go to the municipality. You are the 
 eecretary of the commune. Arrange it in such a manner that the 
 letter does not reach me, and that I can prove that it has not ar- 
 rived." 
 
 " The devil!" said Tallien; " how can I do that?" 
 
 " That is your aSair. 1 only tell you what I wish — what I musS 
 have done — what can be done. It is for you to find the means. 
 Now, Monsieur Gilbert, you have something to ask?" 
 
 And, opening the door of a small cabinet, he made Gilbert enter, 
 and followed him. 
 
 " Now," said Danton to him, " how can I be of service to you?" 
 
 Gilbert took from his pocket the paper that was given lum by 
 Cagliostro, and gave it to Danton. 
 
 "Ah!" said the latter, "you come from him? Well, what d« 
 you want?" 
 
 " The liberty of a woman imprisoned in the Abbaye." 
 
 " Her name?" 
 
 " The Comtesse de Charny." 
 
 Danton took a paper and wrote an order to have her set at lil^ 
 erty. 
 
 "Stop," he said; "you have others to save. Speakt Iwisiil 
 eould partly save aU those unfortunate victims." 
 
250 ANDEEE DE TATEKNEY. 
 
 Gilbert boTred. 
 
 " I have all I want," he said. 
 
 " Go, then, Monsieur Gilbert, and if you have need of me at any 
 time, come to me personally, without any mediator. I will be only 
 too happy to do what I cau for you." 
 
 Then, conducting him to Uip door, he murmured: 
 
 " Ahl if 1 had only for twenty-four hours your reputation as an 
 honest man, Doctor Gilbert!" 
 
 And, sighing, he shut the door behind the doctor, wiping away 
 the perspiration that rolled down his face. 
 
 Carrying the precious paper that was to give Andree her life, 
 Gilbert went to the Abbaye. 
 
 Although it was nearly midnight, threatening groups had sta- 
 tioned themselves in the environs of the prisons. 
 
 The massive door of the lower vault opened. Gilbert passed 
 in shaking; that lower vault was not like a prison, but a tomb. 
 He gave his order to the jailer. 
 
 The order stated to immediately liberate the person designated 
 by Dr. Gilbert. 
 
 Gilbert designated the Comtesse de Charny, and the jailer 
 ordered the turnkey to lead Cilizen Gilbert to the prisoner's cham- 
 ber. Gilbert followed the turnkey, ascending three flights by a 
 small spiral stair-way, and entered a cell lighted by a lamp. 
 
 A woman, entirely dressed in black, white as marble in her 
 mourning habiliments, was seated at a table on which was a lamp, 
 and was reading in a small book bound in shagreen and orna- 
 mented with a silver cross. 
 
 The remains of a fire burned in the fire-place. Notwithstanding 
 the noise the door made in opening, she did not raise her eyes; 
 notwithstanding the noise Gilbert made in approaching, she did 
 not raise her eyes; she seemed absorbed in thought, or in her sub- 
 ject, for Gilbert remained three or four minutes before her ere she 
 turned a page. 
 
 The turnkey closed the door behind Gilbert, and remained out- 
 side. 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse — " at length said Gilbert. 
 
 Andree raised her eyes, and looked at him a moment without 
 seeing him, so absorbed was she in her own thoughts. 
 
 "Ahl it is you, Monsieur Gilbert?" said Andree; "what do 
 you want of me?" 
 
 " Madame, sinister rumors are in circulation as to what m^ 
 take place in the prisons to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes," said Andree; "it seems we are to be killed; but you 
 know, Monsieur Gilbert, I am ready to die." 
 
 Gibert bowed. 
 
 " 1 have come for you, madame," he said. 
 
 " You have come for me?" said Andree, with surprise; " to 
 take me where?" 
 
 " Wherever you like, madame; you are free." And he showed 
 her the order of release. 
 
 She read the order, but instead of leturniDg it to the doctor she 
 kept it in her hand. 
 
ANDREE DE TATEBNET. 251 
 
 *' 1 would not have expected this of you, doctoi," she said, try- 
 fag to smile, though her face refused to obey. 
 
 " Expected what, madame?" 
 
 " That you would try to prevent my dying." 
 
 " Madame, there is an existence in the world more precious thaa 
 would have been my father and mother, if God had spared my 
 father or mother; it is yours." 
 
 " Yes, and that is why once before you did not keep youi word 
 to me." 
 
 " I kept my word, madame; I sent you the poison." 
 
 " By my son?" 
 
 " I did not tell you by whom I would send it." 
 
 " To show me that you thought of me, Monsieur Gilbert? to 
 show me, for my sake, you would enter the lion's den? for my 
 sake you would obtain a talisman that would open any door?" 
 
 " I told j[ou, madame, that while I lived you could not die." 
 
 " Oh I this time, Monsieur Gilbert," continued Andree, with a 
 more successful smile than the first, " I think I deserve death. 
 Go." 
 
 " Madame, I swear to you, if 1 dared employ force to take you 
 from here, you should not die." 
 
 Andree, without answering, tore up the order of release in four 
 pieces, and threw it in the fire. 
 
 " Try!" she said. 
 
 Gilbert uttered a cry. 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert," continued Andree, " I have given up the 
 idea of suicide; but I have not renounced that of death." 
 
 " Oh, madame, madame!" said Gilbert. 
 
 " Monsieur Gilbert, I want to die." 
 
 Gilbert sighed. 
 
 " All that I ask of you is that you will try to recover my body, 
 to save it in death from the injuries I could not have escaped 
 living. Monsieur de Charny sleeps in the tomb of his chateau at 
 Boursonnes; there I spent the only happy days of my life; I would 
 like lo lie by his side." 
 
 " On! madame, 1 beseech you in Heaven's name." 
 
 " And I, sir, in the name of my misfortune beseech you!" 
 
 " It is well, madame; you told me I should obey you in every- 
 thing. I will retire, but I am not defeated." 
 
 "Do not forget my last wish, sir," said Andree. 
 
 " If I do not save you, spite of yourself, madame," said Gilbert 
 "it shall be done." 
 
 And, bowing once more to Andree, Gilbert left. 
 
 The door closed with that lugubrious sound peculiar to prisons. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 THE SECOND OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 What Danton predicted came to pass; at the opening of the 
 •ession, Thuriot proposed to the assembly the motion the Minister 
 of Justice suggested the day before. The assembly did not uader- 
 •tand it; instead of voting at nine o'clock in the morning, th«y 
 discussed it, and dragged it along till one o'clocK. 
 
262 ANDEEB DE TAVEEITET. 
 
 It was too late. 
 
 Those four hours retarded the liberty of Europe one century. 
 Tallien was more adroit. 
 
 Intrusted by the commune to give an order to the Minister of 
 Justice to go to the municipality, he wrote: 
 
 " To THE Minister, — At the receipt of this yon wiD present 
 yourself at the Hfitel de Ville." 
 
 Only he made a mistake in the address; instead of putting " To 
 the Minister of Justice," he put " To the Minister of War." 
 
 They waited for Danton; it was Servan that presented himself, 
 very much embarrassed, asking what they wanted of him. 
 
 The quid pro quo broke forth ; but it was too late. 
 
 We have said that the assembly, voting at one o'clock, voted too 
 late; in fact, the commune, never allowing anything to drag, had 
 made good use of its time. 
 
 What did the commune want? It wanted massacre and the die* 
 tetorship. 
 
 This was the way it proceeded. 
 
 As Danton had said, the assassins were not as numerous as one 
 supposed. 
 
 During the night of the 1st and 2d of September, while Gilbert 
 ■was vainly trying to take Andree from the Abbaye, Marat was 
 promulgating his clamors in the clubs and districts; outrageous as 
 they were, they produced very little effect in the clubs, and in 
 forty-eight sections, only two, Poissoniere and that of Luxem- 
 bourg, voted for the massacre. 
 
 As for the dictatorship, the commune well knew they could not 
 seize upon it without the aid of three names — Marat, Robespierre, 
 and Danton. That was why they sent for Danton to come to tho 
 municipality. 
 
 We have seen how Danton evaded the blow; Danton did not re- 
 ceive the letter, and consequently did not come. 
 
 If he had received it, if Tallien's error had not carried the letter 
 to the Minister of War when it should have gone to the Minister of 
 Justice, perhaps Danton would not have dared to disobey. 
 
 In his absence, force was used to oblige the commune to decide. 
 
 They decided to appoint a vigilance committee, only the' 
 ▼igilance committee could not be appointed outside of the member* 
 •f the commune. 
 
 They tried to put Marat on this committee of massacre, for it 
 was nothing else; that was the true name that belonged to it. But 
 how liccomplish it? Marat was not a member of the commune. 
 
 Panis had charge of this aflffiir. Through his god, Robespierre, 
 and his brother-in-law, Santerre, Panis was such a heavy weight 
 on the municipality^it was easy to understand that Panis, the ex- 
 Dfocureur, the deceitful, hard-hearted spirit, a little miserable author 
 of some ridiculous verses, could not of himself have any influence 
 — but through Robespierre and Santerre he was such a heavy- 
 weight on the municipality, that he was authorized to choqee three 
 members to complete the vigilance committee. 
 
 Fauis alone did not dare to use this strange responsibility. 
 
ANDEEB DE TAVEEXET. 253 
 
 He consulted three of his colleagues — Sergent, Duplain, and Jour- 
 deuil. 
 
 These, on their side, consulted five persons — Deforgues, Lonfant, 
 Guermeur, Leclerc, and Durfort. 
 
 The original deed had the four signatures of Panis, Sergent, 
 Duplain, and Jourdeuil; but on the margin is another name signed 
 in the same manner as one of the above — though in a trembling 
 style the handwriting of Panis can be made out. This name is 
 that of Marat. Mai at, who had no right to be on that committee, 
 was not even a member of the commune.* With that name mur- 
 der was enthroned. And now it extended itself in all the frightful 
 development of its mighty power. 
 
 "We have said the commune was not as the assembly; they did 
 not linger on the way. At ten o'clock, the vigilance committee 
 was established and had given its first order; this first order was 
 that they should transport to the Mayoralty, where the committee 
 was sitting (the Mayoralty was then what the Prefecture of Police 
 is to-day), twenty-four prisoners from the Abbaye. Of these 
 twenty-four, eight or nine were priests — that is, eight or nine wore 
 the dress of those most execrated, the most hated of all, the dress 
 of the men who organized the civil war in La Veadee and in the 
 «outh — the ecclesiastical dress. 
 
 They were taken from their prisons by the federals of Marseilles 
 and Avignon; they had four carriages; they made six prisoners get 
 in each carriage, and carried them thus. The signal of departure 
 had been given by three discharges from the cannon. The com- 
 mune's intention was easy to understand; that slow and funereal 
 procession was to excite the people's anger; it was probable that 
 either in its route or at the door of the Abbaye the carriages would 
 be stopped and the prisoners murdered; then there would be noth- 
 ing to do but let the massacre take its course; beginning on the 
 route or at the door of the prison, it could easily step over the 
 thresi'old. 
 
 The moment the carriages left the Mayoralty, Danton entered 
 the assembly. 
 
 Thuriot's proposition had become useless; it was too late, as we 
 have said, to pass a decree at the commune which was already in 
 practice. 
 
 A dictatorship remained. 
 
 Danton ascended the tribune; unfortunately he was alone — Ro- 
 land was too honest a man to accompany his colleague. 
 
 Every one looked for Roland — he was not there. 
 
 They said force was to be used, but needlessly demanded mor- 
 ality. 
 
 Manuel came to announce to the commune the danger Verdun 
 was in, and proposed the same evening the enrolled citizens should 
 
 * See Michelet, the only historian who can carry light into those 
 TJioody shades of September. See also at the Prefecture of Police, 
 the deed that we have quoted from, and that our learned friend. 
 Monsieur Labat, the keeper of the records, takes pleasure in show- 
 ing to the curious, as he showed it to ui. 
 
254: ANDEEE DB TAVERNEY. 
 
 assemble on the Champs de Mars, to be able to leave the next day 
 St day-break to march on the enemy. 
 
 Manuel's proposition was received. 
 
 Another member proposed, seeing the urgency of the danger, to 
 discharge the alarm cannon, to ring the tocsin, to beat the general 
 alarm. 
 
 This second proposition, put to vote, was also passed like the 
 first. It was a nefarious, murderous, terrible massacre, under the 
 circumstances; lie drums, the bells, the cannons, had a somber 
 clanging, raising funereal vibrations in the stoutest hearts; what 
 •would their effect be in those hearts already so excited? ' 
 
 This also bad been foreseen. 
 
 At the first discharge of the cannon, M. de Beausire was to be 
 hung. 
 
 At the third, the carriages of which we have spoken were to 
 leave the Prefecture of Police, or, in other words, to be discharged 
 every ten minutes; those who came to seeM. de Beausire hung 
 ■were thus in tiiue to see Ihe prisoners pass and take part in the 
 massacre. 
 
 Danton had been kept au courant of everything that passed by 
 Tallien. He already knew of the danger of Verdun; he knew 
 about the encampment on the Champs de Mars; he knew the can- 
 nons were to be discharged, the tocsin sounded, a general alarm 
 given. He rose to reply to Lacroix (who it will be remembered 
 had demanded the dictatorship); he took as an excuse the danger 
 the country was in, and proposed the vote " that whoever refused 
 to serve personally, or gave up their arms, would be punished with 
 death." Thus, that no one should despise his intentions, nor con- 
 found his projects with those of the commune : 
 
 " The tocsin," he said, " that is about to strike, is not a signal 
 of alarm; it is to charge upon the enemies of the country! To 
 conquer them, gentlemen, we need audacity, more audacity, 
 always audacity, and Prance is savedl" 
 
 A thunder ot applause greeted these words. Then Lacroix rose 
 and demanded in Jiis turn that " all those who directly or indi- 
 rectly refused to execute or further the orders given, or the meas- 
 nres taken, in any manner whatever by the executive power, should 
 suffer death." The assembly now understood this time what they 
 ■would be asked to vote would be the dictatorship; outwardly they 
 approved of it, but appointed a committee of Girondists to consider 
 the decree. The Girondists, unfortunately, like Roland, were too 
 honest to have contidence in Danton. The discussion dragged on 
 till six o'clock. Danton grew impatient; be was anxious to allow 
 them to begin their evil deeds. He whispered a word to Thuriot, 
 and went out. 
 
 What was it he whispered? Where he might be found in case 
 the assembly conferred the power upon him. 
 
 Where was he to be found? At the Champs de Mars in the midst 
 of 5he volunteers. 
 
 Wiiat was his intention in case the power was given him? To be 
 recognized as dictator by that mass of armed men, not for massa- 
 cre, but for war; to re-enter Paris witli them, and to carry, as in. 
 4U1 immense net, the assassins to the frontier. 
 
ANDBEB DB TAVEBNBT. 255 
 
 Ee waited till five o'clock ; no one came. 
 
 What happened during this time to the prisoners taken to the 
 Abbaye? 
 
 We will follow them; they make slow progress; it is easy to join 
 them. 
 
 At first, the carriages in which they were in protected them; a 
 premonilion ot the danger they ran made them throw themselves 
 back in the carriage, and show themselves as little as possible at 
 the door; but those who were intrusted to take charge of them de- 
 nounced them; the anger of the people did not rise quick enough; 
 they whipped it up with their words. 
 
 Here," they said to the passers-by who stopped to look, "see 
 them, the traitorsi see the accomplices of the Prussians! see those 
 ■who mob our cities, who will murder your wives and children, if 
 you leave them behind you when you march to the frontier!" 
 
 As yet all this was powerless, for. as Danton had said, assassins 
 were rare; they were angry, threatened them with cries and men- 
 aces, but stopped there. 
 
 The procession followed the route of the quays, the Pont Neuf, 
 and the Rue Dauphin. 
 
 As yet the prisoners had not lost patience; as yet the people's 
 hand had not been raised in murder; they approached the Abbaye; 
 tkey were on the Place Bussy — it was time to act. 
 
 If the culprits entered the prison, if they were killed after enter- 
 ing, it was evident it would be a reflection on the commune who 
 had killed them, and not the spontaneous indignation of the people. 
 
 Fortune came to the aid of these wicked intentions, these bloody 
 projects. 
 
 On the Square Bussy was one of those platforms where voluntary 
 enrollments took place. There was a stoppage; the fiacres were 
 forced to stop. 
 
 The opportunity was superb; if they lost it they would never 
 have another. 
 
 A man passed through the escort, who let him pass. Mounting 
 the step of the first carriage saber in hand, he plunged it in severw 
 times at hazard, and brought it out covered with blood. 
 
 One of the piisoners had a cane; with that cane he tried to parry 
 the blows; he struck one of the escort in the face. 
 
 "Ah! brigands!" he cried, "we protected you and you strike 
 us! Help, comrades!" 
 
 Twenty men, waiting tor that appeal, rushed from the crowd, 
 armed with pikes and knives fastened on long sticks; they darted 
 these pikes and knives in the doors, from whence cries of anguish 
 issued; and the blood of the victims began to roll from the car- 
 riage, and leave its trace through the streets. 
 
 Blood called for blood; the massacre lad begun; it was to last 
 four days. The prisoners in the Abbaye had, in the morning, 
 judged from their guardians' faces and from words that escaped 
 them, that something dreadful was in store for them. An order 
 from the commune had made them advance the hour of the re- 
 pasts. What did this change in the habits of the jail portend? 
 Nothing but evil, certainl3'. The prisoners waited with anxiety. 
 
 Toward four o'clock th« distant saumur of the crowd began t* 
 
we ANDREE DB TAVEKITET. 
 
 be heard, like the first roar of the sea in rising. Some of them 
 ■whose barred windows on (he tower opened in the Rue St. Mar- 
 guerite perceived the carnages, then the cries of rage and anguish 
 entered the prison through all the openings, and the cry, " Behold 
 the assassins 1" spread through the corridors and penetrated the 
 chambers as far as the innermost dungeon. Then was heard thi» 
 cry: 
 
 " The Swiss! the Swiss 1" 
 
 There were one hundred and fifty Swiss in the Abbaye; they had 
 experienced the greatest difficulty in saving them from the anger 
 of the people on the 10th of August. The commune knew the peo- 
 ple's hatred of the red uniforms. It was a good plan to keep the 
 people in practice by beginning to massacre the Swiss. 
 
 They were nearly two hours killing these one hundred and fifty 
 »nfortunates. 
 
 Then, the last one killed — and the last was Major Reading— thej 
 asked for the priests. The priests replied they were ready to die, 
 l»ut first wished to receive absolution. 
 
 Their desire was gratified; they gave them two hours' respite. 
 
 How did they employ these two hours? In forming a tribunal. 
 
 Who presided at fiiis tribunal? Maillard. 
 
 CHAPTER Lin. 
 
 MAILLAKD. 
 
 The man of the 14th of July, the man of the 5th and 6th of 
 October, the man of the 20th of June, the man of the 10th of Au- 
 gust, should also be the man of the 2d of September. Only the old 
 hulssier of the ChStelet would like to have given a solemn assur- 
 ance, a form and appearance of legality to the massacre; he wanted 
 to have the aristocrats killed, but he wanted to kill them legally, 
 kill them under sentence from the people, whom he regarded as the 
 only infallible judge, who only had the right to acquit them. Be- 
 fore Maillard started this tribunal, two hundred persons had already 
 been killed. Only one was saved — Ihe Abbe Sicard. Two other per- 
 sons, favored by the tumult, broke through a window, and found 
 themselves in the midst of the committee belonging to a district 
 holding its sessions at the Abbaye; it was the journalist Parisot 
 and the superintendent of the king's house La Chapelle. The 
 members of the committee made the refugees sit down by Ihem, 
 and in this manner saved them; but they had no gratitude toward 
 the insurgents for letting these two escape. 
 
 We have said that one of the curious deeds among the archive* 
 of the police was the nomination of Marat to the vigilance commit- 
 tee; another not less curious is the registry at the Abbaye, stained 
 even to-day with blood, which reflects back to the members of 
 the tribunal. 
 
 You who are in search of tragic souvenirs, look at this registry 
 and you will see, every few lines, on the margins, underneath one 
 another, these two sentences, written in a large, handsome, even, 
 perfectly legible hand, calm, exempt from any appearance of fear 
 or remorse: " Killed by the judgement of the people;" or, " Ab- 
 aolved by the people. " " Maillard. '^ 
 
ANDBIX D£ TAVEBXIT. 35? 
 
 The last eentence is repeated forty-eight times. 
 
 Maillard saved, then, at the Abbaye, forty-eight lives. 
 
 While they are still in session, toward nine or ten o'clock aC 
 sight, let us follow two men who, leaving the Jacobins, take theit 
 Toad toward the Rue St. Anne. It was the high priest and his dia- 
 ciple; it was the miister and the scholar; it was St. Just and Robes- 
 pierre. 
 
 St. Just, with a wan, doubtful complexion, too white for a man's 
 skin, too pale for a woman's with his cravat starched and stitf ; tha 
 pupil of a cold, hard, dry master — harder, dryer, colder than hia 
 master. 
 
 As for the master, there was slill some feeling in him in thoe* 
 political combats where man is pitted against man; there was pas- 
 sion. 
 
 As for the pupil, this was a game of chess on a grand chess. 
 board, and Ihe chess-men were alive. 
 
 Tou who play with them must be careful they do not gain; for 
 they wUl be inflexible and grant no grace to the losers. 
 
 Robespierre, no doubt, had his reasons that evening for not en- 
 tering Duplay's. He had said in the morning he would probably 
 go to the country. 
 
 The little room in St. Just's apartments, a young man, we might 
 almost say, a child yet unknown, seemed to him no doubt safer 
 than his own, that terrible night of the 2d and 3d of September. 
 
 They both entered about eleven o'clock. 
 
 It would be useli's? to ask those two u;en what they talked about; 
 they talked of the massacre, ouly while one spoke with all the sen- 
 sibility of a philosopher of Rousseau's school, the other expressed 
 himself with all the dryness of a mathematician of Condillac's 
 school. 
 
 Robespierre, like the crocodile, cried over those whom he had 
 condemned. 
 
 On entering his room, St. Just threw his hat on a chair, took c£ 
 his cravat, then his ooat 
 
 " What are you doing?" asked Robespierre. 
 
 St. Just looked at him with so much astonishment that Rohea- 
 pierre repeated: 
 
 " I asked you what you were doing?" 
 
 " I am going to bed, parbleu!" answered St. Just. 
 
 " And why are you going to bed?" 
 
 " What people generally go to bed for, to go to sleep." 
 
 "What!" cried Robespierre, "you expect to sleep on such» 
 Bight?" 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " When thousands of victims are falling or will far, when to- 
 Bight will be the last for many men, who, breathing tonight, to- 
 morrow will have ceased to live — and you expect to sleep!" 
 
 St. Just remained for a moment pensive. Then, as if in that 
 short moment of silence his heart had experienced a new sensa- 
 tion: 
 
 " Yes, that Is true," he said; *■ 1 knowiat; but 1 also know 
 fliat it is a stem necessity, as you yourself authorized it. Suppose 
 there should he a pest, the yellow fevar, .-.u earthquake, and more 
 
858 ANDKBB DB TAVBENEY. 
 
 men perish than 'will now, and there would be no good result ta 
 society; while in the death of our enemies, the result will be 
 security for us. I would advise you to go to your room, to go to 
 bed as I am gojng to bed, to go to sleep as I am going to sleep. 
 
 Saying these words, the impassable and cold politician went to 
 bed. 
 
 " Adieu," he said, " till to-morrow." 
 
 And he slept. 
 
 His sleep was as long and as calm and as peaceful as though 
 nothing extraordinary was taking place in Paris; he went to sleep 
 about eleven o'clock in the evening and awoke about six o'clock ia 
 the morning. 
 
 St. Just saw a shadow between himself and the sun; he turned 
 to his window and saw Robespierre. 
 
 " What brought you back this morning?" he asked. 
 
 " Kothing," said Robespierre; " I have not been out." 
 
 " What, you have not been out?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You have not been in bed?" 
 
 "'No." 
 
 " You have not been asleep?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Where did you pass the night?" 
 
 " At the window; my head at the window, listening to the noise 
 in the streets." 
 
 Robespierre did not lie; either doubt, or fear, or remorse had 
 kept him awake all night. 
 
 As for St Just, sleep had made no difference to him that night 
 from any other. 
 
 At the other side of the Seine, in the court of the Abbaye, there 
 •was a man who had, like Robespierre, been awake the entire night. 
 
 This man was leaning in a corner of the last cell opening on the 
 court, almost lost in shade. 
 
 Behold the spectacle the interior of this cell presented, trans- 
 formed into a court. 
 
 Around a large table covered with swords, sabers, pistols, lighted 
 by two bronze lamps, whose aid was required even at noon, sat a 
 dozen men. 
 
 Their dull faces, robust forms, the red bonnets that covered their 
 heads, the scarfs on their shoulders, showed them to be patriots. 
 A thirteenth in their midst, with a soiled black costume, white vest, 
 .•hort pantaloons, with a solemn and lugubrious expression, pre- 
 sided, and the only one perhaps who could read and wiite. Ha 
 lud before him paper, pens, and ink, and a jailer's book. 
 
 These men, tlie judges of the Abbaye, terrible judges, from 
 whose decisions there was no appeal, employed a hundred execu- 
 tioners, armed with sabers, knives, and pikes, awaiting their victims 
 In the court running witii blood. 
 
 The president was the Huissier Maillard, Had he come there 
 ■voluntarily? or was he sent by Daoton, who wanted to save a few 
 ^rsons from Carmes, the Chitelet, La Force, and the Abbaye? 
 
 No one knew. 
 
 <)n the 4th of September Maillard disappeared; be was no longM 
 
ANDKEE DE TAVERNET. 259 
 
 ■een or heard of; it was as if he had been drowned, swallowed up 
 in blood. 
 
 Since ten o'clock the evening before he had presided at the tri- 
 bunal. He had arrived, arranged the table, had the jailer's book 
 brought to him; among the first comers, he had appointed twelve 
 judges; then he took his seat in the middle of the table; six of his 
 assistants at his right hand, six at his left, and the massacre con- 
 tinued with a sort of system. 
 
 The name was read out of the book; the jailers went for the pris- 
 oner; Maillard gave the history of his imprisonment; the prii- 
 oner appeared ; the president consulted his colleagues; if the pris- 
 ener was condemned, Maillard contented himself with saying: 
 
 " To La Forcel" 
 
 Then the outside door opened, and the victim fell into the hands 
 of the assassins. If, on the contrary, the victim was given his 
 freedom, the black phantom rose, and, laying his hand on his head, 
 said: 
 
 " Let him be released!" 
 
 And the prisoner was saved. 
 
 At the moment Maillard presented himself at the prison door, a 
 man came toward him from the wall, and spoke to him. 
 
 At the first word Maillard recognized the man, and bowed his 
 tall form with more condescension than cordiality. 
 
 Then he made him enter the prison, and when the table was ar- 
 ranged, the tribune established, he said to him: 
 
 " Stand there, and when the persou whom you are interested in 
 appears, make me a sign." 
 
 ■The man leaned in a corner, and since the night before had re- 
 mained there, mute, immovable, waiting. 
 
 That man was Gilbert. He had sworn to Andree he would not 
 let her die, and he came to keep his oath. 
 
 From four to six o'clock in the morning the judges and execu- 
 tioners took some rest. At six o'clock they had something to eat. 
 During the two hours' respite for sleep and repose, the undertak- 
 «rs, sent by the commune, came and took the dead away. 
 
 "Then, as there were three inches of blood curdling in the court, 
 as their feet slipped in the blood, and it would have taken too long 
 to wash it, they brought a hundred bundles of straw, that were 
 scattered over the pavements and covered with the victims' clofh«i, 
 particularly those of the Swiss. 
 
 The clothes and straw absorbed the blood. . 
 
 "While the judges and executioners slept, the prisoners watched, 
 iustained by terror. Only when the cries stopped and the appeals 
 ceased they had some hope. Perhaps only a certain number of 
 victims were destined for the sacrifice; perhaps the massacre was 
 confined to the Swiss and the king's guards. But that hope was 
 of short duration. 
 
 About half past six o'clock in the morning, the cries and appeals 
 again began. 
 
 Then a jailer came in and told Maillard the prisoners were ready 
 to die, but wanted to hear mass first. 
 
 Maillard shrugged his shoulders; nevertheless, he granted tbeil 
 demand. 
 
260 ANDEEE DE TAVEElifEY. 
 
 He was, however, occupied in listening to the congratulatloM 
 sent Ibem from the commune by a messenger of the commune, a 
 man of short stature, with a supple ngure, clad in a plum-colored 
 suit, and small pernique. 
 
 That man was Billaud Varrennes. 
 
 " W(>illi_v (ilizens," he said lo the executioners, "you are purg- 
 ing society of miserable culprits. T!ie munifipalily does unt Know 
 how to acquit iiself toward you. Without a doubt the property of 
 the dead belong to you; but that would le.semble theft. As an in- 
 demnity for tliat loss, I am deputed to offer each of you twenty- 
 four livres, that will be paid you on the spot." 
 I In fact, Billaud Varrennes at tlie same moment distributed (o th« 
 executioners the salaiy for their bloody deed. 
 
 The following will explain the above act of the commune: 
 
 During the night of the 3d of September, some of those who took 
 the iiffli e of executioner — a small number, as the majority of the 
 AssassiDs belonged to the chiss of small shop-keepers in the en- 
 virons;* some of these executioners were without shoes and stock- 
 ings; and looked with envy upon those of the aristocrats. The re- 
 sult was they asked permission from the district to take the shoes 
 from Hie dead. The district consented. 
 
 Fiom that time Maillard saw they considered themselves ab- 
 solved from asking leave, and were consequently taking not only 
 shoes and slockins;s, but anything that was worth while. 
 
 Maillard found his massacie was becoming lawless 
 
 From this came Billaud Varrennes' embassy, and the religious 
 silence with which it was listened to. 
 
 During this time the prisoners heard mass; he who read it was 
 Abbe Lenfant, the king'.s preacher; the celebrant was Abbe Rastig- 
 nac, a religious writer. 
 
 They were both elderly men, with white hair and venerable fig- 
 ures, and the words of resignation and faith which they uttered 
 had a most soothing and elevating influence over these unfortu- 
 nates. 
 
 At the moment they were on their knees receiving the benedic- 
 tion from Abbe Lenfant, the call recommenced. 
 
 The first name was that of the abbe. 
 
 He made the sign of the cross, finished his prayer, and followed 
 those who cam" tor him. 
 
 The second priest remained, and continued the funeral exhorta- 
 tion. 
 
 Tiien be was called in his turn; and in his turn followed those 
 •who called him. 
 
 The prisoners remained together. 
 
 Tlieii the cnnvcisntion became weird, somber, terrible. 
 
 They disonssed the manner of death, and the agonies of torture 
 ■more or le~p long. 
 
 Some wished to have their heads taken off, to fall at a fingla 
 blow; others, to raise their arms, that death might penetrate their 
 toreasts on all sides; others, to hold their hands behind their backs, 
 to offer no resistance. 
 
 * See the archives of the police on the 2d of September. 
 
ANDREB DE TAVERHBT. 261 
 
 A young man left the group, saying: 
 
 " I will see ■which is best." 
 
 He mounted into a small tower, whose barred window opened oe 
 the court of massacre. Then he returned, saying: " Those who die 
 the quickest are those who have the good fortune to be struck in 
 the chest." 
 
 At that moment the words, " Mv God, I come to Thee!" might 
 be heard followed by sighs on all sides. 
 
 A man fell to the earth and rolled in the gutter. It was M. de 
 Chantereine, a colonel of the Constitutional Guard. 
 
 He had given himself three cuts in the chest with a knife. 
 
 The prisoners inherited the knife; but they were struck with, 
 hesitation, and only one succeeded in killing himself. 
 
 There were three women there; two young, frightened girls, 
 clinging to the side of two old men, a woman in mourning calmly 
 kneeling, praying, and smiling in her prayers. The two young 
 girls were Miles, de Cazotte and de Sombreuil. 
 
 The two old men were their fathers. The young woman ia 
 mourning was Andree. 
 
 M. de Montmorin was called. 
 
 M. lie Moulmorin it will be remembered, was the old minister 
 who had deliveied the passports by whose aid the king had tried to 
 fly; he was so unpopular a person, that the evening before a young 
 man of tlial name came near being killed by mistake. He had 
 not gone to li-^ten to the exhortation of the two priests; he remained 
 Jn his cell, furious, desperate, anathematizing his enemies, calling 
 for arms, wrenching the iron bars of his prison, and breaking an 
 oaken table whose wood was two inches thick. He was obliged ta 
 be carried by force before the tribunal; he entered the cell, pale„ 
 with inflamed eyes and clinched fists. 
 
 " To La Force!" said Maillard. 
 
 The old minister took the phrase in its literal meaning, and 
 thought he was simply being transferred. 
 
 " President," he said to Maillard, " as it pleases you to be called 
 such, I hope you will have me taken there in a carriage, and to- 
 spare me the insults of your assassins." 
 
 " Call a carriage for the Comte de Montmorin," said Maillard, 
 with ironical politeness. 
 
 Then to M. de Montmorin: 
 
 " Please be seated, while waiting for your carriage." 
 
 The count seated himself, grumbling. ; 
 
 Five minutes after, they announced the carriage was ready. A 
 conspirator understood the part he was to play in this drama, and 
 gave the answer. 
 
 The fatal door was opened, and the one that ushered him to hia 
 death, and M. de Montmorin went out; he had not taken twenty 
 rteps before he fell pierced with twenty pikes. 
 
 Then came other prisoners, whose unknown names remain 
 shrouded in oblivion. 
 
 In the midst of these obscure names, one burns out brilliantly 
 like a flame; it was that of .Jacques Cazotte; the bright light 
 Cazotte, who ten years before the revolution predicted to each one 
 the fate that awaited hiou of Cazott«, the author of " The Amoi' 
 
262 ANDEEE DB TAVEKNIT. 
 
 ous Devil," " Olivier," and " The Thousand and One Fo21ies;" an 
 ardent, imaginative, ecstatic soul, warm heart, vrho had embraced 
 with enthusiasm the cause of the counter-revolution, and who, in 
 iis letters addressed to his friend Pouteau, employed as superin- 
 tendent on the civil list, had expressed those opinions that, at the 
 time we have arrived at, had brought him to his death. 
 
 His daughter had been his secretary, and her father arrested, 
 Elizabeth Cazolte came to the prison in her turn. 
 
 If the opinions of a royalist were to be permitted to any one, it 
 certainly would have been to that aged man of seventy-five years, 
 whose feet were rooted in Louis XIV. 's monarchy, and who, to 
 rock the Duke of Burgundy to sleep, had composed the two popu- 
 lar songs of " Tout au beau milieu de Ardennes," and " Commgra 
 11 faut chauffer le lit I" But these were reasons to give to philoso- 
 phers, not to the assassins at the Abbaye; thus Gazette was con- 
 demned beforehand. 
 
 Perceiving the old man, with his white hair, his eyes on Are, in- 
 spired look, Gilbert stepped from the wall, and motioned to Mail- 
 lard, who caught it; Cazotte advanced leaning on his daughter, 
 who, entering the cell, comprehended she was before her judges. 
 
 Then she left her father, and with clasped hands besought that 
 tribunal of blood in such sweet words, that Maillard's assistants 
 began to hesitate; the poor child saw under those rude forms there 
 were hearts, but to reach them it was necessary to descend into the 
 depth; she went with bowed head, with compassion for her guide. 
 These men who did not know what tears meant, wept. MaiUard 
 wiped with the back of his hand his dry and hard eyes, that in 
 twenty hours had contemplated massacre without a quiver. 
 
 He extended his hand and laid it on Gazette's head. 
 
 " You are releasedl" he said. 
 
 The young girl did not know what to think. 
 
 " Have no fear," said Gilbert, " mademoiselle, your father is 
 aaved." 
 
 Two of the judges rose and accompanied Cazott« as far as the 
 ■street, fearing some fatal error would expose to death the victim 
 they had just released. 
 
 Gazette, for this time at least. Calotte was saved. 
 
 The hours passed, the massacre continued. They had brought 
 in the court benches for spectators; the wives and children of the 
 murderers were allowed to be present; others, actors from con- 
 science' sake, it was not enough for theie men to be paid, they 
 wanted to be applauded. 
 
 Toward five o'clock in the evening M. de Sombreuil was called. 
 
 He was, like Gazette, a well-known royalist, and what made it 
 impossible to save him, was, that as Governor of the Invalides he 
 had on the Hth of July fired on the people. His sons were with 
 •the foreign powers, in the enemy's army; one had acquitted him- 
 self so well at the siege of Longwy that he had been decorated by 
 the King of Prussia. M. de Sombreuil appeared also, nobly re- 
 signed, carrying his head high, while his white hair, in curls, hung 
 on his uniform; he also leaned en his daughter. This time Maillard 
 did not dare order the prisoners' release, but making a suprem* 
 efioFt, he said. 
 
AKDBEE DE TAVERNET. S6S 
 
 " Innocent or guilty, I consider it unworthy of the people to soL 
 their hands in the blood of this old man." 
 
 Mile de Sombreull heard those noble words that held the weight* 
 in the divine balance; she took her father, and dragging him to 
 the street door cried: "Saved! saved!" 
 
 No judgment had been pronounced either for condemnation or 
 absolution. 
 
 Two or three of the assassins put their heads in the door of the 
 cell, to ask what they should do. 
 
 The tribunal remained silent. 
 , •' Do what you like," said a member. 
 
 " Well," cried the murderers, " let the young girl drink to th« 
 laation's liealth." 
 
 Then a man, red with blood, with turned-up sleeves, and a 
 ferocious visage presented mademoiselle with a glass, some say of 
 blood, others that it was simply wine. 
 
 Mile, de Sombreuil cried, " Vive la nation," put the liquid to her 
 lips as best she might, and M. de Sombreuil was saved. 
 
 Two hours passed. 
 
 Then Maillard's voice — as impossible in evoking the living as 
 was that of Minos in evoking the dead — Maillard's voice uttered 
 these words: 
 
 " The citoyenne Andree de Taverney, Countess de Charny." 
 
 At that name Gilbert felt his limbs fail him, and his heart stop. 
 
 A life dearer to him than his own was to be tried in the balance, 
 judged, condemned or saved. 
 
 " Citizens," said Maillard, to the members of this terrible tri- 
 bunal, " she who will now appear before you is a poor woman who 
 was formerly devoted to the Austrian, but whom the Austrian, 
 ungrateful like a queen, repaid with ingratitude; she lost every- 
 thing by that friendship, her fortune and her husband. You will 
 see her enter, dressed in black, and that mourning she owes to the 
 prisoner in the temple. Citizens, I demand the life of that pris- 
 oner. ' ' 
 
 The members of the tribunal made a sign of assent. 
 
