CHAPTER III. THE 'TEMPLE'
At the time of which I write, there was but one motive principlethroughout France--'Terror.' By the agency of terror and the threatof denunciation was everything carried on, not only in the publicdepartments of the state, but in all the common occurrences of everydaylife. Fathers used it towards their children--children towards theirparents; mothers coerced their daughters--daughters, in turn, braved theauthority of their mothers. The tribunal of public opinion, open to all,scattered its decrees with a reckless cruelty--denying to-day whatit had decreed but yesterday, and at last obliterating every trace of'right' or 'principle' in a people who now only lived for the passinghour, and who had no faith in the future, even of this world.
Among the very children at play, this horrible doctrine had gained afooting: the tyrant urchin, whose ingenuity enabled him to terrorise,became the master of his playfellows. I was not slow in acquiring thepopular education of the period, and soon learned that fear was a 'Bank'on which one might draw at will. Already the domineering habit had givento my air and manner all the insolence of seeming power, and, while amere boy in years, I was a man in all the easy assumption of a certainimportance.
It was with a bold and resolute air I entered the restaurant, andcalling Boivin aside, said--
'I have business in the Temple this morning, Boivin; see to it that Ishall not be denied admittance.'
'I am not governor of the gaol,' grunted Boivin sulkily, 'nor have I theprivilege to pass any one.'
'But your boys have the entree; the "rats" (so were they called) arefree to pass in and out.'
'Ay, and I'm responsible for the young rascals, too, and for anythingthat may be laid to their charge.'
'And you shall extend this same protection to me, Master Boivin, for oneday, at least--nay, my good friend, there's no use in sulking about it.A certain friend of ours, whose name I need not speak aloud, islittle in the habit of being denied anything; are you prepared for theconsequence of disobeying his orders?'
'Let me see that they are his orders,' said he sturdily--'who tells methat such is his will?'
'I do,' was my brief reply, as, with a look of consummate effrontery, Idrew myself up and stared him insolently in the face.
'Suppose, then, that I have my doubts on the matter--suppose----'
'I will suppose all you wish, Boivin,' said I interrupting, 'and evensomething more; for I will suppose myself returning to the quarterwhence I have just come, and within one hour--ay, within one hour,Boivin--bringing back with me a written order, not to pass me into theTemple, but to receive the body of the Citizen Jean Baptiste Boivin, andbe accountable for the same to the Committee of Public Safety.'
He trembled from head to foot as I said these words, and in his shakingcheeks and fallen jaw I saw that my spell was working.
'And now, I ask for the last time, do you consent or not?'
'How is it to be done?' cried he, in a voice of downright wretchedness.'You are not "inscribed" at the secretaries' office as one of the"rats."'
'I should hope not,' said I, cutting him short; 'but I may take theplace of one for an hour or so. Tristan is about my own size; his blouseand badge will just suit me.'
'Ay, leave me to a fine of a thousand francs, if you should be foundout,' muttered Boivin, 'not to speak of a worse mayhap.'
'Exactly so--far worse in case of your refusing; but there sounds thebell for mustering the prisoners--it is now too late.'
'Not so--not so,' cried Boivin, eagerly, as he saw me prepared to leavethe house. 'You shall go in Tristan's place. Send him here, that he maytell you everything about the "service," and give you his blouse andbadge.'
I was not slow in availing myself of the permission, nor was Tristansorry to find a substitute. He was a dull, depressed-looking boy, notover communicative as to his functions, merely telling me that I wasto follow the others--that I came fourth in the line--to answer whenmy name was called 'Tristan,' and to put the money I received in myleathern pocket, without uttering a word, lest the gaolers should noticeit.
To accoutre myself in the white cotton nightcap and the blouse of thecraft was the work of a few seconds; and then, with a great knife in mygirdle, and a capacious pocket slung at my side, I looked every inch a'Marmiton.'
In the kitchen the bustle had already begun, and half-a-dozen cooks,with as many under-cooks, were dealing out 'portions' with all the speedof a well-practised performance. Nothing short of great habit couldhave prevented the confusion degenerating into downright anarchy. The'service' was, indeed, effected with a wonderful rapidity; and certainphrases, uttered with speed, showed how it progressed. 'Maigre desCures,'--'finished.' 'Bouillon for the "expectants,'"--'ready here.''Canards aux olives des condamnees,'--'all served.' 'Red partridges forthe reprieved at the upper table,'--'despatched.' Such were the quickdemands, and no less quick replies, that rung out, amidst the crash ofplates, knives, and glasses, and the incessant movement of feet, until,at last, we were all marshalled in a long line, and, preceded by a drum,set out for the prison.
