SET UPON DYING.
Thus stood matters, when Dr. Gilbert's "officiator"--the word servant
was abolished as non-republican--announced at nine in the evening that
his carriage was at the door.
He donned his hat, buttoned up his outer coat, and was going out, when
he saw the door-way blocked by a man in a cloak and a slouch hat.
Gilbert recoiled a step, for all was hostile that came in the dark at
such a period.
"It is I, Gilbert," said a kindly voice.
"Cagliostro!" exclaimed the doctor.
"Good; there you are forgetting again that I am no longer under that
name, but bear that of Baron Zannone. At the same time, Gilbert, for
you I am changed in neither name nor heart, and am ever your Joseph
Balsamo, I hope."
"Yes; and the proof is that I was going to find you."
"I suspected as much, and that is what has brought me," said the
magician. "For you can imagine that in such times I do not go into the
country, as Robespierre is doing."
"That is why I feared that I should not find you at home, and I am
happy to meet you. But come in, I beg."
"Well, here I am. Say your wish," said Cagliostro, following the master
into the most retired room.
"Do you know what is going on?" asked the host, as soon as both were
seated.
"You mean what is going to happen; for at present nothing is doing,"
observed the other.
"No, you are right; but something dreadful is brewing, eh?"
"Dreadful, in sooth; but such is sometimes needful."
"Master, you make me shudder," said Gilbert, "when you utter such
sayings with your inexorable coolness."
"I can not help it. I am but the echo of fate."
Gilbert hung his head.
"Do you recall what I told you when I warned you of the fate of Marquis
Favras?"
The physician started; strong in facing most men, he felt weak as a
child before this mysterious character.
"I told you," went on the enigma, "that if the king had a grain of
common sense, which I hoped he had not, he would exercise the wish for
self-preservation to flee."
"He did so."
"Yes; but I meant while it was in good time; it was, you know, too late
when he went. I added, you may remember, that if he and the queen and
the nobles remained, I would bring on the Revolution."
"You are right again, for the Revolution rules," said Gilbert, with a
sigh.
"Not completely, but it is getting on. Do you further recall that
I showed you an instrument invented by a friend of mine, Doctor
Guillotin? Well, that beheading machine, which I exhibited in a
drinking-glass to the future queen at Taverney Manor, you will
remember, though you were but a boy at the time--no higher than
that--yet already courting Nicole--the same Nicole whose husband,
Beausire, by the way, is being hung at the present speaking--not before
he deserved it! Well, that machine is hard at work."
"Too slowly, since swords and pikes have to be supplementing its
blade," said Gilbert.
"Listen," said Cagliostro; "you must grant that we have a most
block-headed crew to deal with. We gave the aristocrats, the court, and
the monarchs all sorts of warnings without their profiting or being
advised by them. We took the Bastile, their persons from Versailles,
their palace in Paris; we shut up their king in the temple, and the
aristocrats in the other prisons; and all serves for no end. The king,
under lock and bolt, rejoices at the Prussians taking his towns, and
the lords in the abbey cheer the Germans. They drink wine under the
noses of poor people who can not get wholesome water, and eat truffle
pies before beggars who can not get bread. On King Wilhelm of Prussia
being notified that if he passes Longwy into French territory, as
it will be the warrant for the king's death, he replies: 'However
imbittered may be the fate of the royal family, our armies must not
retrograde. I hope with all my heart to arrive in time to save the King
of France, but my duty before all is to save Europe.' And he marches
forward to Verdun. It is fairly time to end this nonsense."
"End with whom?" cried Gilbert.
"With the king, the queen, and their following."
"Would you murder a king and a queen?"
"Oh, no; that would be a bad blunder. They must be publicly tried,
condemned, and executed, as we have the example set by the execution of
Charles I. But, one way or another, doctor, we must get rid of them,
and the sooner the better."
"Who has decided this?" protested Gilbert. "Let me hear. Is it the
intelligence, the honor, and the conscience of the people of whom you
speak? When genius, loyalty, and justice were represented by Mirabeau,
Lafayette, and Vergniaud, if you had said 'Louis must die,' in the
name of those three I should still have shuddered, but I should doubt.
In whose name do you pronounce now? Hissed actors, paltry editors,
hot-heads like Marat, who have to be bled to cool them when they shriek
for thousands of heads. Leave these failures who think they are wonders
because they can undo in a stroke the work which it has taken nature a
few score years, for they are villains, master, and you ought not to
associate with such burlesques of men."
