CHAPTER XIV.
THE THUNDERBOLT.
Three days passed, leaving the situation of affairs unchanged.Antoinette and Dolores saw Philip but seldom, though they were livingunder the same roof, so persistently did he avoid them. If he chanced toenter the hall when they were there, he took refuge with some of thegroups of gentlemen, where the two girls would not be likely to approachhim unless they had something of great importance to communicate totheir ungracious friend.
What Philip utterly lacked, after the events recounted in the lastchapter, was resignation. He felt, that Dolores was irrevocably lost tohim, and that even if she left the prison alive, she would instantlyplace an impassable barrier between them; but though he was convinced ofthis, he could not make up his mind to submit to a decision thatdestroyed all his hopes of happiness; so he hoped and despaired byturns, sometimes assuring himself that he could find words sufficientlyeloquent to move Dolores, sometimes admitting with a sort of desperationthat nothing could shake the firmness of the young girl who had resolvedto sacrifice her happiness for the sake of duty.
Antoinette and Dolores respected his sadness and his evident desire forsolitude. They spent most of their time together in their own littleroom, happy in being again united, and bearing the trials that besetthem on every side with wonderful fortitude. Each evening found themastonished that they had not been summoned before the RevolutionaryTribunal; and each evening they said, not without anguish:
"The summons will come, perhaps, to-morrow."
The fourth day after Philip's arrival at the Conciergerie, Aubry, thejailer, who had shown Dolores so much kindness and attention, obtainedleave of absence for the day, and engaged Coursegol to take his place.Once before he had made a similar arrangement, and Coursegol had thusbeen able to spend almost an entire day with Dolores.
His anxiety to see her now, was increased by his desire to fix upon aplan whereby he could rescue her and also Philip from the danger thatthreatened them. He brought with him the order in which he had insertedtheir names, and which would set "Citoyen and Citoyenne Chamondrin" atliberty. He was not aware of Antoinette's arrest, and when he enteredthe cell and saw Mlle. de Mirandol, he uttered an exclamation of dismay.
"You here, mademoiselle!" he cried.
"Yes, I have been here three days."
"But the order releases only two persons!" he exclaimed, sorrowfully.
Antoinette did not understand him; she had heard nothing about the orderto which he alluded; but Dolores quickly approached Coursegol and said,hurriedly, in a low voice:
"Not another word. Give me the order. When the proper time comes, itshall be used by those who have the best right to it."
Coursegol reluctantly obeyed. He was convinced that Dolores wouldconcentrate all her efforts upon the deliverance of Philip andAntoinette; and he almost hated the latter who, for the second time,imperiled the life and happiness of one so dear to him.
"Before, it was her presence in the chateau that prevented the marriageof my dear Dolores to the man she loved; to-day, after I have worked sohard to secure their liberty and the realization of their hopes, it isshe who destroys all my plans," he thought. Perhaps he would have givenvent to his feelings had not Dolores, who seemed to read what waspassing in his mind, made an imperative sign; so he withdrew and went tojoin Philip, and to tell him that the order was in the hands of Dolores.
"It will not be used," said Philip, sadly. "If it would open the prisondoors for two women, I could induce them to go; but since I must go outwith one of them, and as neither will consent to save her life at thecost of the other's, we shall all remain."
"Then all my efforts will be lost," cried Coursegol, despairingly; "andI shall be compelled to see you perish after I have accomplishedmiracles in order to save you."
And tears of anger and disappointment sprang to his eyes.
Philip calmed him by explaining how impossible it would be for two toavail themselves of an opportunity to escape and abandon their friendto her fate. If one was forsaken by the others, eternal remorse would bethe portion of those who deserted her; hence, they must make theirescape together or await the denouement.
Coursegol promised to do his best to obtain an order which could be usedby three persons; and he left the prison towards evening, telling hisfriends that he would see them again in a few days and even sooner, ifpossible.
While he was there, Antoinette, Dolores, and Philip had repaired, as ifby common consent, to the main hall; and when he had gone, the threeyoung people found themselves together.
"Shall we still persist in shunning one another?" Antoinette askedPhilip.
