I had agreed with the Père Michel to rendezvous at the garden of the
little chapel of St. Blois, and thitherward I now turned my steps.
The success which followed this my first enterprise in life had already
worked a wondrous change in all my feelings. Instead of looking up to
the poor curé for advice and guidance, I felt as though our parts were
exchanged, and that it was I who was now the protector of the other. The
oft-repeated sneers at _les bons Prêtres_, who were good for nothing,
must have had a share in this new estimate of my friend, but a certain
self-reliance just then springing up in my heart effectually completed
the change.
The period was essentially one of action and not of reflection. Events
seemed to fashion themselves at the will of him who had daring and
courage to confront them, and they alone appeared weak and poor-spirited
who would not stem the tide of fortune. Sentiments like these were not,
as may be supposed, best calculated to elevate the worthy père in my
esteem, and I already began to feel how unsuited was such companionship
for me, whose secret promptings whispered ever, ‘Go forward.’
The very vagueness of my hopes served but to extend the horizon of
futurity before me, and I fancied a thousand situations of distinction
that might yet be mine. Fame--or its poor counterfeit, notoriety--seemed
the most enviable of all possessions. It mattered little by what merits
it was won, for, in that fickle mood of popular opinion, great vices
were as highly prized as transcendent abilities, and one might be as
illustrious by crime as by genius. Such were not the teachings of
the père; but they were the lessons that Paris dinned into my ears
unceasingly. Reputation, character, was of no avail, in a social
condition where all was change and vacillation. What was idolised one
day was execrated the next day. The hero of yesterday was the object
of popular vengeance to-day. The success of the passing hour was
everything.
The streets were crowded as I passed along; although a drizzling rain
was falling, groups and knots of people were gathered together at every
corner, and, by their eager looks and gestures, showed that some event
of great moment had occurred. I stopped to ask what it meant, and
learned that Robespierre had been denounced in the Assembly, and that
his followers were hastening, in arms, to the Place de Grève. As yet,
men spoke in whispers, or broken phrases. Many were seen affectionately
embracing and clasping each other’s hands in passionate emotion; but
few dared to trust themselves to words, for none knew if the peril were
really passed, or if the power of the tyrant might not become greater
than ever. While I yet listened to the tidings, which, in half-sentences
and broken words, reached my ears, the roll of drums, beating the
_générale_, was heard, and suddenly the head of a column appeared,
carrying torches, and seated upon ammunition-waggons and caissons, and
chanting in wild chorus the words of the ‘Marseillaise.’ On they came,
a terrible host of half-naked wretches, their heads bound in
handkerchiefs, and their brawny arms bare to the shoulders.
The artillery of the Municipale followed, many of the magistrates riding
amongst them dressed in the tricoloured scarfs of officers. As the
procession advanced, the crowds receded, and gradually the streets were
left free to the armed force.
While, terror-struck, I continued to gaze at the countenances over
which the lurid torchlight cast a horrid glare, a strong hand grasped my
collar, and by a jerk swung me up to a seat on one of the caissons; and
at the same time a deep voice said, ‘Come, youngster, this is more in
thy way than mine,’ and a black-bearded _sapeur_ pushed a drum before
me, and ordered me to beat the _générale_. Such was the din and uproar
that my performance did not belie my uniform, and I beat away manfully,
scarcely sorry, amid all my fears, at the elevated position from which I
now surveyed the exciting scene around me.
As we passed, the shops were closed on either side in haste, and across
the windows of the upper storeys beds and mattresses were speedily
drawn, in preparation for the state of siege now so imminent. Lights
flickered from room to room, and all betokened a degree of alarm and
terror. Louder and louder pealed the ‘Marseillaise,’ as the columns
deployed into the open Place, from which every street and lane
now poured its crowds of armed men. The line was now formed by the
artillery, which, to the number of sixteen pieces, ranged from end to
end of the square, the dense crowd of horse and foot forming behind, the
mass dimly lighted by the waving torches that here and there marked the
presence of an officer. Gradually the sounds of the ‘Marseillaise’ grew
fainter and fainter, and soon a dreary silence pervaded that varied
host, more terrible now, as they stood speechless, than in all the
tumultuous din of the wildest uproar. Meanwhile, from the streets which
opened into the Place at the farthest ends, the columns of the National
Guard began to move up, the leading files carrying torches; behind
them came ten pieces of artillery, which, as they issued, were speedily
placed in battery, and flanked by the heavy dragoons of the Guard; and
now, in breathless silence, the two forces stood regarding each other,
the cannoniers with lighted matches in their hands, the dragoons firmly
clasping their sabres--all but waiting for the word to plunge into the
deadliest strife. It was a terrible moment--the slightest stir in the
ranks--the rattling of a horse’s panoply--the clank of a sabre--fell
upon the heart like the toll of a death-bell. It was then that two or
three horsemen were seen to advance from the troops of the Convention,
and, approaching the others, were speedily lost among their ranks. A
low and indistinct murmur ran along the lines, which each moment
grew louder, till at last it burst forth into a cry of ‘_Vive la
Convention!_’ Quitting their ranks, the men gathered around a general of
the National Guard, who addressed them in words of passionate eloquence,
but of which I was too distant to hear anything. Suddenly the ranks
began to thin; some were seen to pile their arms, and move away in
silence; others marched across the Place, and took up their position
beside the troops of the National Guard; of the cannoniers, many threw
down their matches, and extinguished the flame with their feet, while
others again, limbering up their guns, slowly retired to the barracks.
