LORIN.
If for the second time the reader is willing to follow us to the
Revolutionary Tribunal, we shall find Maurice in the same place where
we have already seen him, only now infinitely more pale and agitated.
At the moment our scene again opens upon the lugubrious theatre,
whither we are led by a tissue of events rather than by our own
inclinations, the jury were deliberating; a cause had just been tried.
Two of the accused had already, by one of those insolent anticipations
by which they ridiculed the judges, attired themselves for the
scaffold, and were conversing with their counsel, whose words somewhat
resembled those of a physician who despairs of the life of his patient.
The people of the Tribune were this day in a ferocious mood, calculated
to excite the severity of the jury placed under the immediate
surveillance of the gossips and inhabitants of the suburbs. The juries
under these circumstances became more excited and energetic, resembling
an actor who redoubles his efforts beneath the eyes of a censorious
public.
Since ten in the morning five condemnations had already taken place
under the decisions of these harsh and insatiable juries.
The two individuals who now found themselves on the bench of the
accused awaited the decisive moment when "yes" or "no" would return
them to life or doom them to death.
The audience, rendered savage by the daily occurrence of these
spectacles, now become their favorite pastime, prepared them by
exclamations and anticipations for the awful moment.
"There! there! look at the tall one!" said a beldam, who, not having
a bonnet, wore a tricolored cockade as large as a hand on her
head,--"there! is he not pale? One would swear he was already dead."
The condemned regarded the woman with a contemptuous smile.
"What do you say?" replied her neighbor; "why, he is smiling."
"Yes; on the wrong side of his mouth."
One of the men looked at his watch.
"What is the time?" inquired his companion.
"A quarter to one. This has lasted three quarters of an hour."
"The same as at Domfront, that unfortunate town, where you arrive at
noon, and are hung in an hour."
"And the short one! the short one!" cried another person, "will he not
be ugly when he sneezes in the sack?"
"Bah! it is done so quickly, you will barely have time to perceive it."
"Then we will demand the head from Sanson; one has a right to see it."
"Look! what a beautiful blue coat he has on. It is rather a pleasant
thing that the poor can shorten the rich and well-dressed people."
Indeed, as the executioner had told the queen, the poor inherited the
spoils of each victim; they were carried to La Salpêtrière, immediately
after the execution, and distributed among the indigent; and there
even the clothes of the unfortunate queen had been conveyed.
Maurice heard this whirlwind of words without paying any attention;
for he was at this moment occupied by one engrossing thought, to the
exclusion of all else. For several days his heart beat only at certain
moments, and by fits and starts, as from time to time hope or fear
appeared to suspend all vital action, and these perpetual oscillations
to bruise the most tender sensibilities of his soul.
The jury returned to their places; and as had been fully anticipated,
the president pronounced the condemnation of the two accused, who were
directly removed, walking with a firm step and erect bearing,--for at
this epoch every one learned to die boldly.
The solemn and sinister voice of the usher was again heard.
"The public prosecutor against the Citizeness Geneviève Dixmer."
A shudder ran through Maurice's frame, and a cold sweat bedewed his
brow. The little door by which the accused entered suddenly opened,
and Geneviève appeared. She was dressed in white; her ringlets were
tastefully arranged, instead of being cut short, hanging in long masses
of clustering curls. Doubtless, to the last moment poor Geneviève
wished to appear beautiful to her lover, who might perchance be able to
see her.
Maurice beheld Geneviève, and felt that all the strength he had
collected was inadequate to this occasion, notwithstanding he had
expected this blow, since for twelve days he had not omitted a single
sitting, and three times already had the name of Geneviève proceeded
from the mouth of the public prosecutor, and reached his ear. But
there are certain griefs and miseries so profound that it is quite
impossible to sound the depths of the abyss.
All those who witnessed the appearance of this young female, so lovely,
so pale and innocent, uttered a simultaneous cry; some of fury,--for
at this period there existed a class of people who detested everything
bordering on superiority of beauty, riches, or of birth,--others of
admiration, and some of pity. Geneviève, doubtless, among all these
cries had recognized one cry, amid all these voices had distinguished
one voice, for she turned in the direction of Maurice, while the
president, looking up at her from time to time, turned over the law
papers of the accused.
At the first glance she discovered Maurice, concealed as his features
were under the broad brim of his hat; and turning round with a sweet
smile, and a gesture still more engaging, she pressed her rosy but
trembling hands upon her lips, and depositing her whole soul with her
breath, she gave wings to a last kiss, which only one in this vast
crowd had the right to appropriate to himself.
A murmur of interest ran through the hall. Geneviève, recalled, turned
toward her judges, but stopping suddenly in the midst of this movement,
her eyes dilated, and became fixed with an undefinable expression of
horror toward one point of the hall.
Maurice in vain raised himself on his toes; he saw nothing, or rather
something of more consequence recalled his attention to the scene that
was being enacted,--that is to say, to the Tribunal.
Fouquier Tinville had commenced reading the act of accusation. This act
stated that Geneviève Dixmer was the wife of an obstinate conspirator
suspected of having assisted the ex-Chevalier de Maison-Rouge in
his successive attempts to rescue the queen. She had, besides,
been surprised at the feet of the queen, entreating her to exchange
garments with her, and offering to die in her stead. This absurd
fanaticism, continued the act, merited, no doubt, the admiration of the
counter-revolutionists; but in our day every French citizen owes his
life to the nation; it is therefore double treason to sacrifice it to
the enemies of France.
