“No,” said the priest, who had at last heard him, “I have not had time
to read the papers this morning: I shall see them this evening. When I
am occupied in this way all day, I order my servant to keep the papers,
and I read them on my return.”
“Bah!” replied the other, “it is impossible that you have not heard what
I mean. The news of Paris--the news of this morning.”
It was now my turn to speak; and I said, “I know what you mean.”
The Messenger looked at me. “You? really! and pray what is your opinion
about it?”
“You are inquisitive,” said I.
“How so, sir?” replied he. “Every one should have a political opinion: I
esteem you too much to suppose that you are without one. As to myself, I
am quite in favour of re-establishing the National Guard. I was a
serjeant in my company; and, faith! it was very agreeable to--”
I interrupted him by saying, “I did not think this was the subject in
question.”
“What did you suppose, then? You professed to know the news.”
“I spoke of something else with which Paris is also occupied to-day.”
The fool did not understand, and his curiosity was awakened.
“More news! Where the deuce could _you_ learn news? What is it, my dear
sir? Do you know what it is, Chaplain? Do let me hear all about it, I
beg. I like news, you see, to relate to the President; it amuses him.”
He looked from one to the other, and obtained no answer.
“Well,” said he, “what are you thinking of?”
“I am thinking,” said I, “that I shall be past thinking, this evening.”
“Oh, that’s it,” returned he. “Come, come, you are too sad. Mr. Castaing
conversed on the day of his execution.”
Then, after a pause, he continued: “I accompanied Mr. Papavoine on his
last day. He wore his otter-skin cap, and smoked his cigar. As for the
young men of La Rochelle, they only spoke among themselves, but still
they spoke. As for you, I really think you are too pensive, young man.”
“Young man?” I repeated. “I am older than you; every quarter of an hour
which passes makes me a year older.”
He turned round, looked at me some minutes with stupid astonishment, and
then began to titter.
“Come, you are joking; older than I am? why, I might be your
grandfather.”
“I have no wish to jest,” I answered gravely. He opened his snuff-box.
“Here, my good sir, don’t be angry. Take a pinch of snuff, and don’t
bear malice.”
“Do not fear,” said I; “I shall not have long to bear it against you.”
At this moment the snuff-box which he extended to me came against the
grating which separated us. A jolt caused it to strike rather violently,
and it fell, wide open, under the feet of the gendarme.
“Curse the grating!” said the Messenger; then, turning to me, he added,
“Now, am I not unlucky? I have lost all my snuff!”
“I lose more than you,” said I.
As he tried to pick up his snuff, he muttered between his teeth, “More
than I! that’s very easily said. No more snuff until I reach Paris! It’s
terrible.”
The Chaplain then addressed him with some words of consolation; and I
know not if I were pre-occupied, but it seemed to me to be part of the
exhortation of which the commencement had been addressed to me.
By degrees conversation increased between the Chaplain and the officer;
and I became again lost in thought. The van was stopped for a minute
before the toll-gate, and the inspector examined it. Had it contained a
sheep or an ox which was going to be slaughtered, they would have
required some money; but a human head pays no duty!
We passed through the gates, and the carriage trotted quickly through
those old and crooked streets of the Faubourg St. Marceau and the city,
which twist and cross each other like the many paths of an ant-hill. On
the pavement of these narrow streets the rolling of the wheels became so
noisy and rapid that I could hear no other sound, though I saw that
people exclaimed, as the van passed, and bands of children followed its
track. I fancied also I occasionally saw in the cross-streets ragged
men displaying in their hands a bundle of printed papers, their mouths
open as if vociferating something, while the passers stopped to
purchase.
Half-past eight struck by the palace clock as we arrived in the court of
the Conciergerie Prison. The sight of its wide staircase, its dark
chapel, its sombre gates, made me shudder; and when the carriage
stopped, I fancied the beatings of my heart stopped also.
But I collected my strength; the door was opened; with the rapidity of
lightning I jumped from the moving prison, and passed between two lines
of soldiers: already there was a crowd formed on my path.