As for myself, too much interested in the scene to remember that I was,
in some sort, an actor in it, I sat upon the caisson, watching all
that went forward so eagerly, that I never noticed the departure of my
companions, nor perceived that I was left by myself. I know not how much
later this discovery might have been deferred to me had not an officer
of the Guard ridden up to where I was, and said, ‘Move up, move up, my
lad; keep close to the battery.’ He pointed at the same time with his
sabre in the direction where a number of guns and carriages were already
proceeding.
Not a little flattered by the order, I gathered up reins and whip, and,
thanks to the good drilling of the beasts, who readily took their proper
places, soon found myself in the line, which now drew up in the rear of
the artillery of the Guard, separated from the front by a great mass of
horse and foot. I knew nothing of what went forward in the Place;
from what I gathered, however, I could learn that the artillery was
in position, the matches burning, and everything in readiness for a
cannonade. Thus we remained for above an hour, when the order was given
to march. Little knew I that, in that brief interval, the whole fortunes
of France--ay, of humanity itself--had undergone a mighty change--that
the terrible reign of blood, the tyranny of Robespierre, had closed,
and that he who had sent so many to the scaffold now lay bleeding and
mutilated upon the very table where he had signed the death-warrants.
The day was just beginning to dawn as we entered the barracks of the
Conciergerie, and drew up in a double line along its spacious square.
The men dismounted, and stood ‘at ease,’ awaiting the arrival of the
staff of the National Guard, which, it was said, was coming; and now the
thought occurred to me of what I should best do, whether make my escape
while it was yet time, or remain to see by what accident I had come
there. If a sense of duty to the Père Michel urged me on one side, the
glimmering hope of some opening to fortune swayed me on the other. I
tried to persuade myself that my fate was bound up with his, and that
he should be my guide through the wild waste before me; but these
convictions could not stand against the very scene in which I stood. The
glorious panoply of war--the harnessed team--the helmeted dragoon--the
proud steed in all the trappings of battle! How faint were the pleadings
of duty against such arguments! The père, too, designed me for a priest.
The life of a seminarist in a convent was to be mine! I was to wear the
red gown and the white cape of an acolyte!--to be taught how to swing a
censer, or snuff the candles of the high altar--to be a train-bearer
in a procession, or carry a relic in a glass-case! The hoarse bray of a
trumpet that then rung through the court routed these ignoble fancies,
and as the staff rode proudly in, my resolve was taken. I was determined
to be a soldier.
The day, I have said, was just breaking, and the officers wore their
dark-grey capotes over their uniforms. One, however, had his coat partly
open, and I could see the blue and silver beneath, which, tarnished and
worn as it was, had to my eyes all the brilliancy of a splendid uniform.
He was an old man, and by his position in advance of the others showed
that he was the chief of the staff. This was General Lacoste, at that
time _en mission_ from the army of the Rhine, and now sent by the
Convention to report upon the state of events among the troops. Slowly
passing along the line, the old general halted before each gun, pointing
out to his staff certain minutiæ, which, from his gestures and manner,
it was easy to see were not the subject of eulogy. Many of the pieces
were ill slung, and badly balanced on the trucks; the wheels, in some
cases, were carelessly put on, their tires worn, and the iron shoeing
defective. The harnessing, too, was patched and mended in a slovenly
fashion; the horses lean and out of condition; the drivers awkward and
inexperienced.
‘This is all bad, gentlemen,’ said he, addressing the officers, but in a
tone to be easily heard all around him, ‘and reflects but little credit
upon the state of your discipline in the capital. We have been now
seventeen months in the field before the enemy, and not idle either; and
yet I would take shame to myself if the worst battery in our artillery
were not better equipped, better horsed, better driven, and better
served, than any I see here.’
