CHAPTER XXIII. THE CONCIERGERIE
It wanted but a few minutes to noon as the condemned of the day werebeing brought out of the Conciergerie to take their places in thewaiting tumbrils. Fourteen they numbered, and there was a woman amongstthem as composed as any of the men. She descended the prison steps innonchalant conversation with a witty young man of some thirty years ofage, who had been one of the ornaments of the prerevolutionary salons.Had the pair been on the point of mounting a wedding coach they couldnot have shown themselves in better spirits.
Aristocrats, too, were the remaining twelve, with one exception, and ifthey had not known how to live, at least they could set a very splendidexample of how to die. They came mostly in pairs, and the majorityof them emulating the first couple and treating the whole matter asa pleasantry that rather bored them by the element of coarsenessintroduced by the mob. One or two were pale, and their eyes wore afurtive, frightened look. But they valiantly fought down their fears,and for all that the hearts within them may have been sick with horror,they contrived to twist a smile on to their pale lips. They did not lackfor stout patterns of high bearing, and in addition they had their ownarrogant pride--the pride that had brought them at last to this pass--tosustain them in their extremity. Noblesse les obligeait. The rabble, thecanaille of the new regime, might do what they would with their bodies,but their spirits they could not break, nor overcome their indomitablepride. By the brave manner of their death it remained for them to makeamends for the atrocious manner of their lives, and such a glamour didthey shed upon themselves by the same brave manner, that it compelledsympathy and admiration of those that beheld them, and made uponhumanity an impression deep enough to erase the former impression leftby their misdeeds.
Like heroes, like sainted martyrs, they died, these men who, throughgeneration after generation, had ground and crushed the people 'neaththe iron heel of tyranny and oppression, until the people had, of asudden, risen and reversed the position, going to excesses, in theirlately-awakened wrath, that were begotten of the excesses which forcenturies they had endured.
Last of this gallant and spruce company (for every man had donned hisbest, and dressed himself with the utmost care) came Caron La Boulaye.He walked alone, for although their comrade in death, he was theircomrade in nothing else. Their heads might lie together in the sawdustof Sanson's basket, but while they lived, no contact would they permitthemselves, of body or of soul, with this sans-culotte. Had they knownwhy he died, perhaps, they had shown him fellowship. But in theirnescience of the facts, it would need more than death to melt them intoa kindness to a member of the Convention, for death was the only thingthey had in common, and death, as we have seen, had not conquered them.
As he was about to pass out, a gaoler suddenly thrust forward a handto detain him, and almost simultaneously the door, which had swung tobehind the last of his death-fellows, re-opened to admit the dapperfigure of the Incorruptible.
He eyed Caron narrowly as he advanced into the hall, and at thecomposure evident in the young man's bearing, his glance seemed tokindle with admiration, for all that his lips remained cruel in theirtightened curves.
Caron gave him good-day with a friendly smile, and before Robespierrecould utter a word the young man was expressing his polite regrets athaving baulked him as he had done.
"I had a great object to serve, Maximilien," he concluded, "and my onlyregret is that it should have run counter to your wishes. I owe you somuch--everything in fact--that I am filled with shame at the thought ofhow ill a return I am making you. My only hope is that by my death youwill consider that I have sufficiently atoned for my ingratitude."
"Fool!" croaked Robespierre, "you are sacrificing yourself for somechimaera and the life you are saving is that of a very worthless andvicious individual. Of your ingratitude to me we will not speak.But even now, in the eleventh hour, I would have you bethink you ofyourself."
He held out his hands to him, and entreaty was stamped uponRobespierre's countenance to a degree which perhaps no man had yet seen."Bethink you, cher Caron--" he began again. But the young man shook hishead.
"My friend, my best of friends," he exclaimed, "I beg that you willnot make it harder for me. I am resolved, and your entreaties do butheighten my pain of thwarting your--the only pain that in this supremehour I am experiencing. It is not a difficult thing to die, Maximilien.Were I to live, I must henceforth lead a life of unsatisfied desire. Imust even hanker and sigh after a something that is unattainable. I die,and all this is extinguished with me. At the very prospect my desiresfade immeasurably. Let me go in peace, and with your forgiveness."
Robespierre eyed him a moment or two in astonishment. Then he made anabrupt gesture of impatience.
"Fool that you are! It is suicide you are committing. And for what?For a dream a shadow. Is this like a man, Caron'? Is this--Will you bestill, you animal?" he barked at a gaoler who had once before touchedhim upon the arm. "Do you not see that I am occupied?"