"No, no," he replied, touched by the tender sorrow in her voice; "let usbe together while we can; then, should death be our portion, we shallnot be obliged to regret that we have not consecrated to friendship thefew moments left at our disposal."
"That is well, Philip," rejoined Dolores, and as she could say no morein Antoinette's presence without revealing the secret she wished toconceal, she extended her hand to her friend as if in approval of hisdecision.
They remained together until the usual signal warned the prisoners thatthey must retire to their cells and extinguish their lights; but noallusion was made to the order of release. Philip and Dolores seemed tohave tacitly agreed to conceal from Antoinette the fact that herunforeseen arrival had prevented their immediate restoration to liberty.
The next morning Dolores went down to the public hall, and there held along conversation with Philip.
"Since God has united us here," she said to him; "let us enjoy the timehe has given us, and allow no differences to creep in between us anddestroy the peace and harmony that are our only consolation. I do notwish to know your feelings, whatever they may be. You must constantlybear in mind these two things, Philip--that I can never, never be yourwife, and that you owe Antoinette reparation. This is the duty that lifeimposes upon you. So accept your destiny, and no longer pain us by thesight of your despondency. It only renders me miserable and it canchange nothing."
Philip listened with bowed head to these firm words. He said to himself:
"She is right. Why should we concern ourselves about the future, sincethe present allows me to remain by her side? We are ever on thethreshold of the grave, here. Alas! we must escape from the shadow ofdeath that is hanging over us before we make any plans for the future."
But he was touched, and while he mentally resolved to keep his love andhis hopes a secret in his own heart, he bowed over the hand of Dolores,and raising it to his lips, said:
"You speak wisely, my sister. I will be worthy of you."
This day was the first that passed happily for the three whoselife-history we are attempting to relate. Unfortunately, thislong-sought happiness was to endure but for a day. The very nextafternoon after the just described, all the prisoners were assembled inthe main hall. It was the last of December, and night comes quickly inwinter. It was only four o'clock, and already the gathering twilightwarned the prisoners that the hour for returning to their cells was fastapproaching.
Suddenly there was a movement in the crowd. The prisoners nearest thedoor pushed against those who were further away, and soon they foundthemselves ranged along the wall, while a large vacant space was left inthe centre of the room.
A man had just entered. He was attired in black, and he wore a large redcockade on his hat. In his hand he held a roll of papers. Four soldiersaccompanied him. It was easy to recognize in this personage a clerk ofthe Revolutionary Tribunal; and it was his duty as an officer of thatbody, to visit the prisons and read the names of those condemned todeath and of those who were summoned to appear before the Tribunal toanswer the charges against them. Like an avenging spirit, he appearedevery day at the same hour, rigid, inflexible, cruel, deaf tosupplications and tears, a grim avant-courier of the executioner,selecting his victims and marking them for death.
Accustomed as they were to see him, his appearance among the prisonersalways caused a thrill of horror. There w
as so much youth, beauty,innocence, grace, and devotion there! Why should they be doomed? Theywere enemies to whom? To what projects were they an obstacle? Uselessquestions! It is because Robespierre laid his merciless hand upon thegood, upon the weak and upon the timid that his name will be eternallyheld in execration by all generous hearts.
When this official entered, Antoinette and Philip, who were as yetunversed in the customs of the prison, were pushed back by the crowdinto the yard, without understanding why. Dolores, who knew what was tocome, remained in the hall and chanced to be in the foremost row.
The clerk came forward, unrolled a long list and began to read in a loudvoice the names of all who were to appear before the Tribunal thefollowing day. What a strange medley of names! Names of plebeians and ofnobles; of nuns and of priests; of royalists and of republicans; of oldmen and of children; of men and of women; it was all the same, providedthe guillotine was not compelled to wait for its prey.
Each time a prisoner's name was called a murmur, more or less prolongedaccording as the rank, the age or the sex of the victim inspired more orless sympathy or pity, ran through the crowd. Then, the person namedcame forward and received from the hands of the official a paper,enumerating the real or imaginary crimes with which he was charged andordering him to appear before his judges the following day. If hisfather, his wife or his children were in prison with him, the air wasfilled with tears and lamentations.
One could hear such words as these:
"If they had but taken me!"
