THE EXECUTION.
Within the walls of the Bastille, some weeks passed over almost
without incident, but not without pain to the Count de Morseiul; but
it would be tedious to detail all the feelings and the thoughts that
crossed each other in his bosom during that period. He was still
allowed a great degree of liberty, was permitted to take exercise in
the great court, to converse with many of the other prisoners, and to
hear whispers of what was taking place in the world without. But none
of those whispers gave him any tidings of those he loved, any
indication of his own probable fate, or any news of the church to
which he belonged; and he remarked with pain, that while many of the
other prisoners received visits from their friends and acquaintances,
either no one sought to see him, or else those who did so were
excluded by some express order.
He grieved over this, and perhaps felt, with some degree of bitterness
of spirit, that the iron of captivity might not only enter into the
soul, but might wear and corrode the mind on which it pressed. Such
feelings made him at once apply himself eagerly to every thing that
could occupy his thoughts, and turn them from contemplations which he
knew to be not only painful, but hurtful also; and he soon created for
himself a number of those occupations which many an unhappy man
besides himself has devised at different times for the solace of
captivity.
The library, however, was his greatest enjoyment. Though so fond of
all manly exercises, and famous for his skill therein, he had from his
youth loved the communing with other minds, in the pages which the
hand of genius has traced, and which have been given forth as the
deliberate effort of the writer's spirit. He loved, I say, that
communing with other men's hearts and minds which is undisturbed by
discussion, or wordy dispute, or any of the petty vanities that creep
into the living conversation even of the great, the learned, and the
good; and now, though the library was small, and perhaps not very well
selected, yet there was many a book therein which afforded him sweet
occupation during some, at least, of the melancholy hours of
imprisonment.
At other times he walked the length of the court yard, gaining where
he could a gleam of sunshine; and rather than suffer his thoughts, as
he did so walk, to dwell upon the painful theme of his own fate, he
would count the very stones of the pavement, and moralise upon their
shapes and colours. Almost every day, during the period we have
mentioned, the guard was turned out, the prisoners having their
liberties were ordered to keep back, and a train of others in the
stricter state of imprisonment were marched out to the arsenal.
Amongst these was usually the unhappy Chevalier de Rohan; and the
wistful, longing gaze with which one day he looked round the court as
he passed through, seeming to envy the other prisoners the sort of
liberty they enjoyed, caused the Count de Morseiul to task severely
his own heart for the repinings which he felt at his own situation.
Various little occurrences of the same kind took place from time to
time, affording a momentary matter of interest in the midst of the
dark sameness of the prison life. At one period, during the whole of
several nights, the Count de Morseiul heard at intervals voices which
seemed to be shouting through speaking trumpets. The place from which
the sound proceeded varied constantly; and the young prisoner could
only conclude that some friends of one of the sad inhabitants of the
Bastille were prowling round it, endeavouring to communicate
intelligence. He listened eagerly, in the supposition that those
sounds might be addressed to him; but though from time to time he
could catch a single word, such as "dead," "told," &c., he could make
no continuous sense of what was said.
The first time this occurred was shortly after his examination before
the commission, and it continued, for three or four nights, to be
repeated at different hours; but still the sounds were too distant for
him to ascertain the meaning of the speakers, and he was obliged to
content himself with believing that this intelligence was not intended
for himself, and hoping that it had been more distinct to the
unfortunate person for whose ears it was designed.[2] After having
listened during the whole of one night, and the words not being
repeated, he determined to ask one of his fellow-prisoners, who had
the liberty like himself of walking in the court, whether he had heard
it, and had been able to make out what was said.
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[Footnote 2: The words were intended for the unfortunate Chevalier de
Rohan, and were "Hatreaumont est mort, et n'a rien dit." The unhappy
prisoner, like the Count de Morseiul, was not able to distinguish the
meaning of his friends; otherwise those words, if he had shaped his
course accordingly, would have insured his safety.]
