A Trilogy.
As all Delineation, in these ages, were it never so Epic,
“speaking itself and not singing itself,” must either found on
Belief and provable Fact, or have no foundation at all (nor
except as floating cobweb any existence at all),—the Reader will
perhaps prefer to take a glance with the very eyes of
eye-witnesses; and see, in that way, for himself, how it was.
Brave Jourgniac, innocent Abbé Sicard, judicious Advocate Maton,
these, greatly compressing themselves, shall speak, each an
instant. Jourgniac’s _Agony of Thirty-eight Hours_ went through
“above a hundred editions,” though intrinsically a poor work.
Some portion of it may here go through above the
hundred-and-first, for want of a better.
“_Towards seven o’clock_” (Sunday night, at the Abbaye; for
Jourgniac goes by dates): “We saw two men enter, their hands
bloody and armed with sabres; a turnkey, with a torch, lighted
them; he pointed to the bed of the unfortunate Swiss, Reding.
Reding spoke with a dying voice. One of them paused; but the
other cried _Allons donc;_ lifted the unfortunate man; carried
him out on his back to the street. He was massacred there.
“We all looked at one another in silence, we clasped each other’s
hands. Motionless, with fixed eyes, we gazed on the pavement of
our prison; on which lay the moonlight, checkered with the triple
stancheons of our windows.
“_Three in the morning:_ They were breaking-in one of the
prison-doors. We at first thought they were coming to kill us in
our room; but heard, by voices on the staircase, that it was a
room where some Prisoners had barricaded themselves. They were
all butchered there, as we shortly gathered.
“_Ten o’clock:_ The Abbé Lenfant and the Abbé de Chapt-Rastignac
appeared in the pulpit of the Chapel, which was our prison; they
had entered by a door from the stairs. They said to us that our
end was at hand; that we must compose ourselves, and receive
their last blessing. An electric movement, not to be defined,
threw us all on our knees, and we received it. These two
whitehaired old men, blessing us from their place above; death
hovering over our heads, on all hands environing us; the moment
is never to be forgotten. Half an hour after, they were both
massacred, and we heard their cries.”[534]—Thus Jourgniac in his
_Agony_ in the Abbaye.
But now let the good Maton speak, what he, over in La Force, in
the same hours, is suffering and witnessing. This _Résurrection_
by him is greatly the best, the least theatrical of these
Pamphlets; and stands testing by documents:
“Towards seven o’clock,” on Sunday night, “prisoners were called
frequently, and they did not reappear. Each of us reasoned in his
own way, on this singularity: but our ideas became calm, as we
persuaded ourselves that the Memorial I had drawn up for the
National Assembly was producing effect.
“At one in the morning, the grate which led to our quarter opened
anew. Four men in uniform, each with a drawn sabre and blazing
torch, came up to our corridor, preceded by a turnkey; and
entered an apartment close to ours, to investigate a box there,
which we heard them break up. This done, they stept into the
gallery, and questioned the man Cuissa, to know where Lamotte
(Necklace’s Widower) was. Lamotte, they said, had some months
ago, under pretext of a treasure he knew of, swindled a sum of
three-hundred livres from one of them, inviting him to dinner for
that purpose. The wretched Cuissa, now in their hands, who indeed
lost his life this night, answered trembling, That he remembered
the fact well, but could not tell what was become of Lamotte.
Determined to find Lamotte and confront him with Cuissa, they
rummaged, along with this latter, through various other
apartments; but without effect, for we heard them say: ‘Come
search among the corpses then: for, _nom de Dieu!_ we must find
where he is.’
“At this time, I heard Louis Bardy, the Abbé Bardy’s name called:
he was brought out; and directly massacred, as I learnt. He had
been accused, along with his concubine, five or six years before,
of having murdered and cut in pieces his own Brother, Auditor of
the _Chambre des Comptes_ of Montpelier; but had by his subtlety,
his dexterity, nay his eloquence, outwitted the judges, and
escaped.
“One may fancy what terror these words, ‘Come search among the
corpses then,’ had thrown me into. I saw nothing for it now but
resigning myself to die. I wrote my last-will; concluding it by a
petition and adjuration, that the paper should be sent to its
address. Scarcely had I quitted the pen, when there came two
other men in uniform; one of them, whose arm and sleeve up to the
very shoulder, as well as the sabre, were covered with blood,
said, He was as weary as a hodman that had been beating plaster.