Geneviève, when asked if she acknowledged that she had knelt before the
queen, as stated by the two gendarmes Gilbert and Duchesne, and had
entreated her to exchange vestments, simply replied, "Yes."
"Then," said the president, "inform us of your plan, and what hope you
entertained of its success."
Geneviève smiled.
"A woman might conceive hopes," said she, "but a woman could not form a
plan like this of which I am the victim."
"How came you there, then?"
"Not of my own accord. I was compelled."
"Who compelled you?" demanded the public prosecutor.
"Those who menaced me with death if I did not obey;" and again the
agitated look of the young woman was centred on that part of the hall
invisible to Maurice.
"But to escape from this death which menaced you, did you not know that
you faced that death which must result from your condemnation?"
"When I consented, the knife was at my throat, while the guillotine was
only in perspective. I succumbed under present violence."
"Why did you not call for assistance? All good citizens would have
defended you."
"Alas! sir," said Geneviève, in a voice at once so sad and sweet that
it caused Maurice's heart to beat tumultuously, "I had no one near me."
Commiseration succeeded to interest, as interest had succeeded to
curiosity. Many heads were lowered, some to conceal their tears, many
to allow them to flow freely.
Just then Maurice perceived on his left an immovable head and an
inflexible countenance. It was Dixmer, standing dark, gloomy, and
implacable, never for a moment losing sight of Geneviève or of the
Tribunal.
The blood rushed to the young man's temples; rage mounted from his
heart to his forehead, filling his whole being with intense desire for
vengeance. He darted at Dixmer a look so replete with burning hate, so
condensed and powerful, that he, as if attracted by the electric fluid,
turned his head toward his enemy. Their glances encountered like two
flashes.
"Tell us the names of your instigators," said the president.
"There was only one, sir."
"Who?"
"My husband."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Yes."
"Inform us of his retreat."
"He has been brutal, but I will not be cowardly. It is not for me to
tell you his retreat, but for you to find him."
Maurice looked at Dixmer. He never moved. One idea flashed through the
young man's brain. It was to denounce him at the same time that he
denounced himself; but he quickly suppressed the thought.
"No," said he; "it is not thus that he should die."
"Then you refuse to assist us in our search?" said the president.
"I think, sir, I could not do so without rendering myself as
contemptible in the eyes of others as he is in mine."
"Are there any witnesses?" demanded the president.
"There is one," replied the usher.
"Call the witness."
"Maximilien-Jean Lorin!" shouted the usher.
"Lorin!" cried Maurice, "Oh, my God! what has happened?"
This scene took place the same day that Lorin had been arrested, and
Maurice was in utter ignorance of the fact.
"Lorin!" murmured Geneviève, looking round with anxious solicitude.
"Why does not the witness answer to the call?" demanded the president.
"Citizen President," said Fouquier Tinville, "upon a recent
denunciation the witness was arrested at his own house; he will be
brought directly."
Maurice started.
"There is another still more important witness," continued Fouquier;
"but we have not yet been able to find him."
Dixmer turned toward Maurice smiling. Perhaps the same idea flitted
through the mind of the husband which had before entered that of the
lover.
Geneviève, pale and horror-stricken, uttered a low groan.
At this moment Lorin entered, followed by two gendarmes.
After him, and by the same door, Simon appeared, who came to take his
seat in the judgment-hall, according to his custom in that locality.
"Your name and surname?" inquired the president.
"Maximilien-Jean Lorin."
"Your condition in life?"
"Independent."
"You will not remain so long," muttered Simon, shaking his fist at him.
"Are you related to the prisoner at the bar?"
"No; but I have the honor of being one of her friends."
"Are you aware that she conspired to carry off the queen?"
"How could I be aware of it?"
"She might have confided in you?"
"In me! a member of the section of the Thermopyles? A likely story!"
"Notwithstanding, you have sometimes been seen with her."
"I might have been seen with her often."
"Did you know that she was an aristocrat?"
"I knew her as the wife of a master-tanner."
"But her husband did not in reality follow the business which he
pretended to."
"Of that I am ignorant; her husband was not one of my friends."
"Tell us what you know of this husband."
"Oh, very willingly. He is a villain, who--"
"Monsieur Lorin," said Geneviève, "for pity's sake!"
Lorin continued unmoved.
"He is a villain, who has sacrificed his wife, the poor woman before
you, not so much to his political opinions as to his private hatred.
Faugh! I look upon the brute as lower and more degraded even than
Simon."
Dixmer became livid with rage. Simon wished to speak, but a gesture
from the president imposed silence.
"You appear to know the whole history, Citizen Lorin," said Fouquier;
"continue your testimony."
"Pardon me, Citizen Fouquier," said Lorin, rising; "I know nothing
more." He bowed and reseated himself.
"Citizen Lorin," said Fouquier, "it is your bounden duty to enlighten
this Tribunal."
"It has received all the light that I can give it. As to this poor
woman, I repeat she has only acted under compulsion. Look at her! does
she look like a conspirator? What she has done she was compelled to do.
That is all."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"In the name of the law," said Fouquier, "I require that the witness
Lorin shall be placed before this Tribunal as an accomplice of this
woman."
Maurice groaned, while Geneviève buried her face in her hands.
Simon screamed out in a transport of joy, "Citizen Prosecutor, you are
the savior of your country!"
As to Lorin, he leaped over the balustrade without making any reply,
and seating himself near to Geneviève, took her hand, and respectfully
kissed it, saying, "Good-day, Madame," with a coolness which
electrified the assembly; "how do you do?"
Then he took his seat on the bench of the accused.