---------------------
The personage whom he fixed upon in his own mind for that purpose was
a tall, upright, elderly man, with a soldier-like air, and a good deal
of frankness of manner, approaching, perhaps, to what is called
bluffness, without being in the slightest degree rude or uncivil. He
seemed to seek nobody, but to converse willingly with any one when he
was sought--gave his opinion in few words, but distinctly, accurately,
and positively--bore his imprisonment with perfect lightness and
indifference--never referred in the slightest degree to the cause
thereof or to his own history, though without appearing to avoid the
subject at all--and, in short, impressed strongly on the minds of
those who saw him, and were accustomed to judge of the world, that he
was a frank, upright, straight-forward soldier, accustomed to various
kinds of endurance, and bearing all with manly firmness and
resolution.
He spoke French with great fluency and accuracy; but at times, in
conversing with him, the Count de Morseiul had fancied he could remark
a foreign accent, though very slight, and he was inclined to believe
that the old officer was one of the Weimerians who had served so long
in the pay of France. His countenance, indeed, was not like that of a
German; there was more quickness and brightness of the eye, and the
features were more elongated, and somewhat sharper than is common
amongst the Teutonic races. But still a great part of the Weimerian
troops had been levied on the borders of the Rhine, where the mixture
of French and other blood often makes itself strongly to be remarked
amongst the German population. His ordinary walk was from one corner
of the court-yard to the opposite angle, which gave the utmost extent
of space that could be had; and there the young Count, on descending
the staircase, found him walking up and down with his usual quick pace
and erect carriage. Though the old man neither paused nor noticed him
further than by a passing "Good morning, Sir," the Count joined him,
and at once spoke of the matter in question.
"Have you heard," he said, "during this last night or two, some people
shouting, apparently through speaking trumpets, as if they wished to
convey intelligence to one of us prisoners?"
"Once or twice very faintly," replied the other. "But I am on the
opposite side of the prison to you, you know, and the sounds I heard
seemed to come from your side, or, at all events, not further round
than the Well Tower. Do you think they were addressed to you?"
"I think not," replied the Count; "and if they were, I certainly could
make nothing of them. I looked out of my window to get a sight as far
as possible of the speakers by the moonlight the other night, but I
was not successful; for I can see, as I am placed, into the little
Place St. Antoine, but no further. However, I tried to distinguish the
voices, and certainly they were not those of any one I know."
"A speaking trumpet makes a great difference," replied his companion.
"I should have liked to have heard them more distinctly."
"Do you think they were intended for you?" said the Count.
"Oh dear no," replied the other; "nobody can have any thing to tell
me. If ever my liberty comes, it will come at once; and as to either
trying me or punishing me in any other way than by imprisonment, that
they dare not do."
"That is in some degree a happy situation," said the Count. "But I
scarcely know how that can be, for judging by my own case, and that of
many others, I have no slight reason to believe that they dare try or
punish any man in France, whether guilty or not."
"Any Frenchman you mean, Count," replied the stranger; "but that does
not happen to be my case; and though my own King may be rascal and
fool enough to let me stay here wearing out the last days of a life,
the greater part of which has been devoted to the service of himself
and his ungrateful ancestors, yet I do not believe that he dare for
his life suffer me to be publicly injured. A trial would, as a matter
of course, be known sooner or later. They may poison me, perhaps," he
continued, "to keep me quiet, though I do not think it either. Your
King is not so bad as that, though he is a great tyrant; but he is not
bloody by his nature. However, Monsieur de Morseiul, as I am not in
here for any crime, as I never had any thing to do with a conspiracy
of any kind, as I am not a native of this country, or a subject of
your King, as I have not a secret in the world, and little more money
than will serve to feed and clothe me, I do not see that any one can
have either object or interest in hallooing at me through a speaking
trumpet."
"You have excited my curiosity," said the Count, "and a Frenchman's
curiosity, you know, is always somewhat intrusive; but as you have
just said that you have not a secret in the world, it will seem less
impertinent than it otherwise would be if I ask what, in the name of
fortune, you can be here for?"