“Baudin de la Chenaye was called; sixty years of virtues could
not save him. They said, ‘_À l’Abbaye:_’ he passed the fatal
outer-gate; gave a cry of terror, at sight of the heaped corpses;
covered his eyes with his hands, and died of innumerable wounds.
At every new opening of the grate, I thought I should hear my own
name called, and see Rossignol enter.
“I flung off my nightgown and cap; I put on a coarse unwashed
shirt, a worn frock without waistcoat, an old round hat; these
things I had sent for, some days ago, in the fear of what might
happen.
“The rooms of this corridor had been all emptied but ours. We
were four together; whom they seemed to have forgotten: we
addressed our prayers in common to the Eternal to be delivered
from this peril.
“Baptiste the turnkey came up by himself, to see us. I took him
by the hands; I conjured him to save us; promised him a hundred
louis, if he would conduct me home. A noise coming from the
grates made him hastily withdraw.
“It was the noise of some dozen or fifteen men, armed to the
teeth; as we, lying flat to escape being seen, could see from our
windows: ‘Up stairs!’ said they: ‘Let not one remain.’ I took out
my penknife; I considered where I should strike myself,”—but
reflected “that the blade was too short,” and also “on religion.”
Finally, however, between seven and eight o’clock in the morning,
enter four men with bludgeons and sabres!—“to one of whom Gerard
my comrade whispered, earnestly, apart. During their colloquy I
searched every where for shoes, that I might lay off the Advocate
pumps (_pantoufles de Palais_) I had on,” but could find
none.—“Constant, called le Sauvage, Gerard, and a third whose
name escapes me, they let clear off: as for me, four sabres were
crossed over my breast, and they led me down. I was brought to
their bar; to the Personage with the scarf, who sat as judge
there. He was a lame man, of tall lank stature. He recognised me
on the streets, and spoke to me seven months after. I have been
assured that he was son of a retired attorney, and named Chepy.
Crossing the Court called _Des Nourrices_, I saw Manuel
haranguing in tricolor scarf.” The trial, as we see, ends in
acquittal and _resurrection_.[535]
Poor Sicard, from the _violon_ of the Abbaye, shall say but a few
words; true-looking, though tremulous. Towards three in the
morning, the killers bethink them of this little _violon;_ and
knock from the court. “I tapped gently, trembling lest the
murderers might hear, on the opposite door, where the Section
Committee was sitting: they answered gruffly that they had no
key. There were three of us in this _violon;_ my companions
thought they perceived a kind of loft overhead. But it was very
high; only one of us could reach it, by mounting on the shoulders
of both the others. One of them said to me, that my life was
usefuller than theirs: I resisted, they insisted: no denial! I
fling myself on the neck of these two deliverers; never was scene
more touching. I mount on the shoulders of the first, then on
those of the second, finally on the loft; and address to my two
comrades the expression of a soul overwhelmed with natural
emotions.[536]
The two generous companions, we rejoice to find, did not perish.
But it is time that Jourgniac de Saint-Méard should speak his
last words, and end this singular trilogy. The night had become
day; and the day has again become night. Jourgniac, worn down
with uttermost agitation, has fallen asleep, and had a cheering
dream: he has also contrived to make acquaintance with one of the
volunteer bailiffs, and spoken in native Provençal with him. On
Tuesday, about one in the morning, his _Agony_ is reaching its
crisis.
“By the glare of two torches, I now descried the terrible
tribunal, where lay my life or my death. The President, in grey
coats, with a sabre at his side, stood leaning with his hands
against a table, on which were papers, an inkstand, tobacco-pipes
and bottles. Some ten persons were around, seated or standing;
two of whom had jackets and aprons: others were sleeping
stretched on benches. Two men, in bloody shirts, guarded the door
of the place; an old turnkey had his hand on the lock. In front
of the President, three men held a Prisoner, who might be about
sixty” (or seventy: he was old Marshal Maillé, of the Tuileries
and August Tenth). “They stationed me in a corner; my guards
crossed their sabres on my breast. I looked on all sides for my
Provençal: two National Guards, one of them drunk, presented some
appeal from the Section of Croix Rouge in favour of the Prisoner;
the Man in Grey answered: ‘They are useless, these appeals for
traitors.’ Then the Prisoner exclaimed: ‘It is frightful; your
judgment is a murder.’ The President answered; ‘My hands are
washed of it; take M. Maillé away.’ They drove him into the
street; where, through the opening of the door, I saw him
massacred.