 Only one of them said: 
 
 "We must see her." 
 
 " There," continued Maillard, " look at her." 
 
 The door opened, and in the depths of the corridor was perceived 
 a woman, all dressed in black, her face covered with a black veil, 
 advancing alone, without help, with a firm step. 
 
 It might have been an apparition from the other world — only, as 
 Hamlet says, " from whence no traveler returns. " 
 
 At that sight all the judges trembled. 
 
 She arrived before the table and raised her veil. 
 
 Ne^er had she appeared more irresistible, never had her pale 
 beauty appeared to such advantage; she was a marble divinity. 
 Every eye was fised upon her; Gilbert scarcely breathed. 
 
 She spoke to Maillard in a firm voice: 
 
 " Citizen," she said, " it is you who are president?" 
 
 "Yes, citoyenne," replied Maillard, astonished that he, the in- 
 terrogator, should in his turn be interrogated. 
 
 " I am the Countecs de Charny, the wife of the Count d« 
 
S6i AKDBES D£ TAYEBNEY. 
 
 Charny, killed on that infamous day, the 10th of August— an aris- 
 tocrat, a friend of the queen. I deserve death, and I have come 
 for It." 
 
 The judges uttered a cry of surprise. 
 
 Gilbert grew pallid, and shrunk as far as possible in the corner 
 of the cell, trying to escape AndrSe's looks. 
 
 "Ci'izens," said Maillard, who saw Gilbert's horror, "this 
 woman is crazed; her husband's death cost her her reason. Let us 
 pity her and watch over her life. The justice ol the people can 
 aot punish the irresponsible." 
 
 And he raised her and wanted to place his hand on her head aa 
 Jie had with those he had released. 
 
 But Andree stopped Maillard's hand. " I have all my senses," 
 ishe said; " if you want to pardon any one, pardon those who ask 
 «nd deserve it, but do not pardon me. I do not deserve it, and 
 will refuse it." 
 
 Maillard turned toward Gilbert, who had his hands clasped.' 
 
 " That womau is crazy," he said; " let her go." And he mo- 
 ■tioned to a member of the tribunal to push her out of the street 
 <door. 
 
 " Innocent!" cried the man; " let her pass!" 
 
 They made way for her; swords, pikes, and pistols were lowered 
 before that statue of mourning. 
 
 But after taking ten steps, while Gilbert at the window gazed at 
 lier through the bars, she suddenly stopped. 
 
 " Long live the king!" she cried. " Long live the queen. Down 
 •with the 10th of August!" 
 
 Gilbert uttered a cry and threw himself in the court. He saw a 
 ■sword brandished; and like a flash the blade disappeared in An- 
 ^ree's bosom. He received the poor woman in his arms. 
 
 Andree turned her fast-fleeting looks toward him, and recognized 
 liim. 
 
 " I told you I would die, notwithstanding,'' she murmured. 
 
 Then, in a scarcely intelligible voice: 
 
 " Love Sebastian for both of us!" she said. 
 
 Then, more feebly: , 
 
 " Near him, will you not? near my Olivier — near my husband — 
 for eternity?" 
 
 And she expired. 
 
 Gilbert took her in his arms and raised her. A hundred bara 
 *rms covered with blood menaced him. 
 
 But Maillard was behind him, and extending his hand over hia 
 liead, he said: 
 
 " Let Citizen Gilbert pass, to carry the corpse of a poor unfort- 
 runate killed by mistake." 
 
 Every one made way for Gilbert, who, carrying Andree's body, 
 passed through the midst of the executioners without one disputing 
 Jois toad, for Maillard's word was omnipotent with the people. 
 
ANDBEE DE TAYEBNET. S65 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 THE MASSACRE AT TBB TEMPLB. 
 
 TffE commune, while organizing the massacre we have just re- 
 Jtted; the commune, while wishing to subjugate the assembly and 
 the press by terror, were afraid some misfortune might happen to 
 the prisoners at the temple. 
 
 In fact, in the situation they found themselves — Longwy taken, 
 Verdun surrounded, the enemy within fifty miles of Paris — th« 
 royal family were the most precious hostages possible for the most 
 compromised lives. 
 
 Two commissioners were sent to the temple. Five hundred 
 armed men would have been insufficient to guard this prison, and 
 they, perhaps, would have opened it themselves to the people; tlie 
 ■commissioners found a better way than all the pikes and bayonets 
 in Paris; it was to surround the temple with a tricolored band 
 with this inscription: 
 
 " Citizens, you who know how to systematize your revenge, re- 
 spect this barrier — it is necessary for our safety and our responsi- 
 bility." 
 
 What an epoch, when oaken doors were broken open, and iron 
 bars forced, yet they knelt before a ribbon. 
 
 The peopk knelt before the tricolored band around the temple 
 and kissed it; no one disturbed it. 
 
 The king and queen were ignorant of what was going on in 
 Paris; though there was around the temple more excitement than 
 usual, they were becoming accustomed to the sight of occasional 
 mobs. 
 
 The king usually dined at two o'clock; at two o'clock to-day he 
 dined as usual, then after dinner descended in the garden, as was 
 also his custom, with the queen, Mme. Elizabeth, Mme. Royale, 
 and the dauphin. During the promenade the clamors redoubled. 
 One of the officers that followed the king whispered in the ear of 
 one of his colleagues, not so low, however, but that Clery could 
 hear- 
 
 "We did wrong to allow them to walk here to-day after din- 
 ner." 
 
 It was three o'clock, and at that moment they began to murder 
 the prisoners transferred to the Abbaye. 
 
 The king no longer had near him as valets any one except Clery 
 and M. Hue. 
 
 Poor Thierry, whom we have said lent his room to the queen to 
 interview M. Roederer, was at the Abbaye, and was to be killed on 
 the 3d of September. 
 
 It seemed to he also the opinion of the second oflBcer that they 
 had made a mistake in allowing tlie royal family to go out, for 
 they both gave an order to have them re-enter their abode. 
 
 i'hej obeyed 
 
 Hardly had they reached the queen's apartment when two other 
 municipal officers, not on duty at t b» tew er. entered, and one of 
 
266 ANDEBE DE TAVERNBT. 
 
 them, an ex-Capuchin priest, named Mathieu, advanced toward the 
 king, saying: 
 
 " You are not aware, sir, of what is taking place. The country 
 is in the greatest danger." 
 
 " How do you expect me to know anything, sir?" said the king; 
 " I am in prison — shut up." 
 
 "Then I can tell you something you don't know: that is, the 
 enemy has entered Champagne, and the King of Prussia is march- 
 ' ingon Chalons." 
 
 Tlie queen could not repress a joyful exclamation. 
 
 The officer saw the gesture, rapid as it was. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said, addressing the (jueen; " we and our wives 
 and our children can perish, but you are responsible for all; you 
 will die first, and the people will be avenged!" 
 
 " Let God's will be done," replied the king. " 1 have done every- 
 thing for the people; I have nothing to reproach myself for." 
 
 Then the same officer, turning toward M. Hue, who had turned 
 to the dnor: 
 
 " As for you," he said, " the commune has ordered me to amsst 
 you " 
 
 " What ia that — an order of arrest for whom?" asked the king. 
 
 " Your valet." 
 
 " My valei ? Which one?" 
 
 " This one." And the officer designated M. Hue. 
 
 " Monsieur Hue!" said the king; "what has he been accused 
 of?" 
 
 " That is not my affair; but he is to be taken away this evening 
 and his eifects sealed up." Then going out, he said to Clery: 
 " Be caretul of what you do, least something worse happens you, if 
 you do not walk straight." 
 
 The next day, the 3d of September, at eleven o'clock in the 
 morning, the king was with his family in the queen's apartment; 
 an officer ordered Clery to ascend to the king's chamber. 
 
 Manuel and several other members of the commune were there. 
 
 Every face expressed great anxiety. Manuel, as we have said, 
 ■was not a man of blood, for there was a moderate party even in the 
 commune. 
 
 " What does the king think of his valet being taken?" asked 
 Manuel. 
 
 " His majesty is very much disturbed," replied Clery. 
 
 " Nothing will happen to him," replied Manuel; " nevertheless, 
 1 am ordered to say to the king that he will not return, but the 
 council will replace him. You can tell the king." 
 
 " I do not consider it my affair, sir," replied Clery; " be kind 
 enough to dispense with my services on so sad an occasion as this." 
 
 Manuel reflected a moment, then said: 
 
 " Let it be so. 1 will go to the queen's apartments." 
 
 And he descended to her chamber, and found the king. 
 
 The king received calmly the news announced to him by the pro- 
 cureur of the commune; then, with the same expression of impassi- 
 bility he had worn on the 20th of June and the 10th of August, and 
 that he wore on the acalfold: 
 
 " That is well, sir," he said; " thank you. I will avail myself 
 
AXDEEB DE TAVERNET. 267 
 
 •f my son's valet; and if the council oppose that, I will wait upoa 
 myself." 
 
 Then, with a slight movement of his head: 
 
 " 1 am resolved!" he said. 
 
 " Have you any demands to make?" asked Manuel. 
 
 " We are in need of linen," said the king; " that to us is a great 
 deprivation. Do you think you could obtain it from the com- 
 mune?" 
 
 " I will refer it to the council," replied Manuel. 
 
 Then, seeing the king asked him nothing more, Manuel retired. 
 
 At one o'clock the king signified his desire to take a walk. 
 
 During these promenades, they always had some marks of sym- 
 pathy from some window or roof, or behind some shutters; and 
 that was a consolation. 
 
 The officers refused to let the royal family go out. 
 
 At ten o'clock, they sat down to dinner. 
 
 In the midst of it they heard the beating of drums, and the noise 
 increased as they approached the temple. 
 
 The royal family rose from the table, and united in the queen's 
 apartment. 
 
 The noise continued to approach. 
 
 What was the occasion of it?" 
 
 The massacre was being conducted at La Force as at the Abbaye, 
 only it was not presided over by Maillard, but by Hebert; thus it 
 was more cruel. 
 
 And yet there the prisoners would have been saved with leas 
 trouble; there were fewer political prisoners at Jja Force than at 
 the Abbaye; the executioners were less numerous, the spectators 
 not so fierce; but while at tlie Abbaye Maillard superintended the 
 massacre, at La Force Hebert was mastered by the massacre. 
 
 Forty- two persons were saved at the Abbaye; only six at La 
 Force. 
 
 Among the prisoners at La Force was the poor little Princess de 
 Lamballe, who throughout had been devoted to the queen 
 
 She was called the " queen's counselor." She was lier confi- 
 dante, her intimate friend, something more perhaps — some say, less 
 — but never her counselor. The mignonne grandchild of Savoy, 
 with her small but firm mouth and her fixed smile, was capable of 
 loving, as she showed ; but as a counselor, and to advise an obsti- 
 nate, headstrong, haughty woman like the queen, she was incapsi- 
 ble of it. 
 
 The queen had loved her as she had loved Mme. de Guemene, 
 Mme. de Marsan, Mme. de Polignac; but light, frivolous, incon- 
 stant in all her sentiments, she had perhaps made her suffer as a 
 friend more than Charny had suifered as a lover; only, as we have 
 seen, Charny left her; the friend, on the contrary, remained faith- 
 ful. 
 
 Both perished for the one they loved. 
 
 Some time afterward Mme. de Lamballe went to England; sh« 
 could have remained there, probably led a long life, but the sweet, 
 lovely creature knew the Tuileries was threatened, and she re- 
 turned to her place at the queen's side. 
 
 On the 10th of August she was separated from her friend; coo- 
 
«68 ANDBEE DB TATBRNET. 
 
 ducted first to the temple with the queen, she was almost immedi- 
 ately transferred to La Force. 
 
 There she sunk under the burden of her devotion ; she wanted 
 to die near tlie queen, with the queen; under her eyes death would 
 have been sweet; from her, slie had not the courage to die. She 
 ■was not a woman of Andree's determination. She was over- 
 whelmed with terror. 
 
 She was not ignorant of the hatred expressed against her. Shut 
 Tip in one ot the high rooms of the prison with Mme. de Navarre, 
 she saw, on the night of the ad of September, Mme. de Tourzel go; 
 it was the signal that she would be next. 
 
 Thus, Ijing on her bed, cowering under the covering as each 
 burst of excitement came to her ears, like a frightened child, every 
 lew moments she fainted. When she regained her senses: 
 
 " Oh, my God!" she said, " I hoped to die I" 
 
 Then she added: 
 
 " If one could die as they fainti It is not very sad or very diflB- 
 cult!" 
 
 Everywhere was murder; in the court, at the door, in the lower 
 rooms; the odor of blood rose like a funeral vapor. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the morning the door of her room opened. 
 
 Her terror this time was so great she did not faint or hide herself 
 under the bed clothes. She turned her head and saw two Nationsd 
 Guardsmen. 
 
 " Come! get up, madame," brutally said one of them to the 
 princess; " you must go to the Abbaye." 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen!" she said, "it is impossible for me to leave 
 the bed; I am so feeble I can not walk." 
 
 Then she added, in a scarcely intelligible voice: 
 
 " If you want to kill me, you can do it as well here as any- 
 where." 
 
 One of the men whispered in her ear, while the other guarded 
 the door: 
 
 " Obey us, madame; we wish to save you," he said. 
 
 " Then leave me, while I dress myself," said the prisoner. 
 
 The two men retired and Mme. de Navarre helped her to dress, 
 or, rather, put on her clothes. In ten minutes the men re-entered. 
 
 The princess was ready; only, as she had said, she could not walk; 
 the poor woman trembled from head to foot. She took the arm 
 of the man who had spoken to her, and leaning upon him, descend- 
 ed the staiis. 
 
 Arriving at the cell, she suddenly found herself before the bloody 
 tribunal presided over by Hebert. 
 
 At the sight of the men with their sleeves turned back — the self- 
 eonstituted judges— at the sight of the executioners with their 
 bloody hands, she fainted. 
 
 Interrogated three times, three times she fainted. 
 
 " But they want to save you!" whispered the man who had 
 spoken to her before. 
 
 These words gave a little strength to the unfortunate woman. 
 
 " What do you want of me, gentlemen?" she murmured. 
 
 " Who are you?" asked Hebert. 
 
 " Marie Louise de Saroie Carignan, Priuceas de Lamballe." 
 
ANDRFE DE TAYEENET. 26> 
 
 " Your position?" 
 
 " Superintendent of the queen's household." 
 
 " Did you kmow of the plots of the court on the 10th of August?" 
 
 " I did not know there were any plots on the 10th of August; 
 but if there were, I was completely ignorant of them." 
 
 " Swear to liberty, equality, hatred to the king, queen, and en- 
 tire royalty." 
 
 " I will easily swear to the first two, but I can not swear to taJ 
 rest; it is not in my heart." 
 
 " Swear!" whispered the National Guardsmen to her, " or you 
 we dead!" 
 
 The princess extended her two hands, and made, trembling, a 
 iew instinctive steps toward the tribunal. 
 
 " But swear it!" said her protector. 
 
 Then, as if, in her terror of death, she was afraid to pronounce a 
 shameful oath, she put her hands to her mouth to stifle the words 
 if they escaped her accidentally. Some sounds passed her fingers. 
 
 '■ She has sworn!" cried the National Guardsman by her side. 
 
 Then he added, lower: 
 
 " Go out quickly by the door before you, and going out cry; 
 ■* Long live the nation!' and you are saved." 
 
 Going out she found herself in the arms of an executioner await- 
 ing her; it was the huge Nicolas who had cut off the heads ot the 
 two body-guards at Versailles. 
 
 This time he had promised to save the princess. He drew her 
 toward something strange, shaking, bleeding, and said to her in 
 low tones . 
 
 " Cry: ' Long live the nation!' Now then, cry: ' Long live the 
 nation!' " 
 
 No doubt she would have cried; but unfoitunately she opened 
 her eyes; she found herself before a mountain of bodies, upon which 
 a man was standing with iron shoes, while from under his feet the 
 blood ran, as a wine-maker squeezes the wine from the grapes. 
 
 She saw this frightful spectacle, and turned away, unable to re- 
 sist crying: 
 
 " Fi! I'horeur! — " 
 
 Cijce more they stifled her cries. 
 
 Cne hundred thousand francs had been given by M. de Pent- 
 hie^re, her step- father, to save her. 
 
 They pushed her in the narrow passage leading from the Rue St. 
 Antoint to the prison, and which was called the cul-de-sac of the 
 priests, when a wretch, a hair-dresser named Chariot, who had en- 
 gaged himself as a drummer in the volunteers, brolce through the 
 circle around her and struck off her bonnet with a pike. 
 
 Did he only want to take her bonnet off? Did he want to hit her 
 face? 
 
 Her blood ran; biood calls for blood. A man threw a leg of 
 wood at the prin.-ess The log struck her behind the head. She 
 tottered and fell on he. knees. 
 
 It was then impossible to save her. From all sides sabers and 
 long pikes struck her. She never uttered a cry; in fact, she wa* 
 dead before the last words left her lips almost. 
 
 Hardly had she died-^ perhaps she still lived — when they pre- 
 
870 ANDBEE DE TAVEKNBT. 
 
 cipitated themselves upon her. In a moment her clothes were tort 
 from her, and, palpitating with the last agonizing shudders, she was 
 naked. 
 
 An obscene sentiment presided over her death and hastened tiiis 
 spoliation; tliey wanted to see this beautiful body, whom the wom- 
 en of Lesbos might have worshiped. Naked as when God made 
 her, she was displayed to all eyes on a bier. Four men were in- 
 stalled by the bier to wash and dry the blood that flowed from 
 seven wounds; a fifth showed Ihem with a stick, pointing out the 
 beauties which made her so popular once, but now most certainly 
 caused her death. 
 
 She remained thus exposed from eight o'clock till midday; then 
 they grew tired of this dreadful scene by a corpse; a man came and 
 cut off her head. 
 
 Alas! that long and flexible neck, like a swan's, made but little 
 resistance. The wretch who committed this crime, more hideous, 
 perhaps, upon a corpse than upon a living being, was called 
 Grison. 
 
 History is more inexorable than fate. She picks a plimie from 
 her wing, dips it in blood; she writes a name, and that name is 
 forever execrated by posterity. 
 
 That man was guillotined later, as the leader of a band of 
 thieves. 
 
 A second, named Rodi, opened the princess's bosom and took out 
 her heart. 
 
 A third, named Mamin, took another part of her body. 
 
 It was from her love for the queen they thus mutilated the poor 
 woman. The queen must have been warmly hated. 
 
 They raised on pikes the three parts detached from the body, and 
 went toward the temple. 
 
 An immense crowd followed the three assassins; but with the 
 exception of some children and drunken men, who vomited forth 
 both wine and insults, the procession guarded a profound silence. 
 
 A hair-dresser's shop was on the road; they entered. The man 
 who carried the head put it on the table. 
 
 " Dress that head," he said; " she is going to see her mistress 
 at the temple." 
 
 The hair- dresser dressed the magnificent hair of the princess; 
 then they went on their way to the temple, this time with loud 
 cries. 
 
 Those were the cries the royal family heard. The assassins 
 arrived; they had the atrocious idea of exhibiting the portions of 
 the princess they had cut off. 
 
 These murderers — such men — did not dare to penetrate beyonfl 
 a ribbon. 
 
 They asked if a deputation of six assassins — three of them carry- 
 ing the portions we have mentioned — could enter the temple and 
 make a tour through the dungeon, before showing those bloody 
 relics to the queen. 
 
 The request was so reasonable, it was granted without th« slight- 
 est discussion. 
 
 The king was sitting, seemingly playing tric-trac with the queen. 
 
 They frequently made use of the pretext of this game to ex- 
 
AKDBSE DE TATEBKET. 271 
 
 tiiaage some words irithout being understood by the offloen. Sud- 
 denly the king saw one of them close the door and precipitate him- 
 aclf toward the window, and close the curtains. 
 
 His name was Danjou, an old theologian, a sort of giant, and. 
 ■who, on account of his great height, was called Abbe Six Pieds. 
 
 " "What is the matter?" asked the king. 
 
 The queen's back was toward him; the abbe signed to the king 
 Bot to question him. 
 
 The cries, insults, and threats reached the room spite of closed 
 doors and windows; the king comprehended something dreadful 
 was taking place; he laid his hand on the queen's shoulder, that 
 she might not rise. 
 
 At that moment they knocked at the door, and spite of himself, 
 Danjou was obliged to open it. It was the officers of the guard and 
 the Hiunicipality. 
 
 " Gentlemen," demanded the king, " is my family safe?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the man in the uniform of the ^National Guard, 
 wearmg a double epaulet; " but there is a report there is no one 
 left in the tower, that you had fled. Show yourself at the window 
 to reassure the people." 
 
 The king, ignorant of what was taking place, saw no reason 
 why he should not obey. He accordingly made a movement to- 
 ward the window, but Danjou stopped hjm. 
 
 " Do not go there, sire!" he cried. " The people," he added, 
 " should have more confidence in its magistrate." 
 
 " Well," said the man with the epaulets, " that Is not aU; they 
 want you to come to the window to see the head and heart of the 
 Princess Lamballe they have brought, to show you how the people 
 treat traitors. I beseech you to show yourself, if you do not wish 
 them to bring them here." 
 
 The queen uttered a cry, and fell fainting into the arms of Mme. 
 Elizabeth and Mme. Eoyale. 
 
 " Ah! sir," said the king, " you could have dispensed with tell- 
 ing the queen this frightful misfortune." 
 
 Then, pointing toward the three women: 
 
 " See what you have done!" he added. 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders and left, singing the " Car- 
 magnole." 
 
 At six o'clock Petion's secretary presented himself, to count out 
 to the king two thousand eight hundred francs. 
 
 Seeing the queen standing motionless, he thought it was out of 
 respect to him she thus stood, and he had the goodness to ask her 
 to be seated. 
 
 " My mother held herself thus," says Mme. Eoyale, in her 
 " Memoirs," " from the time of that frightful scene, upright and 
 perfectly motionless, seeing nothing that pasMd around her. Ter- 
 ror had clMUiged her into a statu*." 
 
272 ANDREE DE TAVEBNET. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 Now, turning our eyes from the terrible scenes of the massacre, 
 we will follow in the defiles of Argonne one of those important 
 personages on whose shoul.lers vested tiie fate of France. 
 
 It is not necessary lo say il is Dumouiiez. 
 
 Dumouriez, as we have seen, on leaving the ministry, had again 
 taken up his work as general, and since Lafayette's flight, he had 
 received the title of Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the East. 
 
 Dumouriez's appoiniment by those in power had been a sort of 
 Inluilion. 
 
 Dumouriez had, in fact, been detested by some, despised by 
 others; but, more forlunafe than Danton on the 2d of September, 
 it was universally acknowledged he was the only man who could 
 save Prance. 
 
 Th(i Girondists, who nominated him, haled Dumouriez; they had 
 forced him to enter the ministry, had made him go out, and now 
 that he was in the norih, they went after him and appointed him. 
 general in chief. 
 
 The Jacobins liated and def^pised Dumouriez; they, nevertheless, 
 understood that this man's iirsi aml)ilion was glory; if he was van- 
 quished, he would be killed. Robespierre, not daring to sustain 
 him on account of his bad reputntion. had Conthon support him. 
 
 Danton neither hated nor despised Dumouriez; he was one of 
 those men of robust temperament, who, judging men from hi^ own 
 standpoint, did not inquire into their reputations, ready as they 
 might be to utilize their vices, provided they could obtain the de- 
 sired re?u!t. Only Danton, knowing what he could expect from 
 Dumouriez, defied his stability, and sent him two men; one was 
 Fabre d'Eglantine, his inspirator, the other Westerman, his right- 
 hand niiin. 
 
 All the strength of France was placed in the hands of an in- 
 triguer. Old Luckner, a German dotard, who displayed his inca- 
 pacity in tlie beginning of the campaiirn, was sent lo Chalons to 
 raise recruils. Dillon, a brave soldiei, a distinguished general, of 
 higher rank that Dumouriez, received orders to obey him. Keller- 
 mann was also put under this man's orders, and tearful France 
 suddenly gave him her sword, saying: "1 know of no one else 
 able to fight my battles: defend me." 
 
 Kellermann groaned, swore, cried, but obeyed; only he obeyed 
 Tery badly, and it required the sound of the cannon to make him 
 what he really wa«, a patriotic son of ihe country. Meantime, why 
 did the allied sovereigns, making forced marches, suddenly stop 
 after the taking of Longvvy, at"^r the surrender of A^'erdun? A 
 specter stood between 'hem and Paris— the specter of Beaureoaire. 
 
 Beaurei:aire, an aniient otlicer of carbioieres, had formed and 
 commanded the battalion of Maine-et-Loire. The moment they 
 learned the enemy had set their foot on the soil of France, he and 
 iis men scoured the country from west to east. 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 273 
 
 TThey met on their route a patriot deputy returning to their part 
 •f the country. 
 
 " What shall I say to your families for you?" asked the deputy. 
 
 " That we are dead men," replied one. 
 
 No Spartan marching on Thermopylse ever made a more sublime 
 speech. 
 
 The enemy arrived before Verdun, as we have said. 
 
 It was on the 30th ot August, 1793; the city was summoned to 
 lurrender on the 31st. 
 
 Beaurepaire and his men, assisted by Marceau, wished to fight to 
 the death. 
 
 The council of war, composed of the members of the munici- 
 pality and the principal inhabitants of the city, who were invited 
 to join it, ordered him to surrender. 
 
 Beaurepaire laughed disdainfully. 
 
 " I have tiiken an oath to die rather than surrender," he said. 
 " Proceed with your shame and dishonor if you like; but I will be 
 faithful to my oath. This is my last word. I die. " 
 
 And he blew his brains out. 
 
 This specter was as grand and terrible as the giant Adamastor. 
 
 Then the allied sovereigns, believing from the refugees' repre- 
 sentations that France would fly before Ihem, saw something very 
 different. They saw that land of France, so fertile and smiling, 
 changed as if by a magician's wand; their grain disappeared as if 
 in a whirlwind. They went to the west. 
 
 The peasant, armed, alone remained on his threshold; those who 
 had guns took their guns; those who had only their scythes took 
 them, and those who had only pitchforks used them. 
 
 Then the weather was in our favor; a long rain wet the men 
 through, destroyed the roads, and literally soaked the earth. No 
 doubt this rain fell on both the French as well as the Prussians; 
 only everything worked together to favor the French, and was hos- 
 tile for the Prussians. The peasant, who had for the enemy only 
 his gun, scythe, or pitchfork, had for his friends the bottle of wine 
 hidden in the wood- pile, the cask of beer concealed in the corner of 
 the cellar, and dry straw for his bed. 
 
 Of course, mistakes on mistakes were made, and Dumouriez 
 was the first to make them. In his " Memoirs " he relates them 
 both, his own as well as his lieutenants*. 
 
 He wrote to the National Assembly: "The defiles of Argonne 
 is the Thermopylse of France; but let not your heart be troubled; 
 more fortunate than Leonidas, I shall not perish." He had not 
 defended as carefully as he might the defiles of Argonne; one of 
 them was taken, and he had been obliged to beat a retreat. Two of 
 bis lieutenants were taken and slain; he was nearly taken and slain 
 himself, with fifteen thousand men only, and fifteen thousand men 
 so completely demoralized that twice he fled before fifteen hundred 
 Prussian hussars. But he did not despair, keeping his own coun- 
 sel, and his guod spirits, even writing to the ministers: " I will be 
 responsible for everything." And, in fact, though pursued, turned 
 from his path, very much cut up, he was able to make a junction 
 with Beurnonville's ten thousand and Kellermann's fifteen thou- 
 aand. He rallied bis 8catt«r«d. geuenUi, and, on the 19th of Sep- 
 
274 ANDKEB DE TAVERNET. 
 
 tember, he found himself encamped at St. Menehould, having 
 under bis control seventy-two thousand men, while the Prussians 
 had but seventy thousand. It is true, this army murmured; it 
 ■was often two or three days without bread. Then Dumouriez, 
 mixing with the soldiers: "My friends," he would say, "the 
 famous Marshal Saxe has written a book on war, in which he states 
 that once a week at least bread should not be served to the troops, 
 to render them, in case of necessity, less sensible to that privation; 
 you see you are more fortunate than the Prussians before you, who 
 are sometimes four days without bread, and who eat their dead 
 horses. You have lard, rice, and flour; make cakes out of them; 
 liberty will season them." 
 
 Then there was another thing: it was that mob of Paris, that 
 scum of September the 3d that, after the massacre, had gone to tlie 
 army. The wretches came, singing the " Ca ira," crying that, 
 although without epaulets, with the Cross of St. Louis, or embroid- 
 ered uniforms, it would make no difference, they would take them 
 if they felt inclined. 
 
 Thus they arrived at the camp, and were surprised at the wide 
 berth given them; no one deigned to reply either to their threats or 
 their advances; the general merely announced a review for the 
 next day. The next day the new-comers found themselves, by an 
 unexpected maneuver, between a numerous cavalry, ready to cut 
 them in pieces, and a threatening artillery. 
 
 Then Dumouriez advanced toward these men; they formed seven 
 battalions. 
 
 "You!" he cried, "for I will not call you either citizens or 
 soldiers or my children. You see before you that artillery, behind 
 you that cavalry; it is for you to say which death you will diet 
 Tou have been dishonored by crimes; I will not allow here either 
 assassins or executioners. The least mutiny will be punished. If 
 you will reform and conduct yourselves like this brave army you 
 have the honor to be admitted into, you will find in me a good 
 father. I know there are among you scoundrels capable of urging 
 you to any crime; fly from them, or deliver them up to me. I (vill 
 be resposible for one and the other." 
 
 These men not only curbed their pride and became good soldiers, 
 not only drove the disaffected ones away, but they cut in pieces 
 that miserable Chariot wlio had struck the Princess de Lamballe 
 with a log and carried her head on a pike. Such was the situation 
 awaiting Kellermann, without whom no one dared to risk a battle 
 On the 19th Dumouriez received word that his lieutenant was two 
 mil^ from him on his left. Dumouriez sent immediate instruc- 
 tions to him. He asked him to occupy the next day the camp be- 
 tween Dampierre and Elize, behind the Auve. The route was per- 
 fectly designed. 
 
 At the same time he sent his instructions to Kellermann, Du- 
 mouriez saw unfolding before him the Prussian army on the Mount- 
 ains de la Lune; in such a manner that the Prussians found them- 
 selves between Paris and Dumouriez, consequenlly, nearer Paris 
 than Dumouriez. In all probability, the Prussians wanted to 
 fight. Dumouriez ordered Kellermann to then make the Height! 
 of Valmy and Gizaucourt bit battle-field. Kellermann confounded 
 
ANDEEB DE TATERNIT. 275 
 
 his camp with the field of battle; he stopped on the Heights of 
 Valmy. 
 
 It was a great mistake or terrible luck. Placed as he was, Kel- 
 lermann could not retreat without takin;: his army over a narrow 
 bridge; he could not even rely on Dumouriez's right without Ira- 
 versing a swamp, where he would have been ingulfed; he could 
 not reach his left except by passing tli rough a deep valley, where 
 they would have been slaughtered. There was no possible retreat 
 
 Was that what the old Alsatian soldier wanted? If so, he must 
 have been satisfied. It was a grand spot to be overwhelmed or die. 
 
 Brunswick looked at his soldiers with astonishment. 
 
 " Those who are caught there," said he to the King of Prussia, 
 ' ■ will never leave the place." 
 
 They let the Prussian army believe Dumouriez wsis cut in pieces, 
 and assured them that the army of tailors, vagabonds, and run- 
 aways had dispersed at the first boom of the cannon. 
 
 They had neglected to have the Heights of Qizaucourt occupied 
 by General Chazot, who had been stationed on the Chalons road — 
 heights where he could have beaten the flank of the enemy's col- 
 umns; the Prussians profited by this negligence and carried the 
 position. 
 
 In fact, it was they who attacked Kellermann's flank 
 
 The day broke, darkened with a thick tog: that made no differ- 
 ence; the Prussians knew where the French army was; they were 
 on the Heights of Valmy, and could not well get away 
 
 Sixty fiery moutbs opened at once; the Prussian artilleries fired 
 at heizard; but they reached the masses; it made no difierence it 
 they aimed correctly. 
 
 The first shock was terrible for that enthusiastic army, who knew 
 admirably well how to attacK, but could not wait. 
 
 By accident, it was not luck — luck was against us — the howitzers 
 of the Prussians set two caissons on fire — they exploded; the drivers 
 jumped from their horses to go beyond the explosion — they took 
 them for refugees. 
 
 Kellermann spurred his horse toward that place of confusioB 
 where smoke and fog were mingled. 
 
 Suddenly the horse and the rider were overthrown. 
 
 The horse had been struck by a bullet; the man, fortunately, 
 was not hit; he jumped on another horse and rallied several bat- 
 talions that were in disorder. 
 
 It was Ihen eleven o'clock in the morning; the fog began to rise. 
 
 Kellermann saw the Prussians forming in three columns to attack 
 the plateau of Valmy; in his turn, he found his soldiers in three 
 columns, galloping before the line. 
 
 " Soldiers," he "said, "not a gun must be fired; wait till the 
 enemj' reaches you, and then receive them with a bayonet." 
 
 Then, putting his bat on the end of his sword: 
 
 " Long live the nation! and strike for victory!" 
 
 Like a flash, all the army followed his example; every soldier 
 put his hat on the end of his tiayonet, crying; 
 
 " Long live the nation!" 
 
 The fog dissipated, the smoke rose, and Brunswick saw with his 
 field-glass an onheard-of, sxtiaoidiaaiy, strange spectacle— thin/ 
 
276 ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 thousand immovable Frenchmen, with bare heads, waving their 
 arms and only replying to their enemies' Are by cries of " Long 
 live the nation!" 
 
 Brunswick bowed his head; if he had been alone, the Prussian 
 army would not have taken tiuother step; but the king, who wanted 
 to tigh', was there; he must obey. The Prussians rose, firm and 
 somber, under tlie eyes of the king and the Duke of Brunswick; 
 they crossed ilie spiue sepaniting them from their enemies with the 
 solidity of Frederick's old army; each man seemed attached to the 
 other by an iron shackle. Suddenly, in the midst, the immense 
 serpent broke in the middle; but the ends soon rallied. 
 
 Five minutes after they were broken again, and again united. 
 
 Twenty pieces of Dumouriez's cannon took the flank of the col- 
 umn, and mowed them down with their iron hail. The head of 
 the column could not rise, torn as it was by the pitiless fire. 
 
 Brunswick saw the day was lost, and sounded a retreat. 
 
 The king ordered a charge, put himself at the head of his 
 soldiers, and urged his courageous and obedient infantry under the 
 double fire of Kellermann and Dumouriez; he threw himself 
 against the French lines. Something ecstatic and splendid inspired 
 this young army, such was their faith. 
 
 "1 have not seen such fanatics since the religious wars!" said 
 Brunswick. . 
 
 These were sublime fanatics, the fanatics of liberty. 
 
 These heroes of '93 were' beginning the grand conquest of the 
 war that was to terminate by the conquest of minds. Dumouriez 
 saved France on the aOth of September. The next day the 
 National Convention emancipated Europe in proclaiming the Re- 
 public. 
 
 CHAPTEK LVI. 
 
 THE TWBNTY-PIRST OP SEPTEMBER. 
 
 The 21st of September, at noon, before Dumouriez's victory wa» 
 known in Paris, the doors of the assembly opened, and there slowly 
 entered, casting interrogatory, solemn looks around, the seven 
 huhdred and forty-nine new members that composed the assembly. 
 
 Only two of these members belonged to the old assembly. 
 
 The National Convention had been elected under the coup d'etai 
 •f September; they had littl* faith in a reactionary assembly. But 
 they did better t'han they expected; several nobles were elected; 
 the idea of a democracy made all the servants vote; some of them 
 nominated their masters. 
 
 Among these deputies there were, beside countrymen, physicians, 
 lawyers, professors, priests who had taken the oath, literary men, 
 jouinalisis, and merchants. The condition of this multitude was 
 uneasy and r slliss live hrrndred representatives, who were neither 
 Girondists nor Montagnards; future events would determirre the 
 position llic-y would have in the assembly, though they were all 
 unanimous, however, in a double hatred a hatred against the Sep- 
 tember doings, against the Paris deputation, and against the com- 
 mune who had accomplishad such terrible work. One wouM have 
 
ANDSEE DE lAVERNET. 377 
 
 mid the blood that had been shed had flowed through the hall, iso- 
 lating the hundred Montagnards that remained in the assembly. 
 
 It was these Montagnards — let us recall the men and glance at 
 the events they were passing through— that presented so formidabla 
 an aspect. 
 
 As we have stated, the commune was gathered from the inferior 
 ranks; above them was this famous vigilance comniiitee that incited 
 the massacre; then, like a hydra with its three heads, on the high- 
 est summit of the triangle, were three terrible ligiires, each wearing 
 his characi eristic mask. First came the cold, impenetrable face 
 of Robespierre, with his parchment-like skin drawn over his spare 
 4gure; his blinking eyes hid under their lashes, with his clinched 
 hands extended on his knees like those Egyptian figures carved in 
 the hardest of marble, porphyry — a sphinx who seemed alone to 
 know everything about the revolution, but whom none dared to in- 
 terrogate. 
 
 Near him was Danton's rough-hewn visage, with his distended 
 mouth, mobile mask, fabulous body— half man, halt bull— but 
 attractive, notwithstanding, for it was evident the slightest quiver 
 or trembling of that immense body came from the heart of a pro- 
 found patriot, and that large hand that always obeyed his every im- 
 pulse was extended with the same facility to strike an enemy or to 
 raise an enemy. 
 
 By the side of these two countenances with such different ex- 
 pressions, appeared — not another man — it was not possible for a 
 human being to reach such a height of deformity, a monster, a 
 chimera, a ridiculous and sinister vision — Marat! Marat, with his 
 leather face, his bloated, insolent eyes, his thick lips, always open 
 as if disposed to vomit forth insults; his twisted nose, that showed 
 by the open nostrils that he was ambitious and vain ; the tide of 
 popularity had increased these passions to the destruction of every 
 other. Marat, attired in much more slovenly raiment than any of 
 his admirers; his linen always wrinkled; his hobnailed shoes, 
 without buckles or strings often; his pantaloons of coarse 
 material, torn and soiled; his shirt open over liis thin chest; his 
 black, dirty, oily, narrow cravat, which, however, allowed the 
 hideous tendons of his neck to be fully seen, that drew his head to 
 the left; his thick, dirty hands, always threatening something, 
 always clinched at some one, in the intervals of these threats work- 
 ing in his gray hair. With a giant's body on a dwarf's legs, hide- 
 ous to behold, one's first impulse on beholding him was to turn 
 aside; but the eyes did not turn so quickly that they could not read.- 
 " September the 2d!" then the eyes remained fixed and appalled, 
 as before the head of a Medusa. 
 
