THE MINERS.
At the moment they left the table, Dixmer was told that his notary
awaited him in his study. He excused himself to Maurice; besides, he
was accustomed to leave him thus, and proceeded to attend his man of
business.
He was negotiating for the purchase of a small house, Rue de la
Corderie, facing the garden of the Temple. It was rather, as to the
rest, a lot than a house that Dixmer was purchasing, for the present
building was in a state of dilapidation; but it was his intention to
rebuild it.
The bargain had not been delayed with the proprietor; that same morning
the notary had seen him and agreed to pay 19,500 francs. He therefore
brought the agreement for signature, and came to receive the requisite
money for the purchase, as the proprietor would that day clear out the
building that the workmen might commence operations on the morrow.
The contract signed, Dixmer and Morand accompanied the notary to
the Rue de la Corderie, to view this new acquisition; for they had
purchased without seeing it.
It was a house situated near where No. 20 now stands,--three stories
in height, and surmounted by a curved roof. The lower part at one time
had been let to a wine-merchant, and contained some most excellent
cellarage.
The proprietor, above all things, vaunted his cellars; they were the
best part of the house. Dixmer and Morand appeared to attach very
little interest to these cellars, yet both, as if from mere politeness,
descended with the proprietor into what he called his vaults.
An exception to the general rule, he had not exaggerated. The cellars
were magnificent; one of them extended under the Rue de la Corderie,
and from this cellar they could hear the carriages roll over their
heads.
Dixmer and Morand did not appear to appreciate this advantage. They
even spoke of filling them up, observing that however convenient they
might be to a wine-merchant, they became perfectly useless to honest
burgesses, who intended to occupy the whole of the house.
After the cellars they visited the first, second, and third story; from
the third they completely over-looked the garden of the Temple. It was,
as usual, invaded by the National Guard, who enjoyed this privilege,
since the queen never walked there now.
Dixmer and Morand recognized their friend, the Widow Plumeau, with
her usual activity, doing the honors of her tavern; but doubtless
their anxiety to be in their turn remembered by her was not very
great, as they kept themselves concealed behind the proprietor, while
he expatiated on the advantages of this view, at once so varied and
agreeable.
The purchaser then wished to see the attics.
The proprietor, doubtless, was unprepared for this demand, since he
had not got the key; but soothed by the bundle of bills shown him, he
descended to search for it.
"I was not deceived," said Morand, "and this house will answer our
purpose exactly."
"And what do you say to the vaults?"
"That it is an interposition of Providence, which will spare us two
days' labor at least."
"Do you think that it is in the direction of the cantine?"
"It inclines a little to the left; but that is of no consequence."
"But," said Dixmer, "how will you be able to follow your subterranean
line with the certainty of its terminating where you wish?"
"Rest assured," said Morand; "that is my affair."
"If we were every day to give a signal from here that we are watching?"
"But from the platform the queen could not see it; for the attics alone
are as high as the platform, and I am doubtful even about them."
"Never mind," said Dixmer, "either Maury or Toulan may see it from some
opening, and they will inform the queen."
And Dixmer tied several knots in a white calico curtain, passing it
backward and forward before the window as if shaken by the wind.
Then both, as if impatient to visit the attic, awaited the proprietor's
return on the staircase, having first closed the door, not wishing to
afford the worthy man a sight of his waving curtain.
The garrets, as Morand had foreseen, did not reach the height of the
summit of the tower. This was at once an advantage and disadvantage,--a
disadvantage, because they could not communicate by signs with the
queen; and an advantage, because the very impracticability alone
disarmed all suspicion. The highest houses were naturally the objects
of the strictest surveillance.
"It is necessary, either by means of Toulan, Maury, or Tison's
daughter, to find some way to tell her to keep upon the watch,"
murmured Dixmer.
"I have thought of that," said Morand.
They descended; the notary waited in the salon with the contract signed.
"It is all right," said Dixmer; "the house suits me; so hand over to
the proprietor the sum of 19,500 francs in payment, and let him give a
receipt."
The proprietor did so, first scrupulously counting the money.
"You understand, Citizen," said Dixmer, "the principal clause, that
the house must be vacated this evening; that, in short, I must put the
workmen in to-morrow."
"Well, Citizen, I agree to do so. You can take the keys this evening at
eight o'clock; all will be free."
"Pardon me," said Dixmer, "but did you not tell me, Citizen Notary,
there was a way out leading into the Rue Portefoin?"
"Yes, Citizen," said the proprietor; "but I had it closed; for having
only one official, the poor devil had too much fatigue, being obliged
to watch both doors. But it is so built up that at any time it can be
re-opened in two hours at least. Would you wish to convince yourselves,
citizens?"