“The President sat down to write; registering, I suppose, the
name of this one whom they had finished; then I heard him say:
‘Another, _À un autre!_’
“Behold me then haled before this swift and bloody judgment-bar,
where the best protection was to have no protection, and all
resources of ingenuity became null if they were not founded on
truth. Two of my guards held me each by a hand, the third by the
collar of my coat. ‘Your name, your profession?’ said the
President. ‘The smallest lie ruins you,’ added one of the
judges,—‘My name is Jourgniac Saint-Méard; I have served, as an
officer, twenty years: and I appear at your tribunal with the
assurance of an innocent man, who therefore will not lie.’—‘We
shall see that,’ said the President: ‘Do you know why you are
arrested?’—‘Yes, Monsieur le President; I am accused of editing
the Journal _De la Cour et de la Ville_. But I hope to prove the
falsity’”—
But no; Jourgniac’s proof of the falsity, and defence generally,
though of excellent result as a defence, is not interesting to
read. It is long-winded; there is a loose theatricality in the
reporting of it, which does not amount to unveracity, yet which
tends that way. We shall suppose him successful, beyond hope, in
proving and disproving; and skip largely,—to the catastrophe,
almost at two steps.
“‘But after all,’ said one of the Judges, ‘there is no smoke
without kindling; tell us why they accuse you of that.’—‘I was
about to do so’”—Jourgniac does so; with more and more success.
“‘Nay,’ continued I, ‘they accuse me even of recruiting for the
Emigrants!’ At these words there arose a general murmur. ‘O
Messieurs, Messieurs,’ I exclaimed, raising my voice, ‘it is my
turn to speak; I beg M. le President to have the kindness to
maintain it for me; I never needed it more.’—‘True enough, true
enough,’ said almost all the judges with a laugh: ‘Silence!’
“While they were examining the testimonials I had produced, a new
Prisoner was brought in, and placed before the President. ‘It was
one Priest more,’ they said, ‘whom they had ferreted out of the
Chapelle.’ After very few questions: ‘_À la Force!_’ He flung his
breviary on the table: was hurled forth, and massacred. I
reappeared before the tribunal.
“‘You tell us always,’ cried one of the judges, with a tone of
impatience, ‘that you are not this, that you are not that: what
are you then?’—‘I was an open Royalist.’—There arose a general
murmur; which was miraculously appeased by another of the men,
who had seemed to take an interest in me: ‘We are not here to
judge opinions,’ said he, ‘but to judge the results of them.’
Could Rousseau and Voltaire both in one, pleading for me, have
said better?—‘Yes, Messieurs,’ cried I, ‘always till the Tenth of
August, I was an open Royalist. Ever since the Tenth of August
that cause has been finished. I am a Frenchman, true to my
country. I was always a man of honour.’
“‘My soldiers never distrusted me. Nay, two days before that
business of Nanci, when their suspicion of their officers was at
its height, they chose me for commander, to lead them to
Lunéville, to get back the prisoners of the Regiment
Mestre-de-Camp, and seize General Malseigne.’” Which fact there
is, most luckily, an individual present who by a certain token
can confirm.
“The President, this cross-questioning being over, took off his
hat and said: ‘I see nothing to suspect in this man; I am for
granting him his liberty. Is that your vote?’ To which all the
judges answered: ‘_Oui, oui;_ it is just!’”
And there arose vivats within doors and without; “escort of
three,” amid shoutings and embracings: thus Jourgniac escaped
from jury-trial and the jaws of death.[537] Maton and Sicard did,
either by trial, and no bill found, lank President Chepy finding
“absolutely nothing;” or else by evasion, and new favour of Moton
the brave watchmaker, likewise escape; and were embraced, and
wept over; weeping in return, as they well might.
Thus they three, in wondrous trilogy, or triple soliloquy;
uttering simultaneously, through the dread night-watches, their
Night-thoughts,—grown audible to us! They Three are become
audible: but the other “Thousand and Eighty-nine, of whom Two
Hundred and Two were Priests,” who also had Night-thoughts,
remain inaudible; choked for ever in black Death. Heard only of
President Chepy and the Man in Grey!—