 These were the three men the Girondists accused of aspiring to 
 the dictatorship. 
 
 They, on their side, accused the Girondists of desiring federalism. 
 
 Two other men, who were attached by interest and hj different 
 opinions to the revolution, were sitting on the two opposite sides of 
 the assembly — Billot and Gilbert. Gilbert at the extreme right, be- 
 tween Lanjuinais and Kersaint; Billot at the extreme left, between 
 Thuriot and Conthon. 
 
 The members of tbe old Lesislatlve JLsseml^y escortea the con.- 
 
278 ANDEEE DB TAVEKNET. 
 
 vention; they had solemnly abdicated, remitting their power in the 
 hands of their succeseors. 
 
 Fran(;oi8 de NeuWiatel, the last pi evident of the dissolved assem- 
 bly, mounted the (ribiine and spoke iis follows: 
 
 " Representalives of the natiou, ilie Legislative Assembly has 
 ceased its functions-, she leaves die gcvemment in your hands. 
 Your efforts should aim to give Fram e liberty, law, and peace — 
 liberty, without which France can not bve; law, the surest founda- 
 tion of liberty; and peace, the sole and only aim of war. 
 
 " Liberty, Law, and Peace, those three words were engraved oa 
 the doors of the Temple of Deljjhos. Let the entire soil of Franc* 
 be permeated with it!" 
 
 The Legislative Assembly had lasted one year. H had seea 
 great and frightful events during that time — the itOth of June, the 
 10th ot August, the 2d and 3d of September. It left France 
 with her war against the two northern powers, civil war in La 
 Vendee, a debt of two billion two hundred million promissory notes 
 — and the victory at Valmy as yet unknown in Paris. 
 
 Petion was appointed president by acclamation. Condorcet, 
 Brissot, Rabaut, St. Etienne, Vergniaud, Canmu, and Lasource 
 were the secretaries — five Girondists out of the six. 
 
 The entire convention, perhaps thirty or forty members, wanted 
 a republic; only ihe Girondists had decided, at a meeting at Mme. 
 Roland's, to admil no discussii.n as to a change of government, ex- 
 cept in tlie proper time, place, and circumstances — that was to say, 
 when they were free from executive and constitutional affairs. 
 But the 20th of September, the same day the battle of Valmy took 
 place, other combatants passed through a battle that was very 
 different in its results. 
 
 St. Just, Lequinio, Billaud, Varennes, Collot d'Herbois, and 
 several other members of the future assembly, dined at the Palais 
 Royal. They resolved the next day the word Republicanism 
 should be mooted. 
 
 " If they rise," said St. Just, " they are lost, for that word will 
 be pronounced for the first time b3' us; if they evade it, they are 
 also lost, for in opposing that fancy, they will be submerged by the 
 unpopularity that will fall on their own heads. 
 
 Collot d'Herbois had charge of the resolution. Thus, scarcely 
 had Francois de Neufchafel remitted the power from the old to th« 
 new assembly, when Collot d'Herbois demanded permission to 
 
 It was granted. 
 
 He ascended the tribune. Order was called for. 
 
 "Representative citizens," he said, " I have this to propose — 
 that the first decree of the assembly that has just been appointed 
 should be the abolition of royalty." 
 
 At these words immense applause broke forth in the assembly. 
 
 Two opponents alone rose — two well-known Republicans, Bar- 
 riSre and Quinelle. They asked for the consent of the people upon 
 the question. 
 
 "The consent of the people? Why?" asked an obscure cure 
 from the provinces. " Why deliberaie when every one is agreed? 
 Kings, in the moral law, are as monsters in physical law; their 
 
ANDEBE DB TATBENBT. 279 
 
 •ourts are manufacturers of every crime; the history of kings ie 
 the martyrdom of nations." 
 
 They asked who the man was who made this short but powerful 
 speech on royalty. 
 
 Hardly any one knew his name; it was Gregoire. 
 
 The Girondists felt the blow about to fall upon them; they were 
 to be at the mercy of the Montagnards. 
 
 " Kecall the decree advocated by this session," cried Duces, from 
 his place, Vergniaud's friend and scholar. " The decree has no 
 occasion to be taken into consideration; after the light of the 10th 
 of August the consideration of the decree of the abolition of royalty 
 is a history merely of Louis XVI. 's crimes." 
 
 In this manner ^uiet was re-established. The Montagnards had 
 asked for the abolition of royalty; but the Girondists had demanded 
 the establishment of the Bepublic. The motion for the Republic 
 was not passed, it was voted for by acclamation. 
 
 They did not merely throw themselves into the future to escape 
 from the past.'but into the unknown from hatred toward the known. 
 
 The proclamation of the Republic filled an immense public neces- 
 sity; it was consecrating the long battle the people had had against 
 the commune; it was the absolution of pole-axes, spears, of the 
 Ligne of the Fronde, of the revolution; it was the coronation ot 
 the masses to the detriment of royalty. 
 
 They would say, when each citizen breathed freely, that he had 
 thrown off from his chest the weight of the throne. 
 
 Their hour of illusion was short but splendid; they imagined 
 they had proclaimed a Republic; instead, they had consecrated a 
 revolution. It was of no consequence; they had accomplished a 
 great thing, that was destined for more than a century to set the 
 world on Are. 
 
 True Republicans, the most disinterested, at least those who 
 wanted the Republic free from crimes, those who. the next day, 
 were to slap the face of the triumvirate, Danton, Robespierre, and 
 Marat— the Girondists, were at the height of joy. The Republic 
 was the realization of their dearest hope; thanks to them, there 
 would be established in the debris of twenty centuries a perfect type 
 of human government. France had been an Atbens under Francis 
 Land Louis XIV.; with them she would be a Sparta. It was a 
 beautiful, a sublime dream. 
 
 In the evening they united in a banquet at Minister Roland's. 
 There were Vergniaud, Guadet, Louvet, Petion, Boyer, Fonfrede, 
 Barbaroux, Gensonne, Grangeneuve, Condorcet, convivialists, who, 
 before the year was over, were to unite in a much more solemn 
 banquet than this. But at this moment every one turned their 
 back on the morrow, closing their eyes to the future, voluntarily 
 throwing a veil over the unknown ocean on which they were en- 
 tering, the roar of whose waves seemed like the maelstrom of the 
 Scandinavian fables, who were to ingulf, not only the ship, but 
 the entire crew. 
 
 Every one's ideas had taken a shape, form, aim of some kind; 
 they could put their finger on it; the young Republic started armed 
 ■with a helmet and pike, like Minerva; what more could they ask? 
 During the tivo hours of tbis solemn feast there was an exchange 
 
880 ANDBEB DB TATEElTE'i. ' 
 
 of elevated ideas, around which were gathered the grandest devo- 
 tions. These men spoke of their life as something no longer be- 
 longing to them, but the nation. They reserved honor, that was 
 all: if need be, they could abandon renown also. 
 
 There were those who, in the foolish delirium of their ardent 
 hopes, saw opening before them those blue, infinite horizons only 
 found in dreams; there were the young, the ardent; those who had 
 entered that most enervating of all wars, the wars of the tribune, 
 and were composed of Barbaroux, Rebecqui, Duces, Boyer, Fon- 
 frede. 
 
 There were others who stopped, Oalting midway, to gather 
 strength for the race before them; they were those who had strug- 
 gled through the rude days of the legisiature; it was Guadet, Gen- 
 sonne, Gran^eneuve, Vergniaud. Finally, those who felt they had 
 reachec. their goal, who understooc ihat their popularity had 
 reachea its height, and was now about to abandon them; lying in 
 the coo shade of the budding foliage of the Republican tree, they 
 4isked, with melancholy, if it was worth while to rise, to newly 
 gird up their loins, to again take up the pilgrim's staff, only to 
 shrink at the first obstacle — that was Roland and Petion. 
 
 But in the eyes of all men, who was their future leader? who 
 was the principal actor? who was the future moderator of the 
 young Republic? It was Vergniaud. At the end of the dinner he 
 filled his glass. 
 
 " Now, ' he said, " a toast." 
 
 Every one rose. 
 
 " To the eternity of the Republic!" 
 
 Every one repealed: 
 
 " To the eternity of the Republic!" 
 
 " Wait!" said Mme. Roland. 
 
 She wore on her bosom a fresh rose, just opening, like the new 
 era they were entering; she took it, and, as an Athenian shook the 
 petals of a rose in Pericles' glass, she shook hers in that of Verg- 
 niaud. 
 
 Vergniaud smiled sadly, emptied the glass, and, leaning toward 
 Barbaroux, who was at his left, whispered: 
 
 " Alas! I fear that great heart is mistaken. It is not rose-leaves, 
 but branches of cypress should be dropped in our wine to-night. 
 In drinking to aRepublic, whose feet stood in the blood of Septem- 
 ber, God only knows if we are not drinking to our death. But 
 what matters it ?" he added, glancing rapturously at the heavens; 
 " if this wine was my blood, I would drink it in the cause of lib- 
 erty and equality!" 
 
 " Long live the Republic!" cried the convivialists. 
 
 At the same moment Vergniaud gave this toast and a chorus of 
 «onvivialists responded: " Long live the Republicl" there was a 
 sound of trumpets before the temple, followed by a profound 
 silence. Then, in their chambers, through the open windows, the 
 kiag and queen heard an otUcer proclaiming in a firm, poweiful, 
 Rdtiorous voice, the abolition of royalty and the edtablishment of 
 tke Republic. 
 
Ain)BS£ VE TAYEBKET. SSI 
 
 CHAPTER LVn. 
 
 THE MABTYB KING. 
 
 OtTR readers have seen the impartiality with which, in the form 
 of a romance, we have placed before their eyes all that was terrible, 
 cruel, good, beautiful, grand, sanguinary, low, in the men and 
 events that have just passed. 
 
 As generations have passed away, the men we write of have 
 passed away with them; events which do not die, immortalized by 
 history, remain forever. 
 
 We can call from the tomb all those sleepers, so few of whom 
 fulfilled their course. We can say to Mirabeau, " Tribune, raise 
 thyself!" to Louis XVI., "Martyr, arise!" we can say, "Arise, 
 thou multitude, wherein is Favras, Lafayette, Bailly, Poumier the 
 American, Jourdan, Coupe Tfite, Maillard, Th^roigne de Mericourt, 
 Bamave, Bouille, Gamain, Petion, Manuel, Danton, Robespierre, 
 Marat, Vergniaud, Dumouriez, Marie Antionette, Madame Campan, 
 Barbaroux, Roland, Madame Roland, king, queen, workmen, tri- 
 bunes, generals, executioners, publicists, arise! and say if I have 
 ' not presented you as you really were to my readers, particularly to 
 those who would add romance to history. 
 
 We can say to the events scattered on both sides of the road we 
 have traveled: " Great and brilliant day of the 14th of July, som- 
 ber and threateniag nights of the 5th and 6th of October; the 
 sanguinary storm of the Champs de l^Iars, where the powder mingled 
 with the lightning, and the noise of cannon with the claps of thun- 
 der; the prophesied invasion of the 20th of June, the terrible vic- 
 tory of the 10th of August, the execrable souvenirs of the 2d and 3d 
 of September — have I told the whole story? have 1 related it well? 
 have I invented anything? have I sought to absolve or calumniate 
 you?" And the men would answer — and the events would answer. 
 
 " You have sought for the truth, without hatred or anger; you 
 have remained faithful to all the glories of the past, deaf to all the 
 blandishments of the present, confiding in all the hopes of the fut- 
 ure; though criticised, you are absolved." What has already been 
 related, not as by a suborned judge, but by an impartial narrator, 
 will be continued to the end; that end, each step of which we now 
 take rapidly. Events come thick and fast; there is no infermissioa 
 from the 21st of September, the death of royalty, till the 21st of 
 January, the death of the king. We have heard the Republic 
 proclaimed under the windows of the royal prison by the strong 
 voice of officer Lubin, and that proclamation takes us to the tem- 
 ple. 
 
 Let us enter the somber edifice, which incloses a king become a 
 simple man, a queen who remained a queen, a virgin who was to be 
 martyred, and two poor children, innoceut from years, if not by 
 birth. The king was in the temple; how did he liappen to go 
 there? had it been a prtmeditated thiag? 
 
 No. 
 
282 ANDEEE DB TATEBXBT. 
 
 Petion at first thought of taking them to Chambord, in the cent« 
 of France, and to there treat them as overthrown royalty. 
 
 Suppose that all the sorereigns of Europe imposed silence on 
 their mimisters, their generals, their manifestoes, and contented 
 themselves with looking on at the events in France, without a wish 
 to participate in its ^interior politics, that overthrow of the 10th of 
 August, that existence spent in a heautiful palace, in a superb 
 climate in the midst of what was called the Garden of France, 
 would not have been a sufficiently cruel punishment for the man 
 who had not only his own faults, but those of Louis XV. and 
 Louis XIV. to eipiate. 
 
 La Vendee was about rising; they feared a sudden outbreak on 
 the Loire; the reason was obvious, they objected to Chambord. 
 
 The assembly thought of the Luxembourg; the Luxembourg, 
 Marie de Medicis' Florentine palace, with its solitude, its gardens 
 rivaling those of the Tuileries, was a residence open to the same 
 objections as Chambord for an overthrown king. They objected to 
 the cellars of the palace that opened on the Catacombs; perhaps it 
 was only a pretext of the Communists, who wished to keep the 
 king in their own hands; but it was a plausible pretext. 
 
 The commune then voted the temple. By that they did not 
 mean the tower of the temple, but the palace, the old fortress of 
 the chiefs of the order, one of the pleasure-houses of the Count 
 d'Artois. 
 
 At the very moment of their departure, when Petion even had led 
 the royal family to the palace, and they were installed there, Louis 
 XVI. had allotted the various apartments to the members of his 
 household, when the order was countermanded, and Manuel was 
 expedited to change once more the municipal order to substitute 
 the donjon for the chftteau. Manuel arrived, examined the locality 
 destined for the lodgings of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, and 
 left mortified. 
 
 The donjon was uninhabitable, occupied only by a porter, offer- 
 ing most insufficient accommodations, narrow rooms, dirty beds 
 infested with vermin. 
 
 There was, however, throughout this, more fatality for a dying 
 dynasty than premeditated infamy on the part of the judges. 
 
 The National Assembly had not, for their part, taken into cal- 
 culation the table expenses of the king. The king eat a good deal; 
 he could not help it; it was the temperament of the Bourbons to 
 be great eaters; but th« king eat at the wrong time. He eat with 
 a, good appetite while the massacre of the Tuileries was taking 
 place. His judges not only reproached him lor his intemperate 
 appetite, but what was much more serious, the implacable his- 
 torian has registered it in his archives. 
 
 The National Assembly passed an order allowing the king fiv« 
 hundred thousand livres for table expenses. 
 
 During the four months the king remained at the temple, his 
 expenses were forty thousand livres; ten thousand francs a month, 
 three hundred and thirty- three francs a day; in bonds, it was true, 
 but at that period bonds were falling at the rate of six or eight per 
 cent. Louis XVI. had at the temple three servants and three 
 officers. His dinner every d»y was comiX}sed of four entt-iet, twg 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVEENBT. 283 
 
 roasts, each of three pieces, four entremets, three compotes, thret 
 plates of fruit, a decanter of Bordeaux, Malvoisie, and Madeira. 
 He, alone with his son, dranli wine; the queen and the princesses 
 only drank water. On his part, certainly the king had nothing to 
 complain ot. But what he essentially missed was air, exercise, 
 sunshine, and shade. Accustomed to the hunts at Compiesne and 
 Eambouillet, to the parks of Versailles, and the Grand Trianon, 
 Louis XVI. found himself suddenly reduced, not only to one court, 
 not only to one garden, not one sole promenade, but to a terrace 
 dry and bare, with four plots of dried grass, several dwarfed trees, 
 through which the autumn winds moaned and stripped of their 
 foliage. 
 
 There every day at two o'clock the king and his family promen- 
 aded; we are mistaken; there every day the king and his family 
 ■were promenaded. 
 
 It was unheard of, cruel, ferocious, but less ferocious, less cruel, 
 than the caves of the inquisition at Madrid, than the results of the 
 Council of Ten at Venice, or the dungeons at Spielburg. We do 
 not excuse the commune, nor do we excuse the king; we only say; 
 the temple was a reprisal, a terrible, fatal, unfortunate reprisal, 
 for they turned judgment into a persecution, a culprit into a mar- 
 tyr. 
 
 At this lime what was the aspect of the different personages we 
 have endeavored to follow through the principal events of their 
 life. The king, with his bleared eyes, flabby cheeks and hanging 
 lips, his heavy, hesitating walk, looked like a big farmer overcome 
 with ill-luck; his melancholy was that ot an agriculturalist whose 
 barns had been burned, or whose crop destroyed by a storm. 
 
 The queen's attitude was, as ever, erect, proud, provokingly sov- 
 ereign-like; Marie Antoinette had inspired love in the midst of her 
 grandeur; In the hour of her fall she inspired devotion, not pity; 
 pity is born ot sympathy, and the queen was not sympathetic. 
 
 Mme. Elizabeth, with her white robes, symbol of the purity of 
 her heart; with her blonde hair more beautiful than ever, now that 
 it was suffered to float at its own will without powder; Mme. 
 Elizabeth, with her azure riblions on her bonnet and robes, seemed 
 like the guardian angel of the family. 
 
 Mme. Royale, notwithstanding the charm of her age, was not 
 very interesting; entirely Austrian like her mother, all Maria 
 Theresa and Marie Antoinette, she already had in her glance all the 
 disdain and pride of the royal race, and of birds of prey. 
 
 The little dauphin, with his golden hair, with white and delicate 
 skin, was interesting, nevertheless; he had a bright and hard blue 
 eye and a precocious look; he understood everything, following 
 his mother's wishes by a look, and he had games of childish 
 politics that often drew the tears to the eyes of the executioners 
 themselves. He had already reached Chaumette, poor child! Chau- 
 mettp, that pointed-nosed weasel. 
 
 " I would give him an education," said an ex-clerk of the pro- 
 cureur to M. Hue, the king's valet; " but it would be necessary to 
 take him away from the family, to make him forget his rank." 
 
 The commune was at the same time cruel and imprudent; crueY 
 In surrounding the royal fuaUy with bad treatment, vexation;^ 
 
284 ANPEES DB TAVERKBT. 
 
 and even insults; imprudent in exhibiting them, feeble, brokei 
 prisouers as tlaey were. 
 
 Each day they sent new guardians to the temple under the name 
 of officers; they entered turious enemies of the king, but left 
 enemies of Jlaiie Antoinette, pitying the king, the children, and 
 worshiping jN^rae. Elizabeth. What wfus there to see in the temple 
 instead of the wolf, the she-wolf and the little wolves? A cou- 
 rageous bourgeois family, a mother rather proud, allowing no one 
 to touch even the hem of her garments; but of tyrants there w«s ■• 
 trace. 
 
 How did the royal family pass their time? 
 
 Clery has left a touching account. 
 
 But first let us glance at the prison; we wiU then make a report 
 of the prisoners. 
 
 The king was shut up in a small tower; this small tower was con- 
 nected with the large one, without any interior communication; it 
 formed a parallelogram flanked by two turrets; in one of these tur- 
 rets was a small staircase that, leaving the first floor, led to a gal- 
 lery on a platform; in the other were cabinets corresponding to each 
 floor of the tower. The body of the building had four stories. 
 The first contained an antechamber, a dining-room, and a cabinet; 
 the second was divided in nearly the same manner; the largest 
 chamber was the queen's and the dauphin's sleeping apartment; 
 the second, oepara'cd from the first by an obscure ante-chamber, 
 ■was occupied by Mmes. Elizabeth and Royale. 
 
 Tlie king lived in tlie third story, which was composed of the 
 same number of rooms; he slept in the large room; the little cab- 
 inet in the tower was his reading-room; hy its side was tlie kitchen, 
 preceded by a ilark room, which at first had been occupied by MM. 
 Chamilly and Hue, and in wUich, since M. Hue's departure, had 
 been put seats. 
 
 The fourth floor was shut up; the ground floor consisted of 
 kitchens that were not used. 
 
 How did the royal family live in this confined place, half prison, 
 half apartmeuls? 
 
 We will see. 
 
 The king rose from habit at six o'clock in the morning; Tlery 
 dressed him and arranged ins hair; then he passed into his rea(ling- 
 room, tliat is to say, into the library of the archives of the Otder 
 of Malta, that contained fifteen or sixteen hundred volumes. 
 
 One day the kins:, looking over the books, pointed out to M. 
 Hue Voltaire's and l^ousseau's works. Then, in a low voice: 
 
 " There," he said, " are the two men who have ruined Prancel" 
 
 On entering this room, Louis XVI. knelt and prayed for five or 
 six minutes, then read or occupied liimself for two hours, wliile 
 Clery attended to the king's room, prepared the breakfast, and 
 ■went lo the queen. Left alone, the king occupied himself in trans- 
 lating Virgil or Horace. To continue the dauphin's education he 
 was obliged to study Latin himself. 
 
 This room was very small: llie door was always open; an ofl5cer 
 remained in the sleeping apartment, and Itrough the open door 
 Mw every movement the king made. 
 
ANDREE DB TAVERNET. 285 
 
 The queen did not open her door till Clery's arrival, and the 
 door being closed, the ofScer could not enter her room. 
 
 Then Clery arranged the young prince's hair, the queen's toilet, 
 and passed into tlie chumber'of Mines. Elizabeth and Koyale to ren- 
 der tl>em I he same service. That hour of the toilet Vfas rapid and 
 precious, for in i' Clery could tell tlie queen and the princesses any 
 news he had learned; a sign from him showed he had something to 
 say. tlie queen or one of the princesses talked to the .ilficer, and 
 Clfiiy profited by this disivaction to rapidly mention what he had 
 to say. At nine o'clock, the queen, the two children, and Mme. 
 Elizabelli ascen^led to the king's apartment, where breakfast was 
 served; during the desseit, Clery attended to the rooms of the 
 queen and princesses; one called Tison, and his wife, had been ap- 
 pointed to assist Clery, but in reality they were placed there to 
 watch, not only the royal family, but the officers. The hufcband, 
 an old clerk from the barriers, was a hard and wicked old man, 
 incapable of a solitary human sentiment. His wife, separated from 
 her child, pushed her maternal love so far as to denuunce the 
 queen, in the hope of serving her child. 
 
 At ten o'clock in the morning the king descended into the queen's 
 apartment, and there passed the day. occupying himself in educat- 
 ing the dauphin, making him repeat passages from Corueille and 
 Racine, giving laim a lesson in geography, and teaching him to 
 draw and trace maps. France, for the past three years, had been 
 divided into departments, and it was the geography ot the kingdom 
 the king was very particular in showing Ids son. 
 
 The queen, ou lier part, occupied herself in Jtme. Koyale's edu- 
 cation, interrupted sometimes by her falling into deep and sad 
 reveries. When this happened, Mme. Royale would leave her e 
 prey to tliis unspoken sorrow, tliat at least was relieved by tears, 
 then, stepping on her toes, and mntioninsr to her brother to be 
 quiet, Mme. Koyale would steal away; the queen would remain ab- 
 sorbed in her lefiections for a longer or shorter period, then a tear 
 would leave her eyes and roll down her cheelis, to fail on her 
 hands, which had tiecome the color of ivory; then, almost always, 
 the poor prisoner, free for an instant in the immense domain of 
 thought — in the illimitable retrospect of the pas-t — the poor prisoner 
 "would hurriedly start from her dreams, and, looking arouc:, would 
 reenter, vith bowed head and broken heart, the prison. 
 
 At noon the two princesses entered Mme. Elizabeth's room to 
 change th'jir m.irning-robes. That moment the modesty of the 
 commune gave them for solitude. No ctEcer was there. 
 
 At one o'clock, when the weather permitted, the royal family 
 went into the garden. Four municipal ofl3cers and a chief of the 
 Legion ot the National Guard accompanied or else watched them. 
 As there was a number of workmen employed in the demolition 
 of houses and <he construction of new walls, the prisoners could 
 only Use a portion of t)ie avenue of chestnut-trees. 
 
 Clery was always one at these promenades. He exercised the 
 young prince in flying balloons and other convenient games. 
 
 At two o'clock they reascended the tower. Clery served the din- 
 ner, and every day at that hour Sanferre came to the temple, ac- 
 companied by two aids-de-camp He visited carefully the apart" 
 
886 ANDEBB DB TAVEKNEY. 
 
 ments of the king and queen. Sometimes the king spoke to him; 
 ihe queen never. She had forgotten the 30th of June and all she 
 cwed this man. 
 
 After this repast they went down to the first floor, the king tak- 
 ing part in a game of piquet or trio-trac with the queen or hig 
 sister, and Clery, in his turn, dined. At four o'clock the king took 
 a nap on a large fauteuil, while the greatest silence was observed. 
 The other members of the royal family took their books or their 
 work. 
 
 Louis XVI. passed from sleeping to waking, or from waking to 
 sleeping, with the greatest ease. His physical needs, as w have 
 said, tyrannized over him. The king slept regularly an hour and 
 a half or two hours. Ou his awaking, conversation was resumed. 
 Clery, never very far ofl, was called, and gave a writing lesson to 
 the little dauphm. That over, he took him to Mme. Elizabeth's 
 room, and they played at ball and other indoor games. In the 
 evening they gathered around a table. The queen read aloud from 
 a book that would instruct or amuse the children. Mme. Elizabeth 
 relieved her when she was tired. The reading lasted till eight 
 o'clock. At that time the young prince took supper in Mme. Eliza- 
 beth's apartment. The royal family assisted at this supper; while 
 the king, taking a collection of the " Mercure de France " that he 
 had found in the library, gave the children enigmas and charades 
 to guess. 
 
 After the dauphin's supper, the queen made her son repeat the 
 following prayer: 
 
 " All-powerful God, who has created and kept me, I worship 
 you. Preserve the lives of the king, my father, and those of my 
 family; protect us against our enemies. Give Madame de Tourzel 
 the strength she requires to support what she has to enduie on our 
 account." 
 
 Then Clery undressed and put the dauphin to bed, while one of 
 the two princesses remained with him till he fell asleep. 
 
 Every evening a paper-carrier cried, in passing, the news of the 
 day; Clery would put himself at the window and tell the king all 
 the carrier cried. 
 
 At nine o'clock the king supped in his turn. His repast finished, 
 the Iting entered the queen's apartment, and gave her, as well as 
 his sister, his hand, in token of adieu, kissed his children, then re- 
 tired into the library, where he read till midnight. 
 
 On their side, the princesses shut themselves up within their 
 rooms; one of the officers remained in the little room between the 
 chambers; the other followed the king. 
 
 Clery placed his bed near that of the king; but before sleeping, 
 Louis XVI. wailed till the new officer had nscenJed to ascertain 
 who he was — if he had seen him before. The officers were reheved 
 at eleven o'clock in the inc-ning, al live o'clui;k in Uie evening, 
 and at midnight. 
 
 This mode of life, without any change, lasted till the 30lh ct 
 September — while the king remained in the tower. 
 
 rile condition of things was sad, but more worthy of pity in 
 that it was supported with dignity; the most hostile softened at 
 that sight; they came to watch over an abominable tyr»fit who had 
 
ANDEEB DE TAVEENET. 287 
 
 mined France, massacred the Frenchmen, appealed to the foreign 
 powers; over a queen who had united Messallne's conduct to that 
 of Catherine 11. ; they found a comfortable-looking man attired in 
 gray that they contounded with his valet de chambre, who eat, 
 drank, and tiept. well, who played at trictrac and piquet, in- 
 structed his son in Latin and geography, and gave charades to his 
 childieu. A woman, proud and disdainful without doubt, but 
 dignified, calm, resigned, still beautiful, teaching her daughters 
 tapestry- work, her son his prayers, speaking softly to the servants, 
 and calling a valet " my friend." 
 
 The first moments were those of hatred; each of those men cam* 
 ■with sentiments of animosity and revenge, and gave full rein to 
 their feelings at first, then slowly they began to pity. Leaving 
 their homes in the morning, carrying their heads high, and breath- 
 ing threats, they returned sadly in the evening with lowered heada. 
 Their wives waited for them with curiosity. 
 
 " Ah! it is you!" she would cry. 
 
 " Yes," was the laconic answer. 
 
 " Well, have you seen the tyrant?" 
 
 " I have seen him." 
 
 " Does he look very ferocious?" 
 
 " He looks like a farmer from the Marais." 
 
 " What did he do? Was he in a rage? Did he curse the Repub- 
 lic? Did he—" 
 
 " He spent his time studying with his children, teaching them 
 Latin, playing piquet with his sister, guessing charades to amuse 
 his family." 
 
 " He has, then, no remorse, the wretch?" 
 
 " 1 saw him eat, and he eat like a man with a good appetite and 
 a tranquil conscience; I saw him sleep, and I'll wager he never has 
 the nightmare." 
 
 And the wife became pensive in her turn. 
 
 " Then he is not," she said, " as cruel and guilty as they say?" 
 
 " Guilty, he may be, not cruel, I can answer for that; unfortu- 
 nate he certainly is." 
 
 " Poor man!" said the woman. 
 
 The more the commune abased their prisoner, the more they 
 showed he was in no way difterent from other men, the more pity 
 was felt for him. That pity manifested itself directly to the king 
 himself, the dauphin, and to Olery. 
 
 One day a stone-cutter was working in the wall of the ante-cham- 
 ber to replace the stones. 
 
 While the workman was at breakfast, the dauphin amused him- 
 self with playing with his tools; the king then taking them from 
 the child's hands, showed him how to use the chisel and hammer 
 in a useful manner. 
 
 The mason, from the corner where he was eating his bread and 
 cheeic, looked on with astonishment. He had not risen before the 
 king and prince, but he rose before the man and child; then, ap- 
 jwoaching them, his mouth still full, but hat in hand: 
 
 " Well," he said to the kin?, " when you leave this towar yo»l 
 ■will be able to boast that you worked in your own prison." 
 
 " Ai!" replied the king, " when had how will I leave?" 
 
288 ANDEEB DB TAVEENBY. 
 
 The dauphin hegan to cry; the workman wiped away a te»r; the 
 king let the tools fall, entered his chamber, where he walked for a 
 long time up and down. 
 
 Another day an officer ascended, as was the custom, to guard the 
 queen's door; it, was a man from the faubourg, in coarse clothcB, 
 hut neverlheless cleanly in appearance. 
 
 Clery was alone in the room, reading; the functionary looked at 
 him attentively. 
 
 In a few moments Clery was called; he rose aud wanted to leave 
 the room, but the officer, while presenting arms, said, in a low, 
 timid, almost trembling voice: 
 
 " No one is allowed to pass." 
 
 " Why is that?" asked Clery. 
 
 " Because 1 am ordered to keep my eyes upon ycu." 
 
 "Upon me!" said Clery. "Surely you are mistaken. " 
 
 " Are you not the king?" 
 
 " Do you not know the king?" 
 
 " I have never seen him, sir; and if the truth be told, I would 
 rather see him anywhere else than here." 
 
 " Speak low!" said Clery. 
 
 Then, pointing to a door: 
 
 " I will enter that room, and you will see the king; he is sitting 
 by a table reading." 
 
 Clery entered and told the king what had taken place. The king 
 rose, aod walking from one room to another, gave the man an op- 
 portunity of looking at him. 
 
 Then, seeing that it was for him the king had thus disturbed 
 himself: 
 
 "Ah, sir," said the man from the faubourg to Clerj, "how 
 good the king is! I will never believe that he has done all the 
 harm people say." 
 
 Another functionary, placed at the end of the avenue that was 
 used as a promenade for the royal family, one day showed the illus- 
 trious family that he had some news to give them. At the first 
 round of the promenade, no one appeared to pay the slightest at- 
 tention to his signs; but at the second round, Mme. Elizabeth ap- 
 proached the man to see if he would speak to her. Unfortunately, 
 through fear or respect, the young man, who had a distinguished 
 figure, remained mute; only two tears rolled down his cheeks, aud 
 he pointed to some bushes, where, doubtless, a letter was hid. 
 Clery, under pretext of looking for some stones for the little prince 
 to play with, tried to reach these bushes; but i he officers, imagiu- 
 ing what he was looking for, ordared him to retire, and forbid him, 
 under pain of being separated from the king, to ever speak to the 
 sentinels. But it was not tvery one who approached the prisoners 
 in the temple that showed the same sentiment of respect and pity. 
 With a great many, hate and vengeance were so profoundly rooted 
 that the spectacle of royal misfortune, supported with bourgeois 
 virtues, could not eradicate it; and often the king was obliged, to- 
 gether with all the royal family, to put up wi'u coarseness, injuries, 
 and even insults. 
 
 One day the officer in charge was a man called James, a profess- 
 «r of th« English language. Thii uuut attached himaeU to th« 
 
AlfDKEE »E TATBEmET. 28* 
 
 king like a shadow, and never left him; even when he entered hie 
 little reading cabinet the officer followed and sat down near him. 
 
 "Sir," then said the king, with his habitual mildness, "your 
 colleagues are in the habit of leaving me alone in this room; the 
 door is always open; I could not escape from their glances." 
 
 " My colleagues," replied James, " have their way, and I have 
 mine.'" 
 
 " Have you noticed, sir," replied the king, " that this room is s» 
 rery small it is impossible for two to remain here?" 
 
 " Then go into a larger room," brutally replied the officer. 
 
 The king rose without a word, and entering his sleeping apart- 
 ment, the English teacher followed, and continued to watch him 
 till he was relieved. 
 
 One morning the king took the officer on guard for the one who 
 had watched him the day before. We hare said the^ were 
 changed three times a day. He went to him with an air of mterest 
 
 "Ah, sir," he said, "I regret they have forgotten to relieve 
 you." 
 
 " What do you say?" roughly asked the officer. 
 
 " I wanted to say that you must be fatigued." 
 
 " Sir," replied the man, whose name was Meunier, ' ^ have 
 come here to watch over your actions, not for you to trouble your- 
 self about mine." 
 
 Then, settling his hat on his head and approaching the king: 
 
 ' No one, and you least of all, has any right to meddle." 
 
 Once, in her turn, the queen hazarded a remark to an officer: 
 
 " What portion of the country do you live in, sir?" she asked ot 
 one of the men who assisted at her dinner. 
 
 " The country!" fiercely replied the officer. 
 
 " But it seems to me the country is France," continued the queen. 
 
 " Except that portion occupied by the enemies you have called 
 here." 
 
 Some of the commissioners never spoke to the king, the queen, 
 the princesses, or the young prince, without adding some obscene 
 epithet or gross joke. 
 
 One day an officer named Turlot said to Clery, loud enough for 
 the king to hear: 
 
 " If the executioner does not guillotine that abominable family, 
 I will guillotine them myself!" 
 
 On going out for a promenade, the king and royal family were 
 obliged to pass before a number of sentinels placed in the interior 
 of the little tower. When the officers of the legion and the guard 
 passed, those on duty presented arms; but when the king passed in 
 his turn, they grounded arms and turned their backs. 
 
 It was the same way with those in the exterior of the court, at the 
 foot of the tower; when the king passed they put on their hats and 
 sat aown, but scarcely lind the prisoners passed, when they arose 
 and uncovered their heads. 
 
 Their insulters went still further: one day a guardsman, not 
 satisfied with presenting arms to the municipality and the officers, 
 and not to the king, wrote on the inside of the prison door: " The 
 guillotine is permanent, and awaits Louis XVI." It was a new 
 Siea, and met with great success, and sevecal imitators; soon the 
 10 
 
290 AXDEEE DE TATEENET. 
 
 walls of the temple, and particularly those of the staircase wher* 
 the royal family ascended and descended, were covered with in- 
 scriptions in the following style: 
 
 " Madame Veto uill daiicel'' 
 
 " We know how to put the big pig on diet." 
 
 " D'lwii with the cordon rouyn ! the little wolves must be 
 atiangled!" 
 
 Other inscriplions, helow drawings, explained the threatening 
 designs. 
 
 One of these represented a man hanging; underneath which 
 were these words- 
 
 " Louis taking an air bath." 
 
 But the most dreadful tormentors were two commissaries of the 
 temple: one, the shoe-maker Simon; the other the sapper Rocher. 
 
 Simon was a busy man; not only a shoe-maker, but a municipal 
 offlcer, and one of the six commissioners of inspection on the works 
 and improvements at the temple. His triple title kept him con- 
 stantiv at the tower. This man, whose cruellies toward the royal 
 child have made him celebrated, was the personification ot insult; 
 every time he appeared before the prisoners it was to submit them 
 to new outrages. 
 
 If ths valet asked for something for his master: 
 
 " See to it." he said, " that Capet asks at once for everything he 
 wants; 1 have no idea of taking the trouble to go upstairs a second 
 time." 
 
 Rocher was not quite so bad; he was not a wicked man; on the 
 10th of August he had taken the young dauphin in his arms and 
 had placed him on the president's desk. Rocher became porter at 
 the tower while the royal family were there, and was ordinarily 
 dressed in the costume of a sapper, with a beard and long mus 
 tache, a hat of black straw on his head, a large saber at his side, 
 and around his waist a belt from which hung his bunch of keys. 
 He had been placed there by Manuel, more to watch over the king 
 and queen, to see no harm came to them, than to do them harm 
 himself; he was like a child to whom a cage of birds is given and 
 he is told not to torment them, but to amuse himself, he pulls out 
 their feathers. When the king wanted to go out, Rocher came to 
 the door, but he did not open it till the king had waited for some 
 time, looking over, all the while the king waited, his big bunch of 
 keys; tlien lie drew the bolts noisily; then, the bolls drawn, tho 
 door open, he descended precipitately near (he last wicket, his pipe 
 in his mouth; then, as each member of the royal family went out, 
 particularly the women, he puffed tobacco-smoke in their faces. 
 
 These cowaidly insults weie witnessed by the National Guards, 
 who, instead of preventing these vexations, often took chairs and 
 assisted like spectators at the spectacle. 
 
 This encouraged Rocher, who said everywhere: " Marie An- 
 toinette is the prouiie&t, but 1 will force her to be humble. Eliza- 
 beth and the little one, spite of themselves, are polite to me; the 
 wicket is so low they are obliged to bend before me. Every day I 
 give them each a puff from my pipe. The sister asked why Rocher 
 smoked all the time. ' Apparently, because it pleases him,' was 
 the answer." 
 
ANDREE DE TAVEKKET. 391 
 
 There are always, in any grand expiation, beside the torture in- 
 flicted on the victims, a man who makes the condemned driok gall 
 and vinegar; tor Louis XVI., there was Rocher or Simon; for 
 Napoleon, Hudson Lou. But when the victim has succumbed to 
 his agon}- — when the sufferer has ended his life— these are the men 
 who idealize his sacrifice, who sanctify his death. St. HelSne — 
 would she have been St. Hel6ne without the jailer in the crimson 
 costume? The temple — would it have been the temple without 
 its sapper and shoe-maker? These are the real actors in this legend; 
 thus they have a right to a long and somber recital. 
 