As we drew near, the heavy gates opened to receive, and closed behind uswith a loud bang that I could not help feeling must have smote heavilyon many a heart that had passed there. We were now in a large courtyard,where several doors led off, each guarded by a sentinel, whose raggedclothes and rusty accoutrements proclaimed a true soldier of theRepublic. One of the large hurdles used for carrying the prisoners tothe Place stood in one corner, and two or three workmen were busied inrepairing it for the coming occasion.
So much I had time to observe, as we passed along; and now we entered adimly lighted corridor of great extent; passing down which, we emergedinto a second _cour_, traversed by a species of canal or river, overwhich a bridge led. In the middle of this was a strongly barred irongate, guarded by two sentries. As we arrived here, our names were calledaloud by a species of turnkey; and at the call 'Tristan,' I advanced,and, removing the covers from the different dishes, submitted them forinspection to an old, savage-looking fellow, who, with a long steelfork, pricked the pieces of meat, as though anything could have beenconcealed within them. Meanwhile, another fellow examined my cotton capand pocket, and passed his hands along my arms and body. The whole didnot last more than a few minutes, and the word 'forward' was given topass on. The gloom of the place---the silence, only broken by the heavybang of an iron-barred door, or the clank of chains, the sad thoughtsof the many who trod these corridors on their way to death--depressed megreatly, and equally unprepared me for what was to come; for as we drewnear the great hall, the busy hum of voices, the sound of laughter, andthe noises of a large assembly in full converse, suddenly burst upon theear; and as the wide doors were thrown open, I beheld above a hundredpeople, who, either gathered in single groups, or walking up and down inparties, seemed all in the fullest enjoyment of social intercourse.
A great table, with here and there a large flagon of water, or a hugeloaf of the coarse bread used by the peasantry, ran from end to end ofthe chamber. A few had already taken their places at this, but some weresatisfied with laying a cap or a kerchief on the bench opposite theiraccustomed seat; while others again had retired into windows andcorners, as if to escape the general gaze, and partake of their humblemeal in solitude.
Whatever restrictions prison discipline might have exercised elsewhere,here the widest liberty seemed to prevail. The talk was loud, and evenboisterous; the manner to the turnkeys exhibited nothing of fear: thewhole assemblage presented rather the aspect of a gathering of riotousrepublicans than of a band of prisoners under sentence. And yet suchwere the greater number, and the terrible slip of paper attached to theback of each, with a date, told the day on which he was to die.
As I lingered to gaze on this strange gathering, I was admonished tomove on, and now perceived that my companion had advanced to the endof the hall, by which a small flight of stone steps led out upon aterrace--at the end of which we entered another and not less spaciouschamber, equally crowded and noisy. Here the company we
re of both sexes,and of every grade and condition of rank--from the highest noble of theformer Court, to the humblest peasant of La Vendee. If the sounds ofmirth and levity were less frequent, the buzz of conversation was,to the full, as loud as in the lower hall, where, from differenceof condition in life, the scenes passing presented stranger and morecurious contrasts. In one corner a group of peasants were gatheredaround a white-haired priest, who, in a low but earnest voice, wasuttering his last exhortation to them; in another, some young andfashionably dressed men were exhibiting to a party of ladies the veryairs and graces by which they would have adorned a saloon; here, was aparty at piquet--there, a little group, arranging, for the last time,their household cares, and settling, with a few small coins, theaccount of mutual expenditure. Of the ladies, several were engaged atneedlework--some little preparation for the morrow--the last demand thatever vanity was to make of them!
Although there was matter of curiosity in all around me, my eyes soughtfor hut one object, the cure of St. Blois. Twice or thrice, from thesimilarity of dress, I was deceived, and, at last, when I really didbehold him, as he sat alone in a window, reading, I could scarcelysatisfy myself of the reality, he was lividly pale, his eyes deep sunk,and surrounded with two dark circles, while along his worn cheekthe tears had marked two channels of purple colour. What need of theguillotine there--the lamp of life was in its last flicker without it.
Our names were called, and the meats placed upon the table. Just as thehead-turnkey was about to give the order to be seated, a loud commotion,and a terrible uproar in the court beneath, drew every one to thewindow. It was a hurdle which, emerging from an archway, broke down fromovercrowding; and now the confusion of prisoners, gaolers, and sentries,with plunging horses and screaming sufferers, made a scene of thewildest uproar. Chained two by two, the prisoners were almost helpless,and in their efforts to escape injury made the most terrific struggle.Such were the instincts of life in those on the very road to death!