"Not in the least impertinent," replied the other. "I am in here for
something of the same kind that they tell me you are in here for:
namely, for differing from the King of France in regard to
transubstantiation; for thinking that he'll go to the devil at once
when he dies, without stopping half-way at a posthouse, called
Purgatory, which a set of scoundrels have established for their own
particular convenience; and for judging it a great deal better that
people should sing psalms, and say their prayers, in a language that
they understand, than in a tongue they know not a word of. I mean, in
short, for being a Protestant; for if it had not been for that, I
should not have been in here. The fact was, I served long in this
country in former times, and having taken it into my head to see it
again, and to visit some old friends, I undertook a commission to
bring back a couple of brats of a poor cousin of mine, who had been
left here for their education. Louis found out what I was about,
declared that I came to make Protestant converts, and shut me up in
the Bastille, where I have been now nearly nine months. I sent a
message over to the King of England by a fellow-prisoner who was set
at liberty some time ago. But every one knows that Charles would have
sold his own soul by the pound, and thrown his father and mother, and
all his family, into the scale, for the sake of a few crowns, at any
time. This Popish rascal, too, who is now on the throne, doubtless
thinks that I am just as well where I am, so I calculate upon
whistling away my days within the four walls of this court.--I don't
care, it can't last very long. I was sixty-five on the third of last
month, and though there feels some life in these old limbs, the days
of Mathuselah, thank God, are gone by, and we've no more kicking about
now for a thousand years. I shouldn't wonder," he continued, "if the
people you heard were hallooing to that unfortunate Chevalier de
Rohan, whom they dragged through this morning to be interrogated
again. They say he'll have his head chopped off to a certainty. If we
could have found out what the people said we might have told him, for
prisoners will get at each other let them do what they like."
"I listened for one whole night," said the Count, "but found it quite
in vain. The judges I suppose are satisfied that I had nothing to do
with this business of the Chevalier de Rohan's, otherwise they would
have had me up again for examination."
"God knows," replied his companion. "Tyranny is like an actor at a
country fair, and one never knows which way he will kick next."
Thus passed the conversation between the Count and the old English
officer, whose name, somewhat disfigured indeed, may be found written
in the registers of the Bastille as arrested on suspicion; for which
crime he, like many others, was subjected to imprisonment for a
lengthened period. He and the Count de Morseiul now usually took their
walk together, and in his society the young nobleman found no small
delight, for there was a sort of quaint indifference which gave salt
and flavour to considerable good sense and originality of thought. The
old man himself seemed to take a pleasure in conversing with the young
Count; which was evidently not the case with the generality of his
fellow-prisoners. One morning, however, towards the end of the period
we have mentioned, the sound of the falling drawbridge was heard, the
soldiers drew up in double line, the order for all the other prisoners
to fall back was given, and the Chevalier de Rohan, followed by two or
three other prisoners, amongst whom were Vandenenden and a lady, were
brought in as if from examination.
The countenances of almost all were very pale, with the exception of
that of the Chevalier de Rohan, which was inflamed, with a fiery spot
on either cheek, while his eyes flashed fire, and his lips were
absolutely covered with foam. Four times between the great gate of the
court and the tower in which he was confined, he halted abruptly, and
turning round with furious gestures to the guards and gaolers who
surrounded him, poured forth a torrent of fierce and angry words,
exclaiming that he had been deceived, cheated, that the King's name
had been used to assure him of safety, and that now the King had
retracted the promises and was going to murder him.
It was in vain that the guards tried to stop him, and endeavoured to
force him onward. Still he turned round as soon as ever he had an
opportunity, and shouted forth the same accusation with horrible
imprecations and even blasphemies. The second prisoner, who seemed to
be a military man, paused and regarded the Chevalier with a stern and
somewhat scornful air, but the lady and the old man, Vandenenden, were
drowned in tears, and from all the Count saw he concluded that the
trial of the Chevalier and his accomplices had either terminated in
their condemnation, or else had taken such a turn as showed that
result to be inevitable.