 But, unfortunate as the prisoners were, they still had an immense 
 consolation — they were united. 
 
 The commune resolved to separate the king from his family. 
 
 The 26th of September, five days after the proclamation of the- 
 Eepublic, Clery learned through an oflBcer that the apartment 
 destined for the king, in the big tower, would soon be read}-. 
 
 Clery, overcome with grief, told this sad news to his master; but 
 ■with his usual courage: 
 
 " Try," he said, " to hear beforehand the day of this dreadful 
 separation, and tell me of it." 
 
 Unfortunately, Clery knew nothing, and could say no more to 
 the king. 
 
 The 29th, at ten o'clock in the morning, six officers entered the 
 queen's apartment at the moment all the family were united there; 
 they came to bring an order of arrest from the ccmmune, and took 
 from the prisoners paper, ink, pens, and pencils. A search was 
 made, not only in the rooms, but on the persons of the prisoners 
 even. 
 
 " When you require anything," said the spokesman, whose name 
 was Charbonnier, " your valet will descend and write your requests 
 in a register which will remain in the council chamber. ' ' 
 
 The king and queen said nothing; they undressed themselves, 
 and gave up for inspection everything they had on them; the 
 princesses and domestics followed their example. 
 
 It was then that Clery, from some words dropped from an ofiicer, 
 heard that the king would be the same evening transferred to th& 
 large tower. He told Mme. Elizabeth, who repeated it to the king. 
 
 Nothing new transpired till the evening; at each noise, each 
 opening door, the hearts of the prisoners fluttered, and their 
 itretched hands joined in a nervous clasp. 
 
 The king remained longer than usual in the queen's apartment. 
 As he was thinking of leaving, the door opened, and six municipal 
 officers, who had been there in the morning, re-entered with a new 
 order of arrest, which was read to the king. It was the otficial 
 order from the commune for the king's removal to the larger 
 tower. 
 
 This time the king's impassibility left him. "Where would this 
 new step lead to in this terrible and somber gulf? They were ap- 
 proaching the mysterious and unknown; and they approached it 
 with shuddering and tears. 
 
 Their adieus were long and heartrending. Force had to be em- 
 ployed at length to take away the king. Never had the door, clos- 
 ing behind him, resounded with so funereal a sound. 
 
298 ANDEIE DE TATERNET. 
 
 They were so hasty to impose this new trial on the prisoners, 
 that the apartment they took the king to was not finished; all that 
 it contained was a bed and two chairs. The paint and plaster, not 
 yet dry, gave an almost insupportable odor. 
 
 The kmg slept without a complaint. Clery passed the night 
 near him oa a chair. 
 
 Clery rose and dressed the king as usual; then he tried to go to 
 the little tower, to dress the dauphin. He was stopped, and one of 
 the officers, named Veron, said to him: 
 
 " You are to have no more communication with the other pris- 
 «ner8; the king will not see his children again." 
 
 This time Cl6ry had not the courage to tell the fatal news to his 
 master. 
 
 At nine o'clock the king, who was ignorant of the decision of 
 the commune, asked to be taken to his family. 
 
 "We have not received any orders for that," said the commis- 
 sioners. 
 
 The king insisted; but they did no answer him, and retired. 
 
 The king remained alone with Clery, the king sitting down, 
 Cleiy leaning against the wall; both were overcome. 
 
 Half an hour afterward, two officers entered; a boy from a cafe 
 followed, bringing the king a piece of bread and a glass of lemon- 
 ade. 
 
 " Gentlemen," asked the king, " can I not dine with my fam- 
 ily?" 
 
 " We have our orders from the commune," replied one. 
 
 " But if I can not descend, can not my valet? He takes care of 
 Tny children; nothing will prevent, I hope, his continuing to do so." 
 
 The king asked for the favor so simply, with so little animosity, 
 that the men, astonished, knew not what to say; his tone, his man- 
 ner, that resigned look, was so different from what they expected, 
 that it fairly bewildered them. They merely said it did not depend 
 upon them, and left. 
 
 Clery remained motionless near the door, looking at his master 
 with deep anguish. He saw the king take the piece of bread that 
 iiad been brought, and break it in two; then he offered him one of 
 the pieces. 
 
 " My poor Clery," he said, " it seems they have forgotten your 
 breakfast. Take half of my bread; I will have enough with the 
 other." 
 
 Clery refused; but the king insisting, he took the bread, but 
 could not help bursting into tears. 
 
 The king also wept. 
 
 At ten o'clock an officer brought the workmen into the apart- 
 ment; approaching the king, he said, kindly: 
 
 '■ I hii7e just assisted at the breakfast of your family and have a 
 message to say they are all in good health." 
 
 The king's heart leaped; this man's pity was more than he had 
 hoped for. 
 
 " Thank you," he replied; " and 1 beseech you to tell my fam- 
 ily that I also am well. Meanwhile, can I have some books I left 
 in the queen's apartment? If so, you will confer a favor by send- 
 ing them to me. ' 
 
ANDEEE DE TATERNBT. Z&S 
 
 The officer was greatly embarraased, not. knowing how to read. 
 At last he spoke to Clery, begging him to accompany him, and 
 brin^ the books the king desired. 
 
 Clery was only too glad; it was a means to carry to the queen 
 news of her husband. Louis XVI. glanced at Clery; that glance 
 contained a world of meaning. 
 
 Clery found the queen in the room with Mme. Elizabeth and her 
 children. The women wept; the little dauphin began to weep also; 
 but tears are easily wiped away when one is young. 
 
 On seeing Clery enter, the queen, Mme. Elizabeth, and Mme. 
 Eoyale rose and interrogated him, not by words, but by looks. 
 
 The little dauphin ran to him, saying; 
 
 " It's my good Clery!" 
 
 Unfortunately, Clery could only talk in the most reserved man- 
 ner — two officers had followed him into the room. 
 
 But the queen could not contain herself, and, speaking directly 
 to them: 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen!" she said, " for mercy's sake, if we can not 
 live with the king, can not we see him a few moments during the 
 day and at meal-time?" 
 
 The others did not speak, but clasped their hands. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the dauphin, " let my father come to us, if 
 you please, and I will pray to the good God for you." 
 
 The officers looked at them without speaking; that silence 
 brought sobs and moans from the women's hearts. 
 
 " Ah. by my faith!" said the one who had spoken to the king, 
 " they will dine together today." 
 
 " But to- morrow V" said the queen. 
 
 " Madame," said the olBcer, " our actions are in accordance wit! 
 the decrees of the commune; to-morrow we will do as the com- 
 mune orders. Is not that your opinion, citizen V asked the officer 
 of his colleague. 
 
 His brother officer nodded. 
 
 The queen and the princesses, who had waited for this sign with 
 anxiety, uttered a cry of joy. Marie Antoinette took her two chil- 
 dren in her arms, and pressed them against her heart; Mme. Eliza- 
 beth, with her hands raised to heaven, thanked God. That unex- 
 pected joy, bringing tears and sobs from them, had the aspect of 
 grief. 
 
 One of the officers could not retain his tears, and Simon, who 
 was present, cried : 
 
 " I believe these silly women will make me cry, too." 
 
 Then, speaking to the queen : 
 
 " You did not cry thus, " he said, "when you assassinated the 
 people on the 10th of August." 
 
 " Ah, sir," said the queen, " the people are much mistaken as to 
 our feelings. If they knew us better they would do as you have — 
 cry over us. " 
 
 Clery took the books the king asked for, and ascended. He 
 hastened to announce the good news to his master; but the officer 
 also hastened — it is so good to be good! 
 
 Dinner was served in the king's apartsnent; all the family wer» 
 
294 ANDKEE DE TAVEKNET. 
 
 there. It was like a fSte — they believed in gaining a day they had 
 gained everything. 
 
 They had, in fact, gained everything, for nothing more was heard 
 of the arrest from the commune, and the king continued, as in the 
 past, to see his family during the day, and take his meals with lliem. 
 
 CHAPTER LVm. 
 
 MAITRE GAMAIN. 
 
 The same day these things were taking place at the temple, a 
 man dressed in a carmagnole and a red bonnet, leaning on a stafE 
 that helped him to walk, presented himself at the Ministry of the 
 Interior. 
 
 Roland was tolerably accessible; but accessible as he was, he was 
 obliged to have, as if he had been minister of a monarchy instead 
 of a republic, a guard in his ante-chamber. The man with the stafl, 
 the carmagnole, and the red bonnet was obliged to slop in the ante- 
 chamber before the soldier that barred his passage, asking: 
 
 " What do you want, citoyen?" 
 
 " I want to speak to the citoyen minister," replied the man with 
 the carmagnole. 
 
 For fifteen days the title of citoyen and citoyenne had been sub- 
 stituted for monsieur and madame. Soldiers are always soldiers — 
 that is to say, very impertinent personages. "We are now speaking 
 of ministers' guardsmen; if we spoke of soldiers in the field, rather 
 than of soldiers on guard-duty, it would be a very different thing. 
 The soldier answered in a patronizing manner: 
 
 " My friend, learn one thing: one does not speak in that way to 
 a citoyen minister." 
 
 " How, then, do you speak to a citoyen minister, citoyen 
 «oldier?", asked the citoyen with the red bonnet. 
 
 " They speak to him when they have a letter of audience." 
 
 " I thought all that passed away with the reign of tyrants; but 
 under a republic, where men are all equal, they are not so aristo- 
 cratic?" 
 
 These remarks made the soldier reflect. 
 
 "It is not," continued the man with the red bonnet, the cor- 
 magnole, and the staff, " it is not pleasant, you see, to come from 
 Versailles to do a favor to a minister, and then not be received by 
 him." 
 
 " You came to be of use to Citoj-3n Roland?" 
 
 " A little." 
 
 " What sort of service can you render him!" 
 
 " I came to tell him of a conspiracy." 
 
 " Good! we have all the conspiracies by heart." 
 
 " You came from Versailles for that?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, then, you can return to Versailles." 
 
 " All right; I will return; but your minister will be sorry not to 
 have received me." 
 
 " Damn it! that is the rule. Write to him, and return with & 
 letter appointing an audience that will speak for itself." 
 
ABTDKEE DE TAVERNEY. 295 
 
 " That is your last word?" 
 
 " That is my l^t word." 
 
 " It seems to me it is more diflacult to see Citoyen Boland than it 
 •was His Majesty Louis XVI." 
 
 " How is that?" 
 
 " 1 have said all I have to sav." 
 
 " Go on; what did you say? 
 
 " I said there was a time when _ entered the Tuileries as I 
 pleased." 
 
 " You?" 
 
 " Yes; and for that I had but to mention my name." 
 
 " "What do you call yourself? The King Frederic William, or 
 the Emperor Francis?" 
 
 " No, I am not a tyrant, a slave-dealer; I am simply Nicolas 
 Claude Gamain, a master-workman, a master over all." 
 
 " Master of what?" 
 
 " Of locksmiths, then. Don't you know Nicolas Claude 
 Gamain, Monsieur Capet's old coppersmith?" 
 
 " Ah! what, is it you citoyen, that is — " 
 
 " Nicolas Claude Gamain." 
 
 " The ex- king's locksmith?" 
 
 " His master in copper- work, do you hear, citoyen?" 
 
 " That is what I am saying." 
 
 " In flesh and blood, it is 1." 
 
 The soldier looked at his comrades as if to interrogate them; 
 they replied by an aflSrmative sign. 
 
 " Then," said the soldier, " that is another thing." 
 
 " What do you mean by another thing?" 
 
 " 1 mean that you will write your name on a piece of paper, and 
 1 will send that in to the citoyen minister." 
 
 " Write? yes, write; that was my forte before they poisoned me, 
 those brigands; and now it is out of the question. See what 
 arsenic has done for me." 
 
 And Gamain showed his twisted legs, his spinal column bent, his 
 hands cramped and crooked as a griffin. 
 
 " WhatI is that the way they have treated you, my poor man?" 
 
 " The very way; and that is what I have come to denounce to 
 the citoyen minister, and other things also. As they say they are 
 about bringing that brigand Capet to trial, what I have to say will 
 not perhaps be of loss to the nation under the circumstances." 
 
 " All right; sit down there and wait, citoyen; I will send in your 
 name to the citoyen minister." 
 
 And the soldier wrote as follows on a piece of paper: 
 
 " Claude Nicolas Gamain, an old master-locksmith of the king, 
 asks for an immediate audience on an important revelation. " 
 
 Then he gave the paper to one of his comrades, whose special 
 mission it was to introduce visitors. 
 
 Five minutes after, the soldier returned, saying: 
 
 " Follow me, citoyen." 
 
 Gamain made such an effort in rising as to bring moans from his 
 lips, then he followed the soldier. 
 
 The man led Gamain not into the official cabinet of the Citoyen 
 
39b ANDEEE DE TATEENEY. 
 
 Roland, but into the cabinet of the real minister, Citoyenne Ro- 
 land. It was a small, very simple room, covered*with green paper, 
 lighted by a single window, in the embrasure of which Mme. Ro- 
 land worked. Roland was there before the fire. 
 
 The soldier announced Citoyen Nicholas Claude Gamain, and 
 that individual appeared. The master-locksmith had never, in the 
 time of his most robust health and highest fortunes, had very good 
 looks; but the illness to which he had been a prey — an inflamma- 
 tory rheumatism — while it twisted his limbs and disfigured his face, 
 adaed nothing, it was apparent, to his looks. 
 
 The result was, while the soldier closed the door behind him, 
 never had an honest man — and no one deserved that title better 
 than Roland— as we have said, no honest man with a calm and 
 serene face, ever found himself opposite a scoundrel with a more 
 diabolical vi<!age. 
 
 The first feeling the miuister experienced was that of profound 
 repugnance. He looked at Gamain from head to foot, and notic- 
 ing he trembled on his staft, a sentiment of pity for the sufferings 
 of one of his kind — if Gamain could be said to be one of his kind — 
 urged him to say: 
 
 " Sit down, citoyen; you appear to be suffering. " 
 
 " I should think 1 was suflering," said Gamain, sitting down. 
 " I have been, ever since that Austrian poisoned me." 
 
 A.t these words, an expression of deep disgust passed over the 
 minister's face; he exchanged a glance with his wife, who sat in. 
 the window. 
 
 "Is it to denounce this poisoning," said Roland, "you have 
 come here V 
 
 " For that, and other things." 
 
 " Have you brought proofs?" 
 
 " Ah! as for'that, you have only to go with me to the Tuileries, 
 and I will show you the wardrobe." 
 
 " What wardrobe ? ' ' 
 
 " The wardrobe where that wretch hid his treasure. Oh, I 
 ought to have known, when the task was finished, and the Aus- 
 trian said to me in her deceitful voice, ' Here, Gamain, you are 
 warm, drink this glass of wine, it will do you good,' I might have 
 known the wine was poisoned." 
 
 " Poisoned?" 
 
 "Yes. I knew beforehand," said Gamain, with an expression 
 of undying hate, " that the men who assisted kings in concealing 
 their treasures did not live long." 
 
 Roland went to his wife and glanced in her e3'es. 
 
 "There is something at the bottom of this," said she. "Ire- 
 member, now, it is the king's master-locksmith." 
 
 " And that wardrobe?" 
 
 " Ask him what that wardrobe was." 
 
 " What it was?" replied Gamain, who had heard. " The devill 
 I will tell you. It was a wardrobe of iron, with a rim-lock, in whicli 
 Citoyen Capet hid his gold and papers." 
 
 "How did you know the existence of this wardrobe?" 
 
 " Because he sent for me and my companion at Versailles t* 
 •bow me a lock he had mada himself." 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNEY. 297 
 
 " But that wardobe must hava been opened, destroyed, pillaged 
 on the 10th of August." 
 
 " Oh," said Gamain, " no dangerl" 
 
 " What do you mean, there was no danger?" 
 
 "No; I defy anybody in the world, except he and I, to find it^ 
 or, what is more, open it." 
 
 " Are you sure?" 
 
 " Perfectly sure. As it was at the hour he left the Tuileries, so 
 it is to-day." 
 
 " When did you help the king to make this wardrobe?" 
 
 " I can not exactly say; but it was three or four months befor* 
 the departure for Varennes." 
 
 " How did this happen? Come— excuse me, my friend, but it 
 looks like such an extraordinary thing to me, that befoie I go with 
 you to find it, I must ascertain some of the details." 
 
 " Oil! those details are easy to give you, Citoyen Minister; I 
 have not forgotten them. Capet sent for me at Versailles; my 
 wife did not want me to go. Poor woman' she had a presentiment. 
 She said to me: ' The king is in a bad position; he will compromise 
 you.' ' But,' I said, ' as he has sent for me about my own affairs 
 — as he is my scholar — I must go.' ' Very well,' she replied; ' there 
 are politics behind it; there are other things to be attended to be- 
 side making locks at this lime.' " 
 
 " Be as brief as you can, my friend. Notwithstanding your 
 wife's advice, you went?" 
 
 " Yea; and I should have done better to have followed her ad- 
 vice. I would not be in the condition I am in. But they paid 
 well, those poisoners." 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 " Ah! to go back to the wardrobe — ' 
 
 " Yes; my friend, and try not to detain us. All my time belongs 
 to the Republic, and 1 have very little leisure." 
 
 " Then he showed me a rim-lock which did not answer; he made 
 it himself, which proved to me if it had answered he would not 
 have sent for me, the traitor!" 
 
 " ' He showed me a rim-lock, which would not answer,' " re- 
 peated the minister, insisting on maintaining Gamain on the ques- 
 tion at issue. 
 
 " He said to me: ' Why won't that do, Gamain?' I said: ' Sire, 
 I must examine the lock.' He said: ' You are right.' Then I ex- 
 amined the lock, and said: ' Do you know why the lock will not 
 answer?' ' No,' he said, ' I ask you.' ' Well, it will not do, sire ' 
 (they called him ' sire ' at that time, the brigand!), ' it is easy to 
 see it w)ll not do — ' Do you follow me? you are not so learned as 
 the king in Incksroilhins; perhaps — you can not understand me — 
 that is to say, I remember now — it was not a rim-lock; it was a 
 chest-lock." 
 
 " It makes no difference, my friend," replied Roland; " as I am 
 not as strong in locksmithing as the king, and I do not know the 
 difference between a rim and a chest-lock." 
 
 " The difference — I can show you how you can put your finger 
 on it — " 
 
 " It is useless. You explained to tk« king, you said. ' ' 
 
298 ANDRBE DB TATERNET. 
 
 " Why the lock would not close. Must I tell you why it would 
 not close?" 
 
 ' If you please,'' replied Roland, who began to believe it wa» 
 better to abandon Gamain to his prolixity. 
 
 " Well, it did not close, do you understand, because the key- bit 
 of the lock caught on the great wheel, the great wheel describing * 
 portion of its circle; but when it arrived there, as it was not cut on 
 a true angle, it could not recoil alone; thai is all. You understand 
 me, do you not? The course of the wheel was six inches, and it 
 should have been but one. Do you understand?" 
 
 " Perfectly I" replied Roland, who did not understand one word. 
 
 " ' That is my fault,' said the king (that title was still given ta 
 that infamous tyrant); ' well, Gamain, do what 1 did not know how 
 to accomplish— thou, my master.' ' OhI not only your master, 
 sire, but master over everything.' " 
 
 "So well?" 
 
 " So well that I put myself to the task, while Monsieur Capet 
 talked with my boy, whom I always suspected of being an aristo- 
 crat in disguise; at the end of ten minutes it was finished. Then I 
 went down with the iron door, in which was the lock, and I said: 
 ' Here it is, sire!' ' Very well, Gamain,' he said; ' come with me!' 
 He went first, 1 following; he led me first into a sleeping apart- 
 ment, then into a dark corridor which led from his alcove to the 
 dauphin's chamber; it was so dark, they lighted a candle. The 
 king said to me: ' Hold this candle, Gamain, and light me.' Then 
 he raised a panel of the woodwork in which was a round hole 
 about two feet in diameter at the opening; then, as he remarked my 
 astonishment: ' I made this stronghold to contain money,' he said 
 to me; ' now you see, Gamain, you must close the opening with 
 this iron door. ' That won't take long,' 1 replied; ' the bolts and 
 lock are both there.' I closed the door; I had only to push it, to 
 make it close itself ; then putting the panel in place, no closets, no 
 door, no locks were to be seen." 
 
 " And do you think, my friend," aslied Roland, " that this 
 wardrobe had no other aim but for a money -chest, and that the 
 king took all this pains to hide silver?" 
 
 " Wait a minute; it was a trap— he thought himself very clever, 
 the tyrant; but I was as clever as he. 'This is what happened: 
 ' Now,' he said, ' Gamain, help me to count the money I want to 
 hide in this stronghold.' And we counted thus two millions in 
 double louis, which we divided in four leather bags; but while I 
 was counting his gold, I saw out of the corner of my eye, his valet, 
 who put in papers, and papers, and papers, and I said: ' Good! 
 this little stronghold, it is to inclose papers; the money is for ap- 
 pearance' sake.' " 
 
 " What do you think of that, Madeleine?" asked Roland of his 
 wife, leaning toward her in sucli a manner that this time Gamaia 
 did not hear. 
 
 " I think this revelation is of the highest importance, and there 
 is not an instant to lose." 
 
 Roland rang. 
 
 An oflScer appeared. 
 
 " Have you a carriage ready in the court of the hotel?" he asked 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVEBKET. 299 
 
 "Tes, citizen." 
 
 " Have it brought around." 
 
 Gamain rose. 
 
 " Ah!" he said, vexed, " it seems you have had enough of me?" 
 
 " Why?" asked Roland. 
 
 " Because you called your carriage — ministers then liave carriages 
 under the Republic?" 
 
 " :My friend," replied Roland, "ministers have carriages at all 
 times; a carriage is not a luxury for a minister; it is an economy." 
 
 " Aq economy of what?" 
 
 " Of time — that is to say, the most precious commodity there is 
 in the world." 
 
 " Then, must I return again?" 
 
 " What for?" 
 
 " Damn it! to take you to the stronghold where the treasure is." 
 
 " It is useless." 
 
 " Why useless?" 
 
 " Because I sent for the carriage to go there." 
 
 " To go where?" 
 
 "To the Tuileries. " 
 
 " We are going there, then?" 
 
 " Right away." 
 
 "Good;" 
 
 " But first," said Roland. 
 
 '■ What?" asked Gamain. 
 
 " The key." 
 
 " What key?" 
 
 " The key of the stronghold. It is not likely Lotus XVI. left it 
 in the dooi."' 
 
 " Oh! certainly not; it is not likely he is as foolish as he looks, 
 that big Capet." 
 
 " Now, then, take your tools." 
 
 " For what?" 
 
 " To open the wardrobe." 
 
 Gamain took an entirely new key from his pocket. 
 
 " What is that?" he asked. 
 
 " A key." 
 
 " The key of the stronghold, that I made from memory; I 
 studied it well, thinking one day — " 
 
 " That man is a great wretch," said Mme. Roland to her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " Ton think — " he asked, with hesitation. 
 
 " I think we have no right, in our position, to refuse any recom- 
 pense that fortime sends us in the search of truth." 
 
 " That is so, that is so!" said Gamain, radiant, flourishing the 
 key. 
 
 " And you think," asked Roland, with a disgust he found im- 
 possible to hide, "you think this key, made from memory, after 
 eighteen months, will open an iron closet?" 
 
 " The first trial, 1 am almost sure," said Gamain. 
 
 " It is not every one who is master over all. " 
 
 " The carriage of the citizen minister waits," said an offic«r. 
 
 " Shall I go with yout" asked Mma. Rolaad. 
 
300 ANDREE DE TAVEKNET. 
 
 " Certainly; if there are any papers, I shall confide them to yoa 
 are you not better than the most honest man I know?" 
 Then, turning toward Gamain : 
 " Come, my friend," said Boland to him. 
 And Gamain followed him, grumbling: 
 " Ahl I said I would be revenged for that, Monsieur Capet." 
 That f—wh&t was that? 
 The good the king had done him. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 THE KETRBAT OP THE PRUSSIANS. 
 
 While Citoyen Roland's carriage rolled toward the Tiiilerieg; 
 while Gamain found the hidden panel in the wall; while, notwith- 
 standing the terrible promise that he made, the key manufactured 
 from memory opened the iron closet with marvelous ease; while 
 the iron closet gave up the fatal deposit that had been placed there — 
 notwithstanding the absence of the papers confided to Mme. Cam- 
 pan by the Ising himself— which was to have so cruel an influence 
 over the destiny of the prisoner at the temple: while Koland carried 
 these papers home, read them one by one, weighed and balanced 
 them, uselessly looking among all these manuscripts for a trace of 
 the treason so denounced by Danton, this was what the late Min- 
 ister of Justice was about: 
 
 We say the late Minister of Justice, because, the convention once 
 installed, Danton had nothing more important than to send in his 
 resignation. He ascended the tribune, and said: 
 
 " Before expressing my opinion on the first decree given by the 
 convention, allow me permission to resign the office delegated to 
 me by the Legislative Assembly. I have received a notice from the 
 seat of war; the junction of the armies is made, the junction of the 
 representative is in operation. I am but the mouth-piece of the 
 people, and it is in that capacity that I speak." 
 
 At these words, " The junction of the armies is made," Danton 
 might have added, "and the Prussians are beaten;" for he said 
 this on the 31st of September, and on the 20th the battle of Valmy 
 had taken place; but Danton did not know it. He contented him- 
 self by saying: 
 
 " Let us cast away those vain phantoms of dictatorship employed 
 to frighten the people; declare that there is but one constitution. 
 Until today they have fought for it; we must watch against the 
 tyrant; meanwhile, let the laws be as terrible against those who 
 violate them as the people have been in overthrowing tyranny. May 
 all the guilty be punished! Down with all exaggeration; proclaim 
 that all territorial and industrial property will be maintained for- 
 ever!" 
 
 Danton, with his usual skill, answered in few words the two greaJt 
 fears of France. France feared for her liberty and her property; 
 and, strange to say, those who feared most for their property were 
 those new proprietors who had, as it were, bought yesterday, and 
 owed for three quarters of their acquisition; it was these who had 
 become conservative rather than th« ancient nobility, than the 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERNEY. 301 
 
 jHBcieBt aristocracy, than the ancient land-holders; the latter pre- 
 ferred their lives to their immense domains, and the proof was they 
 had abandoned their riches to save their lives; while the pcasanls, 
 the acquirers of national weiillh, recent proprietors, preferred Iheir 
 little spol of earth to their lines, walched over it gun in hand, and 
 nothing in the world would have induced them to emigrate. Dan- 
 ton understood that; he understood that it was well to reassure not 
 only those who had been recent land owners, hut also those who 
 would become such to- morrow; for the great idea of the revolution 
 was this: 
 
 " All Frenchmen should be land-owners; proprietorship does not 
 always make a man better, but it makes him more dignified, in 
 making him feel his own independence " 
 
 The entire spirit of the revolution was contained in Danton's 
 last words: " Abolish all dictatorship; preserve all proprietorship; 
 that is to say— no more changes; a man has a right to govern him- 
 self; but a man has a right to protect the results of his tree toil." 
 
 And who was it said this? The man of the 20th of June, the 
 10th of August, and the 2d of September; that giant of tempests, 
 that pilot who threw in the sea those two anchors of the nation's 
 salvation — liberty and proprietorship. 
 
 The Girondists did not understand; the honest Girondists had an 
 invincible repugnance for the — what shall wesa)? — for the loo easj' 
 Danton; we have seen they had refused the dictatorship to him 
 when he asked them after preventing the massacie. 
 
 A Girondist rose, and, instead of applauding the man of genius 
 who had just thundered forth the two great fears of France, he cried 
 to Dantuu: 
 
 " Whoever tries to protect any property, compromises it; to 
 touch it, even to save it, is to destroy it. Proprietorship is below 
 everything else." 
 
 The convention passed these two decrees : 
 
 " There can be no constitution, unless it is adopted by the 
 people " 
 
 " The safety of person and property is tmder the surveillance oi 
 the nation." 
 
 It was, and it was not. Nothing Is more terrible in politics than 
 " nearly " 
 
 Thus Danton's resignation was accepted. But the man who con- 
 sidered himself strong enough to take, on his own responsibility, 
 the 2d of September; tHat is to say, the fright of Paris, the hatred 
 of the ]»rovinces, the execration of the world, that man was cer- 
 tainly most powerful. 
 
 In fact, he held, at the same time, the threads of diplomacy, 
 ■war, and the police fur-ce. 
 
 Dumouriez, and, consequently, the army, he held in his hand. 
 
 The news of the victory at Valmy arrived at Paris, and was the 
 cause of great rejoicing. It had arrived on eagle wings, and they 
 looked upon it with much more importance than there was any 
 occasion for. 
 
 The result was. Prance ascended into supreme audacity; the 
 filubs breathed only war and battle. 
 
 " Why, if the King of Prussia was vanquished — why was h« not 
 
303 ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 a prisoner, bound, garroted, or more or less dismantled on thi» other 
 side of the Rhine?" 
 This is what they said out loud. 
 Then they whispered : 
 
 " 'Tis very pli»in. Dumouriez has betrayed us. He has been 
 bought by the Prussians!" 
 
 Dumouriez received already his recompense for great service — 
 ingratitude. 
 
 The King of Prussia did not regard himself as beaten. He had 
 attacked the Heights of Valmy, and had not talien them; that was 
 all. Each army had kept its own camp. The French, who, since 
 the beginning of the campaign, had constantly retreated, pursued 
 by panics, by defeats, by reverses, this time had done well, gaining 
 nothing, and losing nothing. As for the losses, both sides were 
 nearly equal. 
 
 This was what they did not dare to say in Paris, France, or 
 Europe, so much we needed a grand victory; but that was what 
 Dumouriez made Westerman tell Danton. The Prussians were so 
 far from being vanquished, that twelve days after Valmy they were 
 still immovable in their camp. 
 
 Dumouriez had written to know, in case the King of Prussia 
 made proposals, if he was to treat with him. This demand had 
 two answers: one from the minister, haughty, official, dictated by 
 the enthusiasm of victory; the other, wise and calm, but from Dan- 
 ton alone. 
 
 The letler from the minister took high ground. It said: 
 "The Republic will not treat with the enemy until they have 
 evacuated the territor}'. " 
 That of Danton 's said: 
 
 " Provided the Prussians evacuate the territory, make any terms 
 you choose." 
 
 Holding a parley was not an easy thing with the King of Prussia 
 in his state of mind; the same time the news of the victory of 
 Valmy arrived in Pari.=i, the news of the abolition of royalty and 
 the proclamation of the Republic reached Valmy. The King of 
 Prussia was furious. 
 
 The consequences of thii invasion, undertaken to save the King 
 of France, and which so far had resulted, on the Iflth of August, 
 the 2d and 21st of September, nr, in other words, the captivity of 
 the king, the massacre of the nobles, and abolition of royalty, had 
 the effect of thrnwing Fredeiic William in the utmost fury; he 
 was anxious to fight at any cost, and gave orders for a battle with- 
 out quarter on the 2'Jth of September. 
 
 He was very far, as will be seen, from abandoning the Republic. 
 _ Instead of a combat on the 2!1th, there was a council. Dumou- 
 riez was pieparcd for every emergency. Brunswick, very insolent 
 in his language, was prudent enough when it was a question of 
 proving facts; in fact, Brunowirk was more English than German; 
 he had mariied a sister of the Queen of England; it was more from 
 London than Berlin Ihat lie received advices. If England wanted 
 to fight, he would fight with two arms— one arm for Prussia, the 
 other for England; but it the English, his masteis, did not drav?- 
 the sword from the scabbard, he was equally ready to replace hi* 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVBRNET. 303 
 
 On the 29th Brunswick produced, at the council, letters from Eng- 
 land and Holland refusing to join in the coalition. Besides, Custine 
 had marched on the Rhine and was threatening Coblentz. Coblentz 
 taken, tli« door of Prussia would be closed against Frederic Will- 
 iam's return. 
 
 Besides, there was something much more serious than all that. 
 The King of Prussia had a mistress, the Countess of Lichtenau. 
 She had followed the army like every one else- — like Goethe, who 
 had sketched, in his Prussian majesty's carop-wagon, the first 
 scenes of his Fausl — she was counting on the famous military par- 
 ade: she wanted to see Paris. 
 
 While waiting, she stopped at Spa. There she learned of the 
 inarch to Valmy, the dangers her royal lover had run. She was 
 supremely afraid of two things, this beautiful countess: the bullets 
 of the French and the smiles of the French: she wrote letters upon 
 letters; the postscriptions of these letters, that is to say, the rinume 
 of them, was ever the word " return." 
 
 Ttie King of Prussia was only restrained to tell the truth in his 
 position from shame of abandoning Louis XVI. All these con- 
 siderations weighed upon him: only the most powerful were the 
 tears of his mistress, and the danger Coblentz was in. He no 
 longer insisted on their giving Louis XVL his liberty. Danton 
 hastened to send him, by Weslerman, all the decrees of the com- 
 mune, showing the prisoner was surrounded by kind treatment. 
 That satisfied the King of Prussia; they saw it was not very diffl- 
 cult to appease him. His friends assert that before leaving he 
 made Dumouriez and Danton promise to save the king's life; noth- 
 ing, however, proves that assertion. 
 
 The 39fh of September, the Prussian armj' put themselves in re- 
 treat, and made one mile; on the 30th, anotljer mile 
 
 They were escorted by the French army, as if closing the horrors 
 of the country in escorting them. Every moment our soldiers 
 Wanted to attack tliem, cut off their retreat, at the risk of being 
 left food for the beasts, or having their heads thrown to the dogs. 
 Danton's soldiers held them back. 
 
 All Danton wanted was the Prussians to leave France. 
 
 The 32d of October, that patriotic desire was accomplished. 
 
 The 6th of November, the cannon of Jemmapes announced the 
 judgment of God upon the French revolution. 
 
 On the 7th, the Girondists began the king's trial. Something of 
 the same nature took place six weeks before; the 20lh of Septem- 
 ber Dumouriez gained the battle of Valmy; on the 31st the Repub- 
 lic was proclaimed. 
 
 Each victory was in some way its own roronation, and pushed 
 France a step further in the revolution. This time it was a terrible 
 step. They were approaching the end, as yet unknown, to which 
 they had been for the last Ihiee jears marching like blind men; as 
 in nature, one begins ai= they advanre to distinguish the contours of 
 things, where before had been only the masses. 
 
 What was that looming up on the horizon? A scaffold! and at 
 the foot of the scaffold, the king! 
 
 In this entirely material epoch, where the inferior instincts of 
 bate, destruction, and vengeance dominate over the elevated ideas 
 
304 AXDREE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 of superior minds; where a man lilte Danton, that is to say, who 
 takes into his own keeping the bloody days of September, is ac- 
 cused of being the leader of indulgents, it is diflScult for the idea to 
 prevail over the fact. What the convention did not understand, or 
 what was only understood among a few, some from reasoning, 
 others instinctively, was that the trial should have been for royalty, 
 and not the king! 
 
 Royalty itself was a somber abstraction, a threatening mystery, 
 whom no one wanted longer; an idol gilded in front, but like the 
 whited sepulcher of which Christ speaks, full of dust and worms 
 within. 
 
 But the king was a different thing; the king was a man; a man 
 not interesting in the days of his prosperity, but misfortune had 
 purified him, captivity had ennobled him; his feelings had de- 
 veloped in his disgrace. It was the same with the queen; the ex- 
 perience of adversity was such, that either through a premonition 
 or repentance, that poor prisoner in the temple had learned at last 
 not to like with a love — that poor broken heart had lost all that it 
 had ever contained of love, as a vase, broken, loses its contents 
 drop by drop — but at least to respect, to adore In the religious 
 sense of the word, that king, that man, whose material appetites, 
 whose vulgar instincts, had so often caused her to blush for him. 
 
 One day, the king entering the queen's apartment, found her oc- 
 cupied in sweeping the dauphin's room, who was sick. 
 
 He stopped on the threshold, let his head fall on his breast, then, 
 with a sigh: 
 
 " Oh, madame!" he said, " what a task for the Queen of France! 
 If they could see at Vienna what you are doing herel Who would 
 have said in uniting yourself to me that I would have made you 
 descend so low?" 
 
 " And do you think It nothing," replied Marie Antoinette, " to 
 have the glory of being the wife of the best and most persecuted of 
 men?" 
 
 That was what the queen replied, and without a witness, not im- 
 agining she was overheard by a poor valet de chambre, who had 
 followed the king; who remembered the words that, like black 
 pearls, were to make a diadem, not for the king's head, but the 
 already condemned one. 
 
 _ Another day it was Mme. Elizabeth that Louis XVI. saw cut- 
 ting, in default of scissors, with her beautiful enameled teeth, the 
 thread with wliich she was mending the queen's robe. 
 
 " Poor sister!" he said, "what a contrast with that pretty little 
 house at Montrieul, where you lacked for nothing!" 
 
 " Ah I my brother, can 1 regret anything when I am sharing 
 your misfortunes?" replied the devoted woman. 
 
 And all this was known; all this spread abroad; all this embroid- 
 ered, in arabesques of gold, the dark legend of the martyr. 
 
 Royalty struck with death, but the guarded king living, was, in 
 itself, a powerful, a grand idea; so giand, thai it only entered the 
 heads of few men, and hardly entered then — as it would have been 
 unwise did they dare to explain it. 
 
 " A nation requires to be saved; but it docg not require to be 
 aveDged!" said Danton to the Cordeliers. 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVEEHET. 305 
 
 " Certainly, th« king must be brought to trial,' ' said Gregoirc, at 
 the convention; " but he has shown himself so far below contempt, 
 there is no room for hate." 
 
 Paine wrote: 
 
 " 1 want the process to be made out, not against Louis XVI., 
 but against the band of kings; of tho'se individuals we have one in 
 our power; he has put us on the track of a general conspiracy — 
 Louis XVI. is very useful to demonstrate to every one the necessity 
 of revolutions." 
 
 Thus, lofty minds like Thomas Paine, and noble hearts like Dan- 
 ton and Qregoire, were agreed on this point; there must be, not a trial 
 of the king, but a trial of kings, and it would be necessary in this 
 trial to call Louis XVI. as a witness. The French Republic— the 
 majority — were about to proceed in their own and the nation's name 
 against royalty, that is to say, the minority. France thus would sit, 
 not as a terrestrial judge, but as a divine arbiter; she would soar 
 among celestial spheres; no longer will her pleadings reach the 
 throne splashed with mud and blood; she will fall upon the kings 
 like a thunder-bolt. Imagine such public proceedings, supported by 
 proofs, began by Catherine II., her husband's murderer, and the 
 executioner of Poland; imagine the details of that monstrous life 
 brought to the light of day as was Mme. de Lamballe's corpse; see 
 the PasiphsB du Nord chained to the pillory of public opinion, and 
 say what would be the result in instructing the people by such a 
 process? 
 