Resolving to profit by the moment of confusion, I hastened to thewindow, where alone, unmoved by the general commotion, sat the PereMichel. He lifted his glassy eyes as I came near, and in a low, mildvoice said--
'Thanks, my good boy, but I have no money to pay thee; nor does itmatter much now--it is but another day.
I could have cried as I heard these sad words; but mastering emotionswhich would have lost time so precious, I drew close, and whispered--
'Pere Michel, it is I, your own Maurice.'
He started, and a deep flush suffused his cheek; and then stretching outhis hand, he pushed back my cap, and parted the hair of my forehead, asif doubting the reality of what he saw; when with a weak voice he said--
'No, no, thou art not my own Maurice. His eyes shone not with thatworldly lustre--thine do; his brow was calm, and fair as children'sshould be--thine is marked with manhood's craft and subtlety; and yet,thou art like him.'
A low sob broke from me as I listened to his words, and the tears gushedforth, and rolled in torrents down my cheeks.
'Yes,' cried he, clasping me in his arms, 'thou art my own dear boy.I know thee now; but how art thou here, and thus?' and he touched myblouse as he spoke.
'I came to see and to save you, pere,' said I. 'Nay, do not try todiscourage me, but rather give me all your aid. I saw her--I was withher in her last moments at the guillotine; she gave me a message foryou, but this you shall never hear till we are without these walls.'
'It cannot be, it cannot be,' said he sorrowfully.
'It can and shall be,' said I resolutely. 'I have merely assumed thisdress for the occasion; I have friends, powerful and willing to protectme. Let us change robes--give me that "soutane," and put on the blouse.When you leave this, hasten to the old garden of the chapel, and waitfor my coming--I will join you there before night.'
'It cannot be,' replied he again.
'Again I say, it shall, and must be. Nay, if you still refuse, thereshall be two victims, for I will tear off the dress here where I stand,and openly declare myself the son of the Royalist Tiernay.'
Already the commotion in the court beneath was beginning to subside, andeven now the turnkeys' voices were heard in the refectory, recalling theprisoners to table--another moment and it would have been too late: itwas, then, less by persuasion than by actual force I compelled him toyield, and, pulling off his black serge gown, drew over his shoulders myyellow blouse, and placed upon his head the white cap of the 'Marmiton.'The look of shame and sorrow of the poor cure would have betrayed him atonce, if any had given themselves the trouble to look at him.
'And thou, my poor child,' said he, as he saw me array myself in hispriestly dress, 'what is to be thy fate?'
'All will depend upon you, Pere Michel,' said I, holding him by thearm, and trying to fix his wandering attention. 'Once out of the prison,write to Boivin, the restaurateur of the "Scelerat," and tell him thatan escaped convict has scruples for the danger into which he has broughta poor boy, one of his "Marmitons," and whom by a noxious drug he haslulled into insensibility, while, having exchanged clothes, he hasmanaged his escape. Boivin will comprehend the danger he himself runsby leaving me here. All will go well---and now there's not a moment tolose. Take up your basket, and follow the others.'
'But the falsehood of all this,' cried the pere.
'But your life, and mine, too, lost, if you refuse,' said I, pushing himaway.
'Oh, Maurice, how changed have you become!' cried he sorrowfully.
'You will see a greater change in me yet, as I lie in the sawdustbeneath the scaffold,' said I hastily. 'Go, go.'
There was, indeed, no more time to lose. The muster of the prisoners wasforming at one end of the chamber, while the 'Marmitons' were gatheringup their plates and dishes, previous to departure, at the other; and itwas only by the decisive step of laying myself down within the recessesof the window, in the attitude of one overcome by sleep, that I couldforce him to obey my direction. I could feel his presence as he bentover me, and muttered something that must have been a prayer. I couldknow, without seeing, that he still lingered near me, but as I neverstirred, he seemed to feel that my resolve was not to be shaken, and atlast he moved slowly away.
At first the noise and clamour sounded like the crash of some desperateconflict, but by degrees this subsided, and I could hear the namescalled aloud and the responses of the prisoners, as they were 'told off'in parties from the different parts of the prison. Tender leave-takingsand affectionate farewells from many who never expected to meet again,accompanied these, and the low sobs of anguish were mingled with theterrible chaos of voices; and at last I heard the name of 'MichelDelannois': I felt as if my death-summons was in the words 'MichelDelannois,'
'That crazy priest can neither hear nor see, I believe,' said the gaolersavagely. 'Will no one answer for him?'
'He is asleep yonder in the window,' replied a voice from the crowd.
'Let him sleep then,' said the turnkey; 'when awake he gives us no peacewith his prayers and exhortations.'
'He has eaten nothing for three days,' observed another; 'he is,perhaps, overcome by weakness more than by sleep.'