From that time none of the prisoners who had the liberties of the
Bastille were allowed to remain in the court when the Chevalier and
his accomplices passed through it, an order being given before the
gates were opened, for every one to retire to his own apartments.
Three days after this new regulation, such an order having been given,
the Count obeyed it willingly, for the weather had become cold and
damp, and the court of the Bastille felt like a well. He had obtained
permission to take some books out of the library, in which there was
no fire allowed, and sitting by the embers in his own apartment, he
was endeavouring to amuse himself by reading, when the sounds of what
seemed to him carts, in greater numbers than usual, mingled with the
tongues of many persons speaking, called him to the little window of
his chamber.
He saw that the small Place St. Antoine was filled with a crowd of
people surrounding two or three large carts as they seemed, but he
could not make out what the persons present were about, and, after
looking on for a few minutes, he returned to his book.
Every thing within the walls of the Bastille seemed to be unusually
still and quiet, and for rather more than an hour and a half he read
on, till some sound of a peculiar character, or some sudden impression
on his own mind which he could not account for, made him again rise
and hasten to the window. When he did so, a sight was presented to his
eyes which would have required long years to efface its recollection.
The carts which he had seen, and the materials they contained, had
been by this time erected into a scaffold; and in the front thereof,
turned towards the Rue St. Antoine, which, as well as the square
itself, was filled with an immense multitude of people, was a block
with the axe leaning against the side.
At one corner of the scaffold was erected a gibbet, and in the front,
within a foot or two of the block, stood the unfortunate Chevalier de
Rohan, with a priest, on one side of him, pouring consolation or
instruction into his ear, while the executioner, on the other side,
was busily cutting off his hair to prepare his neck for the stroke.
Two or three other prisoners were behind with several priests and the
assistants of the executioner, and amongst them again was seen the
form of the old man, Vandenenden, and of the lady whom the Count had
beheld pass through the court of the castle.
The old man seemed scarcely able to support himself, and was upheld
near the foot of the gallows by two of the guards; but the lady, with
her head uncovered and her fine hair gathered together in a knot near
the top of her head, stood alone, calm, and, to all appearance,
perfectly self-possessed; and as she turned, for a moment, to look at
the weak old man, whose writhing agitation at parting with a life that
he could not expect to prolong for many years even if pardoned was
truly lamentable, she showed the Count de Morseiul a fine though
somewhat faded countenance, with every line expressive of perfect
resolution and tranquillity.
The Count de Morseiul was a brave man, who had confronted death a
thousand times, who had seen it in many an awful shape and accompanied
by many a terrible accessory; but when he looked at the upturned faces
of the multitude, the block, the axe, the gibbet, the executioners,
the cold grey sky above that spoke of hopelessness, the thronged
windows all around teeming with gaping faces, and all the horrible
parade of public execution, he could not but wonder at the
self-possession and the calmness of that lady's look and demeanour, as
one about to suffer in that awful scene.
His, however, was no heart that could delight in such spectacles, and
withdrawing almost immediately from the window, he waited in deep
thought. In about a minute after there was a sort of low murmur,
followed by a heavy stroke; and then the murmur sounded like the
rushing of a distant wind. In a few moments after that, again came
another blow, and the Count thought that there was a suppressed
scream, mingled with the wave-like sound of the multitude. Again came
that harsh blow, accompanied by a similar noise, and, lastly, a loud
shout, in which there were mingled tones of ferocity and derision,
very different from any which had been heard before. Not aware of what
could have produced the change, the Count was once more irresistibly
led to the window, where he beheld swinging and writhing on the
gibbet, the form of the old man Vandenenden, whose pusillanimity
seemed to have excited the contempt and indignation of the populace.
On the other parts of the scaffold the executioner and his assistants
were seen gathering up the bloody ruins of the human temples they had
overthrown. Sickened and pained, the Count turned away, and covered
his eyes with his hands, asking himself in the low voice of thought,
"When will this be my fate also?"