 As for the rest, it is well, in that it is not yet done, that it is yet 
 to be accomplished. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 The papers in the iron safe delivered up by Gamain — to whom 
 the convention awarded twelve hundred livres pension for life for 
 this work — the papers in the iron safe, purified by the sorting out 
 of those which we have seen Louis XVI. give to Mme. Campan; 
 these papers, we say, to the great disappointment of M. and Mme. 
 Roland, contained nothing against Dumouriez and Danton. They 
 compromised, above all, the king and the priests. They denounced 
 that sour, narrow, ungrateful spirit of Louis XVI., which hated 
 only those who had wished to save him — Necker, Lafayette, Mira- 
 beau. There was nothing in them against the Gironde. 
 
 The debate upon the^oc^ commenced the 13th of November. 
 
 Who opened this terrible debate? Who made himself sword- 
 bearer of the " Mountain?" Who hovered over the somber assem- 
 bly like the angel of extermination? 
 
 A young man, or rather a child of twenty-four years, sent be- 
 fore the required age to the convention, and whom we have already 
 «een appear several times in this history. 
 
 He was a lative of one of the roughest districts of France, of 
 Nifivre. In iim was that sharp and bitter sap which makes, if 
 not great men, at least dangerous men. He was the son of an old 
 Midler, whom twenty years of service had raised to the cross of St 
 
306 ANDBEB DB TAVEBNEY. 
 
 Louis, ennoWed, consequently, with tlie title of chevalier. He 
 was borij gloomy, heavy, grave. His family had a little property 
 in the department of Aisne, at BlSrancourt, near Noyou, and lived 
 in a modest residence, which was far from being the golden 
 mean of the Latin poet. Sent to Reims to study law, he paid lit- 
 tle attention to his studies there, and composed a licentious poem 
 In the style of " Orlando Furioso " and " La Purelle," published 
 unsuccessfully in 1189. This poem was republished, without 
 greater success, in 1793. 
 
 He made haste to leave his province, and came to Camille Des- 
 moulins, the brilliant journalist, who held in his closed hands the 
 future reputations of the unknown poets. The latter, a sublime 
 gamin, full of wit, saw one day enter his room a supercilious 
 ■scholar, full of pretensions and pathos, with slow and measured 
 words, falling, one by one, like drops of freezing water, which 
 pierce the rocks, and that from the mouth of a woman. As to the 
 re.st of his face, there were eyes blue, fixed, hard, and strongly 
 marked with black eyebrows; a complexion white, but rather sick- 
 ly than pure. His residence at Reims might have given to the 
 law student the scrofulous malady that kings have the pretension 
 to cure on the day of their coronation; a chin, losing itself in an 
 enormous cravat, tied tight around the neck, when every one wore 
 them loose and fluttering, as if to give the hangman every facility; 
 a torso, rigid, automatic, ridiculous as a machine, if it did not be- 
 <!ome terrible as a specter: all this, crowned with a forehead so 
 low, that the hair descended to the eyes. 
 
 Camille Desmoulins saw one day this strange figure enter his 
 houfe. 
 
 The young man read his verses to him, and told him, among 
 other social thoughts, that the world had been empty since the 
 Romans. 
 
 The verses seemed bad to Camille, the thought seemed to him 
 artificial; he laughed at the philosopher, he laughed at the poet; 
 and the poet-philosopher came back to his solitude of Blfirancourt. 
 "Striking down a la Tarquin," said Michelet, the great por- 
 traitist of this king of men, " the poppies with a stick, in one per- 
 haps Desmoulins, in the other Danton." 
 
 The opportunity came to him, however; the opportunity never 
 fails certain men. His village, his market-town, his little city, 
 Blfirancourt, was threatened with the loss of a market which kept 
 it alive; without knowing Robespierre, the young man wrote to 
 Robespierre, prayed him to press the communal demand which he 
 transmitted to him, offering him, besides, to give, to be sold for the 
 benefit of the nation, his like property, that is to say, all that he 
 possessed. 
 
 This, which made Camille Desmoulins laugh, made Robespierre 
 think; he sent for the young fanatic, studied him, recognized him 
 to be of the temper of those men with whom revolutions are made, 
 and by his credit with the Jacobins, had him named a member of 
 the convention, although by no means of the requisite age. The 
 president of the electoral corps, Jean de Bry, protested, and in pro- 
 testing, sent the baptismal record of the newly elected member. 
 The latter was, in fact, only twenty-four ycon and tlu:ee mouths 
 
ANDEEE DE TATBEIfET. 307 
 
 oM; but under the influence of Robespierre this objection disap- 
 peared. 
 
 It was this young man to whom Robespierre came on the night 
 of the 2d of September; it was this young man who slept when 
 Robespierre slept not. This young man was St. Just. 
 
 "St. Just,'" said Camille Desmoulins, "do you know what 
 Danton says about you?" 
 
 " Ko." 
 
 " He says that you carry your head very steady." 
 
 A wan smile appeared on the feminine mouth of the young man. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I will make him carry his like a St. Denis!" 
 
 And he kept his word. 
 
 St. Just descended slowly from the "Mountain;" he slowly 
 mounted the tribune, and slowly asked for death. We are mis- 
 taken. He ordered death. 
 
 It was an atrocious speech which was made by this handsome, 
 pale young man, with the lips of a woman. Dignify him who 
 will; paint him who can — we have not the courage. 
 
 " We must not try the king at length; we must kill him! 
 
 " We must kill him, for there are no laws by which to try him; 
 he himself has destroyed them. 
 
 " We must kill him as an enemy; we only try citizens. To try 
 the tyrant, we must first make him' a citizen. 
 
 " We mustkill him, as a culprit taken in flagrante delicto, hi» 
 hands in the' blood. Royalty, besides, is an eternal crime. A 
 king is outside of nature; between people and king there is no 
 natural relation." 
 
 He spoke thus for an hour, without animation, without heat,, 
 with the voice of a rhetorician, with the gestures of a pedant; and 
 at the end of each phrase recurred these words, which fell with a 
 singular weight, and which produced among the auditory a shock 
 like that of the knife of the guillotine: " We must kill himi" 
 
 This speech caused a terrible sensation; there was not one of the 
 judges who did not feel the coldness of the steel penetrating to his 
 heart! Robespierre himself was frightened to see his disciple, 
 his pupil, plant so strongly beyond the most advanced republican 
 outposts the bloody flag of the 'revolution. 
 
 From that time not only was the trial resolved upon, but also 
 Louis XVI. was condemned. 
 
 To try to save the king was to devote one to death. 
 
 Danton had this idea, but not this courage; he had patriotism 
 enough to lay claim to the name of assassin, but he had not stoicism 
 enough to accept that of traitor. 
 
 On the 11th of December the trial began. Three days before, a 
 municipal officer had presented himself at the temple at the head, 
 of a deputation of the commune, and had entered the king's apart- 
 ment, then had read to the prisoners a decree ordering to be taken 
 from them their knives, razors, scissors, penknives — in fine, all 
 sharp instruments of which prisoners are deprived when condemned 
 to death. 
 
 In the interval, Mme. Clery having come, aosompanied by a 
 friend, to see her husband, the valet de chambre, was as usual sent 
 down to the council chamber; there h» commenced talking to hie 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERlfET. 
 
 wife, who pretended to give liim, in a loud voice, the details of 
 their domestic affairs; but while she wan speaking in a loud tone, 
 her friend was saying in a low voice: 
 
 " On Tuesday next they bring the king to the convention. The 
 trial is about to begin. The king will be permitted to have coun- 
 sel; all this is certain." 
 
 The king had forbidden Clery to conceal anything from him; 
 bad as the news was, the faithful servitor resolved to communicate 
 it to his master. Cousequenlly, in the evening, wliile undressing 
 him, he repeated to him the words we have just reported, adding 
 that, during the whole course of the trial, the commune had the 
 intention ot separating liim from his family. 
 
 Four days then remained for Louis XVI. to consort with ths 
 queen. 
 
 He thanked Clerj' for his fidelity in keeping his word. 
 
 " Continue," said he to him, " to seek to discover something as 
 to what they wish to do with me; do nol fear afllicting me. I have 
 agreed with my family not to appear informed in the least, so as 
 not to compromise you. " 
 
 But the nearer tlie day of the trial approached the more mistrust- 
 ful the municipal officers became. Clery had, therefore, no other 
 •news to give to the prifioners than that which was contained in a 
 newspaper sent to him; this newspaper published the decree order- 
 ing that, on the 11th of December, Louis XVI. should appear at 
 the bar of the convention. 
 
 On the nth of December, at Q''e o'clock in the morning, the 
 general call was beaten by the drums all dver Paris; the gates of 
 the temple were opened, and cavalry and cannon were sent into the 
 court-yards. If the royal family had been in ignorance of what 
 was to happen, they would have been greatly alarmed by such a 
 din; they feigned, however, to be ignorant of the cause, and asked 
 explanations of the commissioners on duty, who refused to give 
 any. 
 
 At nine o'clock, the king and the dauphin went up to breakfast 
 In the apartment of the princesses; one last hour was passed to- 
 getter, but under the eyes of the municipal officers; at the end of 
 one hour they were obliged to separate and to lock up everything 
 in tueir heans upon separating, as they were supposed to know 
 nothing. 
 
 The dauphin himself, in fact, knew nothing; they had spared 
 this grief to his youfh. He insisted upon having a game of siam; 
 all preoccupied, as he must have been, the king wished to afford 
 this distraction to his son. 
 
 The dauphin lost all the games, and three times stopped at num- 
 ber sixteen. 
 
 " Detestable number sixteeni" he cried; " I believe that it brings 
 me bad luck." 
 
 The king made no response, but the expression struck him as a 
 tad omen. 
 
 At eleven o'clock, while he was giving the dauphin his reading 
 lesson, two municipal officers entered, announcing that they had 
 come for the young Louis to take him to his mother; the king 
 "wisbed to know the motive of this kind of abduction; the comini»- 
 
ANDEEB DE TAVBENEY. 309 
 
 sioners contented themselves with answering, that they were exe- 
 cuting the order of the council of the communes. The king em- 
 braced his son and charged Clery to take him to his mother. 
 
 Clery obeyed and returned. 
 
 " Where have you left my son?" demanded the king. 
 
 " In the arms of the queen, sire," answered Clery. 
 
 One ot the commissioners reappeared. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he to Louis XVI., " Citizen Chambon, Mayor 
 of Paris (he was the successor of Petion), is at the council and is 
 about to come up." 
 
 " What does he wish of me?" asked the king. 
 
 " I do not know," answered the officer. 
 
 He went out, leaving the king alone. 
 
 The king walked for a moment rapidly across the room, then sat 
 down in an arm-chair at the head of his bed. 
 
 The municipal officer had retired with Clery to the room adjoin- 
 ing, and said to the valet de ohambre: 
 
 " I dare not go into the prisoner's room again, for fear he will 
 question me." 
 
 However, such a silence prevailed in the king's room, that the 
 commissioner was alarmed at it. He entered softly, and found 
 Louis XVI., his head resting on his hands, and appearing piofound- 
 ly preoccupied. 
 
 At the noise of the door turning on its hinges the king raised his 
 head, and in a loud tone asked: 
 
 " What do you wish of me?" 
 
 " I feared," answered the officer, " that you were ill." 
 
 " I am obliged to you," said the king; " no, 1 am not ill; only, 
 the manner in which my son was taken away from me has greatly 
 affected me." 
 
 The officer retired. 
 
 The mayor did not make his appearance until one o'clock; he 
 was accompanied by the new attorney-general of the commune, 
 Chaumette, by Secretary-Clerk Coulombeau, by several municipal 
 officers, and by Santerre, himself accompanied by his aids-de- 
 camp. 
 
 The king rose. 
 
 " What do you wish of me, monsieur?" demanded he, address- 
 ing the mayor. 
 
 " I have come to seek you, monsieur," answered the latter, " by 
 virtue of a decree of the convention, which the secretary clerk will 
 now read to you." In fact, the secretary unrolled a paper and read; 
 
 " Decree of the National Convention, which orders that Louis 
 Capet — " 
 
 At this word the king interrupted the reader. 
 
 " Capet is not my name at all," said he; " it is the name of one 
 of my ancestors." 
 
 Then, as the secretary wished to continue the reading: 
 
 " It is useless, monsieur. I have lead the decree in a news- 
 paper," said the king. 
 
 And turning to the commissioners : 
 
 " I would have desired," added he, " that my son might have 
 heen left me during the two hours that I have passed waiting for 
 
310 AITDEEE DE TAVEKXEY. 
 
 you; out of two cruel hours you would have made for me two 
 most sweet hours. Besides, this treatment is a continuation of that 
 which I have experienced for the last four months. I shall follow 
 you, not to obey the convention, but because my enemies have the 
 power to compel me at their disposal." 
 
 " Then come, monsieur," said Chambon. 
 
 " 1 only ask time to p\it on an overcoat. Clery, my overcoat." 
 
 Clery passed to the king the overcoat which he asked for, and 
 which was hazel colored. Chambon went out first; the king fol- 
 lowed him. At the bottom of the stairs the prisoner saw with un- 
 easiness the guns, the pikes, and, above all, the troop of horsemen 
 in sky-blue, of whose formation he was ignorant; then he cast a 
 last look upon the town, and they took their departure. 
 
 It was raining. 
 
 The king was in a carriage, and made the journey with a calm 
 iace. 
 
 Passing before the Porte St. Martin and St. Denis, he asked 
 which of the two it was proposed to demolish. At the threshold 
 of the Manege, Santerre placed his hand upon his shoulder and 
 conducted him to the bar, to ihe same place and same chair where 
 he had sworn to the Constitution. 
 
 All the deputies remained seated at the moment of the entry of 
 the king; one alone, when lie passed before him, arose and bowed. 
 The king, astonished, turned and recognized Gilbert. 
 
 " Good-day, Monsieur Gilbert," said he. 
 
 Then to Santerre: 
 
 " You know Monsieur Gilbert," said he; " he was formerly my 
 physician; you will bear him no ill will, I hope, for having bowed 
 to me?" 
 
 The examination commenced. 
 
 There the prestige of misfortune commenced to disappear before 
 publicity; not only did the king answer the questions that were 
 put to him, but he even answered them badly — hesitating, shufiBing, 
 denying, chicaning his life, as a provincial lawyer would have done 
 pleading a question of a party wall. 
 
 Broad daylight did not suit the poor king. The examination 
 lasted until five o'clock. At five o'clock Louis XVI. was conduct- 
 ed to the Salle des Conferences, where he waited for his carriage. 
 The mayor approached him : 
 
 " Are you hungry, monsieur?" asked he, " and will you take 
 something?" 
 
 " I thank you," said the king, with a gesture of refusal. But 
 almost immerliately afterward, seeing a grenadier take a piece of 
 bread from his bag and give half of it to the attorney-general of 
 the (oinmuue, Chaumelle, he approached tlie latter: 
 
 " Will you be kind enough to give me a piece of your bread, 
 monsieur?" he asked. 
 
 But as he h:ul spoken in a low tone, Chaumette drew back. 
 
 " Speak up— loud! monsieur," said he to him. 
 
 " Oh! I can speak loud," replied the king, with a sad smile- " I 
 ask for a piece of bread. ' ' ' 
 
 " Willingly," answered Chaumette. 
 
 And holding out his bread: 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERKEY. 311 
 
 " Here, cnt!" said he; " this is a Spartan repast; if I had a root, 
 i would give you the half of it." 
 
 They went down into the court-yard. 
 
 At the sight of the king, the crowd took up the refrain of th« 
 -'Marseillaise," dwelling with emphasis upon this verse: 
 
 " Qu'un sang impur ahreve nos sillons!" 
 " Let an Impure blood water our fields!" 
 
 Louis XVI. paled slightly, and re-entered the carriage. 
 
 There, he commenced to eat, but only the crust of his bread; the 
 Inside remained in his hand, and with this he did not know what 
 to do. 
 
 The substitute of the attorney-general of the commune took it in 
 iis hands and threw it out of the carriage window. 
 
 " Ah! that is bad," said the king, " to throw it away like that; 
 above all, at a time when it is so scarce." 
 
 " And how do you know that it is scarce?" said Chaumette; 
 " you yourself have never wanted for it." 
 
 " I know that it is scarce, because that which they gave me tasted 
 a little of the ground." 
 
 " My gtandmother, " replied Chaumette, " was always saying to 
 me, ' Little boy, you must never lose a crumb of bread, tor you 
 will never be able to make another in its place.' " 
 
 " Monsieur Chaumette," said the king, " your grandmother was, 
 it appears to me, a woman of great good sense." 
 
 A silence ensued. Chaumette was mute in the back of the car- 
 riage. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, monsieur?" asked the king; 
 " you are growing pale." 
 
 "In fact," answered Chaumette, " I do not feel well." 
 
 " Perhaps it is the rolling of the carriage?" asked the king. 
 
 " Perhaps, indeed!" 
 
 " Have you been at sea?" 
 
 " 1 served with La Motte Picquet." 
 
 " La Motte Picquet," said the king, " was a brave man." 
 
 And, on his part, he kept silence. 
 
 Of what was he dreaming? Of his fine navy, victorious in India; 
 of his port of Cherbourg, conquered from the ocean; of his splen- 
 did uniform of admiral, red antl gold, so different from that which 
 he wore at that moment; of those cannons howling joy at his pass- 
 ing in the days of his prosperity? 
 
 He was far from there, poor King Louis XVI., jolted in a mis- 
 erable, slow hackney coach, cleaving before him the waves of the 
 people, who crowded to see him, an infectious and rough sea, 
 whose tide rose from the sinks of Pa-is; blinking his eyes at the 
 broad daylight, witli his long, tliin beard, of a dull blonde, and 
 his shrunken cheeks hanging upon bis wrinkled neck; clothed in a 
 gray suit and a hazel-roloipd overroHl and saying, with the auto- 
 matic memory of chilUien and of Bourbons: " Ah! there is such a 
 street — and there such a street — and there such a street." 
 
 When they arrived at the Rue d'Orleans: 
 
 " Ah!" said he, " there is the Rue d'Otleans." 
 
 " Say the Rue Egalile" (Equality Street), said one of them. 
 
812 ANDEEB DB TAVBENET. 
 
 " Ah!" said he, " on account of Monsieur — " 
 He did not finish, but relapsed into silence, and from the Rue dt 
 I'Egalite to the ttmple did not utter a single word. 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 THR LEGEND OF THE MARTYR KING. 
 
 The first care of the king, upon his arrival, had heen to ask to 
 be conducted to his family; he was told there were no orders on 
 that subject. 
 
 Louis understood that, like every convict who was undergoing a 
 trial for his life, he was in close confinement. 
 
 " Inform, at least, mv family of my return," said he. 
 
 Then, without paying any attention to the four municipal 
 oflftcers who surrounded him, he began his customary reading. 
 
 The king had one hope left: that at the supper hour his family 
 ■would come up to him. 
 
 He waited in vain; no one appeared. 
 
 " 1 suppose, however," said he, " that my son will pass the night 
 ■with me, since his things are here." 
 
 Alas! the prisoner had no longer, with regard to his son, that 
 certainty which he affected to have. 
 
 He received no more answers to this questions than he had to the 
 others. 
 
 " Come," said the king, " let us go to bed, then." 
 
 Clery undressed him as usual. 
 
 " Oh, Clery!" murmured he, " I was far from expecting the 
 questions which they put to me." 
 
 And, in fact, almost all questions put to the king had their source 
 in the iron tafe; and the king, ignorant of Garaain's treason, had 
 no suspicion that the iron safe had been discovered. 
 
 Nevertheless, he went to bed, and was scarcely in bed before he 
 slept with that tranquillity of which he had already given so many 
 proofs, and which, under certain circumstances, one might take 
 for lethargy. 
 
 It was not the same with the other prisoners; this absolute close 
 confinement was for them frightfully significant; it was the close 
 confinement of the condemned. 
 
 As the daupliin had his bed and his clothes in the king's room, 
 the queen put the child in her own bed, and all the night, standing 
 at the head ot the bed, watched him sleeping. 
 
 She was so dejected in her grief, this pose resembled so much 
 that of the statue ot a mother at the tomb of her son, that Mme. 
 Elizalietli and Mme. Royale resolved to pass the night on chairs at 
 the side of tlie standing queen; but the oflicers intervened and 
 forced tlie two women to lie down. 
 
 The next day, for the first time, the queen addressed a prayer to 
 her glial diuns. 
 
 She asked for two things- to see the king, and to receive the 
 newspapers, so as to be kepi informed of the progress of the trial. 
 
 Tliey carried these req^uests before the council. 
 
 One was refused completely — that of the newspapers; the other 
 was half granted. 
 
XNDREE DE TAVEKNET. 313 
 
 The queen could no longer see her husband, nor the sister her 
 Itrother; but the children could see their father on condition of not 
 seeing their mother nor their aunt. 
 
 The king was informed of this ultimatum. 
 
 He reflected an instant; then, with his accustomed resignation: 
 
 " Well,' said he, " whatever happiness I feel in seeing m^ chil- 
 dren, 1 will renounce. The grand business which occupies me 
 •would prevent me, besides, from consecrating to them the time 
 which they need. The children will remain with their mother." 
 
 After this answer the bed of the dauphin was put in his mother's 
 room, who, in her turn, only quitted her children when she went 
 to be condemned by the revolutionary tribunal, as the king had 
 gone to be condemned by the coiivention. 
 
 It was necessary to deviie some means of communication in spite 
 of this close confinement. 
 
 It was again Clery who charged himself with organizing the cor- 
 respondence, with the aid of a servitor of the princesses, named 
 Turgy. 
 
 Turgy and Clery met each other going and coming in the dis- 
 charge of their duties, but the surveillance of the municipal officers 
 rendered all conversation between them difficult. The only words 
 ■which they could exchange were confined to these : ' ' The king is 
 well," " The queen, the princesses, and the children are well." 
 
 However, one day Turgy delivered a little note to Clery. 
 
 " Madame Elizabeth slipped this into my hand while returning a 
 napkin to me," said he to his colleague. 
 
 Clery ran to carry the note to the king. 
 
 It was traced with pricks of a pin; for a long time the princesses 
 had neither ink, pens, nor paper. It contained these two lines: 
 
 " We are well, brother. Write to us in your turn." 
 
 The king answered; for since the opening of the trial, he had 
 been allowed pens, ink, and paper. Then giving the letter, open, 
 to Clery : 
 
 " Read it, my dear Clery,'" said he to him, " and you will see 
 that this note contains nothing which can compromise you." 
 
 Clery respectfully refused to read it, and pushed back the hand 
 of the king with a blush. 
 
 Ten minutes afterward Turgy had the answer. 
 
 The same day, the latter, while passing Clery 's room, rolled 
 through the partly opened door of that room, under the bed, a ball 
 of thread; this ball of thread covered a second note of Mme. Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 A plan was agreed upon. 
 
 Clery rewound the thread around the king's note, and concealed 
 the ball in the closet for dishes. Turgy found it and put the an- 
 swer in the same place. 
 
 The same maneuvers were repeated for several days; only, each 
 time that his valet de chambre gave him some new proof of his 
 fidelity or of his address in this business, the king shook his head, 
 Jaying: 
 
 " Take care, my friend, you are exposing yourself." 
 
 The means were indeed too precarious. Clery sought another. 
 
314 ANDREE DE TATERNET. 
 
 The commissioners sent to the king his candles in packages tied 
 up with strings. Clery carefully preserved these strings, and ■when 
 he had a sufficient quantity of them, he announced to the king that 
 he had the means of rendering his correspondence more active; this 
 was to pass his string to Mme. Elizabeth. Mme. Elizabeth, who 
 slept below him, and who had a window corresponding vertically 
 to that of a little corridor adjoining Clcry's room, could, during 
 the night, fasten her letters to this string, and by the same means 
 receive those of the king. A revolving shade masked each win- 
 dow, and would prevent the letters from falling in the garden. 
 
 Besides, by this same string, pens, paper, and ink could be let 
 down, which would enable the princess to dispense with wiiting 
 with pin points. It was thus permitted to the prisoners to have 
 news every day; the princesses of the king, the liing of the prin- 
 cesses and of his son. 
 
 As to the rest, the position of Louis XVI. had grown morally 
 much worse since he had appeared before the convention. 
 
 Two things were generally believed: either that, following the 
 example of Charles 1., whose history he knew well, the king would 
 refuse to answer the convention, or that if he did answer, would 
 answer haughtily, proudly, in the name of royalty, not as an ac- 
 cused who is undergoing a trial, but as a knight who accepts the 
 challenge and picks up the gauntlet of battle. 
 
 Unfortunately for him, Louis XVI. was not of a nature royal 
 enough to fix upon one or the other of these two sides. 
 
 He answered badly, timidly, awkwardly, as we have already said, 
 and feeling that with all his papers in the hands of his enemies he 
 was being ruined, poor Louis ended by demanding counsel. 
 
 After a tumultuous deliberation, which followed the departure 
 of the king, counsel was granted. 
 
 The next day, four members of the convention, appointed com- 
 missioners for that purpose, went to ask the accused who was the 
 counsel chosen by him. 
 
 " Monsieur Target," he answered. 
 
 The commissioners retired, and M. Target was informed of the 
 honor the king had done him. 
 
 Unheard of thing! this man — a man of great ability, an old mem- 
 ber of the Constituante, one of those who had taken the most active 
 part in drawing up the (Constitution— this man was afraid. 
 
 He refused, like a coward, growing pale with fear before his cent- 
 ury, to redden with shame before posterity. 
 
 But the next day, alter the king had appeared, the president of 
 the convention received this letter : 
 
 " Citizen President, — I do not know whether the convention 
 •will give Louis XVI. a counsel to defend him, and whether it will 
 leave tie choice of one to him; in that case, I desire Louis XVI. to 
 know that if he chooses me for that, I am ready to devote myself 
 to it. I do not ask you to inform the convention of my ofEer; for 
 I am far from thinking myself a person of sufficient importance 
 for them to occupy themselves with, but I have twice been called 
 as counsel for him who was my mastar at a time when that office 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNEX. 315 
 
 "Was aspired to by every one, I owe him the same service when it 
 is an office which many people think dangerous. 
 
 " If I knew any possible way of making known to him my de- 
 Sire, I would not take the liberty of addressing you. 
 
 " 1 thought that, in the place you occupy, you liave, more thaa 
 any one, the means of letting him know of the offer. 
 
 I am, with respect, etc. etc., 
 " Maleshkrbbs." 
 
 Two other requests arrived at the same time; one from an advo- 
 cate of Troyea, M. Sourdat. " I am," said he, boldly, " prompted 
 to defend Louis XVI. by the feeling I have of his innocence." 
 
 The other, from Olympe de Gouges, the strange southern im- 
 provisatrice, who dictated her comedies because, they said, she 
 could not write. 
 
 Olympe de Gouges had constituted herself the advocate of the 
 women; she wanted to have them given the same rights as men, 
 that they could canvas for a deputation, discuss the laws, declare 
 peace and war; and she had supported her pretentions with a sub- 
 lime mot, " why should not women mount the tribune? they cer- 
 tainly mount the scafEold." 
 
 She mounted it, in fact, the poor creature; but at the moment 
 when judgment was pronounced she became a woman again, that 
 is to say, weak, and wishing to profit by the privileges of the law, 
 fihe declared herself with child. 
 
 The tribunal sent back the condemned to a consultation of doc- 
 tors and midwives; the result of this consultation was, that if there 
 was any pregnancy, it was too recent to be declared formally. 
 
 At the scaflold she became a man again, and died as a woman 
 like her ought to die. 
 
 As to M. de Malesherbes, he was that same Lamoignon de Male- 
 sherbes who had been a minister with Turgot and had fallen with 
 him. As we have said elsewhere, he was a little man of seventy 
 or seventy-two years of age, born naturally awkward and absent- 
 minded, round, vulgar, with "a true apothecary's face," said 
 Michelet, " and in which you would be far from suspecting a hero- 
 ism of ancient times." 
 
 Before the convention he never called the king anything but dre. 
 
 " What makes you so bold as to speak in that way before us?" a 
 member of the convention asked him. 
 
 " Contempt for death," Malesherbes answered simply. 
 
 And he really despised it, that death to which he went chatting 
 with his companions in the cart, and which he met as if he was go- 
 ing, according to the mut of M. Guillotin, to feel only a slight cool- 
 ness upon the neck. 
 
 The concierge of Monceaux — it was to Monceaux that the bodies 
 of the executed were carried — the concierge of Monceaux stated a 
 singular proof of his contempt of death : in the fob of the breeches 
 of his decapitated body he found Malesherbes' watch; it marked 
 two o'clock. According to his habit, the condemned had wound 
 it up at noon, that is to say, at the hour when he was gomg to the 
 acaSold. 
 
 Tbe king, upon the failure of Target, took Malesherbes aad 
 
316 ANDEEE DB TAVERNET. 
 
 Tronchet; these pressed for time associated with them Deseze tli& 
 ad vocal e. 
 
 On the 14th of December it was announced to Louis that he had 
 permission to communicate with his defenders, and that ihe same 
 day he would receive a visit from M. de Malesherbes. 
 
 The devotion of the latter had touched him grea'ly, although his^ 
 temperament rendered him little accessible to those kind of emo- 
 tions. 
 
 Upon seeing come to him, with a sublime simplicity, this old 
 man of three-score and ten years, the heart of the king swelled, 
 and his arms — those royal arms which were opened so rarely — were 
 extended, and all in tears: 
 
 " My dear Monsieur de Malesherbes, " said the king, " come and 
 embrace me." 
 
 Tlwn, after having clasped him affectionately to his breast: 
 
 "I know with whom I have to deal," continued the king; "I 
 am expecting death, and I am prepared to receive it, as you see me 
 at this moment— and I am very calm, am I notv Well, so will I 
 walk t3 the scaffold." 
 
 The 16th, a deputation presented itself at the temple; it was 
 composed of four members of the convention; they were Valaze, 
 Cochon, Qrandpre, and Duprat. 
 
 Twenty-one deputies had been named to examine the proceed- 
 ings against the king; all four were a part of this commission. 
 
 They brought to the king his act of accusation and the docu- 
 ments relating to his trial. 
 
 The whole day was employed in the verification of these docu- 
 ments. 
 
 Each paper was read by the secretary; after the reading, Valaze 
 said, " Have you any knowledge of this?" The king answered, 
 yes or no, and all was said. 
 
 Some days after that, the same commissioners returned and read 
 to the king fifty-one new documents, which he signed and para- 
 graphed as the preceding. 
 
 In all, fifty-eight papers, copies of which were left with him. 
 
 In the meantime, the king was attacked by an inflammation. 
 
 He remembered the bow of Gilbert at the moment when he en- 
 tered the convention; he asked of the commune that his old phy- 
 sician Gilbert might be permitted to pay him a visit. The commune 
 refused. 
 
 " Let Capet drink no more ice water," said one of the members, 
 " and be will have no more inflammations." 
 - It was on the 26th that the king was tor the second time to ap- 
 pear at the bur of the convention. 
 
 His i)eard had grown; we have said that this beard was uglv, of 
 a lightish color, badly placed. Louis asUed fi.r hi:, razois; ilicy 
 weie returned to him, but on the condition that he should only 
 make use of ihem before four municipnl officers. 
 
 On the 8oth, at eleven o'clock in the evening, he commenced 
 ■writing his will. This paper is so well known that, touching and 
 Christian-like as it is, we do not give it here. 
 
 Two wills have often attracted our attention: the will of Louitt 
 JLYL, who found himself face to face with the Republic and only 
 
ANDKEE DB TAVEBNET. 317 
 
 saw royalty; the will ol the Buke of Orleans, who found himeelf 
 face to face with royalty, and only saw the Republic. 
 
 We will cite only one phrase of the will of Louis XVI., because 
 it will aid us in throwing lignt upon a question of standpoint. 
 Each one sees, it has been said, not only tlie reality of the thing, 
 but according to the standpoint at which "he is placed. 
 
 " I finish," wrote Louis XVI., " by declaring before God, and 
 am ready to appear before Him, that I do not reproach uayself with 
 any of the crimes which have been brought forward against me." 
 
 Now, how Louis XVI., for whom posterity has made a reputa- 
 tion of an honest man, which he owes, peihaps, besides, to this 
 phrase; how Louis XVI., perjured to all his oaths, flying abroad, 
 leaving a protestation against the oaths he had taken; how Louis 
 XVI., who had discussed, annotated and appreciated the plans of 
 Lafayette and of Mirabeau, calling the enemy inlo the heart of 
 France; how Louis XVI., ready to appear, as he himself said, 
 Tsefore the God who was to judge him, believing, consequently, in 
 this God, in His justice, in His renumeration of good and of bad 
 actions; how was Louis XVI. able to say, " I reproach myself with 
 none of the crimes which have been brought forward against me?" 
 
 Well, the construction of the phrase explains it. Louis XVI. 
 ■does not say at all : " The crimes which have been brought forward 
 against me are without foundation;" no, he says: "I do not re- 
 proach myself with any of the crimes which have been brought for- 
 ward against me," which is not at all the same thing. 
 
 Louis XVI., ready to march to the scafiold, is always the pupil 
 of M. de la Vauguyon. To say: " The crimes which are brought 
 forward against me are false," was to deny tbose crimes, and Louis 
 XVI. could not deny them; to say. " I do not reproach myself with 
 the crimes which are brought forward agaiust me," was strictly to 
 say, "These crimes exist, but I do not reproach myself with 
 them." 
 
 And why did not Louis XVI. reproach himself with them? 
 
 Because he was placed, as we have just now said, at the stand- 
 point of royalty; because, thanks to the way in which they are 
 educated, thanks to this coronation of legitimacy, to this infalli- 
 bility of divine right, kings do not see crimes, and, above all, po- 
 litical crimes, from the same standpoint as other men. Thus, for 
 Louis XI., his rebellion against his father is not a crime; it is war 
 for the public welfare. 
 
 Thus, for Charles IX., St. Bartholomew is not a crime; it is a 
 measure counseled for the public safety. 
 
 Thus, to the eyes of Louis XIV., the revocation of the Edict of 
 Nantes is not a crime; it is simply a raison d'etat — a reason of 
 state. 
 
 This same Malesherbes who to-day was defending the king, 
 formerly, while minister, wished to rehabilitate the Protestants. 
 He found in Louis XVI. an obstinate resistance. 
 
 "No," replied the king to him, "no, the proscription of the 
 Protestants is a law of state, a law of Louis XIV.; let us not move 
 the ancient landmarks." 
 
 " Sire," answered Malesherbes, " policy never prescribes against 
 iiutio*!" 
 
318 AKDREE DE TATEIINET. 
 
 " But," cried Louis XVI., like a man who does not comprelien(Jy 
 " where is there, pray, iu the revocation of the Edict of Nantes,, 
 an offense against justice? Is not the revocation of the Edict of 
 Nantes the safety of the state?" 
 
 Thus, for Louis XVI., this persecution of Protestants, raised up 
 by an old devotee and a spiteful Jesuit, this atrocious measure 
 which made the blood run in streams in the valleys of the Ca- 
 vennes, which lighted the stakes of Nlmes, of d'Albi, and of 
 Beziers, was not a crime, but, contrary, a reason of state. 
 
 Then there is yet another wliich we must examine from the royal 
 standpoint; it is, that a king, born almost always of a stranger 
 princess, from whom he draw the most of his blood, is always a 
 little of a stranger to his people; he governs them, that is all; and 
 yet by whom does he govern them? By his ministers. 
 
 Thus, not only are the people not worthy of being his relations, 
 not worthy of being his allies, but they are not svorthy of being- 
 governed directly by him; while, on the contrary, the stranger 
 sovereigns are the relations and allies of the king, who has neither 
 relations nnr allies iu his own kingdom, and who corresponds 
 directly with them without an intermedium of ministers. Bour- 
 bons of Spain, Bourbons of Naples, Bourbons of Italy ascend to 
 the same scource, Henry IV. ; they were cousins. 
 
 The Emperor of Austria was brother-in-law, the Princes of Savoy 
 were allies of Louis XVI , Saxon though his mother was. 
 
 Then, the people, in having got so far as to want to impose upon 
 their king conditions which he did not believe for his interest to 
 observe, to whom did Louis XVI. appeal against his revolted sub- 
 jects? T(i his cousins, to his brother-in-law, to his allies; for him 
 the Spaniards and the Austrians were not enemies of France be- 
 cause they were his relations, friends of him, the king, and, from 
 the standpoint of royalty, the king was France. 
 
 These kings, what did they come to defend? The holy cause of 
 royalty unattackable because divine. 
 
 That is why Louis XVI. did not reproach himself for the crimes 
 which lyere brought forward against him. 
 
 As for the rest, royal egotism had bro\ight forth popular egotism; 
 and the people who had carried their hate of royalty so far as to- 
 suppress God because it had been said that royalty emanated from 
 God, had without doubt, they too, by virtue of some reason of 
 state, estimated from their standpoint, made the 14th of July, the 
 4th and 5th of October, the aoth of June, and the lOth of August. 
 
 We will not say the 2d of September; we repeat it, it was not at 
 all the people who made the 2d of September; it was the commune. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 The 28d arrived, and found the king prepared for everything, 
 even for death. He had made his will the night before. He feared) 
 we know not why, that he would be assassinated while going the 
 next day to the convention. 
 
 The queen was informed, for the second time, that the king 
 would go before the assembly. 
 
AKDREE DE TAVEENET. 319 
 
 Tlie movement of the troops, the noise of the drums might have 
 brightened her beyond measure, if Clery had not found means to 
 let lier know the cause. 
 
 At ten o'lIocIv in the morning Louis XVI. left under the sur- 
 veillance of Chambon and Santerre. After coming to the conven- 
 tion he was obliged to wait an hour; the people revenged them- 
 selves for having had, for five hundred year.s, to dance attendance 
 at the Louvre, at the Tuileries, and at Versailles. 
 
 A discussion was taking place at which the king could not be 
 present; a key delivered by him, on the 12th, to Clery, had been 
 seized in the hands of the valet de chambre; the idea occurred to 
 some one of trying this key in the iron safe, and it had opened it. 
 
 This key had been shown to Louis XVI. 
 
 " 1 do not recognize it," he had answered. 
 
 Beyond all probability he had foremade it himself. 
 
 It was in this kind of details that the king completely lacked 
 greatness. 
 
 The discussion ended, the president announced that the accused 
 and his defenders were ready to appear at the bar. 
 
 The king entered, accompanied by Malesherbes, Tronchet, and 
 Deseze. 
 
