THE SENTENCE.
On the twenty-third day of the month of the second year of the French
Republic, one and indivisible, corresponding to the 14th of October,
1793, old style, as it was then called, a curious crowd had since the
morning invaded the galleries of the hall where the revolutionary
sittings were held.
The passages of the Palace, the avenues of the Conciergerie, were lined
with greedy and impatient spectators, who made over one to another
their reports and passions, as the waves transmit their froth and foam.
Notwithstanding the curiosity with which each spectator was agitated,
and perhaps even on account of this curiosity, each wave of this sea,
swaying, pressed between two barriers,--the outer barrier which urged
it forward, the inner barrier which urged it backward,--each wave kept,
in this flux and reflux, almost the same position which it had at
first taken. Thus those more conveniently situated, comprehending it
was necessary they should obtain forgiveness for their good fortune,
kept this object in view by transmitting to their neighbors less
comfortably and commodiously placed than themselves, and who in their
turn recounted to others, the first words they heard, and all they saw.
Near the door of the Tribunal a group of men was collected, rudely
disputing for ten lines of space in width and height,--for ten lines in
breadth sufficed to see between two shoulders the corner of the hall
and the form of the judges; for ten lines in height was sufficient to
overlook the entire hall and see the face of the accused.
Unfortunately, this entrance to the passage of the hall, this narrow
defile, was almost entirely filled by a man with broad shoulders, and
his arms akimbo, who most effectually excluded the wavering crowd ready
to drop into the hall if this rampart of flesh were to give way.
This immovable man was young and handsome; and at every push bestowed
on him by the crowd, he shook his head of hair, thick as a lion's mane,
under which gleamed a dark and resolute expression; then, when either
by a look or a movement he had repelled the crowd and resisted their
violent attacks, he fell back into his attentive immobility.
A hundred times this compact mass had, notwithstanding, striven hard to
overthrow him,--as, from his great height, to see anything behind him
was utterly impossible,--but, as we have said, firm as a rock, he stood
his ground.
In the mean time, at the other extremity of this human sea, in the
midst of the crushing crowd, another man was forcing a passage, with
a perseverance almost amounting to ferocity. Nothing impeded his
indefatigable exertions,--neither the blows of those he left behind,
the fearful imprecations of those he almost stifled in passing, nor the
wails of the women, for there were many females in this crowd.
To blows he responded with blows; to imprecations, by a look before
which the most courageous quailed; to complaints, by a carelessness
bordering on disdain.
At last he arrived behind the powerful young man who, so to speak,
closed the entrance to the hall. In the midst of the general
expectation--for all were anxious to see how the contest between
two such rude antagonists would terminate--he essayed his peculiar
method, which consisted in planting like wedges his elbows between two
spectators, and thus breaking through the thickest of the crowd.
He was, notwithstanding, a short young man, whose wan face and
emaciated appearance betokened latent illness.
His elbows had scarcely touched the young man before him, when he,
indignant at the aggression, turned sharply round, at the same moment
raising his clinched fist, which threatened, in falling, to crush the
slender form of the intruder.
The two antagonists now found themselves face to face, when a cry of
recognition escaped from each.
"Ah, Citizen Maurice," said the delicate young man, with an accent
of inexpressible anguish, "permit me to pass; only let me see her, I
entreat you; you may kill me afterward."
Maurice--for it was indeed he--felt himself affected by admiration and
compassion for this ceaseless devotion, this adventurous daring.
"You here!" murmured he. "How imprudent!"
"Yes; but I am exhausted--O God! she speaks. Let me see her; let me
hear her!"
Maurice drew aside, and the young man passed before him, and being at
the head of the crowd there was nothing now to intercept the view of
him who had undergone so many blows, so much buffeting, to attain his
end.
All this scene, and the murmurs it occasioned, aroused the curiosity of
the judges.
The accused also turned round, and immediately perceived and recognized
the Chevalier.
A shudder ran through the queen's frame, seated in the iron arm-chair.
The examination, conducted by the President Harmand, interpreted by
Fouquier Tinville, discussed by Chauveau Lagarde, the counsel for the
queen, lasted as long as the strength of the judges and the accused
permitted.
During all this time Maurice remained motionless in his place, while
several times already the concourse was renewed both in the hall and
the corridors.
The Chevalier leaned against a pillar. He was no less pale than the
marble that supported him.
The day was succeeded by a dark night; some lighted candles on the
tables of the jurors, and some smoky lamps on the walls of the hall
threw a red and sinister expression on the noble face of that woman who
had been the cynosure of all eyes at the splendid fêtes at Versailles.
She was alone there, replying in brief and dignified language to the
questions of the president, and occasionally addressing some words to
her counsel in a low voice.
Her white and polished forehead retained all its wonted haughtiness.
She was attired in a black dress, which she had worn ever since her
husband's death.
The judges retired from the hall. The sitting had terminated.
"Have I evinced too much contempt for them, sir?" said she, addressing
herself to Chauveau Lagarde.
"Ah, Madame," replied he, "you are always right when you act like
yourself."
"How proud she is!" cried a woman among the audience, as if a voice
from the people had replied to the question of the unfortunate queen to
her advocate.