But the man leant forward, and said some words hurriedly intoRobespierre's ear, which cast the petulance out of his face and mind,and caused him of a sudden to become very attentive.
"Ah?" he said at last. Then, with a sudden briskness: "Let the CitizenLa Boulaye not go forth until I return," he bade the gaoler; and toCaron he said: "You will have the goodness to await my return."
With that he turned and stepped briskly across the hall and through thedoor, which the gaoler, all equality notwithstanding, hastened to openfor him with as much servility as ever the haughtiest aristocrat hadcompelled.
Saving that single gaoler, La Boulaye was alone in the spacious hallof the Conciergerie. From without they heard the wild clamouring andCa-iraing of the mob. Chafing at this fresh delay, which was as aprolongation of his death-agony, La Boulaye was pacing to and fro, thering of his footsteps on the stone floor yielding a hollow, sepulchralecho.
"Is he never returning?" he cried at last; and as if in answer to hisquestion, the drums suddenly began to roll, and the vociferations of therabble swelled in volume and grew shriller. "What is that?" he inquired.
The gaoler, on whose dirty face some measure of surprise was manifested,approached the little grating that overlooked the yard and peered out.
"Sacrenom!" he swore. "The tumbrils are moving. They have left youbehind, Citizen."
But La Boulaye gathered no encouragement, such as the gaoler thought hemight, from that contingency. He but imagined that it was Robespierre'swish to put him back for another day in the hope that he might stillloosen his tongue. An oath of vexation broke from him, and he stampedhis foot impatiently upon the floor.
Then the door opened suddenly, and Robespierre held it whilst into theroom came a woman, closely veiled, whose tall and shapely figure causedthe young Deputy's breath to flutter. The Incorruptible followed her,and turning to the gaoler:
"Leave us," he commanded briskly.
And presently, when those three stood alone, the woman raised her veiland disclosed the face he had expected--the beautiful face of Suzannede Bellecour, but, alas! woefully pale and anguished of expression. Sheadvanced a step towards Caron, and then stood still, encountering hissteadfast, wonder-struck gaze, and seeming to falter. With a sob, atlast she turned to Maximilien, who had remained a pace or two behind.
"Tell him, Monsieur," she begged.
Robespierre started out of his apparent abstraction. He peered at herwith his short-sighted eyes, and from her to Caron. Then he came forwarda step and cleared his throat, rather as a trick of oratory than torelieve any huskiness.
"To put it briefly, my clear Caron," said he, "the Citoyenne here hasmanifested a greater solicitude for your life than you did yourself, andshe has done me the twofold service of setting it in my power to punishan enemy, and to preserve a friend from a death that was very imminent.In the eleventh hour she came to me to make terms for your pardon.She proposed to deliver up to me the person of the ci-devant Vicomted'Ombreval provided that I should grant you an unconditional pardo
n.You can imagine, my good Caron, with what eagerness I agreed to herproposal, and with what pleasure I now announce to you that you arefree."
"Free!" gasped La Boulaye, his eyes travelling fearfully fromRobespierre to Mademoiselle, and remaining riveted upon the latter asthough he were attempting to penetrate into the secrets of her verysoul.
"Practically free," answered the Incorruptible. "You may leave theConciergerie when you please, thought I shall ask you to remain at yourlodging in the Rue Nationale until this Ombreval is actually taken. Oncehe has been brought to Paris, I shall send you your papers that you mayleave France, for, much though I shall regret your absence, I think thatit will be wiser for you to make your fortune elsewhere after what haspassed."
La Boulaye took a step in Suzanne's direction.
"You have done this?" he cried, in a quivering voice. "You have betrayedthe man to whom you were betrothed?"
"Do not use that word, Monsieur," she cried, with a shudder. "My actioncannot be ranked among betrayals. He would have let you go to theguillotine in his stead. He had not the virtue to come forward, for allthat he knew that you must die if he did not. On the contrary, such acondition of things afforded him amusement, matter to scorn and insultyou with. He would have complacently allowed a dozen men to have gone tothe guillotine that his own worthless life might have been spared.
"But he was your betrothed!" La Boulaye protested.
"True!" she made answer; "but I had to choose between the man it hadbeen arranged I should marry and the man I loved." A flush crimsoned hercheek, and her voice sank almost to a whisper. "And to save the man Ilove I have delivered up Ombreval."
"Suzanne"
The name burst from his lips in a shout of wonder and of joy ineffable.In a stride he seemed to cover the distance between them, and he caughther to him as the door slammed on the discreetly departing Robespierre.
The Trampling of the Lilies Page 23