 " Louis," said the president, " the convention has decided that 
 you be heard to-day." 
 
 " My counsel will read my defense," answered the king. 
 
 A profound silence ensued; all the assembly understood that a 
 few hours might well be granted to this king, whose royalty they 
 were destroying; to this man, whose life they were cutting off. 
 
 Then perhaps this assembly, some members of which had given 
 proof of such superior ability, expected to see a great discussion 
 burst out; royalty', ready to lie down in its bloody sepulcher, already 
 robed In its shroud, was perhaps about to .«pring up suddenly and 
 appear with the majesty of the dying, and utter some of those 
 words which history records and which centuries repeat. 
 
 It was not so at all; the speech of Deseze, the lawyer, was a 
 veritable lawyer's speech. 
 
 It was, however, a tplendid cause to defend — that of the heir of 
 so many kings, whom fatality brought before the people, not only 
 in expiation of his own crimes, but in expiation of the crimes and 
 mistakes of his whole race. 
 
 It seems to us that if, on this occasion, we had had the honor of 
 being M. Deseze, we would not have spoken m the name of M. 
 Deseze at all. 
 
 It was for St. Louis and for Henry IV. to speak; it was for these 
 two great chiefs of the race to wash Louis XVI. of the weaknesses 
 of Louis XTII., of the prodigalities of Louis XIV., of the debauches 
 of Louis XV. 
 
 It was not so at all, we repeat. 
 
 Deseze was a quibbler, when he ought to have been enthusiastic; 
 the question was, not to be concise, but to be poetic; it was neces- 
 sary to address the heart, and not the reason. 
 
 But perhaps, this flat speech finished, Loui,s XVI. would speak; 
 and since he had consented to defend himself, would defend him- 
 •elf like a king, worthily, grandly, nobly. 
 
320 ANDREB DE TAVERNET. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " my grounds of defense have just been 
 stated to you; I will not repeat them In speaking to yoii perhaps 
 for the last time. I declare to you that my conscience reproachea 
 me in nowise, and that my defenders base told )uu noiiiiug but 
 the truth. 
 
 " I have never been afraid of having my conduct publicly ex- 
 amined; but my heart is torn at having found in tlie act of accusa- 
 tion the imputation of having wished to shed the people's blood, 
 and, above all, that the misfortunes of the lOlh of August were at- 
 tributed to me. 
 
 " 1 avow that the multiplied proofs which I have given in all 
 time, and the manner in which I have conducted myself^ appear to 
 me to be sufficient to prove that I little feared to expose myself in 
 order to spare their blood and to free me forever from such an im- 
 putation." 
 
 Do you understand the successor of sixty kings, the descendants 
 of St. Louis, of Henry IV., and of Louis XIV., finding only thia 
 to respond to his accusers? 
 
 But the more unjust the accusation was from your point of view, 
 sire, the more indignation ought to have made you eloquent. You 
 ought to have left something to posterity, were it only a sublime 
 malediction on your executionersl 
 
 So the convention in astonishment, asked: 
 
 " You have nothing else to add to your defense?" 
 
 " No," answered the king. 
 
 " You can retire." 
 
 Louis XVL retired. 
 
 He was conducted to one of the halls adjoining the assembly. 
 There he took M. Deseze in his arms and pressed him to his heart; 
 then, as M. Deseze was in a sweat, more from emotion than from 
 fatigue, Louis XVt pressed him to change his linen, and he him- 
 self warmed the shirt which the advocate put on. 
 
 At five o'clock in the evening he returned to the temple. 
 
 An hour afterward his defenders entered his room, at the mo- 
 ment when he was leaving the table. 
 
 He asked them to partake of some refreshments; M. Deseze alone 
 accepted. 
 
 While the latter was eating: 
 
 " Well," said Louis XVL to M. de Malesherbes, " you see now, 
 that from the first moment I was not mistaken, and that my con- 
 denmation was pronounced before I had been heard." 
 
 " Sire," answered M. de Malesherbes, " as I came out of the a«- 
 sembly I was surrounded by a crowd of good citizens, who assured 
 me that you would not lose your life, or that if you did, it would 
 at least be after them and their friends." 
 
 " Do you know them, monsieurV" the king quickly asked. 
 
 " I di) not know them personally, but 1 would certainly recog- 
 nize their countenances." 
 
 " Well," replied the king, " try to find some of them again, and 
 say to them Ihat I would never pardon myself if there wns one drop 
 of blood shed on my account. I have never wished it to be shed 
 when this blood would perhaps have preserved my throne and my 
 Jile; with much greater reason I now make the sacrifice of both." 
 
AXDREE DE TAVERNET. 331 
 
 M. de Malesherbes left the king at an early hour with the view 
 of obeying the order which had been given him. 
 
 The first of January, 1793, arrived. 
 
 Kept in the most rigorous close confinement, Louis XTI. had 
 but one attendant with him. 
 
 He was thinking with sadness on this isolation on such a day, 
 when Clery came to his bed. 
 
 " Sire," said the valet de chambre, in a low voice, " I ask per- 
 mission to present to you my most ardent wishes for the teimina- 
 tion of your misfortunes." 
 
 " 1 accept your wishes, Clery," said the king, extending his hand 
 to him. 
 
 Clery took that hand which was extended to him, kissed it and 
 covered it with tears, then he assisted his master to dress. 
 
 At this moment the municipal officers entered. Louis looked at 
 them one after another, and seeing one of them whose face showed 
 a little pity, approached him. 
 
 " Oh, monsieurl" said he, " render me a great service!" 
 
 " What?" answered the man. 
 
 " Go, 1 pray you, on my part, and bring me some of my family, 
 and present them my good wishes for the coming year." 
 
 " I will go," said the officer, visibly affected. 
 
 " Thanks!" said Louis XVI. " God, I hope, will return to you 
 what you do for me!" 
 
 " But," said one of the other officers to Clery, " why does not 
 the prisoner ask to see liis family? Now the interrogations are 
 finished, 1 am sure that this will meet with no difficulty." 
 
 " To whom is it necessary to apply for that?" said Clery. 
 
 " To the convention." 
 
 A moment afterward, the officer who had been to the queen, re- 
 turned. 
 
 "Monsieur," said he, "your family thank you for your good 
 wishes, and send you theirs." 
 
 The king smiled sadly. 
 
 " What a New Years-day!" said he. 
 
 That evening, Clery informed the king of what the officer had 
 eaid with regard to the powibility which perhaps there might be 
 of his seeing his family. 
 
 The king reflected a moment and appeared to hesitate. 
 
 " No," said he, finally, " a few days from now they will not re- 
 fuse me this consolation; I must wait." 
 
 The Catholic religion has these terrible macerations of the heart 
 which it imposes on its elect. 
 
 It was the 16th on which judgment was to be pronounced. 
 
 M. de Malesherbes remained quite a long while with the king 
 during the morning; toward noon, he went out, saying that he 
 would return to give him information of the call of the house aa 
 soon as the call was finished. 
 
 The vote was to be taken on three frightfully simple questions: 
 
 1st. Is Louis guilty? 
 
 Sd. Shall an appeal be taken from the judgment of the convenf 
 tion to the judgment of the people? 
 
 3d. What shall be the punishment? 
 U. 
 
322 ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 It WHS Bscewary, besides — in order that future times might plain- 
 ly see, tiiat if a vote was not given without hate, it was at least 
 given without fear — it was necessary for the vote to he public. A 
 Girondist name Birotteau, moved that each member should ascend 
 to the tribune ami pronounce his judgment aloud. 
 
 A Mnntagnard, Leon Bourdou, went farther; he had it decreed 
 that the votes should be signed. 
 
 Finally, a member of the Right, Rouyer, moved that the listg 
 make mention of those aKsent on committees, and that those who 
 were absent without being on committees, should be censured and 
 their names sent to the (iepartmeuts. 
 
 Then commenced that grand and terrible session whick was to 
 last seventy-two hours. 
 
 The hall presented a singular aspect little in harmony with what 
 was taking place. What was taking place was sad, somber, 
 lugubrious; the appearance of the hall gave no idea of the drama. 
 
 The back part of the hall had been transformed into boxes, in 
 which the handsomest women of Paris, in their winter toilets, cov- 
 ered with velvets and furs, eat oranges and took ices. 
 
 The men went to bow to them, talked with tliem, returned to 
 their places and exchanged signs with them; one would have called 
 it a theater in Italy. 
 
 The side of the " mountain " above all was remarkable for its 
 elegance. It was among the Montagnards that the millionaires 
 «at; the Duke of Orleans, Lepelletier de St. Fargeau, Herault de 
 €echelles, Anarcharsis Clootz, and the Marquis de Ch^teauneuf. 
 All these gentlemen had tribunes reserved for their mistresses; they 
 came plumed with tricolored ribbons, with private cards or letters 
 of recommendation to the court officers, who played the part of 
 hox-openers. 
 
 The high galleries opened to the people were full during the three 
 days; they drank there as if in drinking-shops, they eat there as 
 Jf in restaurants, and they harangued there as if in clubs. 
 
 On tlie first question, " Is Louis guilty?" six hundred and eighty- 
 three votes answered, " Yes." 
 
 On the second question, " Shall the decision of the convention 
 be submitted to the ratitication of the people?" two hundred and 
 eighty-one voters voted for an appeal to the people; four hundred 
 «nd twenty-three voted against it. 
 
 Then came the third question, the grave question, the supreme 
 question. " What shall be tlie punishment?" When this was 
 reached it was eight o'clock in the evening of the third day — % 
 gloomy, rainy, and cold day of January; they were tired, impa- 
 tient, fatigued — human strength, with the actors as with the spec- 
 tators, succumbed to forty-five hours of contiuuous attendance. 
 
 Each deputy ascended the tribune in his turn snd gave one of 
 the four Judgments; imprisonment — transportation — death with 
 reprieve and appeal to the people — death. 
 
 Every sign of approbation and disapprobation had been forbid- 
 den, and yet when the people in the galleries heard anything else 
 than the word death, they murmured. 
 
 Once, however, this word was heard and followed by murmura. 
 
AKDRSE DE TATERNET. 333 
 
 •nd boatings, and whistlings; it was wlien Philippe Egiklite as- 
 ctnded the tribune and said: 
 
 " Prompted solely by my duty, and being con\inced that all 
 those who ha >•« attacked or shall "attack in future the sovereignty 
 of the people merit death, 1 rote for death." 
 
 In the midst of that terrible act, a sick deputy, named Duchfitel, 
 ■was carried into the convention with his nijht cap on his head, 
 and in his dressing-sown. He came to vote tor bimishmeut, a vote 
 ■which was received^because it leaned to merey. 
 
 Yetgniaud. president on the lUth of August, was still president 
 on the I9th of January; after having proclaimed forfeiture, he was 
 also to proclaim death. 
 
 " Citizens, " said he, "you have just exercised a great act of 
 justice. 1 hope that humanity will prompt vou to keep the most 
 religious silence: when Justice has spoken, humanity ought to be 
 heard in its turn. " 
 
 And he read the result of the ballot. 
 
 Out of seven hundred and twenty-one voters, three hundred and 
 thirtv-four had voted for l>anishment or imprisonment, and three 
 hundred and eighty-seven for death, some ■without reprieve, and 
 others with postponement. 
 
 There were then for death fifty-three more votes than for banish- 
 ment. 
 
 Only, deducting from these fifty-three voles the forty-six which 
 had ■voted for death with postponement, there remaineil in all, for 
 immedi.ste death, a majority of seven votes. 
 
 " Citiwns," said Vergniaud, with an accent of profound grief, 
 " I declare, in the name of the convention, that the punishmant 
 ■which it pronounces against Louis Capet is death." 
 
 It was on the evenmg of Saturday, the 19th, that death ■waa 
 ■voted, but it was not until that of the COlh. at three o'clock in the 
 morning, that Vergniaud pronounced the judgment. 
 
 During this time Louis XVI., deprived of all communication 
 from •without, knew that his fate was being decided, and alone, far 
 from his ■wife and children — whom he had refused to see ■with a 
 ■view of mortifying his soul, as a monk who has sinned mortifies 
 his flesh — he placed, with a perfect indifference, in appearance, at 
 least, his life and his death in the hands of God. 
 
 On Sunday morning, the 20th of Januarv-, at si.^ o'clock, M. de 
 Mal6sherbes 'entered the king's room. Louis XVI. had already 
 risen, he was se,"«ted ■with his ~back turned to a lamp upon the man- 
 tel-piece, his elbo^ws resting on the table, and his face covered ■with 
 his two hands. 
 
 The noise which his defender made on entering aroused him 
 from his reverie. 
 
 ~ Well?" he asked, on perceiving him. 
 
 M. de Malesherbes dared not answer, but the prisoner could see 
 by the despondent expression of his face that all ■was over. 
 
 '■ Death!" said Louis. " I was sure of it." 
 
 Then he opened his arms, and all in tears;, pressed M. de Mali- 
 aherlies to his breast. Then : 
 
 " Monsieur de Malesherbes, " he said, " for the last two days I 
 Jia^ve been busying myself trying to find out if, in the oouia? of 
 
324 ANDEEE DE TAVEEKET. 
 
 my reign, I have deserved the slightest reproach from my subjects; 
 well, 1 swear to you, in all the sincerity of my heart, as a man who 
 is about to appear before God, that 1 have always desired the hap- 
 piness of my subjects, and that I have never entertained a Eingle 
 wish contrary to it." 
 
 All this passed before Clery, who was weeping hot tears; the 
 king took pily on this griet; iie took ]V[. d^^ RliiJLslierbfs into his 
 private room, and shut him^olf up wilh him for neiiily an hour, 
 then came out, embraced his defender a second time, aiid begged 
 him to come back again in the evening. 
 
 i" The good old man has moved me greatly," said be to Clery on 
 le-entering his room. " But you — what is the mailer wilh you?" 
 This question was caused by a violent trembling iv hii h had seized 
 Olery since M. de Maleslierbes, whom he had uccivcd in the ante- 
 chamber, had told him that the king was condemned (o death. 
 
 Then, Clery, wishing to disguise as much as po.s.siblf the sli.te in 
 w^hich he was, prepared everything that was nercs'-aiy for the 
 king's shaving himself. Louis XVI. himself applied the lather, 
 and Clery, standing before him, held the basin in liis two bunds. 
 
 Suddenly a frightful pallor passed over the kind's tberks; his 
 lips and his ears grew while. Clery, fearing that lie would faint, 
 put down the basin, and prepared to hold liim up; but the king, 
 on his part, took both his hands, saying: 
 
 " Come, come! have courage." 
 
 And he shaved himself with calmness. 
 
 Toward two o'clock the executive council cnme to infnim the 
 prisoner of the judgment. At its bead was Garat, JMinisler of 
 Justice; Lebrun, Minister of Foreign Affairs; Grouvellc, Secretary 
 of the Council, the president and attorney gem-rii) of the depart- 
 ment, the mayor and attorney of the commune, I be president and 
 public accuser of the criminal tribune. 
 
 Santerre was in front of all. 
 
 " Announce the executive council," said he to Cleiy. Clery was 
 about to obey, but the king, who had heaid a gieat noise, spared 
 him the trouble; the door opened and he appealed in the coriidor. 
 
 Then, Garat, his hat on his head, became the spokesman, and 
 «aid: 
 
 " Louis, the National Convention has charged the provisional 
 executive council to notify you of the decreet of the 15th, 16th, 
 17th, :i9th, and 20th of January. The secretary of the council will 
 l«ad them to you." 
 
 Upon which Grouvelle unfolded a paper and read in a trembling 
 Toice: 
 
 " Article I, — The National Convention declares Loui? Capet, 
 last king of the French, guilty of conspiracy against the liberty of 
 the nation and of an attempt against the general safety of the state. 
 
 " AiiTJCLE II. — The National Convention decrees that Louis 
 Capet shall suffer the punishment of death. 
 
 " AuTiCLB III. — The National Convention denies the motion of 
 Louis Capet, made at the bar by his counsel, and called an appeal 
 to the nation from the judgment rendered against him by the X^ar 
 lional Convention. 
 
ANDEEE DE TATERKET. ' 326 
 
 " AnTiCLE IV. — The provisional executive council will notify 
 Louis Capet of this decree, and talse the necessary measures to as- 
 sure its execution within twenty-tour hours, to commence from ita 
 notitication, and will make report of everything to the National 
 Convention immediately after it shall have been executed." 
 
 During its reading, the face of the king remained perfectly calm; 
 only his countenance exhibited two perfectly distincl expresbiont; 
 at the words, " guilty of conspiracy," a smile of disdain appeared 
 on his lips; and at these, " su^er the punishment of death," a look 
 ■which seemed to put the condemned into communication with God 
 ■was turned to heaven. 
 
 The reading finished, the king took a step toward Grouvelle, took 
 the decree from his hands, folded it, placed it in his portfolio, and 
 took from it another paper, which he pretented to Minister Garat, 
 saying: 
 
 " Monsieur le Ministre de Justice, 1 pray you to immediately 
 deliver this letter to the National Convention. 
 
 And as the minister appeared to hesitate: 
 
 " 1 will read it for you," said the king. 
 
 And he read the letter in a voice which formed a striking con- 
 trast to Grouvelle's: 
 
 " 1 ask a delay of three days to prepare myself to appear bef ore- 
 God; I ask for that purpose authorization to see freelj' the person 
 whom I shall indicate to the commissioners of the commune, and 
 that this person shall be guartciteed against all fear and inquietude, 
 on account of the act of charity which he shall perform for me. I 
 ask to be delivered from tlie constant surveillance which the general 
 council has established for some days past. 
 
 " 1 ask, in that interval, to be permitled to see my family when 
 I shall request it., and without witnesses; I would greatly desire 
 thai the National Convention would occupy itself immediately with 
 the fate of my family, and that it would permit them to retire free- 
 ly whither they may see fit. 
 
 " I recommend to the benevolence of the nation all the persons 
 connected with me; there are a great many of them who have pul 
 their whole fortune in their places, and who, having no longer any 
 salaries, must be in want. Among the pensioners there were a 
 great many old men, women, and children who had but that ta 
 live upon. 
 
 " Done at the tower of the temple, the 20th of January, 1793. 
 
 " Louis." 
 
 Garat took the letter. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, " this letter shall be delivered to the con^ 
 Tention this very instant." 
 
 Tlien the king again opened his portfolio and took from it a 
 little square piece of paper. 
 
 " If the convention grants my request with regard to the person 
 ■whom 1 desire," said he, " here is his address." 
 
 The paper bore in effect this address, all in the handwriting of 
 lime. Elizabeth: 
 
 " MoNSiEUB Edsewohth de Firmont. 
 
 "No. 483RueduB«i." 
 
336 ANDRtfE DE TAVEENTET. 
 
 Then, having nothing more to say nor to hear, the king took a 
 step backward, as in the times when giving audience, he indicated 
 by this movement that the audience was terminated. 
 
 The ministers and those who accompanied tbem went away. 
 
 " Clery," said the king to his valet de chambre, wlio, feeling his 
 limbs fall him, had leaned against the wall, " Clery, order my 
 dinner." 
 
 Clery passed into the dining-room to obey the king's order; he 
 found there two municipal officers who read to him an order by 
 which it was forbidden to the king to make use of knives or forks. 
 A knife only was to be confided to Clery to cut the bread and meat 
 of his master in the presence of two commissioners. 
 
 The order was repeated to the king, Clery having refused to 
 charge himself with telling him that these' measures had been 
 taken. 
 
 The king broke his bread with his fingers and cut his meat with 
 his spoon; contrary to his custom, he eat little; the dinner only 
 lasted a few minutes. 
 
 At six o'clock the Minister of Justice was announced. 
 
 The king rose to receive him. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Garat, " I have taken your letter to the con- 
 vention, and it has charged me to notify you of the following an- 
 swer: 
 
 " ' Louis is free to call upon whatever minister of religion he 
 may think proper, and to see his family freely and without wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 " ' The nation, always great and always just, will occupy Itself 
 with the fate of his family. 
 
 " ' Proper Indemnities will be accorded to the creditors of his 
 house. 
 
 " ' The National Convention has decided the order of the day 
 with regard to the respite.' " 
 
 The king made a movement of the head and the minister retired. 
 
 " Citizen Minister," asked the municipal officers on duty, " how 
 will Louis see his family?" 
 
 " Why, in private," answered Garat. 
 
 " Impossible! By an order of the commune we must not lose 
 sight of him, neither day nor night." 
 
 The matter, in fact, was embarrassing enough. However, every- 
 thing was reconciled by deciding that the king should receive lua . 
 family in the dining-room, so as to be seen through the glass win- 
 dows of the partition; but that the door should be closed, so that 
 he would not be heard. 
 
 During this time the king was saying to Clery: 
 
 " See if the Minister of Justice is still there, and recall him." 
 
 Al tue end ot a moment the minister reentered. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the king to him, " I forgot to ask you If Mon- 
 sieur Edgeworth had been found at home, and when 1 could see 
 him." 
 
 " I have brought him with me in my carriage," said Garat. 
 " He is in the council hall, and is just coming up." 
 
 la fact, at the moment iu which th* Minister of Justice pro- 
 
AJTDBEE DE TATEENET. 3*? 
 
 »onnced these words, M. Edgeworth de Firmont appeared in the 
 f lame of the door. 
 
 CHAPTER LXm. 
 
 THE TWBNTT-FIRST OF JANTTART. 
 
 MoNSiBUB Edgewokth db Firmont was Mme. Elizabeth's con- 
 fessor. It was already six weeks ago that the king, foreseeing the 
 condemnation with which he was to be stricken, asked his sister 
 for her advice with regard to the choice of a priest who should be 
 with him in his last moments, and Mme. Elizabeth had with tears 
 advised her brother to fix upon the Abbe de Firmont. This 
 worthy ecclesiastic, of English origin, had escaped the massacres 
 of September and had retired to Choisy le Roi under the name of 
 Essex. Mme. Elizabeth knew his double address, and, having 
 given him notice at Choisy, she hoped that at the moment of the 
 condemnation he would be found in Paris. 
 
 She was not mistaken. 
 
 The Abbe Edgeworth had, as we have said, accepted Ae missioB 
 with a resigned joy. 
 
 On the 21st of December, 1792, he thus wrote to ooe of his 
 friends in England: 
 
 " ily unfortunate master has cast his eyes upon me t« prepare 
 him for death, if the wickedness of his x>eople should go so far as 
 to commit parricide. I myself am preparing for dea&, for I am 
 convinced that popular fury will never allow me to survive this 
 horrible scene one hour; but I am resigned; my life is nothing. If 
 by losing it I could save the one that God has placed for the ruia 
 and the resurrection of many, I would willingly make the sacri- 
 fice, and I would not die in vain." 
 
 Such was the man who was to leave Louis XVI. only at the mo- 
 ment he quitted the earth for heaven. The king took kim to his 
 private room and shut himself up with him. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the evening the king left his room, and, ad- 
 dressing the commissioners: 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " have the kindness to take me to my 
 family." 
 
 " "rtiat can not be," answered one of the commissioners, " but 
 we will send for them to come down, if you desire it." 
 
 " So be it," replied the king, " provided that I can see them ia 
 ■ly room, freely and without witnesses." 
 
 " Hot in your room," observed the same ofiBoer, " but in the din- 
 ing-room. This order has just been given us by the Minister of 
 Justice." 
 
 " However," said the king, " you have heard that the decree ol 
 the convention permits me to see my family without witnesses." 
 
 " That is true; you will be in private. "We will close the doo^ 
 hut will have our eyes upon you through the glass." 
 
 " It is well; proceed." 
 
 The officer went out, and the king passed into the dining-room. 
 Cleiy followed him there, putting Ute table aaide and plaung tbt 
 •fa^is at the end to give moi* room. 
 
838 ANDEEE DE TAVERNEY. 
 
 " ClSry," eald the king, "bring a little water and a glass, ia 
 case the queen should be thirsty." 
 
 There was upon the table one of those little decanters of iced 
 water wifh which a member of the commune had reproached the 
 king. Clery, therefore, only brought a glass. 
 
 " Give me ordinary water, Clery," said the king; " if the queea 
 drank iced water, as she is not accustomed to it, it might make her 
 ill. Then — wait a moment, Clery — ask, at the same time, Mon- 
 sieur de Pirmont not to leave my room. I fear that the sight of 
 him would make loo great an impression upon my family." 
 
 At half past eight the door opened. The queen came first, hold- 
 ing her son by the hand; Mine. Royale and Mme. Elizabeth fol- 
 lowed her. 
 
 The king stretched out his arms; the two women and the two 
 children, weeping, threw themselves into them. 
 
 Clery went out and closed the door. 
 
 For some minutes a mournful silence prevailed, interrupted only 
 by sobs; then the queen tried to lead the king into his room. 
 
 "No," said Louis SVI., checking her, "I can only see yotx 
 here." 
 
 The queen and royal family had heard of the sentence passed, 
 but they knew nothing of the details of the trial; the king related 
 these to them, excusing those who had condemned him, and point- 
 ing out to the queen that neither Petion nor Manuel had voted for 
 death. 
 
 The queen listened, and each time that she tried to speak burst 
 Into sobs. 
 
 God gave a compensation to the poor prisoner; He made him, in 
 liis last hours, adored by all those about him, even by the queen. 
 
 As can have been seen, in the romantic part of this work, the 
 C|ueen allowed herself to be easily drawn to the picturesque side of 
 life. She possessed that lively imagination which, much more 
 than temperament, makes women imprudent. The queen was im- 
 prudent all her life; imprudent in her friendships, imprudent in 
 her amours. Her captivity saved her in a moral point of view; she 
 came back to the pure and holy affections of the family, from 
 which the passions of hei youth nad withdrawn her, as she could 
 mever do anything unless passionately. She came to love this king 
 :in his misfortune passionately — this husband whose dull and vulgar 
 i«ides only she had seen in the days of prosperity. Varennes and 
 the 10th of August had shown Louis X VI. to her as a man without 
 initiative, without resolution, heavy, almost cowardlj ; at the tem- 
 ple she commenced to perceive that not only had the wife wrangly 
 judged her husband, but also that the queen had wrongly judged 
 <ihe king; at the temple, she saw him calm, patient at outrages, 
 .gentle and firm as a Christ; all the dry woiidliness in her softened, 
 !inelled, and turned to the profit of right feeling. Just as she had 
 •disdained too much, she loved too much. " Alas!" said the king 
 to M. de Firmont, "can it be that 1 love so much, and am so 
 itenderly loved!" 
 
 So, in his last interview, the queen allowed herself to be influ- 
 enced by a sentiment which resembled remorse. She had wished 
 to lead the king to his loom to remain there a single instant alon* 
 
ANDREE DE TATERNBT. 329 
 
 ■with him; w jen she saw that it was impossible, she drew the king 
 into the recess of a window. 
 
 There, without doubt, she was going to fall at his feet, and ia 
 the raidst of leaiB and sobs ask pardon of him; the king understood 
 all, slopped her, and diawing his will from his pocket: 
 
 " Read this, my weil beloved wife!" said he. 
 
 And with his finger he pointed out the following paragraph, 
 which the queen read in a low lone: 
 
 " I pray my wife to pardon all the ills which she suflers for me, 
 and the sorrows that 1 may have caused her in the course of our 
 union, as she can be sure that I harbor nothing against her, if she ; 
 thinks that she has anything with which to reproach herself." j 
 
 Marie Antoinette took the hands of the king and kissed them; ' 
 there was a very merciful pardon in this phrase, " as she can be sure 
 that 1 harbor nothing against her;" a delicacy truly grand in these 
 words, " if she thinks she has anything with which to reproach her- 
 self." 
 
 Thus she died peacefully, this poor royal Magdalen; her love for 
 the king, late as it was, procured for her divine and human mercy, 
 and her pardon was given to her, not in the lowest tones, mysteri- 
 ouslv, as an indulgence of which the king himself was kshamed, 
 but loudly and publicly. 
 
 Who would dare to reproach with anything her who was going 
 to present herself to posterity, doubly crowned with the halo of a 
 martyr and the pardon of her husband? 
 
 She felt that; she comprehended that henceforth, from that mo- 
 ment, she was strong before history; but she only became weaker 
 before him whom she loved so late, fully conscious that she had 
 not loved him enough. They were no longer words that escaped 
 from the breast of the miserable woman, they were solw, they were 
 broken cries. She said that she wished to die with her husband, 
 and that if they refused her that favor, she would let herself die of 
 hunger. 
 
 The officers — who were looking at this scene of grief through 
 the glass door — the officers could not endure it; ihey first turned 
 away their eyes; then, as though no longer seeing them, they still 
 heard the groanings; they allowed themselves to b^ome me> again, 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 The mournful adieus lasted an hour and three quarters. 
 
 Finally, at a quarter past ten, the king rose first; then wife, sis- 
 ter, and children hung about him like fruit upon a tree. The king 
 and the queen each held the dauphin by a hand; Mme. Royale, at 
 the left of her father, embraced his waist; Mme. Elizabeth, on the 
 same side as her niece, but a little further behind, had Jeized the 
 king's arm; the queen — and it was she who had a right to the most 
 consolation, for she was the least pure— the queen had her arm 
 placed around tlie neck of her husband, and the whole of this 
 sorrowful group walked with a uniform movement, uttering groans, 
 sobs, and cries, in the raidst of which only these words were heard: 
 
 " We frhall see one another again, shall we not?" 
 
 " Yes, yes. Be calm!" 
 
 " To-morrow morning — to-morrow morning at eightl ' 
 
 "I promise it." 
 
330 ANDREE DE TATEENET. 
 
 " But why not at seven o'clock?" asked the queen. 
 
 " Well, then, yes; at seven o'clock," said the king; " hut now, 
 adieu, adieu I" 
 
 And he pronounced this adieu with a voice so expressive that 
 one felt that he was afraid of having his courage fail him. 
 
 Mme. Koyale could endure it no longer; she gave a sigh and slid 
 to the floor — she had fainted. 
 
 Mme. Elizabeth and Clery raised her up. 
 
 The king felt that it was for him to be strong; he tore himself 
 from the arms of the queen and returned to his room, crying : 
 
 " Adieu! adieu!" 
 
 Then he closed the door behind him. 
 
 The queen, altogether entirely distracted, clung to the door, not 
 daring to ask the king to open it, but with tears and sobs striking 
 the panel with her extended band. 
 
 The king had the courage not to come out. 
 
 The officers then invited the queen to retire, renewing to her the 
 assurance which she had already received, that she could see her 
 husband the next day at seven o'clock in the morning. 
 
 Clery wished to carry Mme. Royale, still in a swoon, back to the 
 queen's apartment, but at the second step of the stairs the officers 
 stopped him, and forced him to go back again. 
 
 "The king had rejoined his confessor in the room in the tower, 
 who, at his request, related to him the manner in which he had 
 been brought to the temple. Did this recital penetrate to his mind,, 
 or did the confused words only hum in his ear, extinguished by 
 his own thoughts? It is something that no one can tell. 
 
 At any rate, this is what the abbe told him. 
 
 Forwarned by M. de Malesherbes , who had met him by appoint- 
 ment at Mme. de Benozan's, that the king was to have recourse to 
 him if he was condemned to suffer death, the Abbe Edgeworth, 
 risking the danger which he lan, had returned to Paris, and know- 
 ing the sentence pronounced on Sunday morning, was waiting in 
 the Rue du Bar. 
 
 At four o'clock in the evening, an unknown man had presented 
 himself to him, and had handed him a note couched in these 
 terms: 
 
 " The executive council, having business of the highest impor- 
 tance to communicate to Citizen Edgeworth de Firmont, invitee 
 him to call at the place for holding the sittings." 
 
 The unknown had orders to accompany the priest; a carriage 
 was waiting at the door. 
 
 The abbe descended and left with the unknown. 
 
 The carriage stopped at the Tuileries. 
 
 The abbfi found the ministers in council. On his entrance they 
 rose. 
 
 " Are you the Abbg Edgeworth de Firmont?" asked Garat. 
 
 " Yes, replied the abbe. 
 
 " Well, Louis Capet," continued the Minister of Justice, " hav- 
 ing signified to us his desire to have you near him in his last mo- 
 ments, we have sent for you to know ii you consent to render him 
 the service which he aski of you." 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVBENBT. 331 
 
 *• Since the king lias designated me," said the priest, " it is my 
 duty to obey him." 
 
 " In that case," replied the minister, " you will go with me to 
 the temple; 1 am going there directly." 
 
 And he fook the abbe into his carriage. 
 
 "We have seen how the latter, having gone through the usual 
 formalities, had come to the king; how, afterward, Liouis XVI. 
 had been visited by his family, and then had returned to the AbbS 
 Edgeworth, of whom he had asked the details which we have just 
 read. 
 
 When the recital was finished: 
 
 "Monsieur," said the king, "let us now forget everything, to 
 think of the great, the sole business of my salvation." 
 
 " Sire," answered the abbe, " 1 am ready to do my best, and I 
 hope that Grod will supply the place of the little merit that I have; 
 but do you not think that it would, in the first place, be a great 
 consolation for you to hear mass and take the communion?" 
 
 " Yes, without doubt," said the king; " and believe me that I 
 would feel all the preciousness of such a favor; but how will you 
 obtain it?" 
 
 " That concerns me, sire, and I insist upon proving to your maj- 
 esty that I am worthy of the honor he has done me in choosing me 
 for his support. Let the king give me carte blanche and I will an- 
 swer for everything." 
 
 "Go, then, monsieur," said Louis XVI. 
 
 Then shaking his head: 
 
 " Go," repeated he; " but you will not succeed." 
 
 The abbe bowed, and went out, asking to be conducted to the 
 council hall. 
 
 " He who is to die to-morrow," said the Abbe Edgeworth to the 
 commissioners, " desires, before his death, to hear mass and to con- 
 fess him?elf." 
 
 The ofQcers looked at one another in utter astonishment; it had 
 never even entered their mind that it was possible for such a re- 
 quest to be made. 
 
 " And where the devil, " said they, " are you to fiad a priest and 
 church ornaments at this hour?" 
 
 " The priest is found since I am here," said the abbe; " as for 
 the ornaments, the nearest church will furnish them; it is only a 
 question of sending after them." i 
 
 The oflBcers hesitated. 
 
 " But," said one of them, " if this were a trap?" 
 
 " What trap?" asked the abbe. 
 
 " If, under the pretext of administering the communion to the 
 king, you are going to poison him?" 
 
 Abbe Edgeworth looked fixedly at him who had given utterance 
 to the doubt. 
 
 "Hear me, I beg of you," continued the officer. "History 
 furnishes us examples enough in this respect, to oblige us to be cir- 
 cumspect." 
 
 " Monsieur!" said the abbe, " I was searched so thoroughly whea 
 I came here, that every one ought to be convinced that I have in- 
 Iroduced no poison here; if, then, I liftT« any to-morrow, it is from 
 
333 AXDREE DE TATERNET, 
 
 you that I shall have received it, since nothing can come to me 
 ■witljC'U! passing through your hands." 
 
 They convoked the absent members and deliberated. 
 
 The request was granted upon two conditions: the first was. that 
 the abbe should draw up a petition which he should sign with his 
 own name; the second, that the ceremony should be finished the 
 next morning at seven o'clock at the latest, as the prisoner was at 
 precisely eight o'clock to be conducted to the place of execution. 
 
 The abbe wrote his petition and left it upon the desk; then he 
 was taken back to the king, to whom he announced the good news 
 that his request was granted. 
 
 It was ten o'clock; the Abb§ Edgeworth remained closeted with 
 the king until midnight. 
 
 At midnight the king said: 
 
 " Monsieur I'Abbe, 1 am tired; I would like to sleep. I hare 
 aeed of strength for to-morrow." 
 
 Then he called twice: 
 
 "Clery! Cleryl" 
 
 Clery entered, undressed the king, and wished to roll up his hair, 
 but the latter said, with a smile: 
 
 " It is not worth the trouble." 
 
 Upon which he lay down, and as Clery was drawing the curtains 
 of the bed, said: 
 
 " You will awaken me at six o'clock." 
 
 Scarcely was his head upon the pillow when the prisoner fell 
 asleep; such a power had material wants over this man. 
 
 M. de Firmont threw himself upon Clery's bed, who himself 
 passed the night upon a chair. 
 
 Clery slept a sleep full of terrors and starts; in this way he heard 
 five o'clock strike. 
 
 He immediately arose and commenced to light the fire. 
 
 The king awoke at the noise he made. 
 
 " Eh, Cleryl" asked he, " has five o'clock struck?" 
 
 " Sire," answered the valet de chambre, " it has by many clocks, 
 but not yet by the manielpiece clock." 
 
 And he approached the bed. 
 
 " I have slept well," said the king. " I had need of it; yester^ 
 day had fatigued me horribly. Where is Monsieur de Firmont?" 
 On my bed, sire." 
 
 " On your bed! And where have you yourself passed the night?" 
 
 " On this chair." 
 
 " I am sorry for it. You must have been uncomfortable." 
 
 " Oh, sirel" said Clery, " could I think of myself in such a mo- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Ah, my poor Cl§ryl" said the king. 
 
 And he extended to him his hand, which the weeping valet d« 
 chambre kissed. 
 
 Then, for the last time, the faithful servitor commenced to dres» 
 the king. He had prepared a brown coat, breeches of gray cloth, 
 stockings of gray silk, and a quilted vest. 
 
 When the king was dressed, Clery arranged his hair. 
 
 During this time, Louis XVI. detached from his watch a seal, 
 put it in a pocket of his vest, and deposited hi» watch upon the 
 
AXDSEE DE TAVERKET. 333 
 
 chimney-piece; then, taking a ring from his finger, he put It in. 
 the same pocket in which the seal was. 
 
 At the moment when Clery was putting on his coat, the king 
 took from it pocket-book, his lorgnette, and his snuff-box, and 
 placed them upon the chimney-piece, as well as his purse. 
 
 All these preparations were made in the presence of the mu- 
 nicipal officers, who had entered the condemned man's room as soon 
 as they perceived a light there. 
 
 Half past five struck. 
 
 " Olery," said the king, " awake Monsieur de Pirmont." 
 
 II. de Firmont was awake, and had risen. He had heard tlM 
 •rder given to Clery, and entered. 
 
 The king saluted him with a gesture, and prayed him to follow 
 him into his room. 
 
 Then Clery made haste to arrange the altar. It was the chest of 
 drawers covered with a table-cloth. As to the sacredotal orna- 
 ments, they had been found, as the Abbe Edgeworth had said, in 
 the first church to which application was made; this church was 
 that of the Capucins du Marais, near the Hotel Soubise. 
 
 The altar arranged, Clery went to inform the king. 
 
 " Will you be able to assist the priest at the mass?" Louis asked 
 him. 
 
 " I hope so," answered Clery, " only I do not know the responses 
 by heart." 
 
 Then the king gave him a mass-book, which he opened at the 
 Introit. 
 