"Would I could die in your stead!"
These heart-breaking scenes began even before the departure of theofficer, and generally lasted the entire night until the hour of finaladieu; but if the prisoner designated was alone and without family, hecame forward with a firm step, stoically accepted his sentence of death,and hummed a lively air as he returned to the crowd where a dozenunknown, but friendly, hands were extended as if to encourage andstrengthen him.
Dolores had been a sympathetic witness of many such scenes, and thatevening she was neither more nor less moved than on previous occasions.The eyes and the heart soon become accustomed to anything. But suddenlyshe trembled. Those near her saw her totter and turn pale. She had justheard the officer call the name of Antoinette de Mirandol. She glancedaround her but did not see her friend. Antoinette was with Philip,outside the door. She did not reply to her name. The clerk repeated itin a still louder voice.
"Antoinette de Mirandol," he repeated a third time.
Dolores stepped forward.
"Here I am," said she. "Pardon me, I did not hear at first."
"Are you Citoyenne Mirandol?"
"The same."
This generous response, twice repeated, caused a murmur of admiration,surprise and consternation among those who knew Dolores. She did nothear it, but her eyes glowed with heroic resolve as, with a firm hand,she took the act of accusation extended to her, and slowly returned toher place.
The name of Antoinette to which she had just responded was the lastupon the sad list.
"All whose names I have called will be tried to-morrow morning at teno'clock."
With these words, the messenger of the Tribunal withdrew. Then came asigh of relief from those who had not been summoned.
The friends of Dolores assembled around her.
"Unfortunate child, what have you done?" asked one.
"Are you, then, so anxious to die?"
"Why did you go forward when it was not your name that he called?"
She glanced calmly at her questioners; then, in a voice in whichentreaty was mingled with the energy that denotes an immutable resolve,she said:
"I beg that no one will interfere in this matter, or make me unhappy byendeavoring to persuade me to reconsider my decision. Above all, Iearnestly entreat you to keep my secret."
No one made any response. The wish she had expressed was equivalent to acommand; and as such, deeds of heroism were not uncommon, the one whichshe had performed so bravely, and which would cost her her life, wasforgotten in a few moments by her companions in misfortune, who werenaturally absorbed in the question as to when their own turn was tocome.
Dolores passed through the little group that had gathered around her,each person stepping aside with a grave bow to make way for her, andrejoined Antoinette and Philip, who knew nothing of what had takenplace. When she appeared before them no trace of emotion was visibleupon her face, and she had concealed the fated paper beneath the fichuthat covered her bosom. She chatted cheerfully with her friends untilthe sound of the drum warned the prisoners that they must retire totheir cells. Then, she smilingly extended her hand to Philip.
"Good-night!" she said, simply.
And taking Antoinette's arm in hers, she led her back to the cell theyoccupied in common. Antoinette entered first, leaving Dolores alone aninstant in the main corridor. The latter turned and swiftly retraced hersteps. She was seeking Aubry, the jailer. She soon met him. He, too, wasignorant of all that had occurred.
"Where are you going?" he inquired, in a half-good-natured,half-grumbling tone.
"I was looking for you," Dolores replied. "I must send a message toCoursegol this very night."
"I am not sure that I can get permission to leave the prison."
"You must," she eagerly rejoined. "It is absolutely necessary that I seeCoursegol to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. If he comes later, he willnot find me here."
And as Aubry looked at her in astonishment, she added:
"I am to appear to-morrow before the Tribunal."
"You! I hoped they had forgotten you."
"Hush! not a word to any one, above all, to the young girl who sharesmy cell. If you have any regard for me, give my message to Coursegol.You will do a good deed for which you shall be rewarded."
She left the kind-hearted jailer without another word, and hastened backto the cell where Antoinette was awaiting her.
Dolores passed the night in a profound and peaceful slumber and awokewith a heart overflowing with pure and holy joy at the thought that shewas about to heroically crown a life devoted to duty and to abnegation.She did not underrate the sacrifice she was to make; but she knew thatthe death would not be without moral grandeur, and even while shecomprehended that she had exceeded the limit of the obligations whichduty imposed upon her, she felt no agitation, no regret.
