CHAPTER XXIII.
THE DEATH OF THE COUNTESS.
In the night, while Gilbert was vainly trying to save Andrea, theCommune, unable to secure Danton's help, formed a committee ofvigilance, including Marat, though he was not a member of the Commune.But his name enthroned murder, and showed the frightful development ofhis power.
The first order of this committee was to have twenty-four prisonersremoved from the abbey, and brought before them at the mayor'soffices--now the police prefecture building.
It was expected that they would be set upon in the streets, and thebutchery there begun would be introduced into the prisons.
Marat's "barkers," as they were called, in vain, however, shouted asthe hacks went along:
"Look at the traitors--the accomplices of the Prussians! There they gowho are surrendering our towns, slaying our wives and babes, and willdo it here if you leave them in the rear when you march to the border."
But, as Danton said, massacres are a scarce bird, and the incitementonly brought out more uproar.
Fortune came to the ruffians' assistance.
At a crossing was a stage run up for the voluntary enlistments. Thecabs had to stop. A man pushed through the escort and plunged his swordseveral times inside a carriage, drawing it out dripping with blood. Aprisoner had a cane, and trying to parry the steel, he struck one ofthe guards.
"Why, you brigands," said the struck man, "we are protecting you andyou strike us! Lay on, friends!"
Twenty scoundrels, who only waited for the call, sprung out of thethrong, armed with knives tied to poles in the way of spears, andstabbed through the carriage windows. The screams arose from insidethe conveyances, and the blood trickled out and left a track on theroad-way.
Blood calls for blood, and the massacre commenced which was to lastfour days.
It was regularized by Maillard, who wanted to have every act done inlegal style. His registry exists, where his clear, steady handwritingis perfectly calm and legible in the two notes and the signature."Executed by the judgment of the people," or "Acquitted by the people,"and "Maillard."
The latter note appears forty-three times, so that he saved that number.
After the fourth of September he disappeared, swallowed up in the seaof blood.
Meanwhile, he presided over the court. He had set up a table and calledfor a blank book; he chose a jury, or rather assistant judges, to thenumber of twelve, who sat six on either side of him.
He called out the prisoner's name from a register; while the turnkeyswent for the person, he stated the case, and looked for a decisionfrom his associates as soon as the accused appeared. If condemned, hesaid: "To Laforce!" which seemed to mean the prison of that name; butthe grim pun, understood, was that he was to be handed over to "bruteforce."
Beyond the outer door the wretch fell under the blows of the butchers.
If the prisoner was absolved, the black phantom rose, laid his hand onthe person's head, and said, "Put him out!" and the prisoner was freed.
When Maillard arrived at the Abbey Prison, a man, also in black, whowas waiting by the wall, stepped forward to meet him. On the firstwords exchanged between them, Maillard recognized this man, and bowedhis tall figure to him in condescension, if not submission. He broughthim into the prison, and when the tribunal was arranged, he said:
"Stand you there, and when the person comes out in whom you areinterested, make me a sign."
The man rested his elbow against the wall and stood mute, attentive,and motionless as when outside.
It was Honore Gilbert, who had sworn that he would not let Andrea die,and was still trying to fulfill his oath.
Between four and six in the morning, the judges and butchers took arest, and at six had breakfast.
At half past the horrid work was resumed.
In that interval such of the prisoners as could see the slaughter outof a window reported by which mode death came swiftest and with theleast suffering; they concluded it was by a stab to the heart.
Thereupon, some took turn after turn with a pocket-knife to cheat theslaughterers.
In the midst of this dreadful ante-chamber of death, one woman in deepmourning was kneeling in prayer and smiling.
It was the Countess of Charny.
Two hours yet passed before she was called as "Citizeness Andrea ofTaverney, previously known as the Countess of Charny."
At the name, Gilbert felt his legs yield under him and his heart weaken.
A life, more important than his own, was to be debated, tried, anddoomed or spared.
"Citizens," said Maillard, "the person about to appear before you isa poor woman who was devoted formerly to the Austrian, but with trulyroyal ingratitude, she paid her with sorrow; to that friendship shegave all--her property and her husband. You will see her come in,dressed in mourning, which she owes to the prisoner in the temple.Citizens, I ask you for the life of this woman."
The bench of judges nodded; but one said the prisoner ought to appearbefore them.
"Then, look," said the chief.
The door opening, they saw in the corridor depths a woman clad whollyin black, with her head crowned with a black veil, who walked forwardalone without support, with a steady step. She seemed an apparitionfrom another world, at the sight of which even those justicesshuddered.
Arriving at the table, she lifted her veil. Never had beauty lessdisputable but none more pale met the eyes of man; it was a goddess inmarble.
All eyes were fixed upon her, while Gilbert panted.
"Citizen"--she addressed Maillard in a voice as sweet as firm--"you arethe president?"
"Yes, citizeness," replied the judge, startled at his being questioned.
"I am the Countess of Charny, wife of the count of that house, killedon the infamous tenth of August; an aristocrat and the bosom friend ofthe queen, I have deserved death, and I come to seek it."
The judges uttered a cry of surprise, and Gilbert turned pale andshrunk as far as he could back into the angle by the door to escapeAndrea's gaze.
"Citizens," said Maillard, who saw the doctor's plight, "this creaturehas gone mad through the death of her husband; let us pity her, and lether senses have a chance to come back. The justice of the people doesnot fall on the insane."
He rose and was going to lay his hands on Andrea's head as he did whenhe pronounced those innocent; but she pushed aside his hand.
"I have my full reason," she said; "and if you want to pardon any one,let it be one who craves it and merits it, but not I, who deserve itnot and reject it."
Maillard turned to Gilbert and saw that he was wringing his claspedhands.
"This woman is plainly mad," he said; "put her out."
He waved his hand to a member of the court, who shoved the countesstoward the door of safety.
"Innocent," he called out; "let her go out."
They who had the weapons ready parted before Andrea, lowered them untothis image of mourning. But, after having gone ten paces, and whileGilbert, clinging to the window bars, saw her going forth, she stopped.
"God save the king!" she cried. "Long live the queen, and shame on thetenth of August!"
Gilbert uttered a shriek and darted out into the yard. For he had seena sword glitter, and swift as a lightning flash, the blade disappearedin Andrea's bosom. He arrived in time to catch her in his arms, and asshe turned on him her dying gaze she recognized him.
"I told you that I would die in spite of you," she muttered. "LoveSebastian for both of us," she added, in a barely intelligible voice,and still more faintly continued: "You will have me laid to rest byhim--next my George, my husband, for time everlasting?"
And she expired.
Gilbert raised her up in his arms, while fifty blood-smeared handsmenaced him all at once.
But Maillard appeared behind him and said, as he spread his hands overhis head:
"Make way for the true citizen Gilbert, carrying out the body of a poorcrazed woman slain by mistake."
They stepped asid
e, and carrying the corpse of Andrea, the man whohad first loved her, even to committing crime to triumph over her,passed amid the murderers without one thinking of barring the way, sosovereign was Maillard's words over the multitude.