THE PREPARATIONS OF DIXMER.
The morrow, prefaced by a sleepless night, at length arrived,
presenting a terrible appearance, and it might, without exaggeration,
be said that the sky was the color of blood.
Indeed, each day at this epoch and in this year, however beautiful the
sun, had a livid hue.
The queen slept with difficulty, and it was a sleep without repose.
Hardly had she closed her eyes when she seemed to see blood, when she
seemed to hear shrieks.
She had dropped asleep with the file in her hand. One part of the day
was devoted by her to prayer, and the guards, seeing her often thus
engaged, did not feel any alarm at what they considered an increase of
religious feeling.
From time to time, however, she examined the file transmitted to her
by one of her intended deliverers, and compared the fragility of the
instrument with the strength of the bar.
Fortunately, these bars were only secured in the wall on one
side,--that is to say, at the lower part.
The upper part was set in a crossbar; the lower part divided, there was
only to pull the bar, and it of course would yield.
But it was not the physical difficulties which worried the queen. She
perfectly comprehended that the thing was possible, and it was this
very possibility which caused hope, like a blood-red meteor, to dazzle
her eyes.
She felt that to reach her, her friends must necessarily sacrifice her
guards; and could she at any price consent to the death of the only
individuals who, for a length of time, had evinced any interest in her,
or pity for her?
On the other hand, beyond these bars which she had been directed
to saw, over the bodies of the two men who would have to die in
endeavoring to prevent her deliverers from reaching her, were life,
liberty, and perhaps vengeance,--three things so sweet, especially to a
woman, that she asked pardon of God for so earnestly desiring them.
She believed, moreover, that not the slightest suspicion agitated the
minds of her guards; that they had not any idea of a snare (if such a
thing existed) into which it was intended their prisoner should fall.
These simple men would have betrayed themselves to eyes so much
exercised as those of this woman, habituated to detect evil from having
so severely suffered from it.
The queen, then, entirely abandoned the idea that these double
overtures were contrived as a trap; but as the fear of being betrayed
into this snare disappeared, the still greater apprehension increased
of bloodshed for her sake, before her very eyes.
"Strange destiny! sublime sight!" murmured she; "two conspiracies
united to save a poor queen, or rather a poor female prisoner who has
had no means of inducing or encouraging these conspiracies which are
about to take place at the same moment! Who knows? Perhaps there may be
one only. Perhaps it may be a double mine, leading to one and the same
point.
"If I wished, I might then be saved.
"But a poor woman sacrificed in my stead!--two men killed before this
woman could reach me! God and the future might perhaps forgive me.
Impossible! impossible!"
Then passed and repassed in her mind visions of the great devotion of
servants for their masters, and the ancient traditions of the right
exercised by masters over the lives of their retainers,--phantasies
almost effaced from the mind of expiring royalty.
"Anne of Austria would have accepted this," said she. "Anne of Austria
would have set aside every consideration to the safety of the royal
person.
"Anne of Austria was of the same blood, and was almost in the same
situation as myself.
"What madness to have come to France to pursue Anne of Austria's
principles of royalty! Was I not brought hither? Two kings said, It is
important that two royal children who have never seen or loved each
other, who perhaps never may love each other, should be married at the
same altar, to die upon the same scaffold.
"And then will not my death accelerate that of my poor child, who in
the eyes of my few friends is still king of France?
"And when my son, like his father, is dead, will not their shades
both smile on me in pity, seeing me, in order to spare some drops of
plebeian blood, stain with my own the remains of the throne of Saint
Louis?"
In this ever-increasing anguish of thought, this fever of doubt whose
pulsations went on in geometrical progression, and in a tempest of
terror and fear, the unhappy queen continued till the arrival of night.
She had several times closely scrutinized her guards; but they had
never appeared more composed.
Never had she been more forcibly struck by the invariable kindness and
attention of these two uneducated men.
When the darkness of night reigned in the cell; when the steps of the
patrol, the noise of resounding arms, and the barking of dogs awoke
the echoes of the gloomy vaults; when all the horrors of the prison
revealed themselves, gloomy and hopeless,--Marie Antoinette, subdued by
the natural weakness of a woman, rose affrighted.
"Oh, I will fly! I will fly!" said she. "Yes, yes; I will fly! When he
comes, when he speaks, I will saw the bar. I will await what God and
my deliverers ordain me. I owe myself to my children. They shall not
murder them; or if they slay them, and I am free--oh, then, at least--"
She did not conclude; her eyes closed, and her deep emotion checked
all utterance. This was a frightful vision to the unfortunate queen,
enclosed with gratings and iron bars. But soon this vision disappeared,
and in its stead another presented itself to her view. Gratings and
bolts had vanished. She saw herself in the midst of a dark, stern,
inflexible army; she orders the fire to consume, the sword to leap from
the scabbard, and vengeance to be taken on a people she will no longer
claim as her own.