'Be it so! if he only lie quiet, I care not,' rejoined the gaoler, andproceeded to the next name on the list.
The monotonous roll-call, the heat, the attitude in which I was lying,all conspired to make me drowsy: even the very press of sensations thatcrowded to my brain lent their aid, and at last I slept as soundly asever I had done in my bed at night. I was dreaming of the dark alleys inthe wood of Belleville, where so often I had strolled of an evening withPere Michel: I was fancying that we were gathering the fresh violetsbeneath the old trees, when a rude hand shook my shoulder, and I awoke.One of the turnkeys and Boivin stood over me, and I saw at once that myplan had worked well.
'Is this the fellow?' said the turnkey, pushing me rudely with his foot.
'Yes,' replied Boivin, white with fear; 'this is the boy; his nameis Tristan.' The latter words were accompanied with a look of greatsignificance
towards me.
'What care we how he is called! let us hear in what manner he camehere.'
'I can tell you little,' said I, staring and looking wildly around; 'Imust have been asleep, and dreaming, too.'
'The letter,' whispered Boivin to the turnkey--'the letter says that hewas made to inhale some poisonous drug, and that while insensible----'
'Bah,' said the other derisively, 'this will not gain credit here; therehas been complicity in the affair, Master Boivin. The commissaire is notthe man to believe a trumped-up tale of the sort; besides, you arewell aware that you are responsible for these "rats" of yours. It is aprivate arrangement between you and the commissaire, and it is not veryprobable that he'll get himself into a scrape for you.'
'Then what are we to do?' cried Boivin passionately, as he wrung hishands in despair.
'I know what I should, in a like case,' was the dry reply.
'And that is?-----'
'_Laisser aller!_ was the curt rejoinder. 'The young rogue has passedfor a cure for the last afternoon; I'd even let him keep up the disguisea little longer, and it will be all the same by this time to-morrow.'
'You'd send me to the guillotine for another?' said I boldly; 'thanksfor the good intention, my friend; but Boivin knows better than tofollow your counsel. Hear me one moment,' said I, addressing the latter,and drawing him to one side--'if you don't liberate me within a quarterof an hour, I'll denounce you and yours to the commissary. I know wellenough what goes on at the "Scelerat,"--you understand me well. Ifa priest has really made his escape from the prison, you are notclean-handed enough to meet the accusation; see to it then, Boivin, thatI may be free at once.'
'Imp of Satan,' exclaimed Boivin, grinding his teeth, 'I have neverenjoyed ease or quietness since the first hour I saw you.'
'It may cost a couple of thousand francs, Boivin,' said I calmly; 'butwhat then? Better that than take your seat along with us to-morrow inthe _Charrette Rouge_.'
'Maybe he's right, after all,' muttered the turnkey in a half-whisper;'speak to the commissary.'
'Yes,' said I, affecting an air of great innocence and simplicity--'tellhim that a poor orphan boy, without friends or home, claims his pity.'
'_Scelerat infame!_' cried Boivin, as he shook his fist at me, and thenfollowed the turnkey to the commissary's apartment.
In less time than I could have believed possible, Boivin returned withone of the upper gaolers, and told me, in a few dry words, that I wasfree. 'But, mark me,' added he, 'we part here--come what may, you nevershall plant foot within my doors again.'
'Agreed,' said I gaily; 'the world has other dupes as easy to play upon,and I was getting well nigh weary of you.'
'Listen to the scoundrel!' muttered Boivin; 'what will he say next?'
'Simply this,' rejoined I--'that as these are not becoming garments forme to wear--for I'm neither _pere_ nor _frere_--I must have others ere Iquit this.'
If the insolence of my demand occasioned some surprise at first, alittle cool persistence on my part showed that compliance would be thebetter policy; and, after conferring together for a few minutes, duringwhich I heard the sound of money, the turnkey retired, and came backspeedily with a jacket and cap belonging to one of the drummers of theRepublican Guard--a gaudy, tasteless affair enough, but, as a disguise,nothing could have been more perfect.
'Have you not a drum to give him?' said Boivin, with a most malignantsneer at my equipment.
'He 'll make a noise in the world without that,' muttered the gaoler,half soliloquising; and the words fell upon my heart with a strangesignificance.
'Your blessing, Boivin,' said I, 'and we part.' '_Le te_----'
'No, no; don't curse the boy,' interposed the gaoler good-humouredly.
'Then, move off, youngster; I've lost too much time with you already.'
The next moment I was in the Place; a light misty rain was falling, andthe night was dark and starless. The 'Scelerat' was brilliant with lampsand candles, and crowds were passing in and out; but it was no longer ahome for me, so I passed on, and continued my way towards the Boulevard.