One who seemed a superior officer here appeared to interpose some
explanation or excuse, but the general would not listen to him, and
continued his way along the line--passing around which he now entered
the space between the guns and the caissons. At last he stopped directly
in front of where I was, and fixed his dark and penetrating eyes
steadily on me. Such was their fascination that I could not look from
him, but continued to stare as fixedly at him.
[Illustration: 80]
‘Look here, for instance,’ cried he, as he pointed to me with his
sword, ‘is that _gamin_ yonder like an artillery-driver? or is it to a
drummer-boy you intrust the caisson of an eight-pounder gun? Dismount,
sirrah, and come hither,’ cried he to me, in a voice that sounded like
an order for instant execution. ‘This popinjay dress of yours must have
been the fancy of some worthy shopkeeper of the ‘Quai Lepelletier’; it
never could belong to any regular corps. Who are you?’
‘Maurice Tiernay, sir,’ said I, bringing my hand to my cap in military
salute.
‘Maurice Tiernay,’ repeated he, slowly, after me. ‘And have you no more
to say for yourself than your name?’
‘Very little, sir,’ said I, taking courage from the difficulty in which
I found myself.
‘What of your father, boy?--is he a soldier?’
‘He was, sir,’ replied I, with firmness.
‘Then he is dead? In what corps did he serve?’
‘In the Garde du Corps,’ said I proudly.
The old general gave a short cough, and seemed to search for his
snuff-box to cover his confusion; the next moment, however, he had
regained his self-possession, and continued: ‘And since that event--I
mean since you lost your father--what have you been doing? How have you
supported yourself?’
‘In various ways, sir, said I, with a shrug of the shoulders, to imply
that the answer was too tedious to listen to. ‘I have studied to be a
priest, and I have served as a “rat” in the Prison du Temple.’
‘You have certainly tried the extremes of life,’ said he, laughing;
‘and now you wish, probably, to hit the _juste milieu_, by becoming a
soldier?’
‘Even so, sir,’ said I easily. ‘It was a mere accident that mounted me
upon this caisson, but I am quite ready to believe that Fortune intended
me kindly when she did so.’
‘These _gredins_ fancy that they are all born to be generals of France,
said the old man, laughing; ‘but, after all, it is a harmless delusion,
and easily curable by a campaign or two. Come, sirrah, I’ll find out a
place for you, where, if you cannot serve the Republic better, you
will, at least, do her less injury than as a driver in her artillery.
Bertholet, let him be enrolled in your detachment of the gendarme, and
give him my address--I wish to speak to him to-morrow.’
‘At what hour, general?’ said I promptly.
‘At eight, or half-past--after breakfast,’ replied he.
‘It may easily be before mine,’ muttered I to myself.
‘What says he?’ cried the general sharply.
The aide-de-camp whispered a few words in answer, at which the other
smiled, and said, ‘Let him come somewhat earlier--say eight o’clock.’
‘You hear that, boy?’ said the aide-de-camp to me, while with a
slight gesture he intimated that I might retire. Then, as if suddenly
remembering that he had not given me the address of the general, he took
a scrap of crumpled paper from his pocket-book, and wrote a few words
hastily on it with his pencil. ‘There,’ cried he, throwing it towards
me, ‘there is your billet for this day, at least.’ I caught the scrap
of paper, and, after deciphering the words, perceived that they were
written on the back of an assignat for forty sous.
It was a large sum to one who had not wherewithal to buy a morsel of
bread; and as I looked at it over and over, I fancied there would be no
end to the pleasures such wealth could purchase. I can breakfast on
the Quai Voltaire, thought I--ay, and sumptuously too, with coffee and
chestnuts, and a slice of melon, and another of cheese, and a _petite
goutte_ to finish, for five sous. The panther, at the corner of the
Pont Neuf, costs but a sou; and for three one can see the brown bear
of America, the hyæna, and another beast whose name I forget, but whose
image, as he is represented outside, carrying off a man in his teeth, I
shall retain to my last hour. Then there is the panorama of Dunkirk,
at the Rue Chopart, with the Duke of York begging his life from a
terrible-looking soldier in a red cap and a tricoloured scarf. After
that, there’s the parade at the ‘Carrousel’; and mayhap something more
solemn still at the ‘Grève’; but there was no limit to the throng of
enjoyments which came rushing to my imagination, and it was in a kind of
ecstasy of delight I set forth on my voyage of pleasure.