THE BLOW FALLS
On a night toward the end of October, 1793, Jean was walking slowly and
thoughtfully home from the tavern to the Rue de Lille. His day's work
was over and it was long past ten o'clock. He was in no special hurry,
for he had many things to think over and he felt that he could do this
better by himself and in the open. None of his thoughts were
particularly happy. It was but a week since the Queen had given up her
life on the guillotine, and his heart ached with pity and horror for her
sorrowful end. The little King, doubtless all in ignorance of his loss,
was constantly more and more cruelly treated by the cobbler, whose
already evil temper was now thoroughly demoralised by his own enforced
imprisonment.
Then too, the condition of Paris was appalling. The Terror was at its
height, the prisons were overflowing with "suspects," and the guillotine
claimed daily a sickening array of victims. Robespierre ruled the
Convention with a hand of iron, and ruthlessly sacrificed to La
Guillotine all who stood in his way.
Jean had heard no news from his friend Bonaparte except a brief note
some time before, saying that he was in Marseilles with all his family
(which had left Corsica forever), and that he was again in the army. And
there was yet another problem weighing on the boy's mind. Tison, with
whom he had established quite a friendship since the spy's strange
conversion, had come to him two days before with a request. It seemed
that the Queen, before she was taken to La Conciergerie, had entrusted
to Tison a little book of prayers that she wished in some way to be
conveyed to her son. Tison had promised faithfully to accomplish this
mission if possible, but had as yet been unable to do so, as he was
never admitted to Simon's room.
Then he bethought himself of Yvonne, and of how she came occasionally to
play there, and he remembered that Jean had once confided to him the
tale of her first admittance. Here then was the solution! He came to
Jean and begged him to see that the book was in some way delivered, and
had only that morning placed the precious parcel in the boy's keeping.
This Jean felt to be a sacred trust, more so than ever now that the
Queen was dead. He determined that Yvonne must take it on the morrow
when she went with her mother and the laundry. Barelle would be on duty
that day, and would very likely gain her entrance.
One more vague fear troubled him. La Souris had never, by word or sign,
indicated that he concerned himself in the least about the boy, since
the memorable night when the plot of the Baron de Batz had failed. But
of late the man was constant in his hovering about the tavern, and the
very fact that he seemed to avoid speaking to the boy purposely, made
Jean most uneasy. It was as though a sword were suspended above his
head, and might fall at any unexpected moment.
All these thoughts served to depress the spirits of this usually lively
lad. He walked soberly, his head bent, looking neither to the right nor
left, his hands jammed in his trousers pockets. The street he traversed
was alive with people and bright with the lights from many shop-windows.
But presently he turned into one that was quite deserted, and almost
pitch dark by contrast. He had not proceeded far in this black lane
before he became aware of stealthy steps following him. His first
impulse was to take to his heels and run at top speed, but he wisely
decided to do no such thing. Instead he stopped abruptly and demanded:
"Who is following me? What do you want?" The stealthy footfalls ceased
for a moment, then out of the shadow stepped a huge figure.
"Do not be afraid!" a voice whispered, as the figure drew near. "I am
Citizen Prevot, the pikeman, who helped to search your house over a year
ago!" Jean was astonished and not a little alarmed. He knew Prevot to be
an almost constant attendant of his enemy, La Souris, and he could not
imagine whether to expect an attack from this giant or a friendly
advance. Prevot hastened to reassure him:
"I am following you with the friendliest intentions, believe me! I
always liked you for your cleverness in teaching that little dog his
trick, and I've news that will interest you to-night. I followed you
from the tavern, but I dared not address you till we came to this dark
street, for fear of--_him_! He's a born spy! It's the sole ambition of
his life to get someone into trouble,--you know whom I mean!--and I hate
him as I hate the devil! But I have to serve him,--that's my living and
likewise the safety of my neck! Now, in the first place, let me ask you
did your little dog ever get back to you?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" answered Jean. "But how he came to, I know not."
"Well, _I_ do," returned Prevot, "for I let him out of the house that
night. The poor little beast had been pining away for weeks and weeks.
He would eat almost nothing, and when we tried to make him do that
clever trick, he would only lie down and whine. It was plain that his
heart was breaking. So, one night when _he_ was out on some spying
expedition, I quietly opened the door, and the little animal was off and
away like a flash. I supposed he would get back to you. My soul! But I
had to stand a tirade from _him_ when he came back, for I represented to
him how the beast must have sneaked out unawares!"
"I can never thank you enough!" said Jean gladly. "We all love the
little thing so!"