"My dear Gilbert, you are mistaken again," said the prime mover; "they
are not villains; you misuse the word. They are mere instruments."
"Of destruction."
"Ay; but for the benefit of an idea. The enfranchisement of the people,
Gilbert; liberty, the Republic--not merely French--God forbid me having
so selfish an idea! but universal, the federation of the free world.
No, these men have not genius, or honor, or conscience, but something
stronger, more inexorable, less resistible--they have instinct."
"Like Attila's."
"You have hit it. Of Attila, who called himself the Scourge of God, and
came with the barbaric blood of the north to redeem Roman civilization,
corrupted by the feasting, debauched emperors."
"But, in brief, to sum up instead of generalizing, whither will tend a
massacre?" asked Gilbert.
"To a plain issue. We will compromise the Assembly and Commune and the
people of Paris. We must soak Paris in blood; for you understand that
Paris is the brain of France, or of Europe, so that Paris, feeling that
there is no forgiveness possible for her, will rise like one man, urge
France before her, and hurl the enemy off the sacred soil."
"But you are not a Frenchman; what odds is it to you?" asked Gilbert.
"You were not an American, but you were glad to have the rebel Paul
Jones take you to America and aid the rebels to free the Colonies from
the British yoke. How can a man of superior mettle and intelligence
say to another: 'Do not meddle with us, for you are not French?' Are
not the affairs of France those of the world? Is France working solely
for herself now, think you? Hark you, Gilbert; I have debated all
these points with a mind far stronger than yours--the man or devil
named Althotas; and one day he made a calculation of the quantity of
blood which must be shed before the sun rises on the free world. His
reasonings did not shake my conviction. I marched on, I march on, and
on I shall march, overturning all that stands in my path, and saying to
myself, in a calm voice, as I look around with a serene look: Woe to
the obstacle, for this is the future which is coming! Now you have the
pardon of some one to ask? I grant it beforehand. Tell me the name of
the man or the woman?"
"I wish to save a woman whom neither of us, master, can allow to die."
"The Countess of Charny?"
"The mother of Sebastian Gilbert."
"You know that it is Danton who, as Minister of Justice, has the prison
keys."
"Yes; but I also know that the chief of the Invisibles can say to
Danton, 'Open or shut that door.'"
Cagliostro rose, and going over to a writing-desk, wrote a cabalistic
sign on a small square of paper. Presenting this to Gilbert, he said:
"Go and find Danton, and ask him anything you like." Gilbert rose.
"What are you going to do when the king's turn comes?"
"I intend to be elected to the convention, so as to vote with all my
power against his death."
"Be it so; I can understand that," said the leader. "Act as your
conscience dictates, but promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"There was a time when you would have promised without a condition,
Gilbert."
"At that time you would not have told me that a nation could heal
itself by murdering, or a people gain by massacre."
"Have it your own way. Only promise me that, when the king shall be
executed, you will follow the advice I give you."
"Any advice from the master will be precious," he said, holding out his
hand.
"And will be followed?" persisted Cagliostro.
"I swear, if not hurtful to my conscience."
"Gilbert, you are unjust. I have offered you much; have I ever required
aught of you?"
"No, master," was Gilbert's reply; "and now, furthermore, you give me a
life dearer than mine own."
"Go," said the arch-revolutionist, "and may the genius of France, one
of whose noblest sons you are, ever guide you."
The count went out, and Gilbert followed him, stepping into the
carriage still waiting, to be driven to the Minister of Justice.
Danton was waiting for one of two things: if he turned to the Commune,
he and Marat and Robespierre would rule, and he wanted neither of them.
Unfortunately, the Assembly would not have him, and its support to rule
alone was the other alternative.
When Gilbert came, he had been wrestling with his wife, who guessed
that the massacre was determined upon. He had told her that she talked
like a woman in asking him to die rather than let the red tide flow on.
"You say that you will die of the stain, and that my sons will blush
for me. No; they will be men some day, and if true Dantons, they will
carry their heads high; if weak, let them deny me. If I let them
commence the massacre by me, for opposing it, do you know what will
become of the revolution between that blood-thirsty maniac, Marat, and
that sham utopist, Robespierre? I will stay the bloodshed if I can, and
if not, I will take all the guilt on my shoulders. The burden will not
prevent me marching to my goal, only I shall be the more terrible."