The queen turned and looked at her.
"Yes," repeated the woman, "you are proud, Antoinette; and I tell you,
pride has been the ruin of you."
The queen blushed. The Chevalier turned toward the female who had
uttered these words, and replied softly, "She was queen."
Maurice seized him by the wrist, saying, in a low tone, "Take care; do
not forget yourself!"
"Oh, Monsieur Maurice!" replied the Chevalier, "you are a man yourself,
and you know you are speaking to a man. Tell me, oh, tell me! do you
think they will condemn her?"
"I do not think it," said Maurice; "I am sure of it."
"What! a woman!" said the Chevalier, with a deep groan.
"No, a queen," said Maurice; "you have yourself said so."
The Chevalier in his turn seized Maurice by the wrist, and with a force
of which he appeared incapable compelled him to bend his ear. It was
half-past three in the morning. Many vacuums were visible among the
spectators; and a few lights burning here and there served only to
render darkness visible. In one of the most obscure parts of the hall
were the Chevalier and Maurice, the latter listening to what the former
was telling him.
"Why are you here? What brings you here?" demanded the Chevalier; "you,
sir, who have not a tiger's heart?"
"Alas!" said Maurice, "to discover what has become of an unfortunate
woman."
"Yes, yes," said Maison-Rouge; "she whom her husband forced into the
queen's cell? The female who was arrested before my eyes?"
"Geneviève?"
"Yes, Geneviève."
"Then Geneviève is a prisoner, sacrificed by her husband, killed by
Dixmer? Oh, I comprehend all; I understand all now! Chevalier, tell me
all that has occurred; tell me where she is; tell me where I can find
her! Chevalier, this woman constitutes my life; do you hear me?"
"I witnessed all. I was there when she was arrested. I was there also
to effect the escape of the queen; but our different projects not
having been communicated to each other, injured instead of assisting
our mutual cause."
"Why did you not save her, at least--your sister, Geneviève?"
"How could I when an iron bar divided us? Oh, if you had only been
there, if you had united your efforts with mine, the bar must have
yielded, and both might have been saved!"
"Geneviève! Geneviève!" murmured Maurice. Then regarding Maison-Rouge
with an indefinable expression of hatred and rage,--
"And Dixmer, where is he?" demanded he.
"I know not; he saved himself, as I did also."
"Oh!" said Maurice, grinding his teeth, "if ever I meet him--"
"Yes; I understand. But there is nothing yet to despair about
concerning Geneviève," said Maison-Rouge; "her case is not yet
desperate; but the queen--Oh! stop, Maurice, you are a man of feeling,
an influential man; you have friends--Oh! I pray to you as I would
pray to my God--Maurice, help me to save the queen! Maurice, Geneviève
supplicates you through me!"
"Pronounce not that name, sir! Who knows but that, like Dixmer, you may
have sacrificed this unhappy woman?"
"Sir," replied the Chevalier, haughtily, "when I attach myself to a
cause, I know better than to sacrifice any one but myself."
Maurice was about to reply, when the door of the chamber of debate
opened.
"Silence, sir! silence!" said the Chevalier, "the judges are
returning," and Maurice felt the hand tremble which Maison-Rouge had
placed upon his arm. "Ah!" murmured the Chevalier, "my heart fails me
now!"
"Have courage and constrain yourself, or you are lost!" said Maurice.
The Tribunal re-entered; and the news of its return spread rapidly
through the corridors and galleries. The crowd again congregated in
the hall, and even the dim lights appeared to burn brighter at this
solemn and decisive moment. The queen rose and stood erect, haughty
and immovable, her eyes fixed, her lips closed. The decree was then
read which doomed the queen to death. She heard her sentence without
even turning pale or uttering a sigh; her countenance evinced not the
slightest emotion. Then turning toward the Chevalier, she regarded him
with a long and eloquent look, as if to indicate her gratitude to this
man whom she had ever seen a living statue of devotion, and supported
on the arm of the officer of the gendarmes who commanded the forces,
with a calm and dignified demeanor she quitted the court.
Maurice drew a deep sigh. "Thank God!" said he, "nothing in this
declaration can compromise Geneviève; there is yet hope."
"Thank God!" murmured the Chevalier on his side, "it is all finished,
and the struggle at length terminated. I have not strength to go
further."
"Courage, sir!" said Maurice, in a low voice.
"I will take courage, sir," replied the Chevalier; and having shaken
hands, they disappeared by different outlets. The queen was reconducted
to the Conciergerie; the large clock struck four as she entered. At the
end of Pont Neuf, Maurice was stopped by Lorin.
"Halt!" said he; "you do not pass here!"
"Why?"
"First, where are you going?"
"I am going home. I can return there now, since I know what has become
of her."
"So much the better; but you must not enter there."
"For what reason?"
"The reason is, that two hours ago the gendarmes went there to arrest
you."
"Ah!" cried Maurice. "Well, that is the greater reason why I should go!"
"Are you mad? And Geneviève?"
"You are right. But where are we to go?"
"Zounds! To my house."
"But I shall ruin you!"
"The more reason, then, that you should come," said Lorin, dragging
Maurice away with him.