"But that's not all I have to say," went on Prevot. "And the rest is
more serious! Do you know that _he_ has been keeping an eye on you for a
long time? Well, he has had his suspicions that you were mixed up in one
or two things concerning those in the Tower, but he could never be quite
certain till this morning, when he caught you in communication with
Tison, and saw Tison hand you something, secretly. Then he put two and
two together, and became convinced that you were in some plot to aid
those Capets. My lad, to-day he denounced you to the authorities!
To-morrow morning you will be arrested and then off with you to La
Conciergerie,--and you can imagine the rest! Tison is to be treated to
the same attention, only he will probably go to some other prison. Then
said I to myself, that fellow is too bright a young chap to afford a
mouthful to La Guillotine, and I'm going to give him at least a warning!
Cut away to-night, young Jean! If you start at once without even going
home, by to-morrow you can be far out of Paris and the reach of _him_!"
Jean's heart almost stopped beating at the news, yet, singularly enough,
so long had he been expecting the blow, that when it fell his one
thought was, "It has come at last!" He could not even command words in
which to thank this kind-hearted _sans-culotte_ for his timely warning.
But Prevot understood and grasped his hand:
"Don't try to thank me, lad! Make haste to get away, and to-morrow
morning there will be one victim the less, thank heaven! I must return
at once, for _he_ will be missing me, and of course suspecting
something! Adieu!" And he was gone before the boy could open his lips.
For many minutes Jean stood there in the darkness, striving to collect
his thoughts. What _was_ he to do! Circumstance having thus opened the
way for him, combining his safety with one of his most cherished wishes,
it was an almost irresistible temptation to flee from Paris, seek out
his hero and friend in Marseilles, and become a soldier of France. It
was a situation that would have tested the courage and loyalty of many
an older and more experienced mind. But turn and twist it as he would,
the position admitted of one outcome only, for him. Did he take good
Citizen Prevot's advice and escape before morning, what would be the
inevitable result? Simply this--that Mere Clouet and Yvonne would be
suspected of complicity with him, and _they_ would, without doubt, take
his place in one of the overflowing prisons. That they should suffer
while he went scot-free was unthinkable. And of course they could not
all attempt to escape,--that would mean certain apprehension with its
inevitable results. On the other hand, did he stand his ground, go about
his usual duties to-morrow and accept his arrest as if innocent, there
was one chance in a hundred that he might be so considered, and
ultimately set free. And even at the worst, no matter what happened to
him, Mere Clouet and Yvonne would probably escape suspicion.
Then there was one other consideration,--the dead Queen's little book of
prayers that he held concealed, in trust for her misused son. That must
be delivered at all cost, and in order to facilitate this he must go on
to the Rue de Lille and entrust it to Yvonne. No!--the longer he thought
about it, the plainer his duty became. He must accept with the best
grace possible what fate had in store for him, execute the mission that
had been entrusted to him, and see that no harm came through him, to
those who stood for all the family that he could claim in this world.
Once arrived at this conclusion, his heart actually felt lighter. With
all due gratitude to Prevot, he hurried home, determined to act on the
morrow as though in complete ignorance of what awaited him.
But when he reached the Rue de Lille, it was with a very grave face. So
unlike his usual gay self was he, that Mere Clouet was alarmed. Jean,
however, told her nothing. He ate his late supper, fed Moufflet, and
tried hard to act as though all were as usual. But when the Citizeness
Clouet had left the room for a time, Jean drew Yvonne aside and took her
into his confidence.
"Do not tell good Mere Clouet yet," he ended. "She must go to-morrow
with the laundry, and I want her to know nothing, till afterward!" Poor
little Yvonne grew white with terror.
"Oh, Jean," she whispered, "nothing must happen to you! We love you so!
How could we live without you!"
"Perhaps nothing more serious than a few days' detention will happen,
little one," he answered, "but we must always be prepared. Now let me
tell you what you must do. Here is the packet. You cannot get it out of
your hands too soon! Do they ever search you when you go to the little
fellow?"
"No," replied Yvonne. "Citizen Barelle always tells them it is not
necessary."
"Then you can probably get it to him safely. It is small thank
heaven!--and easily concealed. Few about the place connect me with you
and your mother, so if I am taken, make no inquiries for me except of
Barelle or Meunier,--he is also a friend,--for your own heads would not
then be safe! Trust in God, Yvonne, to save me! I cannot think He will
suffer me to come to harm. Take good care of Moufflet, and give my love
to Mere Clouet. Good-night, Yvonne!" It is scarcely necessary to add
that two people in number 670 Rue de Lille slept but little that night!