During this time Gilbert and Duchesne were conversing tranquilly, and
preparing their evening repast.
At this time, also, Dixmer and Geneviève entered the Conciergerie, and
installed themselves in the office as usual. At the end of an hour the
registrar of the Palace, having completed his business, according to
custom took his departure, leaving them alone to themselves.
Directly the door had closed on his colleague, Dixmer rushed toward the
empty basket placed at the door in exchange for that of the evening. He
seized the bread, broke it, and found the case. The queen's answer was
enclosed within it; he grew pale on reading it.
Geneviève observed him tear it into a thousand pieces, and throw them
into the mouth of the burning stove.
"It is well," said he; "all is arranged."
Then turning toward Geneviève,--
"Come here, Madame," said he; "I must speak with you, and must speak
low." Geneviève, motionless and cold as marble, gave a gesture of
assent, and approached him.
"The time has arrived, Madame; listen to me!"
"Yes, sir."
"You prefer a death beneficial to your cause,--a death that will insure
you the blessings of your party and pity from the whole nation,--to an
ignominious and revengeful end of life, do you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"I might have killed you on the spot when I found you in the house of
your lover; but a man who, like myself, consecrates his life to a holy
and honorable cause, ought to be able to profit by his own private
griefs by rendering them subservient to this cause. This I have done,
or rather intend to do. I have, as you see, denied myself the pleasure
of doing myself justice, and have also spared your lover."
Something resembling a fugitive but appalling smile flitted over the
lips of Geneviève.
"But as for your lover, you who know me should be well aware that I
only bide my time."
"Monsieur," said Geneviève, "I am ready. Then wherefore all this
prelude?"
"You are ready?"
"Yes, I am ready. Kill me, if you choose; you have good cause to do so."
Dixmer looked at Geneviève, and started in spite of himself. She at
this moment appeared sublimely beautiful; a glory the most brilliant
of all shone around her,--the glory that emanates from love.
"To continue," said Dixmer, "I have informed the queen; she expects
you, notwithstanding she will in all probability raise numerous
objections. You must overrule them all."
"Give me your orders, sir, and I will execute them."
"Immediately," continued Dixmer, "I shall knock at the door; Gilbert
will open it, and with this poniard--" here Dixmer threw open his coat,
and half drawing from its scabbard a double-edged poniard--"with this I
shall kill him."
Geneviève shuddered.
Dixmer made a motion with his hand to command her attention.
"The instant I strike him, dart into the second chamber, that of the
queen. There is, as you are aware, no door, only a screen. You will
exchange clothes with her while I despatch the other soldier. Then I
shall take the queen's arm, and pass through the wicket with her."
"Very well," said Geneviève, coldly.
"You understand me?" said Dixmer. "You have been seen each evening in
your black taffeta mantle which conceals your face. Place your mantle
upon her Majesty, and arrange it on her precisely as you have been
accustomed to arrange it on yourself."
"All shall be done as you desire, sir."
"It remains now for me to pardon and to thank you, Madame."
Geneviève shook her head with a scornful smile.
"I neither want your pardon nor your thanks, sir," said she, extending
her hand. "What I have done, or rather am about to do, would efface
a crime. I have only been guilty of a weakness; and again, this
weakness--recall your own conduct, sir--you all but forced me to
commit. I withdrew myself from him; you drove me back into his arms;
so you are at the same time instigator, judge, and avenger. It remains
for me to pardon you my death; and I do pardon you. It is I who should
thank you for death, since life has become insupportable to me,
separated from the only man I love; since that hour especially when you
severed by your savage vengeance every tie that bound me to him."
Dixmer drove his nails into his flesh. He strove to reply, but his
voice failed him.
He moved toward the wicket.
"Time passes," said he, at last. "Madame, every moment is of
consequence. Are you ready?"
"I have told you, sir," replied Geneviève, with the calmness and
courage of a martyr, "I await you."
Dixmer collected his papers, saw that the gates were fast closed, so
that no one could enter the wicket, and then wished to reiterate his
instructions.
"It is unnecessary, sir," said Geneviève. "I know perfectly all I have
to do."
"Then, adieu!" and Dixmer extended his hand, as if at this supreme
moment all recrimination was effaced before the grandeur of the
situation and the sublimity of the sacrifice.
Geneviève, shuddering, touched with the tips of her fingers the
proffered hand of her husband.
"Place yourself near me, Madame, and the moment I have struck Gilbert,
pass on."
"I am ready."
Then Dixmer grasped in his right hand his poniard; with his left he
knocked at the gate.