 M. de Firmont was already in Clety's room, where he was dress- 
 ing himself. 
 
 In front of the altar, the valet de chambre had placed a fauteuil, 
 and had put a large cushion before the fauteuil ; but the king made 
 him take it away, and went himself to get a small one covered with 
 hoise-hair, which he ordinarily used when saying his prayers. 
 
 As soon as the priest entereld, the olfioers, who, no doubt feared 
 to be contaminated by a churchman, retired to the ante-chamber. 
 
 It was six o'clock; the mass commenced. The king heard it 
 from one end to the other on his knees, and with the most pro- 
 found composure. After mass he took the communion, and the 
 Abbe Edgeworth, leaving him to his prayers, went into the next 
 room to divest himself of his priestly garments. 
 
 The king profited by this moment to thank Clery, and to bid him 
 adieu; then he returned to his room. Monsieur rejoined him 
 there. 
 
 Clery sat down on his bed and commenced weeping. 
 
 At seven o'clock the king called. 
 
 Clery ran to him. 
 
 Louis XVI. drew him into the embrasure of a window, and said 
 to him: 
 
 " You will give this seal to my son, and this ring to my wife 
 Say to them that I leave them with pain. This little package con- 
 tains the hair of all our family. You will also give this to the 
 queen." 
 
 " Bat," asked Clery, " will you not ace h«r again, ■ire?" 
 
834 ANDREB DE TATERWEY. 
 
 The king hesitated an instant, as if his heart was leaving him ta 
 go to her; then: 
 
 "No," said he, decidedly; "no. I promised, I know, to ses 
 them this morning, but I wish to spare them the grief of such a 
 cruel situation. C!lery, if you see them again, you will tell them 
 how much it has cost me to leave them without receiving their last 
 embraces." 
 
 At these words the king wiped away his tears. 
 
 Then he said, with the most dolorous accent: 
 
 " Clery, you will make them my last adieus, will you not?" 
 
 And he re-entered his room. 
 
 The oflicers had seen the king hand to Clery the different object* 
 we have mentioned; one of them demanded them, but another 
 proposed to let Clery keep them until the decision of the council. 
 
 This proposition prevailed. 
 
 A quarter of an hour afterward the king came again out of hi« 
 private room. 
 
 Clery was there at his orders. 
 
 " Clery," said he, " ask if I can have a pair of scissore.'' 
 
 Then he went back into the room. 
 
 " Can the king have a pair of scissors?" asked ClSry of the 
 officers. 
 
 " What does he want to do with them?" 
 
 " I do not know; ask him." 
 
 One of the officers entered the room; he found the king on his 
 knees before M. de Pirmont. 
 
 " You have asked for a pair of scissors; what do you want to do 
 with them?" 
 
 " For C16ry to cut my hair," answered the king. 
 
 The officer descended to the council chamber. 
 
 They deliberated half an hour, and at the end of the half hour 
 refused the scissors. 
 
 The officer went upstairs again. 
 
 " The council has refused," said he. 
 
 " I would not have touched the scissors," said the king; " and 
 Cliry would have cut my hair in your presence. See yet, mon- 
 sieur, if it can be done, I pray you." 
 
 The officer went down again to the council, and anew laid be- 
 fore it the king's request; but the council persisted in its refusal. 
 
 Then an officer, ap()roaching Clery, said to him : 
 
 " I believe that it is time lor you to be making preparations t« 
 accompany the king to the scafEold." 
 
 " Good heavens! for what?" asked Clery, all trembling. 
 
 " Eh! no," said another; " the executioner is enough for that!" 
 
 Day began to break; the general resounded, beaten in all sections 
 of Paris; this movement and this noise reverberated even to the 
 tower, and froze the blood in the veins of the Abbe Firmont and 
 Clery. 
 
 But the king, calmer than they, listened an instant, and said, 
 ■without emotion: 
 
 "It is probably the National Guard, which is beginning to as- 
 semble." 
 
 gome time afterward, the detachments of cavalry entered th« 
 
AKDREE DE TAVEKNET. 335 
 
 «ourt-yard of the temple; th^ could hear the stamping of tb( 
 horses, and the voices of the offlcers. 
 
 The king listened again, and said, with the same calmness: 
 
 " It seems they are coming this way." 
 
 From seven to eight o'clock in the morning, people came at 
 different times and on different pretexts, and knocked at the dooi 
 of the king's private room. And each time M. Edgeworth trem- 
 bled at its being the last; but each time Louis XVI. rose, without 
 any emotion whatever, went to the door, answered tranquilly th« 
 persons who came to interrupt him, and returned and sat down by 
 bia confessor. 
 
 Jl. Edgeworth did not see the persons who came, but he caught 
 •ome of their words. Once he heard one of the interrupters, who 
 said to the prisoner: 
 
 " Oh I ohl All this was very well when you were king, but you 
 are one no longerl" 
 
 The king returned with the same expression of face, only ha 
 «aid: 
 
 " See how these people treat me, mon p6re. But it is necessary 
 to be able to know how to endure everything." 
 
 Some one knocked again and again. The king went to the door; 
 this time he came back, saying: 
 
 " These people see daggers and poison everywhere; they know 
 very little about me. To kill myself would be weakness; they 
 would think that I do not know how to die." 
 
 Finally, at nine o'clock, the noise increased, the doors opened 
 with a crash, Santerre entered, accompanied by seven or eight 
 ofScers, and by ten gendarmes, who drew themselves up in two 
 lines. 
 
 At this moment, without waiting for any one to knock at thu 
 door of the room, the king came out. 
 
 " You have come for me?" said he. 
 
 "Tes, monsieur." 
 
 " I ask one minute." 
 
 And he went in again, closing the door. 
 
 " This time all is finished, mon p6re," said he, throwing himself 
 at the feet of the Abbe de Firmont. " Give me your last blessing, 
 then, and pray God that He will sustain me even unto the end!" 
 
 The blessing given, the king rose, and, opening the door, ad- 
 Tanced toward the offlcers and the gendarmes, who were in th« 
 middle of the bed-chamber. 
 
 All had their hats on their heads. 
 
 " My hat, Clery," said the king. 
 
 Clfery, all in tears, hastened to obey. 
 
 "Is there among you," asked Louis XVI., " some member of 
 the commune? Ton, I think?" 
 
 And he addressed himself, in fact, to an officer named Jamea 
 Roux, a priest, who had taken the oath. 
 
 " What do you want of me?" said the latter. 
 
 The king drew his wUl from his pocket. 
 
 " Ipray you to give this paper to the queen — to my wife." 
 
 " We have not come here to take your commissions," •oiweied 
 James Boux, " but to conduct you to the scsflold." 
 
336 ATIIDEEE DB TAVBBNBT. 
 
 The king received the insult with the same humility as Christ 
 ■would have done, and with the same gentleness as the God-man; 
 turning toward another officer name Gobeau: 
 
 " And yoii, monsieur," asked he; " will you too refuse me?" 
 
 And, as GolK-au appeared to hesitate: 
 
 " Oh!" said the king, " it is my will; you can read it; there are 
 even provisions contained in it with which I desire the commune 
 obould become acquainted." 
 
 The officer took the paper. 
 
 Then, seeing Ulery, wlio, fearing, like the valet de chambre of 
 Charles 1., that his master would tremble with cold, and that they 
 •would think that it was from fear — seeing, we say, Clery, who 
 brought him not only the hat he had asked for, but also his over- 
 coat: 
 
 " No, ClSry," said he, " give me only my hat." 
 
 Clery gave him the hat, and Louis XVI. improved this oppor- 
 tunity of pressing for the last time the hand of his faithful .servant. 
 
 Then, with that tone of command which he had so rarely used 
 in his life: 
 
 " Let us go, gentlemen," said he. 
 
 These were the last words which he pronounced in his apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Upon the stairs he met the concierge of the tower, Mathay, 
 whom, two days before, he had found seated before the fire, and 
 whom he had asked, in a somewhat brusque tone, to give him his 
 place. 
 
 " Mathay," said he, "I was, the day before yesterday, a little 
 hasty with you; do not owe me any ill-will for that." 
 
 Mathay turned his back to him without answering. 
 
 The king crossed the first court-yard on foot; and while crossing 
 the couit-yard he turned two or three limes to say adieu to his only 
 love, his wife; to his only friend, his sister; and to his only joy, 
 his children. 
 
 At the entrance of the court-yard was a hackney coach painted 
 green; two gendarmes held the door open. At the approach of the 
 condemned, one of them entered first and placed himself upon the 
 front seat; the king afterward got in and made a sign to 51. Edge- 
 worth to sit at his side on the back seat; the other gendarme took, 
 his place, the last, and closed the door. 
 
 Two rumors were then current: the first was, that one of these 
 two gendarme* was a disguised priest; the second was, that both 
 of them had received orders to assassinate the king at the slightest 
 attempt which should be made to rescue him. Neither the one 
 ao2 \.he other of these two assertions rest upon a solid basis. 
 
 At a quarter past nine the procession moved. 
 
 One word more with regard to the queen, Mme. Elizabeth, and 
 the two children, whom the king had, as he was going awaj, 
 saluted with a last look. 
 
 The evening before, after that interview, at once sweet and ter- 
 rible, the queen had scarcely the strength to undress the dauphin 
 and put him to bed. She had, all dressed, thrown herself on her 
 bed, and during this long winter night Mme. Elizalieth and Mme. 
 Boyale had heard her »hiv«r with cold and with grief. At a quar 
 
ANDEEE DB TAVEBNEy. 337 
 
 ter after six the door of the f remifer ■was opened, and some one' 
 camp to look foi a mass-book. From this moment, the whole 
 family was prepared, believing, after the promise made the night 
 before by the king, that he intended coming down; but the time 
 passed. The queen and the princess, always staudiug, heard the 
 different noises wliich had left the king calm, and made his valet 
 de chambre and his confessor tremble. They heard tlie noise of the 
 doors opening and closing; they heard the cries of the populace, 
 who welcomed the coming out of the king; they heard, finally, the 
 increasing noise of the horses and of the cannons. 
 
 The queen then fell upon a chair, murmuring: " He has gon» 
 ■without bidding us farewell." 
 
 Mme. Elizabeth and Mme. Royale sunk on their knees before 
 her. 
 
 Thus all their hopes had flown one by one. First, they had 
 hoped for banishment or the prison, and this hope had vanished; 
 then a respite, and this hope had vanished; finally, they no longer 
 hoped for anything, but an attack upon the route, and that hope 
 was also about 1o vanish. 
 
 " My Grod! my God! my God!" cried the queen; and in this last 
 appeal of despair to the divinity, the poor woman exhausted i... her 
 remaining strength. The carriage was rolling on during this time, 
 and had arrived at the boulevard. 
 
 The streets were almost deserted, the shops half closed; no one 
 at the doors, no one at the windows. 
 
 An order of the commune forbid all citizens, not forming a part 
 of the armed militia, passing through the streets which led to the 
 iDoulevard, or to show themselves at the windows when the pro- 
 cession passed. 
 
 A lowering and foggy sky, besides, exposed to view only a forest 
 of pikes, in the midst of wh ch shone some few bayonets. Before 
 the carrisge marched the horsemen, and before the horsemen a 
 multitude of drums. • 
 
 The king had wished to confer with his confessor, but he could 
 not, on account of the noise. The Abbe de Firmont lent him hi» 
 breviary. He read. 
 
 At the Porte St. Denis he raised his head, thinking he heard some 
 peculiar cries. 
 
 In fact, a dozen young men rushed from the Rue Beauregard, 
 cutting through the crowd, sabers in hand, and crying: 
 
 " Come witli us, those who wish to save ihe king!" 
 
 Three thousand sworn men should have answered this appeal 
 made by ihe Baron de Batz, adventurer, conspirator; he gave the 
 signal bravely, but out of three thousand sworn men, only a few 
 answered. Baron de Batz and these eight or ten forlorn hopes of 
 royalty, seeing that there was nothing for them to do, profited by 
 the confusion caused by their attempt, and were lost in the net- 
 ■work of streets in the neighbohood of the Porte St. Denis. 
 
 It was this incident which had drawn the attenion of the king 
 from his prayers, but it was of so little importance that the car- 
 riage did not even stop. 
 
 When it stopped, at the end of two hours and ten minutes, it 
 had. arrived at the end of its '•ourso. 
 
338 ANDEEE DE TATEEKET. 
 
 As soon afi the king felt that the motion had ceased, h« letMd 
 toward the ear of the priest, and said: 
 
 " W* have arrived, monsieur, if I am not mistaken." 
 
 M. de Firmont kept silence. 
 
 At the same moment, one of the three brothers SamsoB, hangmen 
 of Paris, came to open the carriage-door. 
 
 Then the king, placing his hand upon the Abb§ de Firmont's 
 knee: 
 
 " Messieurs," said he, in the tone of a master, " I recommend 
 to you this gentleman whom you see here. Have a care that, after 
 my death, no harm is done him. It is you whom I charge to watch 
 over him.' 
 
 During this time the other executioners had come up. 
 
 " Tes, yes," answered one of them; " we will take care of him. 
 Iiet us alone for that." 
 
 Louis got out of the carriage. 
 
 The valets of the executioner surrounded him and wished to take 
 off his coat, but he repulsed them with disdain, and commenced to 
 undress himself alone. 
 
 An instant the king remained isolated in the circle which had 
 been formed, throwing his hat on the ground, taking off his coat, 
 and unloosening his cravat; but then the executioners approached 
 him. 
 
 One of tbem held a cord in his hand. 
 
 " What do you want?" said the king. 
 
 " To tie you," said the executioner who was holding the cord. 
 
 " Oh," said the king, " I will never consent to that; give that 
 up. Do what you are ordered to do; but you will not tie me! no, 
 no, never!" 
 
 The executioners raised their voices; a hand-to-hand struggle 
 was, in the eyes of the world, about to take from the victim Sie 
 paerit of six months' calmness, of courage, and of resignation, when 
 one of the three brothers Samson, moved with pity, but, however, 
 condemned to execute the horrible task, approached, and in a r»- 
 spectful tone: 
 
 " Sire," said he, " with this handkerchief — " 
 
 The king looked at his confessor. 
 
 "The latter made an effort to speak. 
 
 " Sire," said the Abbe de Firmont, " this will be one more point 
 •f resemblance between your majesty and the God who is about to 
 le your reward." 
 
 "The king raised his eyes with a supreme expression of grief. 
 
 " Surely," said he, " no less than his example is necessary for 
 me to submit to such an outrage." 
 
 And, turning toward the executioners, extending to them his 
 resigned hands: 
 
 "Do what you will," added he, " I will drain the cup to the 
 dregs." 
 
 The steps of the scaffold were high and slippery; he mounted 
 them, supported by the priest. For an instant the latter, feeling 
 the weight with which he leaned upon his arm, feared some weak- 
 ness in thiB last moment; but when 1m came to the last step, th» 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVEENET. 339 
 
 king escaped, so to say, from the hands of his confessor, as the soul 
 escapes from the body, and ran to the other end of the platform. 
 
 He was very much flushed, and never had he appeared so lively 
 nor so animated. 
 
 The drums were beating; he imposed silence upon them with a 
 look. Then, with a strong voice, he pronounced the following 
 words : 
 
 " I die innocent of all the crimes which have been imputed to 
 me; I pardon the authors of my death, and I pray Goo that the 
 blood you are about to shed may never fall upon France." ' 
 
 " Beat, drums!" said a voice which was for a long time believed 
 to be Santerre s, and which was that of M. de Beauf ranchet, Count 
 d'Oyat, bastard son of Louis XV. and the courtezan Morphise. 
 
 He was the natural uncle of the condemned. 
 
 The drums beat. 
 
 The king stamped with his foot. 
 
 " Be silent!" cried he, ^ith a terrible accent. " I have yet some- 
 thing to say." 
 
 But the drummers continued their roll. 
 
 " Do your duty," howled the pikemen who surrounded the 
 scailold, addressing themselves to the executioners. 
 
 These threw themselves upon the king, who came back with slow 
 steps to the knife, casting a look upon this level-edged iron for 
 •which, a year before, he himself had furnished the design. 
 
 Then he cast a look back at the priest, who was on his knees 
 praying at the edge of the scaffold. 
 
 There was a confused movement behind the two posts of the 
 guillotine; the lever was turned, the head of the condemned ap- 
 peared at the sinister opening, a flash of light shone out, a dull 
 thud was heard, and nothing was seen but a broad jet of blood. 
 
 Then one of the executioners, picking up the head, showed it to 
 the people, sprinkling the sides of the scaffold with the royal blood. 
 
 At the sight of this the pikemen howled with joy, and, darting 
 forward, soaked in this blood, some their pikes, some their sabers, 
 and those who had them, their handkerchiefs. Then they cried 
 " Vive la Kepublique!" 
 
 But for the first time, this grand cry, which had made the peo- 
 ple tremble with joy, died away without an echo. The Republic 
 had on its forehead one of those fatal stains which would never be 
 effaced. It had just, as a great diplomatist said later, committed 
 something worse than a crime; it had just committed a blunder. 
 There prevailed in Paris a great feeling of stupor; with some it 
 amounted to despair; one woman threw herself in the Seine; a 
 wig-maker cut his throat, a librarian went mad, an old oflicer died 
 of the shock. Finally, at the opening of the sitting of tlie con- 
 vention, a letter was opened by the president; this letter was from 
 a man who asked that the body of Louis XVI. be given to him in 
 order that he might bury it next to his lather. 
 
 That body and that head remained separated from each other; let 
 ns see what became of them. 
 
 We know of no recital more terrible than the text of the procia- 
 terbal of intenneBt; here it is ae it WM d rawn up that same day: 
 
340 AWDEEE DE TATERNET. 
 
 " Prods-verbal of the Interment of Louis Capet. 
 
 " On the 21 at of January, 1793, year II. of the French Republic, 
 we, the undersigned administrators of the department of Paris, 
 empowered by the general council of the department, by virtue of 
 the decrees of the provisional executive council of the French 
 Republic, repaired, at nine o'clock in the morning, to the residence 
 of Citizen Ricave, Cure of St. Madeleine, and having found him at 
 home, we asked of him if he had provided for the measures which 
 had bieen intrusted to him the day before by the executive council 
 and by the department, for the interment of Louis Capet. He an- 
 swered that he had executed in every particular what had beea 
 ordered by the executive council and by the department, and that 
 everything was at that moment prepared. 
 
 "From thence, accompanied by Citizens Renard and Damoreati, 
 both vicars of the parish of St. Madeleine, charged by the Citizen 
 Cure to proceed with the interment of Louis Capet, we repaired to 
 a place in the cemetery of the said parish, situated in the Rue 
 d'Anjou St. Honore, and there being, we witnessed the execution 
 of the orders given by us the day before to the Citizen Oure, by 
 virtue of the commission which we had received from the council 
 general of the department. 
 
 " Soon afterward there was deposited in the cemetery, in our 
 presence, the dead body of Louis Capet, which we recognized to 
 be entire in all its members, the head being separated from the 
 trunli; we remarked that the hair of the back part of the head 
 had been cut, and that the body was without cravat, coat, and 
 shoes, as to the rest, it was clothed In a shirt, a quilted vest, a pair 
 of breeches of gray cloth, and a pair of gray silk stockings. 
 
 " Thus clothed, it was placed in a coUin, which was lowered into 
 a grave, which was Instantly filled up. All has been done and 
 executed in a manner conformable to the orders give by tlie pro- 
 visional executive council of the French Republic, and we have 
 signed with Citizens Ricave, Renard, and Damoreau, Cure and 
 Vicars of St. Madeleine. 
 
 " Leblanc, ] 
 
 ••dImoreau, I idministrato,-sof 
 " RiCAYE, I ''^ Department 
 
 " Rknakd. J 
 
 Thus, on the 21st of January, 1793, died and was buried King 
 Louis XVI. 
 
 He was thirty-nine years, five months, and three days old; he 
 had reigned eighteen years; he had remained a prisoner five months 
 and eight days. 
 
 His last wish was not accomplished, and his blood has fallen 
 back not only on France, but upon all Europe. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 AN ADVICE OF CAGLIOSTRO. 
 
 The evening of that terrible day, while the pikemen were run- 
 ning about the deserted and illuminatwi streets of Paris, rendered 
 
ANDREB DE TAVERNEY. 341 
 
 Btill more gloomy by their illumination, and carrying at the end of 
 their arms the rags" ot handkerchiefs and shirts stained willi red, 
 and crying, "The tyrant is deadi Look at the blood of the 
 tyrant!" — two men occupied the first floor of a house in the Ru« 
 St. Honore, in equal silence, but iu very difEerent attitudes. 
 
 One of them, clad in black, was seated before a table, his hewi 
 resting between his hands, and plunged in a profound reverie — ii 
 might be in profound grief. The other, clothed in the costume of 
 a couulryman was walking up and down with long strides, with » 
 somber eye, wrinkled forehead, and with his arms crossed upoa 
 his breast; only each time that, io his walk, which cut the rooa 
 \ diagonally in two. the latter passed near the table, he cast stealthily 
 upon the other a glance of interrogation. 
 
 How long had these two been thus? We can not say. But 
 
 ~ finally the man dressed as a countryman, with the crossed arms, 
 
 •wrinkled forehead, somber eye, appeared to grow weary of the 
 
 silence, and stopping in front of the man in black with his head 
 
 between his hands: 
 
 " Ah! so. Citizen Gilbert," said he, fixing his eyes upon him 
 whom he addressed, " that is to say I am a brigand; I, because I 
 yoted for the death of the king?" 
 
 The man in the black coat raised his eyes, shook his melancholy 
 head, and extending his hand to his companion: 
 
 " No, Billot," said he; " you are no more a brigand than I am 
 an aristocrat. You voted according to your conscience, and I 
 voted according to mine; only I voted life and you voted death. 
 Then, it is a terrible thing to take from a man that which no hu- 
 man power can give back to him." 
 
 " So, in your opinion," cried Billot, " despotism is inviolable, 
 liberty is rebellion, and there is no justice here below but for kings; 
 that is to say, for tyrants? Then, what will be left for the people? 
 The right to serve and to obey! And is it you. Monsieur Gilbert, 
 the pupil of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the citizen of the United 
 States, who says that?" 
 
 " I do not say that at all. Billot, for that •would be to utter an 
 impiety against the people." 
 
 " Come," replied Billot, " I am going to speak to you, Monsieur 
 Gilbert, with the brutality of my gross common sense, and I per- 
 mit you to answer me with all the subtlety of your cleverness. Do 
 you admit that a nation which believes itself oppressed has the 
 right to dispossess its Church, to put down or even to suppress the 
 throne, to fight and free itself?" 
 
 "Without doubt." 
 
 " Then, it has the right of consolidating the results of its vic- 
 tory?" 
 
 " Yes, Billot, it has this right, incontestably; but one consoli- 
 dates nothing with violence, with murder. Remember that it is 
 •written, ' Man, thou hast not the right to kill thy fellow-man! " 
 
 " But the king is not my fellow-man," cried Billot, " the king is 
 my enemy! I recollect when my poor mother read me the Bible, I 
 recollect what Samuel sftid to the childitn of Israel, who asked of 
 lum a king." 
 
342 ANDEBE DE TAVEKNET. 
 
 "I recollect it too, Billot; and, yet, Samuel crowned Saul and 
 did not kill him." 
 
 " Oh! I know if I enter into an argument with you as to a mat- 
 ter of science, I am lost. So I simply say this to you: Had we the 
 right to take the Uastile?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Had we the right, when the king wanted to take away from 
 the people freedom'ot deliberation, to make the day of the Jeu de 
 PauraeV" 
 
 " Yus." 
 
 " Had we the right, when the king wanted to intimidate the 
 Constituent Assembly by the f6te of the body-s:uard, and by an as- 
 sembling of troops at Versailles, had we the right to go after the 
 king at Versailles and bring him back to Paris?'^ 
 
 " Yes " 
 
 " Had we the right, when the king tried to fly and pass over t« 
 the enemy, had we the right to arrest him at Varennes?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Had we the right, when, after he had sworn to the Constitution 
 of 1791, we saw the king coming to terms with evtigreji and conspir- 
 ing with foieigners, had we the right to make the 30th of June?" 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " Had we the right, when, shut up in the temple, the king con- 
 tinued to be a living conspiracy against libertj-; had we, or had we 
 not, the right to arraign him before the National Convention ap- 
 pointed to judge him?" 
 
 " You had it." 
 
 " If we had the right to judge him, we had the right to condemn 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, to exile, to banishment, to perpetual prison, to everything 
 except to death." 
 
 " And why not to death?" 
 
 " Because, guilty in tlie result, he was not in the intention. You 
 judge him from the standpoint of the people, you do, my dear 
 Billot; he acted from the standpoint of royalty. Was he a tyrant, 
 as you call him? No. Was he an oppressor of the people? No. 
 An accomplice of the aristocracy? No. An enemy of liberty? 
 
 " Then, you yourself have judged him from the standpoint of 
 royalty?" 
 
 " No; for from the standpoint of royalty 1 would have absolved 
 him." 
 
 " And have you not absolved him by voting for life?" 
 
 " Yes, but with perpetual confinement. Billot, believe me, I 
 have judged him yet more purtinlly than 1 would have wished. A 
 man of the people, or, rather, a son of the people, the balance 
 which I held m my hand has leaned to the side of the people. You 
 have looked at him from a distance, IJillot, and you have not seen 
 him as I have: ill satisfied with the part of royalty he was obliged 
 io play; pestered on one side by the assembly, whicli fouud him 
 too powerful, on another by an ambitious queen; on another by a 
 i-estlecB and humiliated nobility; on another by an implacable 
 clergy; on another by an egotistical emigration; on another, fluallf 
 
AXDKEE DE TAVKRKBT. 345 
 
 'i.> his brothers, going through the whole worlcl, to seek, in hit 
 nninc, the enemies of Iho revolution. You have said, Billot, that 
 the kins; wiis not your fellow mnn, that lie wiis your enemy. Now, 
 your enemy was viiiuiuialied, nnd one does not kill a vanquished 
 enemy. A murder in cold blood is not a judgment — it is an im- 
 molation. You liave just given to royiiltv something of martyr- 
 dom; to justice, something of vengeanee. "Take enie! tuko carel is 
 doing too much you have not done enough. Clmi)es I. was ex- 
 ecuted, nnd Charles 11. wn.s king. .Tames II. was bnnislied, and his 
 tons died in exile. Human nature is full of pathos, Billol, and we 
 have just alienated from ns for fifty years, for a liundied years, 
 perhaps, that immense part of tlie population wlio judge revolu- 
 tions with the heart. Ahl believe me, my friend, it is tCe Kepub- 
 licivns who ought to deplore tlie blood of Louis XVI. the most, for 
 tlie blood wiirfall upon tliem and will'cost them the Republic." 
 
 "There is truth in what you are saying, there, Gilbert." an- 
 swered a voire which came from the entrance door. The two men 
 trembled, and turned with one and the same movement; then, with 
 one and the same voice: 
 
 " (^agiiostrol" said they. 
 
 " Yes, my goodness, yes," answered he; " but there is also truth 
 in what Billot saiJ." 
 
 " A)iisl" answered Gilbert, " tliere is the misfortune that the- 
 cause wliieli we are pleading has a double face, and Uiat each one, 
 looking at it from his side, can say, ' I nm right." " 
 
 " Yes; but he ought also to permit himself to say that he is- 
 wrong," replied Caj^iostro. 
 
 " "i'our opinion, master?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 '• Yes, your oi^inion?" said Billot. 
 
 " You have just judged tlie accused," said Cagliostro, " and 1 
 am going to juiige the judgment. If you had loiuii niiied the king, 
 you would have been right. You have condeniued the man, and 
 you have been wrong '' 
 
 " I do not undeist'aud," said Billot. 
 
 " Listen, for I guess at it," said Gilbert. 
 
 "Yon ought to have kille<i the kinu." continued Cngliostro, 
 'when he was at Versailles or at the 'Tuileiief, unkiiown to the 
 people, behind his net-work of courtiers and his wail o' Swiss. 
 You ought to have killed him the 7tli of Oclober or the 11th of 
 August; he was a tyrant in tho<e days. But afler having k-tt him 
 live months in the temple, in communication with all, eating before 
 )all, slrt'ping under the eyes of all, comrade of Itie pmlelnrian, of 
 the workman, of the tradesman; raised by this false abasement io 
 the dignity of a man, in line, you onghtto have treated him as a 
 man—that is to say, to have banished him or imprisoned bini." 
 
 " I did not understand you," said Billot to Gilbert; " but I un- 
 derstand Citizen Cagliostro." 
 
 " Without doulit," during these live months of captivity, they tell 
 vou how touching, innocent, and wouhy of respeei he was; they 
 iell you that be was a gooii hu.sband, a good father, a good mnn. 
 The" simpletons! I thought them more .sensible than that, Qilliert. 
 They even change, they remake him; as the sculptor brings the 
 statue froB a block of marble by dikt ot blows upon it, by dint cf 
 
344: AKDKEE DE TAVEENBT. 
 
 strikins upon the prosaic, vulgar bein^, not all bad. Hot all j;ood, 
 entirely self-willed in his sensual habit, strictly devout, in the man- 
 ner, not of a lofty spirit, but of a parish church warden — see how 
 they have cut from this dull nature the statue of courage, of 
 patience, and of resignation. See bow they have placed this 
 statue upon a pedestal of grief; see how they have elevated this 
 poor liing, how they have made liim grtat, how they have crowned 
 him; see how it happened (bat his wife loved himi Ahl my dear 
 Gilbert," continued Cagliostro, bursting into a laugh, " who would 
 have said to us on the llth of July, rn the 5t,h and 6th of Oc- 
 tober, on the 10th of August, that the /(ueen would ever love her 
 husband?" 
 
 " Oh!" murmured Billot, " if I could only have guessed that!" 
 
 " Well, what would you have done. Billot?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 " What would 1 have done? I would have killed him, -whether 
 it was OB the 14th of July, the 5th and Olh of October, or on the 
 10th of August; that would have been verj easy for me." 
 
 These words were pronounced with such a somber accent of 
 patriotism, that Gilbert pardoned them a»d Cagliostro admired 
 them. 
 
 " Yet," said the latter, after a moment of Mlence; " but you did 
 not do it. You, Billot, voted for death, ari" you, Gilbert, voted 
 lor life Well, now, will you listen to a lasl piece of advice from 
 me? You, Gilbert, had yourself named a mt Tiber of the conven- 
 tion only to accomplish a duty; you. Billot, to "ccomplish a venge- 
 ance; duty and vengeance, all is accomplished, there is no need of 
 you here — leave!" 
 
 The two men stared at Cagliostro. 
 
 " Yes," he resumed, " you are, neither of y(>n, party men; you 
 are men of instinct. Now, when the king is dead the parties will 
 find themselves face to face, and once face to face, the parties will 
 destroy one another. Which will succumb the first? I know 
 nothing about it; but I know that, one after the r>ther, they will 
 succumb; to-morrow, then, Gilbert, they will impu*«. as a crime to 
 you, your indulgence, and the day after to morrow, and perhaps be- 
 fore that, to you. Billot, your severity. Believe me, in the mortal 
 struggle which is preparing between hate, fear, vengeance, fa- 
 naticism, very few will remain pure; some will stain themselves 
 irlth mud, others with blood. Leave, my friends, leave.' 
 
 " But Prance?" said Gilbert. 
 
 "Yes, France?" repeated Billot. 
 
 "France, materially, is saved," said Cagliostro; " thu enemy 
 oatside is beaten; the enemy inside is dead. However danrerous 
 the scaffold of the 21st of January may be for the future, it is in- 
 «ontestably a great power in the present — the power of acts U ""t to 
 be reconsidered 
 
 " The punishment of Louis XVL devotes France to the venge- 
 ance of thrones, and gives to the Republic the convulsive and des- 
 perate strength of nations condemned to death. Look at Athens 
 in ancient times, look at Holland in modern times. Compromises, 
 negotiations, indecisions have ceased since this morning; the revo- 
 lution holds the ax in one hand, the tricolored flag in the other. 
 Xieave in peace; before it lays dowa^M as, the aristocracy will \)» 
 
ANDEEE DE TATEEITIT. 345 
 
 dacspitated; before it lays down the tricolored flag, Europe will b« 
 conquered. Leave, my friends, leave." 
 
 " Oh," said Gilbert, " God is my witness that if the future 
 which you prophesy to me is true, 1 do not regret France. But 
 where shall we go?" 
 
 " Ungrateful I" said Cagliostro, "do you forget your second 
 country, America? do you forget those immense lakes, those virgia 
 forests, those prairies vast as oceans? Have you not need, you who 
 can rest, of the rest of nature, after these terrible agitations of so- 
 ciety?" 
 
 " Will you follow me, Billot?" s&id Gilbert, rising, 
 
 " 'Will you forgive me?" asked Billot, taking a step toward GUI. 
 bert. 
 
 The two men threw themselves in each other's arms. 
 
 " It ia well," said Gilbert; " we will leave." 
 
 " When, pray?" asked Cagliostro. 
 
 " In — in a week." 
 
 G^liostro shook his head. 
 
 " You will leave this evening." 
 
 " Why this evening?" 
 
 " Because 1 leave to-morrow." 
 
 " And where are you going?" 
 
 " Tou will know some day, my friends." 
 
 " But how can we leave?" 
 
 " The ' Franklin ' sails in thirty-six hours for America." 
 
 " But our passports?" 
 
 ■" Here they are." 
 
 "My son?" 
 
 Cagliostro went to the door and opened it. 
 
 " Come in, Sebastian; your father is calling for you." 
 
 The young man entered and threw himself into the arms of hi« 
 father. 
 
 Billot sighed profoundly. 
 
 " We only lack a post-chaise," said Gilbert. 
 
 "Mine is already, with the horses before it, at the door," an- 
 swered Cagliostro. 
 
 Gilbert went to the writing-desk which contained the common 
 purse — a thousand louis— and made a sign to Billot to take hii 
 ■hare. 
 
 " Have we enough?" said Billot. 
 
 " We have more than enough to buy a province." 
 
 Billot looked about him with embarrassment. 
 
 " What are you looking for, my friend?" asked Gilbert. 
 
 " I am looking," answered Billot, " for a thing which would be 
 ugeless to me if I found it, since I can not write." 
 
 Gilbert smiled, and took pen, inis, and paper. 
 
 " Bictate," said he. 
 
 " I wish to bid farewell to Pitou," said Billot 
 
 " I charge myself with it for you." 
 
 And Gilbert wrote. 
 
 When he had finished; 
 
 " What have you written?" eeked Billei, 
 
 Gilbert read; 
 
346 ANDEEE DB TATERKET. * 
 
 " My dbak Pitotj,— We are leaving France, Billot, BebMtiai^ 
 and I, and we embrace you tenderly, all three. 
 
 " We think that as you are at the head of Billot's farm, you will 
 be in want of nothing. 
 
 " Some day, probably, we will write for you to come and join 
 ua. Your friend, 
 
 " GlLBBRT." 
 
 " Is that all?" asked Billot. 
 
 " There is a postscript," said Gilbert. 
 
 " What?" 
 
 Gilbert looked the farmer in tjie face, and said: 
 
 " Billot commends Catherine to you." 
 
 Billot uttered a cry of gratitude, and threw himself into Gilbert's 
 arms. 
 
 Ten minutes afterward the post-chaise which carried Ailbevt, 
 Sebastian, and Billot was rolling along the road to Havre. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ■WHAT ANGK PITOU AUD CATHERINE BILLOT DID ON THE ISTH OF 
 FEBRUARY, 1793. 
 
 A LITTLE more than a year after the execution of the king and 
 the departure of Gilbert, Sebastian, and Billot, on a fine and cold 
 morning of the terrible winter of 1794, three or four hundred per- 
 sons, that is to say, the sixth part, nearly, of the population of 
 Villers Cotterets, were waiting at the square of the chSteau and in 
 the court-yard of the mayoralty for the appearance of two fiances 
 whom our old acquaintance, M. de Longpre, was about to make 
 husband and wife. 
 
 The two fiances were Ange Pitou and Catherine Billot. 
 
 Alasl very grave events must have occurred to have brought the- 
 former mistress of the Vicomte de Charny, the mother of little 
 Isidore, to becoming Mme. Ange Pitou. 
 
 These events each one recounted and commented on in his ow» 
 fashion; but in whatever fashion they commented and recounted, 
 there was not a single one or these recitals, which were current ia 
 the square, which was not to the great glory of the devotion of 
 Ange Pitou and of the discretion of Catherine Billot. 
 
 Only the more interesting the future man and wife were, the 
 more they pitied them. 
 
 Perhaps they were happier than any of the persons, male or 
 female, composing the crowd; but as a crowd is thus constituted, 
 it must always pity or envy. 
 
 On that day it pitied. 
 
 In fuct, the events predicted by Cagliostro on the evening of th» 
 2 let of January had marched with a rapid step, leaving after them 
 a long and indelible stain of blood. 
 
 On the Igt of February, 178S, the National Convention had passed 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNBT. 347 
 
 A decree ordering the creation of the sum of eight hundred millions 
 of assignats; which brought the total of the assignats issued up to 
 the sum of three thousand and one hundred millions. 
 
 On the 28th of March, 1793, the convention, upon the report of 
 Treilhard, had rendered a decree which banished forever th« 
 emigres, which declared them civilly dead, and confiscated their 
 property for the benefit of the Republic. 
 
 On the Tth of November the convention had rendered a decree 
 which charged the Commit! ee on Public Instruction to present a 
 proposition tending to substitute a civic worship conformable to 
 reason for the Catholics. 
 
 We do not mention the proscription and death of the Girondists. 
 We do not mention the execution of the Duke of Orleans, of the 
 queen, of Bailly, of Danton, of Camille Desmoulins and of many 
 others, these events having resounded even as far as Villers Cot- 
 terets, but having had no influence upon the personages with whom 
 it remains for us to occupy ourselves. 
 
 The result of the confiscation of property was that. Billot and 
 ■Gilbert being considered as emigres, their property had been con- 
 fiscated and put up tor sale. 
 
 It was the same with the property of the Count de Charny, killed 
 the 10th of August, and of the countess, massacred the ad of Sep- 
 tember. 
 
 In consequence of this decree, Catherine had been put out-of- 
 doors at the Pisselieu farm, which was considered as national prop- 
 erty. 
 
 Pitou had been anxious to claim the farm in the name of Cath- 
 ■erine, but Pitou had become a moderate. 
 
 Pitou was a little under suspicion, and the prudent persons gave 
 him the advice not to put himself in opposition, either in action or 
 in thoughts, to the orders of the nation. 
 
 Catherine and Pitou had then retired to Haramont. Catherine 
 had at first entertained the idea of going to live, as before, in the 
 hut of Father Clovis; but when she presented herself at the door of 
 the ex-guard of M. the Duke of Orleans, he had placed his finger 
 upon his mouth as a sign of silence, and had shaken his head as a 
 sign of impossibility. 
 