Next morning Jean hurried off to work as though nothing of importance
was to happen that day. The hours of the morning drifted heavily by, and
his heart was in his mouth at every unusual sound. He saw Mere Clouet
and Yvonne arrive with the laundry and leave after their usual stay.
Yvonne looked frightened and was plainly trembling, but by the
imperceptible nod she gave him, he guessed that her mission was
accomplished. Noon came, and still nothing had happened. But about one
o'clock, three gendarmes came into the tavern and ordered some wine.
Scarcely were they finished with their refreshment, when one of them
laid a heavy hand on Jean's shoulder.
"I arrest you in the name of the Republic!" was all he said, but Jean
knew that the blow had fallen at last. A wondering and regretful group
gathered about to see this favourite led away to some unknown but only
too well-imagined fate. Even Pere Lefevre parted from his little waiter
with quite a show of sympathy. It seemed a long journey from the Temple
to the Palais de Justice, and the gendarmes said not a word all the way.
The procession aroused little interest in the passers-by, for arrests
were too common in those days to cause any excitement. Arriving at the
Palais de Justice, they entered through the great Cour du Mai, and led
the boy to a large office where were seated many clerks at work. His
name was entered and a gendarme assured the clerks that the charge had
already been noted so that it only remained to thrust him within the
walls of the prison. Without further ado, he was led down a gloomy
staircase, a gate was opened and shut, and Jean was fast in La
Conciergerie!
He found himself in a spacious courtyard filled to overflowing with a
throng of helpless humanity of every degree from the lowest to the
highest. Among them were nobles, authors, priests, bankers, merchants,
bakers, farmers, mechanics, _sans-culottes_ even, and vagabonds, all
rubbing elbows, existing in daily fear and trembling, and almost starved
on the inadequate rations they received. That afternoon a crier came to
the gate and read aloud the list of that day's victims to the
Guillotine. Amid sobs and cries, that batch of prisoners passed out of
the dungeon forever, only to be replaced by a fresh installment before
evening.
Recognising none of his fellow-prisoners, Jean established himself in a
convenient corner, and amused himself by noting the vast difference in
the way that different classes of victims behaved themselves in their
terrible incarceration. Strangely enough, the class that seemed most
unconcerned was the nobility. A little party of them were grouped
together in a corner, and from their actions they might have been safely
at home enjoying each others' society without a thought of fear. Four of
them were engaged in playing a stately game of cards. When the crier of
the afternoon read, among others, the name of one of these players, Jean
was astonished to see the man rise, apologise politely to the others for
his enforced absence, and request another friend to take his place while
he was away. Then he bowed and departed, as though death were not
awaiting him outside that fatal gate! Others were not less collected.
These aristocrats seemed to pride themselves on ignoring the hideous
peril of their position.
People in other walks of life were not always so self-contained. Here
and there women, and even men sobbed and shivered for hours at a
stretch, and a shriek of anguish from some doomed victim was no unusual
occurrence. Others seemed frozen dumb with apprehension, while yet
others laughed and sang and played at boisterous games, striving
recklessly to forget their precarious nearness to trouble.
When evening came, and the prisoners were to be locked into their
crowded cells for the night, four noisy, stupid, half-tipsy jailers
entered, accompanied by several savage dogs, and there was a great to-do
while the roll of the victims was being called. A badly spelled,
incorrect list was passed from hand to hand among the jailers, a wrong
name was called, to which, of course, no one responded. The turnkeys all
swore in chorus, and tried another with no better success!
"Here, citizens," suggested Jean the irrepressible, "give me that list,
and I'll help you get it straight!" They were only too glad of some
assistance, and willingly handed it to him. Jean called off the names,
while the person to whom each belonged marched before the guards and
assured them of his or her identity. When this performance had been gone
through four times, the muddled keepers were at length convinced that
they had all safely locked in.
"Thanks, little rat!" they told Jean. "We will remember you another
time!" and the great gates were shut and barred for the night. Jean
found himself in a narrow cell in company with seven other persons
completely unknown to him, and they all slept together on a filthy
mattress of straw. Next day, however, Jean was removed from the common
hall and placed in a tiny, uncomfortable cell by himself.
"What's this for, my friend?" he demanded of the turnkey.
"It's because you are a dangerous conspirator, and it has been commanded
to keep you in solitary confinement!" he was told.
"Here's a pretty pass!" thought Jean. "How plainly we see the finger of
La Souris in this pie!" And he sat down on his straw mattress to think
it over.
EXIT THE COBBLER