"Thanks, it is not necessary," said Dixmer, "I attach no importance to
this way out; it is useless to me."
They then both left, having for the third time reminded the landlord of
his promise that the apartments should be empty at eight o'clock that
evening.
At nine o'clock they both returned, followed by five or six men at a
distance, of whom, in the confusion then reigning in Paris, no one took
any notice. They both entered first. The landlord had kept his word;
the house was totally empty.
They closed the shutters with the greatest care, and with the aid of
a tinder-box, lighted some wax candles which Morand had taken in his
pocket.
Then one after another the six men entered. These were the ordinary
guests of the master-tanner, the same contrabandists who one evening
wished to kill Maurice, but had now become his friends.
They closed the doors, and descended into the vault.
This vault, so contemptuously treated during the day, had become at
night the most important part of the house.
Having first stopped up every crevice through which a curious eye might
penetrate to the interior, Morand placed a cask upright, and began to
trace with a crayon geometrical lines upon a piece of paper.
While he was thus engaged, his companions, conducted by Dixmer, left
the house, following the Rue de la Corderie, and at the corner of the
Rue de Beauce stopped before a covered carriage. In this carriage
was a man who silently distributed to each one the instrument of a
pioneer,--to one a spade, to another a mattock, to this one a lever,
to that a pick-axe; each man concealed his tool under his overcoat,
or mantle. The miners retraced the road to the small house, and the
carriage disappeared.
Morand had finished his calculation.
He went straight to an angle of the cave.
"There," said he, "dig!"
And the work of deliverance immediately commenced.
* * * * *
The situation of the unhappy prisoners in the Temple became daily more
serious and hourly more wretched. For an instant the queen, Madame
Elizabeth, and Madame Royale had indulged some hope. The municipals
Toulan and Lepître, touched with compassion for the august prisoners,
had evinced some interest in them. At first little habituated to the
marks of sympathy, the poor women were suspicious; but suspicion ceases
to exist where there is hope. Besides, what now could happen to the
queen, separated from her son by a prison, from her husband by death?
To follow him to the scaffold,--this idea had possessed her for some
time, and she had now become accustomed to it.
The first time Toulan and Lepître returned on guard, the queen
particularly requested, if they really felt any interest in her
misfortunes, they would describe to her the last moments of the king.
This was putting their sympathy to a sad test. Lepître had assisted at
the execution; he obeyed the order of the queen.
The queen demanded the journals containing the report of the execution.
Lepître promised to bring them when next on guard; it would be his turn
again in three weeks. In the king's time they had at the Temple four
municipals; the king dead, they had only three,-- one to watch during
the day, two during the night. Toulan and Lepître invented a stratagem,
that they might always keep watch together at night.
The hours of guard were drawn by lot; they wrote on one ballot "day,"
on two others "night." Each drew his ballot from a hat, and chance
decided the night-watch.
Every time that Toulan and Lepître were on guard they wrote "day" on
three ballots, and presented the hat to the municipal they wished to
oust, and he, thrusting his hand into the improvised urn, necessarily
drew forth a ballot on which was inscribed "day." They then destroyed
the other two, murmuring against the hazard which always decreed them
the most wearisome watch of the two,--that is to say, the night.
When the queen was sure of her guards she corresponded with the
Chevalier de Maison-Rouge. Then an escape was attempted, but the
attempt was detected. The queen and Madame Elizabeth were to flee
disguised as municipal officers, with cards that would be provided for
them. As to the two children,--that is to say, Madame Royale and the
young dauphin,--they had remarked that the man who came to light the
lamps of the Temple was always accompanied by two children, of the same
age apparently as the Princess Royale and the dauphin. It was therefore
arranged that Turgy, of whom we have previously spoken, should dress
himself as the lamp-lighter, and carry away the prince and princess.
We will mention in a few words who Turgy was.
Turgy was an old waiter of the king's, introduced at the Temple with
part of the family from the Tuileries, for the king had at first been
permitted a well-appointed table. The first month this consideration
cost the nation thirty or forty thousand francs.
It may easily be understood this prodigality could not last. The
Commune decreed otherwise. They dismissed the chefs, the cooks, and
scullions; one single man-servant only was retained,--that man was
Turgy.
He was naturally the medium of communication between the prisoners and
their partisans, for Turgy was permitted to go out, and consequently
was enabled to forward their letters, and introduce the replies. These
billets were generally twisted round the stoppers of the _carafes_
containing the milk of almonds brought to the queen and Madame
Elizabeth. They were written with lemon-juice, and perfectly illegible
till held near the fire.