 This impossibility resulted from the fact that the place was 
 already occupied. 
 
 The law with regard to the banishment of the priests who had 
 Hot taken the oath had been vigorously put in force, and as you 
 will well understand, the Abbe Fortier, not having been willing to 
 take the oath, had been banished, or, rather, had banished himself. 
 
 But he had not thought proper to cross the frontier, and his ban- 
 ishment was limited to leaving his house at Villers Cotterets, where 
 he had left Mile. Alexandrine to watch over his furniture, and 
 £oing to ask an asylum of Father Clovis, which the latter was 
 «ager to grant him. 
 
 The hut of Father Clovis, you will remember, was but a simple 
 grotto dug under the ground, which only a single person could 
 occupy, and that with but little comfort: it was, therefore, diflScuIt 
 (to add Catherine Billot and little Isidore to the Abbe Fortier 
 
 Then jou will recollect the intolerant behavior of the Abbe For- 
 
348 AKDEBE DE TAVBENIT. 
 
 tier at the death ot Mme. Billot. Catherine was not good Christiatt 
 enough to pardon the abbe for his refusui of burial to her mother, 
 and, had she been good Christian enough, the Abbe Fortier him- 
 self was too good a Catholic to pardon her. 
 
 It was necessary, therefore, to renounce the idea of living in 
 Father Clo vis's hut. 
 
 There remained the house of Aunt Angelica at Pleux, and the 
 little cottage of Pitou at Haramont. 
 
 There was no need of even thinking of Aunt Angelica's house; 
 in proportion as the revolution followed its course. Aunt Angelica 
 had become more and more crabbed, which seemed incredible, and 
 thinner and thinner, which seemed impossible. This moral and 
 physical change was the cause of the churches at Villers Cotterets, 
 as elsewhere, being closed, while waiting until a seasonable and 
 civil worship had been invented by the Committee on Public In- 
 struction 
 
 Now, the churches being closed, the hire of the chairs, which was 
 the main income of Aunt Angelica, had fallen to nothing, it was 
 this drying up of her resources which made Aunt Angelica thinner 
 and more crabbed than ever. 
 
 Let us add that she had heard the taking of the Bastile so often 
 told by Billot and Ange Pitou, that she had so often, during the 
 epoch of great events in Paris, seen the farmer and her nephew 
 leave suddenly for the capital, that she had not the least doubt but 
 that the French Revolution was conducted by Ange Pitou and 
 Billot, and that Citizens Danton, Marat, Eobespierre and others 
 were only the secondary agents of these chief leaders. There was 
 no use, therefore, of thinking of placing Catherine at Aunt An- 
 gelica's. 
 
 The little cottage of Pitou at Haramont remained. But how 
 were two people, or even three, to live in this little cottage without 
 
 fiving rise to scandal? It was more impossible than to live in 
 'ather Clovis's hut. 
 
 Pitou had therefore resolved to ask the hospitality of his friend, 
 Desire Maniquet, a hospitality which the worthy Haramontese had 
 granted him, and for which Pitou paid in all kinds of work. But 
 «U this did not give a position to poor Catherine. Pitou showed 
 her all the attentions of a friend and all the tenderness of a brother; 
 but Catherine felt that it was neither as a brother nor as a friend 
 that Pitou loved her. 
 
 Little Isidore felt this also; he, poor child, who, never having 
 had the happiness of knowing his father, loved Pitou as he would 
 have loved the Comte de Charny — better, perhaps, for we must 
 confess that Pitou was the adorer of the mother, but he was the 
 slave of the child. 
 
 One would have said that he understood, the clever strategist, 
 that tliere was but one way to enter into Catherine's heart; that was 
 to enter it at the heels of Isidore. 
 
 But let us make haste to say it, no calculation of this kind tar- 
 nished the purity of honest Pitou's feelings. Pitou has remained 
 such as we have seen him, that is to say, the ingenuous and devoted 
 lad of the first chapters of our book, and if a change had ttikea 
 
ANDEEE DE TAVERNET. 349 
 
 place in him, it was that upon attaining his majority Pitou had 
 become yet more devoted and more candid than ever. 
 
 All these qualities moved Catherine to tears. 
 
 She fell that Pitou loved her arden'ly, loved her to adoration, 
 even to fanaticism; and sometimes she said to herself that she would, 
 ■willingly recognize such a great love, such a complete devotion, by 
 a senlimeDt more lender than of friendship. 
 
 By dim of saying this it happpened that, little by little, poor 
 Catheiine, feeling herself — with the exception of Pitou — completely 
 Isolated in this world; comprehending that, if she should die, her 
 poor child — still with the exception of Pitou — would be left alone. 
 
 It happened that, little by little, (Catherine had come to give to 
 Pitou the sole reward that was in hei power to give; to give him 
 her friendship and her person. 
 
 Alas! her love, that brilliant and perfumed flower of youth, her 
 love, now, was in heaven! 
 
 Nearly six months passed, during which Catheriue, hardly con- 
 scious yet of this thought, kept it in a corner of her mind rather 
 than in the bottom of her heart. 
 
 During these six months Pitou — who, although each day received 
 with a sweeter smile, although bidden good-bye each evening by a 
 more tender grasp of the hand — had not entertained the idea that 
 such a sudden change in the feelings of Catherine could occur in 
 his favor. But it was not in the hope of a reward that Pitou was 
 devoted, that Pitou was loving: Pitou, although he was ignorant of 
 the feelings of Catherine toward him, was none the less devoted to 
 Catherine, none the less in love with Catherine. 
 
 And that would have lasted thus until the death of Catherine or 
 of Pitou, had Piiou attained the age of Philemon and Catherine 
 that of Baucis, without causing the least alteration in the feelings 
 of the Captain of the National Guard of Haramont. 
 
 So it was tor Catherine to speak first, as women speak. 
 
 One evening, instead of giving him her hand, she gave him her 
 forehead. 
 
 Pitou thought this was absence of mind on Catherine's part; h« 
 was too honest a man to profit by absent-mindedness. 
 
 He drew back a step. 
 
 But Catherine had not let go his hand; she drew him to her and 
 offered, not her forehead, but her cheek 
 
 Pitou hesitated still more. 
 
 Seeing which, little Isidore said : 
 
 " But kiss Mamma Catherine, Papa Pitou." . 
 
 "OhI good heavens!" murmured Pitou, growing pale, as if 
 he were going to die. 
 
 And he placed his cold and trembling lips upon Catherine's 
 cheek. 
 
 Then, taking her child, she placed him in Pitou's arms. 
 
 " I give you the child, Pitou; will you take the mother with 
 him?" said she. 
 
 This time Pitou's head turned; he closed his eyes, and pressing 
 the child against his bieast, he fell upon a chair, crying out with 
 tb»t delicacy of heart whioli the heart alone can appreciate: 
 
350 ANDREE DE TATERNET. 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur Isidore! oh, my dear Monsieur Isidore, how I 
 love you!" 
 
 Isidore called Pitou Papa Pitou; but Pitou called the son of the 
 Vicomte de Charny M. Isidore. 
 
 And then, as he felt that it was above all for love of her son that 
 Catherine was willing to love him, he did not say to Catherine: 
 
 " Oh, how I love you. Mademoiselle Catherine!" 
 
 But he said to Isidore: 
 
 " Oh, how I love you, Monsieur Isidore!" 
 
 This point fixed, that Pitou loved Isidore yet more than Cather- 
 ine, tliey spoke of the wedding. 
 
 " I do not press you. Mademoiselle Catherine; take your time; 
 but if you wish to make me happy, do not put it off too long." 
 
 Catherine took a month. 
 
 At the end of three weeks, Pitou, in full uniform, went respect- 
 fully to pay a visit to Aunt Angelica, with the view of informing 
 her of his approaching union with Mile. Catherine Billot. 
 
 Aunt Angelique saw her nephew coming from a distance, and 
 made haste to lock the door. 
 
 But Pitou •ontinued none the less to approach the inhospitable 
 door, at which he rapped gently. 
 
 " Who is there?" asked Aunt Angelica, in her most supercilious 
 voice. 
 
 " I, your nephew. Aunt Angelica." 
 
 " Go your way, SeptemberistI" said the old woman. 
 
 "Aunt," continued Pitout, " I have come to announce to you 
 some news that can not fail to be agreeable to you, since it makes 
 me happy." 
 
 " And what is this news. Jacobin?" 
 
 " Open your door, and I will tell you." 
 
 " Tell me through the door. I do not open my door to a sans- 
 culotte like you." 
 
 " This is your last word, aunt?' 
 
 " This is my last word." 
 
 " Well, my little aunt, I am going to be married." 
 
 The door was opened as it by enchantment. 
 
 " And to whom, poor wretch?" 
 
 " To Mademoiselle Catherine Billot," answered Pitou. 
 
 "Ah, wretch! ah, infamous wretch!" said Aunt Angelica, "he 
 18 going to marry a ruined girl. Go away, poor wretch! I curse 
 you!" 
 
 And with a gesture full of nobility. Aunt Angelica stretched out 
 her two yellow, dry hands toward her nephew. 
 
 " Aunt," said Pitou, " you understand that I am too much ac- 
 customed to your curses to have them affect me more than the 
 others have. Now, I owed you the civility of announcing my 
 marriage to you; I have announced it to you; the civility has been 
 performed. Adieu, Aunt Angelica." 
 
 And Pitou, bringing his hand in military fashion to his three- 
 cemered hat, made his bow to Aunt Angelica, and took his waj 
 across Le Pleux. 
 
▲NDBEE DE TAVEBI7ST. 3€1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON THE EFFECT PRODUCED UPON AUNT ANGELICA BY THE AN- 
 NOUNCEMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF HBR NEPHEW WITH 
 CATHERINE. 
 
 PiTOU had to inform M. de Longpre, who lived in the Rue de ' 
 rOrmet, of his future marriage. M. de Longpre, less prejudiced 
 against the Billot family than Aunt Angelica, congratulated Pitou 
 upon the good act he was performing. 
 
 Pitou listened, utterly astonished. He did not comprehend that 
 in securing his happiness he was at the same time doing a good act. 
 
 As for the rest, Pitou, pure Republican, was more than ever 
 grateful to the Republic, all delays being done away with by the 
 fact of the doing away with marriages in the church. 
 
 It was, therefore, understood between M. de Longpre and Pitou 
 that the Saturday tcllowing Catherine Billot and Ange Pitou should 
 be married at the mayoralty. 
 
 It was the next day, Sunday, that, by adjudication, the sale of 
 the Pisselieu farm and of the Chateau de Boursonne would take 
 place. 
 
 The price of the farm had been fixed at the sum of four hundred 
 thousand francs in assignats. 
 
 The assiguais were beginning to fall frightfully; a louis d'or was 
 worth nine hundred and twenty francs in assignats. 
 
 But no one had any longer a louis d'or. 
 
 Pitou had returned, running all the way, to announce the good 
 news to Catherine. Permission had been given to advance by two 
 days the time fixed for the marriage, and he was very much afraid 
 that this advance would vex Catherine. 
 
 Catherine did not appear vexed, and Pitou was with the angels. 
 
 Only, Catherine insisted that Pitou should make a second visit 
 to Aunt Angelica, to announce to her the precise day of the mar- 
 riage, and to invite her to be present at the ceremony. 
 
 It was the only relative that Pitou had, and although she was 
 not a very tender relative, it was necessary for Pitou to behav* 
 handsomely on his part. 
 
 Consequently, on Thursday morning, Pitou went to Villers Cot- ; 
 terets, with the intention of making a second visit to his aunt. / 
 
 Nine o'clock was striking when he came in sight of the house. 
 
 This time Aunt Angelica was not at the door, and even, as if 
 Aunt Angelica had expected Pitou, the door was closed. 
 
 Pitou thought that she had already gone out, and was delighted 
 at the circumstance. The visit was paid, and a very tender and 
 respectful letter would supply the place of the speech which he iti- 
 tended to make to her. 
 
 But as Pitou was a. lad, conscientious above everything, he 
 knocked at the door, closed as it was, and no one answering to his 
 knocks, he called out. 
 
 At the douUe noise that Pitou made^ calling and knocking, a 
 neighbor appeared. 
 
352 ANDREE DE TATEEXET. 
 
 " Ah, Mother Fagot," asked Pitou, " do you know whether my 
 auDt has gone oul t" 
 
 " Does she not answer?" asked Mother Fagot. 
 
 " No; you see for yourself; no doubt she has gone out." 
 
 Mother Fagot shook her head. 
 
 " I would have teen her go out," said she; " my door is opposite 
 hers, and it is very seldom that upon awakening she does not come 
 to us to put a little ashes in her shoes; with that, poor woman, she 
 warms herself all day. Is it not so, neighbor Farolet?" 
 
 This question was addressed to a new actor, who, in his turn, 
 opening his door at the noise, came and joined in the conversation. 
 
 " What were you sajang, Madame Fagot?" 
 
 " I say that Angelica has not gone out. Have you seen her?" 
 
 " No; and I even afiSrm that she is still in her room, for if she 
 was up and had gone out, the blinds would be open." 
 
 " That is true," said Pitou. " Ah! good heavens I can it be that 
 an accident has happened to niy poor aunt?" 
 
 " It is very possible," said IVtother Fagot. 
 
 " It is more than possible, it is probable," said M. Farolet, sen- 
 tentiously. 
 
 " Ah! upon my word, she was not very tender to me," said 
 Pitou; " but no matter, it would grieve me." 
 
 " How shall we find out about it?" 
 
 " Well," said a third neighbor, " it is not a very difficult thing; 
 it is only a matter of sending for Monsieur Rigolet, the locksmith." 
 
 "If it is to open the door," said Pitou, "it is useless; I was in 
 the habit of opening it with my knife." 
 
 " Well, open it, my lad," said M. Farolet; "we will be wit- 
 nesses that you have not opened it with a bad intent." 
 
 Pitou took out his knife; then, in presence of a dozen persons 
 drawn together in the court, he approached the door with a dex- 
 terity which proved that more than once he had made use of this 
 means to enter the home of his youth, and shot the bolt from the 
 staple. 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 The room was in the most complete darkness. 
 
 But, once the door opened, the light entered little by little — the 
 •ad and funereal light of a winter morning — and by this daylight, 
 somber as it was, they could distinguish Aunt Angelica lying upom 
 her bed. 
 
 Pitou called twice: 
 
 " Aunt Angelica! Aunt Angelical" 
 
 The old woman remained motionless, and did not answer. 
 
 Pitou approached and felt of the body. 
 
 " Oh!" said he, " she is cold and stifll" 
 
 They opened the window. 
 
 Aunt Angelica was dead. 
 
 " Here is a misfortune!" said Pitou. 
 
 "Well," said Farolet, "not such a great one; she didn't love 
 you very much, my boy, this Aunt Angelica." 
 
 " That is possible," said Pitou; " but 1 myself loved her." 
 
 Two great tears rolled down the cheeks of the worthy young fet 
 low. 
 
AITDREE DE TATEKNET. 35i 
 
 " Ah, my poor aunt Angelica!" said he. 
 
 And he fell upon his knees before the bed. 
 
 " Say, Monsieur Pitou," said Mother Fagot, " if you are in want 
 of anything, we are at your disposal. Indeed, one has neighbon, 
 or one hasn't them." 
 
 " Thanks, Mother Fagot. Is your boy there?" 
 
 "Yes. Hey! Fagotin!" cried the good woman. 
 
 A lad of fourteen appeared at the threshold of the door, 
 
 " Here 1 am, mother," said he. 
 
 " Well," continued Pitou, " beg him to run to Haramont, and 
 to tell Catherine not to be anxious, but that I have found Aunt 
 Angelica dead. Poor Aunt — " 
 
 Ktou dried up his fresh tears. 
 
 " And what is it that l^eeps me at Tillers Cotteretst" added he^ 
 
 " You have heard, Fagotin?" said Mother Fagot 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, decamp." 
 
 " Go through the Rue de Soissons," said the sententious Farolet, 
 " and inform Monsieur Raynal that there is a case of sudden death 
 to authenticate, thai of Aunt Angelica." 
 
 " You understand?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, mother, ' ' said the boy. 
 
 And taking to his heels, he scampered away in the direction of 
 the Rue de Soissons, which is at the end of the Pleux. 
 
 The crowd had increased; there were a hundred persons before 
 the door, each one giving his opinion upon the death of Aunt An- 
 gelica; Eome leaning toward fulminant apoplexy, others toward a 
 rupture, and others toward consumption in its last stages. 
 
 " If Pitou is not a blunderer, he will find a good pile of money 
 on the highest shelf ot a cupboard in a pet of butter, or at the bot- 
 tom of a straw mattress in a wonlen stocking." 
 
 "While this was going on, M. Raynal arrived, preceded by the 
 receiver-general. 
 
 They came to ascertain of what Aunt Angelica died. 
 
 M. Raynal entered, approached the bed, examined the corpse, 
 placed his hand upon the epigastrium and the abdomen, and de- 
 clared, to the great astonishment of all the audience, that Aont 
 Angelica had died simply of cold, and probably of hunger. 
 
 Pitou's tears redoubled at this declaration. 
 
 " Oh! poor aunt, poor aunt!" oried he: " and I, who believed 
 her rich — I am a wretch for having abandoned her! Oh, if I had 
 known that! It is not possible. Monsieur Raynal! it is not pos- 
 gjblel" 
 
 "Look in the bread-tiough, and you will see if there is any 
 bread in it; look in the wood box, and you will see if there is any 
 wood in it. I have alwayi predicted that she would die like ths^ 
 the old miser!" 
 
 They looked: there was not a stick of wood in the box, not • 
 morsef of bread in the trough. 
 
 " Oh! why did not sue tell that?" cried Pitou; " I would have 
 gone to the woods to warm her; I would have poached to feed het 
 it is your fault, too," continued the poor lad, accusing those aboot 
 hioi. " Why did you not tell me tiiat she was poor?" 
 IS 
 
354 ANDHEE DE TATEBNET. 
 
 " We did not tell you that she was poor, Monsieur Plton," »aid 
 Parolet, " for the very simple reason that everybody thought her 
 rich." 
 
 M. Rflynal had thrown the sheet over Aunt Angelica's head, and 
 was making his way to the door. 
 
 Pitou ran to liim. 
 
 " You are going away, Monsieur Raynal?" said he to him. 
 
 " And what do you want me to do here, my lad?" 
 
 " She is, then, positively dead?" 
 
 Tlie doctor shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "OhI good heavens! good heavensi" said Pitou; " and dead of 
 caldl dead of hunger!" 
 
 M. Raynal made a sign to the young man, who came to him. 
 
 " My lad," said he, 1 advise you, none the less, to look high 
 and low — you understand?" 
 
 " But, Monsieur Kaynal, since you say that she died of hunger 
 and cold — " 
 
 " Misers have been known," said M. Raynal, " who haradied of 
 hunger and cold lying upon their treasure." 
 
 Then, putting his finger upon his mouth: 
 
 " Hush!" said he. 
 
 And he went away. 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 AUNT angelica's ARM-CHAIR. 
 
 PiTOu would have, perhaps, reflected more profoundly upon 
 what M. Raynal had just said to him, had he not seen at a distance 
 Catherine running up with her child in her arms. 
 
 As soon as it was known that, according to all probability. Aunt 
 Angelica had died of hunger and cold, the eagerness on the part of 
 the neighbors to pay their last duties was a little less great. 
 
 Catherine arrived there in the nick of time. She declared that, 
 looking upon herself as Pitou's wife, it was for her to pay the last 
 duties to Aunt Angelica; which she did with the same respect with 
 which she had, poor creature, done eighteen months before for her 
 mother. 
 
 Pitou, during this time, went to order everything for the burial, 
 which was necessarily fixed for the third day after, the case of 
 sudden death not allowing Aunt Angelica to' be buried until the 
 expiration of forty-eight hours. 
 
 There was nothing more to be done than to have an understand- 
 ing with the mayor, the undertaker, and the grave-digger, religious 
 ceremonies having been suppressed with regard to burials as well 
 as marriages. 
 
 " My friend," said Catherine to Pitou, at the moment when ho 
 was taking up his hat to go to M. LongprS's after the accident 
 which had just happened, " would it not be prcper for us to poet- 
 pone our marriage for a day or two?" 
 
 " Just as you wish, Mademoiselle Catherine," said Pitou. 
 
 " Would It not look singular if, the very day you had home your 
 aunt to the grave, you should perform an act as important as that 
 o< marriage?" 
 
ANDREE DE TATERNET. 35K^ 
 
 " Tery important for me, indeed," said"Pitou, " since my hap- 
 piness is at stake." 
 
 " Well, my friend, consult Monsieur de LongprS. and wliatever 
 ke tells you to do, you will do." 
 
 " So be it, Mademoiselle Catlierine." 
 
 " And tlien, it could not but bring us ill-luck, marrying so near 
 a tomb." 
 
 " Oh!" said Pitou, " from the moment in which 1 shall become 
 your husband, I defy ill-luck to attack me." 
 
 " Dear Pitou," said Catherine, holding out her hand to him, 
 "Met us put this oS until Monday. To\i see, I am trying to recon- 
 cile your wishes as much as possible with propriety." 
 
 " All! two days. Mademoiselle Catherine? it is a very long time." 
 
 " NoDsensel" said Catherine, "when one has waited five: 
 years — " 
 
 ' ■ A great many things happen in twenty-four hours, " said Pit ou. 
 
 " It will not happen that 1 love you less, my dear Pitou; and as. 
 that is, as you pretend, the only thing that you have to fear — " 
 
 " The only one? Ah, yes, the only one Mademoiselle Cather- 
 ine." 
 
 " Well, in that case — Isidore." 
 
 " Mamma?" answered the child. 
 
 " Say to Papa Pitou, ' Have no fear. Papa Pitou; mamma loves 
 you dearly, and mamma will love you always.' " 
 
 The child repeated in his little sweet voice: 
 
 " Have no fear. Papa Pitou; mamma loves you dearly, and 
 mamma will love you always." 
 
 Upon this assurance, Pitou made no more objections to going to 
 M. Longpre's. 
 
 Pitou returned at the end of an hour; he had made arrangements- 
 for everything, burial and marriage; everything had been paid for 
 in advance. 
 
 With the remainder of his money he had bought a little wood 
 and provisions for two days. 
 
 It was time that the wood came; one can understand that, in 
 this poor house of Pleux, where the wind entered from all sidcE^ 
 one could die of cold. 
 
 On his return, Pitou found Catherine half frozen. 
 
 The marriage, in accordance with Catherine's wish, had been 
 jjostponed untU Monday. 
 
 The two days and the two nights rolled around without Cather- 
 ine and Pitou quitting each other an instant; they passed the two 
 Bights watching at the bedside of the dead. 
 
 In spite of the enormous fire which Pitou had been careful to 
 keep up in the fire-place, the wind penetrated sharp and glacial, 
 and Pitou said to himself, that it Aunt Angelica did not die of 
 hunger, she might easily have died of cold. 
 
 The moment to take away the body came; the transportation 
 would not be long; Aunt Angelica's room almost adjoined the- 
 cemetery. 
 
 All Pleux and a part of the city followed the defunct to her last 
 resting-place. In the provinces the women go to burials; Pitou and 
 Catherine led the mourners. 
 
356 AKDBEE DE TAVEENET. 
 
 The ceremony finished, Pitou thanked those present in the nam* 
 of the deceased and in his own name, and after having sprinkled 
 some holy water on the grave of the old woman, each one, as was 
 ■customary, defiled before Pitou. 
 
 Remaining alone with Catherine, Pitou turned to the place where 
 he had left her, but Catherine was no longer near him; she was 
 on her knees, with little Isidore, upon a grave, at the four cornerg 
 of which four cypress-trees rose. 
 
 The tomb was that of Mother Billot. 
 
 It was Pitou who had got the four cj^jresses from the forest, and 
 who had planted them. 
 
 He did not wish to disturb Catherine in this pious occupation; 
 but thinking that, her prayer finished, Catherine would be very 
 cold, he ran to the house with the intention of making an enormous 
 fire. 
 
 Unfortunately, one thing opposed his realizing his good inten- 
 tions. Since morning, the supply of wood had been exhausted. 
 
 Pitou scratched his ear. The rest of his money, we remember, 
 had been spent in laying in a supply of bread and wood. 
 
 Pitou looked round about him, trying to find some article of fur- 
 niture which he could sacrifice to the necessities of the moment. 
 
 There was the bed, the bread trough, and the arm-chair of Aunt 
 Angelica. 
 
 The trough and the bed, without having any great value, were 
 not, however, without use; but the arm-chair? It was a long time 
 «ince any one, except Aunt Angelica, had dared to sit in it, so 
 Irightfully dislocated was it. 
 
 The arm-chair was therefore condemned. 
 
 Pitou proceeded like the revolutionary tribunal — scarcely con- 
 demned, the armchair was to be executed. 
 
 Pitou placed his knee upon the morocco leather blackened by 
 «ge, seized with both hands one of the uprights, and drew it to- 
 ward him. 
 
 At the third effort the upright yielded. 
 
 The arm-chair, as if it was in pain at this dismemberment, gave 
 forth a strange wail. If Pitou had been superstitious, he would 
 have thought that the soul of Aunt Angelica was shut up in thia 
 arm-chair. 
 
 But Pitou had but one superstition in the world, that was his 
 love for Catherine, and had it shed as much blood and uttered as 
 many wails as the enchanted trees in the Forest de Tasso, the arm- 
 chair would have been broken to pieces. 
 
 Pitou, therefore, seized the second upright with as •ngorous an 
 «rm as he had seized the first, and with nn effort similar to that 
 which he had already made, he tore it from the body, three quar- 
 ters disjointed. 
 
 The arm-chair made the same p'range, siugulnr. metallic noise. 
 
 Pitou remained impassible. He look the mutilated piece of fur- 
 niture by one leg, raised it above his head, and, to give the finish- 
 ing stroke to it, he struck it with all his strength against the stone 
 floor. 
 
 Thig Ume the arm-chair burst asunder, and, to Pitou's great 
 
ANDREE DE TAVERNET. 357 
 
 Mtonishment, through the open wouQd vomited, not floods of 
 blood, but floods of gold. 
 
 It will be remembered that, as soon as Aunt Angcliofi had got to- 
 gether twenty-four livres in silver, that she changed tliese twenty- 
 four livres for a gold louis, and introduced the louis d'ur into her 
 wm chair 
 
 Pitou remained wonder-struck, tottering with surprise, crazy 
 ■with astonishment. 
 
 His first thought was to run after Catherine and little Isidore, to 
 bring both of them there and show them the treasure he had Just 
 discovered. 
 
 But a terrible reflection kept him back. 
 
 Would Catherine, knowing him to be rich, still marry himT 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " No," said he, " no; she would refuse." 
 
 He remained an instant motionless, reflecting, anxious. 
 
 Then a smile passed over his face. 
 
 "Without doubt, he had found a way of getting cut of the per- 
 plexity in which these unexpected riches had put him. 
 
 He picked up the louis which were on the floor, succeeded in 
 disemboweling the arm-chair with his knife, and examined the 
 ■mallest nooks of the hoise-hair and of the tow. 
 
 Everything was stuffed with louis. 
 
 He found fifteen hundred and fifty of them 
 
 Pitou was. therefore, worth fifteen hundred and fifty loui«!, that 
 is to say. thirty-seven thousand two hundred livres. 
 
 Now, as the louis d'or was worth at that epoch nine hundred 
 and twenty clear livres in assignats, Pitou was therefore worth one 
 million three hundred and twenty-six thousand livres. 
 
 And in what a moment had tjiis colossal fortune come to himl 
 At the moment when he was obliged, having no more money to buy- 
 wood, to break up, in order to warm Catherine, Aunt Angelica's 
 arm-chair. 
 
 What a blessing it was that Pitou should have been so poor, that 
 the weather should have been so cold, and that the arm-chair should 
 have been so old! 
 
 Who knows, without this combination of apparently fatal cir- 
 cumstances, what would have become of this precious arm-chair? 
 
 Pitou commenced by stuffing the louis in all his pockets; then, 
 having excitedly given each fragment a shake, he piled them up in 
 the fire-place, struck the steel partly on his finirers and partly on 
 the fimt, and succeeded with great trouble in lighting the tinder, 
 and with a trembling hand set fire to the pile. 
 
 It was time. Catherine and little Isidore came back shivering 
 vith cold. 
 
 Pitou strained the child to his heart, kissed Catherine's cold 
 hands, and went out, saying: 
 
 " I am going on an indispensable errand; warm yourselves and 
 wait for me." 
 
 '• Where is Papa Pitou going?" asked Isidore. 
 
 " I know nothmg aboutlt," answered Catherine, " but most cer- 
 tainly, when he runs away so quickly, it ie not for himself, but foi 
 yon or for me." 
 
358 ANDEEE DE TAVERNET. 
 
 Catherine could have said: 
 " For yon and for me." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ■WHAT PITOU DID WITH THE LOUIS FODND IN AUNT ANGELICA'S 
 AHM-CHATR. 
 
 The reader will not have forgotten that it was the next day that 
 the sale at auction of the Billot farm and of the chateau of the 
 Count de Charny was to take place. 
 
 He will also remember that the price of four hundred thousand 
 francs had been put upon the farm, and six huudied thousand 
 francs upon the chateau, in assignats. 
 
 When the morrow arrived, M. Longpre bought, for an unknown 
 purchaser the two parcels for the sum of thirteen hundred and 
 fifty louis d'or, that is to say, of one million two hundred and forty- 
 two thousand francs in assignats. 
 
 He paid cash down. 
 
 This look place on Sunday, the day before that upon which the 
 marriage of Catherine and Pitou was to take place. 
 
 That Sunday, Catherine, early in the morning, had left for Hara- 
 mont, either because she had some arrangements of coquetry to 
 make, as the most unpretending of women have on the eve of a 
 marriage, or because she had not wished to remain in the city while 
 the beautiful farm where she had passed her youth was being sold 
 then at auction, the farm where she had been so happy and where 
 «he had suffered so much. 
 
 What was the cause, at eleven o'clock the next day, of all this 
 crowd assembled before the door of the mayoralty, pitying and 
 praising Pitou so loudly for having married a girl so completely 
 ruined, who, into the bargain, had a child who, with prospects of 
 being some day richer than she, was even more completely ruined 
 than she was? 
 
 During this time M. de Longpre asked, according to usage, of 
 Pitou: 
 
 " Citizen Pierre Ange Pitou, do you take for your wife Citi- 
 zeness Anne Catherine Billot?" 
 
 And of Catherine Billot: 
 
 " Citizeness Anne Catherine Billot, do you take for your husband 
 Citizen Pierre Ange Pitou?" 
 
 And each answered, " Yes." 
 
 Then when both had answered, " Yes," Pitou, in a voice trem- 
 bling with emotion, Catherine, in a voice full of serenity, when M. 
 de Longpre had proclaimed, in the name of the law, that the two 
 young people were united in marriage, he made a sign to little 
 Isidore to come and speak to him. 
 
 Little Isidore, perched on the mayor's desk, went straight to him. 
 
 " My child." said M. de Longpre to him, " here are some papers 
 which you will give to Mamma Catheiine when your father Pitou 
 •hall have brought you home. ' ' 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, said the child. 
 
 And he took the two papers in his little band. 
 
 All was finiabed; only, to the great astonishment of those prea* 
 
ANDREE DE TAVBENBT. 35S 
 
 ent, Pitou drew from his pocket five louis d'or, and handing them 
 to the mayor: 
 
 " For the poor, Mon&ieur le Maire,'' said he. 
 
 Catherine smiled. 
 
 " We are rich, then?" asked she. 
 
 " One is rich when one is happy, Catherine," remarked Pitou; 
 " and you have just made me the richest man on earth." 
 
 And he offered her his arm, upon which the young woman leaned 
 tenderly. 
 
 On going out, all this crowd was, as we have said, at the door of 
 the mayoralty. 
 
 They saluted the married couple with unanimous acclamations, 
 
 Pitou thanked his friends, and gave many hand-shakes. 
 
 Catherine saluted her friends, and distributed many nods. 
 
 During this time Pitou was turning to the right. 
 
 " Where are you going, my friend?" asked Catherine. 
 
 In fact, if Pitou was going to return to Haramont, he should 
 have gone to the left by the park. 
 
 If he was going back to Aunt Angelica's house, he should have 
 gone straight ahead by the Place du Chateau. 
 
 Where was he going by way of the Place de la Fontaine? 
 
 It was that which Catherine asked him. 
 
 " Come, my well beloved Catherine," said Pitou; " I am taking 
 you to visit a place which you will be very glad to see again." 
 
 Catherine allowed herself to be led on. 
 
 " Where can they be going?" asked those who were looking at 
 them as they went. 
 
 Pitou crossed the Place de la Fontaine without stopping, took 
 the Rue de I'Ormet, and when he came to the end of it, turned by 
 that little lane in which, six years before, he bad met Catherine 
 upon her donkey, the day when, driven out of the house by Aunt 
 Angelica, he knew not of whom to ask for hospitality. 
 
 " We are not going to Pisselieu, I hope?" asked Catherine, stop- 
 . ping her husband. 
 
 *" Come along, Catherine," said Pitou. 
 
 Catherine drew a sigh, following the little lane, and came out 
 into the plain. 
 
 At the end of ten minutes' walk they arrived at the little bridge 
 ■where Pitou had found her in a swoon, the evening of the depart- 
 ure of Isidore for Paris. 
 
 There she stopped, 
 i " Pitou," said she, " I will go no further." 
 
 " Oh! Mademoiselle Catherine," said Pitou, " only to the hoUovr 
 ■willow- tree." 
 
 It was the willow to which Pitou came to get Isidore's letters. 
 
 Catherine drew a sigh and continued her way. 
 
 When she came to the willow : 
 
 " Let us return," said she, " I beg of you!" 
 
 But Pitou, placing his hand up:.n the young girl's arm: 
 
 " Yet twenty steps, Mademoiselle Catherine," said he; " I only 
 ask that of you." 
 
 " Ah, Pitou!" murmured Catherine, with such a dolorous tone 
 of reproach that Pitou stopped in his turn. 
 
360 ANDREB t^ TAV£RNET. 
 
 " OhI mademoiselle," said he, -'and I -who believed that It 
 would make you so happy." 
 
 " You thought you were making me happy, Pitou, by showlnij 
 me a farm where I have been brought up, which belonged to my 
 parents, which ought lo belong to me, and which, sold yesterday, 
 BOW belongs lo a slrnnger, whose nniiic, even, I do not know?" 
 
 " Mademoiselle Ualherine, yet twenty steps; I only ask ihat." 
 
 In fact, these twenty stejis, upon turning the angle of a wall, un- 
 masked the great door of the farm- house. 
 
 At this great door of the farmhouse were grouped all the old 
 day-laborers, plowmen, stable boys, and farm-girls, with Father 
 Clovis at their head. 
 
 Each one held a bouquet in his hand. 
 
 " Ah! I understand," said Catherine; " before the new proprietor 
 arrives you have wished to brine; me here for the last time, in order 
 that all these old servants should bid me adieul Thanks, Pitou." 
 
 And letting go of her husband's arm and little Isidore's hand, she 
 went to meet these good people, who surrounded her and faiily 
 dragged her into the great hall of the farmhouse. Pitou tooK 
 little Isidore tenderly in his arms — the child all the while was hold- 
 ing the two papers in his hand— and followed Catherine. The 
 young girl had sat down in the gient hall, and was rubbing her 
 head with her hands, as of one trying to awake fjom a dream. 
 
 "In the name of Heaven, Pilou," said she, "what are they 
 saying to me? My friend, I don't understand at all what they are 
 saying to me!" 
 
 " Perhaps these papers v.'hich our child will hand to you will 
 give you more information about it, dear Catherine," said Pitou. 
 
 And he pushed Isidore toward his mother. 
 
 Catherine took the two papers from the little hands of the child. 
 
 " Read, Catherine," said Pitou. 
 
 Catherine opened one of the two papers at hazard, and read: 
 
 " I acknowledge that the Chfiteau de Boursonne, and the landg 
 ■thereto appertaining, have been bought and paid for by me, for the 
 beneflit of .Jacques Philllppe Isidore, minor son of Mademoiselle 
 ■Catherine Billot; and that it is, consequently, to this child that the 
 said Chateau do Boursonne, and the said lands thereto appertain- 
 ing, belong in full ownership, 
 
 "Signed: Db Lonoprb, 
 
 " Mayor of Villers Cotterets." 
 
 "What does this mean, Pitou?" asked Catherine. " You well 
 know that I do not understand a word of all this. Is it act sof" 
 " Read the other jiiiper, ' said Pitou. 
 And Catherine, unfolding the other paper, read as follows: 
 
 " I acknowledge that the farm of Pisselieu and its dependencies 
 have been bought and paid for by me yesterday, on at^tount of 
 ■Citoyenne Anne Catherine Billot, and tliat it it, consequently, to 
 her that the faim of Pistelieu and its dependencies belong in fuU 
 
 Signed: De Lonofr£!, 
 
 " Mayor of Villers Cotteretn." 
 
ANDKEE DE TAVEENET. 361 
 
 " In the name of Heaven!" cried Catherine, " tell me what this 
 means, or I shall go crazy." 
 
 " This means that, thanks to the fifteen hundred and fifty louls 
 d'or found the day before yesterday in my aunt Angelica's old 
 arm-chair (the arm-chair which I broke to pieces to warm you on 
 your return from the burial), the land and the ChSteau de Bour- 
 sonne will not leave the Charny family, nor the farm-house and 
 the lands of Pisselieu the Billot family." 
 
 And then Pltou related to Catherine what we have already related 
 to the reader. 
 
 " Oh!" said Catherine; " and you had the courage to burn 
 the old arm-chair, dear Pitou, when you had fifteen hundred and 
 fifty louis to buy wood with?" 
 
 " Catherine," said Pitou, "you would soon be back; you would 
 have been obliged to wait, to warm yourself, until the wood was 
 bought and brought In, and you would have been cold while wait- 
 ing." 
 
 Catherine opened her arms; Pitou pushed Isidore into them. 
 
 " Oh! you also, you also, dear Pitou!" said Catherine. 
 
 And in one and the same embrace Catherine pressed to her heart 
 her child and her husband. 
 
 " Oh, good Heaven!" murmured Pitou, suffocating with joy, 
 and at the same time giving a last tear to the old woman; " when 
 one thinks of her dying of hunger and cold! Poor Aunt An- 
 gelica!" 
 
 " Faith," said a big, good-natured plowman to a fresh and pretty 
 farm-girl, pointing to Pitou and Catherine, " faith, there are tw» 
 -who do not appear to me to be destined to die that death." 
 
 THE EVD. 
 
/3h 
 
r!