Gilbert entered.
"Come, Doctor Gilbert, I have a word for you."
Opening a little study door, he led the visitor into it.
"How can I be useful to you?" he asked.
Gilbert took out the paper the Invisible had given him and presented it
to Danton.
"Ha! you come on _his_ account, do you? What do you desire?"
"The liberation of a woman prisoned in the abbey."
"The name?"
"The Countess of Charny."
Danton took a sheet of paper and wrote the release.
"There it is," he said; "are there others you would wish to save?
Speak; I should like to save some of the unfortunates."
"I have all my desire," said Gilbert, bowing.
"Go, doctor," said the minister; "and when you need anything of me,
apply direct. I am happy to do anything for you, man to man. Ah,"
he muttered at the door, in showing him out, "if I had only your
reputation, doctor, as an honorable man!"
Bearer of the precious paper which assured Andrea's life, the father
of her son hastened to the abbey. Though nearly midnight, threatening
groups still hung round the door. Gilbert passed through the midst of
them and knocked at it. The gloomy panel in the low arched way was
opened. Gilbert shuddered as he went through--it was to be the way to
the tomb.
The order, presented to the warden, stated that instant release was to
be given to the person whom Dr. Gilbert should point out. He named the
Countess of Charny, and the governor ordered a turnkey to lead Gilbert
to the prisoner's cell.
The doctor followed the man up three flights of a spiral staircase,
where he entered a cell lighted by a lamp.
Pale as marble, in mourning, a woman sat at a table bearing the lamp,
reading a shagreen prayer-book adorned with a silver cross. A brand
of fire burned in the fire-place. In spite of the sound of the door
opening, she did not lift her eyes; the steps approaching did not move
her; she appeared absorbed in her book, but it was absence of mind,
for Gilbert stood several minutes without her turning a leaf.
The warder had closed the door, with himself on the outer side.
"My lady the countess," ventured Gilbert, after awhile.
Raising her eyes, Andrea looked without perceiving at first; the veil
of her mind was between her and the speaker, but it was gradually
withdrawn.
"Ah, and is it you, Doctor Gilbert--what do you want?" she inquired.
"Madame, very ugly rumors are afloat about what is going to happen in
the prisons."
"Yes; it is said that the prisoners are to be slaughtered," rejoined
Andrea; "but you know, Doctor Gilbert, that I am ready to die."
"I come to take you away madame," he continued, bowing.
"Whither would you take me, doctor?" she asked, in surprise.
"Wherever you like, madame; you are free."
He showed her the release order signed by Danton, which she read; but
instead of returning it, she kept it in her hand.
"I might have suspected this," she observed, trying to smile, but she
had forgotten the way. "You were sure to try to prevent me dying."
"Madame, there is but one existence which would be dearer to me than my
parents', had I ever known my parents--it is yours."
"Yes; and that is why you broke your promise to me."
"I did not, madame, for I sent you the poison."
"By my son?"
"I did not tell you by what hand I should send it."
"In short, you have thought of me, Gilbert. So you entered the lion's
den for my sake, and came forthwith the talisman which unseals doors?"
"I told you, madame, that as long as I lived you should not die."
"Nay, Doctor Gilbert, I believe that this time I hold death by the
hand," said Andrea, with something more like a smile than her previous
attempt.
"Madame, I declare to you that I will stay you from dying, even though
I have to employ force."
Without replying, Andrea tore the order into pieces and tossed them
into the fire.
"Try it," she said.
Gilbert uttered an outcry.
"Doctor Gilbert," said she, "I have given up the idea of suicide, but
not of dying. I long for death."
Gilbert let a groan escape him.
"All that I ask of you is that you will save my body from outrage after
death--it has not escaped it in life. Count Charny rests in the family
vault at Boursonnes. There I spent the happiest days of my life, and I
wish to repose by him."
"Oh, in Heaven's name, I implore you--"
"And I implore you in the name of my sorrow--"
"It is well, lady; you were right in saying that I am bound to obey you
in all points. I go, but I am not vanquished."
"Do not forget my last wish."
"If I do not save you in spite of yourself, it shall be accomplished,"
replied Gilbert.
Saluting her for the last time, he went forth, and the door banged to
with that lugubrious sound peculiar to prison doors.