All was prepared for the escape, when one day Tison lighted his pipe
with the paper-stopper of a _carafe_. As the paper burned, the writing
became visible. He instantly extinguished the half-burned paper, and
carried the remaining fragment to the Council of the Temple, when,
being held near the fire, they could only read a few disjointed
words, the other part being burned to ashes. But they recognized the
hand-writing of the queen. Tison, being questioned, mentioned some
slight marks of attention and sympathy he fancied he had observed on
the part of Lepître and Toulan toward the prisoners. The two guards
were immediately denounced to the municipality, and allowed no more to
enter the Temple.
Turgy remained.
But suspicion was now excited to the highest degree. He was never left
a single moment alone with the princesses. All communication with the
exterior was now utterly impossible.
Madame Elizabeth had nevertheless one day given Turgy a little gold
knife to clean, with which she used to cut fruit. Turgy suspected
something, and when wiping the knife drew off the handle, and in the
handle found a letter.
This letter contained an alphabet of signs.
He returned the knife to Madame Elizabeth; but a municipal then present
prevented him, and in his turn securing the knife, took the blade and
handle apart; but fortunately the letter was no longer there. The
municipal nevertheless confiscated the knife.
It was at that time that the indefatigable Chevalier de Maison-Rouge
meditated this second attempt, which they intended to carry into
execution by means of the house which Dixmer had purchased.
The prisoners, however, had by degrees lost all hope. That day the
queen, terrified by the noise in the streets which reached her ears,
and learning from these cries that they were debating the trial of
the Girondins, the last supporters of moderation, felt dreadfully
depressed. The Girondins dead, the royal family lost their only defence
in the Convention.
At seven o'clock the supper was served. The municipals examined every
plate as usual, unfolded each napkin successively, searched the bread,
the one with a fork, the other with his fingers, and concluded by
breaking into pieces the macaroons and walnuts, for fear any letter
should reach the prisoners. These precautions being concluded, the
royal family were invited to their meal in these simple words: --
"Widow Capet, you may eat."
The queen shook her head, signifying she was not hungry. But at this
moment Madame Royale advanced, as if to embrace her mother, and
whispered,--
"Seat yourself at table, Madame. I fancied Turgy made a sign."
The queen, tremblingly, raised her head. Turgy was opposite to her. The
napkin laid over his left arm, and with his right hand he touched his
eye.
She immediately rose, without any further objection, and resumed her
usual place at table.
The two municipals assisted at the meal, being strictly prohibited from
leaving the princesses alone for an instant with Turgy.
The feet of the queen and Madame Elizabeth met, and pressed each other
under the table.
As the queen was seated opposite Turgy, not one of his gestures escaped
her notice; besides, they were all so natural that they neither could
nor did inspire the municipals with any suspicion whatever.
At the removal of the supper the same precautions were used as before;
the smallest pieces of bread were taken up and examined. After which,
Turgy went out first, the two municipals following; the woman Tison
remained.
This woman had become ferocious since her separation from her
daughter, of whose fate she was totally ignorant. Every time the queen
lavished a caress on Madame Royale, it threw her into an excess of
rage almost bordering on frenzy; so much so, that the queen, who so
well understood the griefs of a mother, often denied herself this
consolation--now, alas! the only one left her--of pressing her daughter
to her heart.
Tison came now to seek for his wife, who at first declared she would
not leave till Widow Capet was in bed.
Madame Elizabeth then wished the queen good-night, and entered her
chamber.
The queen and princess having also retired, Tison's wife took the
candle and went out.
The municipals had already thrown themselves upon their beds in the
corridor.
The moon, pale visitant of the unhappy princesses, shone through the
window of the roof, casting her rays across the foot of the queen's bed.
For an instant everything remained calm and silent in the chamber.
Then a door turned softly on its hinges, a shadow passed across the
rays of the moon, and approached the queen,--it was Madame Elizabeth.
"Did you notice?" said she, in a whisper.
"Yes," replied the queen.
"And you understood?"
"So well that I dare not believe it."
"Let us see; repeat the signs."
"First, then, he touched his eye to indicate he had some news for
us; then he passed his napkin from his left to his right, which
meant that they were occupied in our deliverance. Then he put his
hand to his face, to signify that the expected aid would reach us
from the interior, and not from a stranger; then when you asked
him not to forget the milk of almonds to-morrow, he made two knots
in his pocket-handkerchief. Thus it is again the Chevalier de
Maison-Rouge,--noble-hearted man that he is."
"It is he," said Madame Elizabeth.
"Are you asleep, my child?" demanded the queen.
"No, _ma mère_," replied Madame Royale.
"Then pray for you know whom."
Madame Elizabeth quietly regained her chamber, and for some minutes
during the silence of the night the soft, sweet voice of the youthful
princess might be heard addressing her prayer to God. It was at that
moment, at a signal from Morand, the first stroke of the pick-axe
sounded in the small house at Rue de la Corderie.