"VIVE LA GUILLOTINE!"
It was midnight when I got clear of the Auberge "a l'Irlandois" in the
Rue d'Agnes, and being a fine, warm autumn night I was by no means the
only occupant of the street. This was fortunate for me, for the guards
posted at either end would have been more inquisitive as to a solitary
stranger than one of a company of noisy idlers.
That night there had been a great performance in one of the theatres in
Paris, which had lasted far into the night, and was only lately over.
Those I overheard speak of it said it had been a great patriotic
spectacle, in the course of which National Guards and cadets had marched
across the stage, unfurling the banner of the Republic, and taking the
oath of the people amid scenes of wild enthusiasm and shouting. To add
to the enthusiasm of the occasion a party of real volunteers had
appeared, and after receiving the three-coloured cockade from their
sweethearts, had shouldered their guns and marched, singing the
Marseillaise, straight from the theatre to the road for La Vendue, where
they were going to shed their blood for their country.
The audience had risen, waving hats and handkerchiefs to bid them God-
speed, and then poured forth into the streets, shouting the chorus, and
cheering till they were hoarse and tired.
It was into a party of such loyal revellers that I found myself sucked
before I was half-way out of the Rue d'Agnes; and yelling and shouting
at the top of my voice I passed safely the guards, and reached the broad
Rue Saint Honore. Here the crowd gradually dispersed, some one way,
some another, while a few, with cries of "_A la Place_," held on in
company. With these I joined myself, and presently came to a great open
square, where on a high platform stood a grim and terrible looking
object. "_Vive la guillotine_!" shouted the crowd as they caught sight
of it.
It was strangely lit up with the glare of the torches of some workmen
who were evidently busy upon it. I could see the fatal knife being
raised once or twice and let fall with a crash by way of experiment.
And each time the crowd cheered and laughed, and invited one of their
number to ascend the platform and put his head in the empty collar. It
made me sick to watch it, yet for safety's sake I had to shout "_Vive la
guillotine_!" with the rest of them, and laugh with the loudest.
Presently some one near noticed me and caught me by the arm.
"Here is one that will do, Citoyen Samson. Lift him up, comrades. Let
us see if the knife is sharp enough."
At the touch of his hand I broke into a cold sweat, and clung to his
knees amid shouts of laughter. It was all very well for them, who were
used to such jests. I was new to it, and fell a victim to a panic such
as I have never known since. A herculean strength seemed to possess me.
I flung my tormentors right and left, and darted away from them into
the dark recesses of the surrounding gardens. They began by giving
chase, but in the end let me go, and returned to their more congenial
spectacle, and presently, tired even of that, went home to bed.
It was an hour before I durst look out from my hiding-place in the midst
of a clump of thick bushes. I could still see the guillotine looming in
the moonlight; but the workmen, like the sightseers, had gone. The only
living persons were a few women, who had seated themselves on one of the
benches in front of the instrument, evidently determined on a good view
of to-morrow's spectacle.
I retreated to my hiding-place with a shudder, glad I was too far away
to overhear their talk.
But if I heard not theirs, I heard, oddly enough, another conversation,
so near that had it been intended for my ears it could not have taken
place in a better spot.
One of the speakers, by his voice, was an Englishman, of more than
middle age; the other, a woman, who also spoke English, but with a
foreign accent.