She rose early and arrayed herself with more than usual care. The dressshe selected was of gray cashmere. Her shoulders were covered with asilk fichu of the same color, knotted behind at the waist. Upon her headshe wore one of the tall, plumed felt hats in fashion at the time, andfrom which her golden hair descended in heavy braids upon her whiteneck. Never had she been more beautiful. The light of immortality seemedto beam in her lovely face; and the serenity of her heart, theenthusiasm that inspired her and the fervor of her religious faithimparted an inexpressible charm to her features. When her toilet wascompleted, she knelt, and for an hour her soul ascended in ferventaspiration to the God in whom she had placed her trust. Her heart wasdeeply touched: but there were no tears in her eyes.
"Death," she thought, "is only a journey to a better life. In theunknown world to which my soul will take flight, I shall rejoin thosewhom I love and who have gone before: the Marquis, whose benevolencesheltered me from misery and want; his wife, who lavished all a mother'stenderness upon me; my mother, herself, who died soon after giving mebirth. For those I leave behind me I shall wait on high, watching overthem, and praying for their peace and happiness."
These consoling thoughts crowded in upon her as if to strengthen her inher last moments by hopes which render the weakest natures strong andindomitable, even before the most frightful suffering. She rose calm andtranquil, and approached Antoinette's bedside. She was sleeping soundly.Dolores looked at her a moment with loving, pitying eyes.
"May my death assure your happiness," she murmured, softly; "and mayPhilip love you as fondly as I have loved him!"
She left the cell. In the corridor, she met Aubry, w
ho was in search ofher.
"Your friend Coursegol is waiting for you below," he said, sadly.
"Oh! thank you," she quickly and cheerfully rejoined.
She hastened down. Coursegol was there. He was very pale, his face washaggard, and his eyes were terribly swollen. Warned the evening beforeby Aubry, the poor man had spent the entire night in the street,crouching against the wall of the prison, weeping and moaning while hewaited for the hour when he could see Dolores.
"What do I hear, mademoiselle," he exclaimed, on meeting her. "You aresummoned before the Tribunal! Oh! it is impossible. There must be somemistake. They can accuse you of no crime, nor can they think ofpunishing you as if you had been an Emigre or a conspirator."
"Nevertheless, I received a summons yesterday and also a papercontaining the charge against me."
"Alas, alas!" groaned Coursegol, "why did you not listen to me? Why haveyou not made use of the order I procured for you? You would now be atliberty and happy."
"But Antoinette had no means of escape."
"And what do I care for Mademoiselle de Mirandol? She is nothing to me,while you are almost my daughter. If you die, I shall not survive you. Ihave accomplished miracles to insure your escape from prison. I alsoflattered myself that I had assured your life's happiness, but by yourimprudence you have rendered all my efforts futile. Oh, God is notjust!"
"Coursegol, in pity say no more!"
But he would not heed her. He was really beside himself, and hecontinued his lamentations and reproaches with increasing violence,though his voice was choked with sobs. He gesticulated wildly; he formeda thousand plans, each more insane than the preceding. Now, he declaredhis intention of forcibly removing Dolores; now he declared he wouldappeal to the judges for mercy; again he swore that Vauquelas shouldinterfere in her behalf. But the girl forbade any attempt to save her.
"No, my good Coursegol," she said; "the thought of death does notappall me; and those who mourn for me will find consolation in the hopeof meeting me elsewhere."
"And do you think this hope will suffice for me?" cried Coursegol."Since I took you from the breast of your dying mother on the thresholdof the Chateau de Chamondrin, I have loved you more and more each day. Ilived for you and for you alone. My every hope and ambition were centredin you. You were my joy, my happiness, the only charm life had for me;and to see you condemned, you, the innocent--"
Sobs choked his utterance.
"Show me the charges against you," he demanded, suddenly.
"What is the use?" rejoined Dolores, desiring to conceal the truth fromhim until the last.
"I wish to know the crimes of which you are accused," persistedCoursegol. "There are no proofs against you. I will find a lawyer todefend you--if need be, I, myself will defend you."
"It would be useless, my friend. Your efforts would only compromise you,without saving me."
As she spoke, she heard quick footsteps behind her. She turned. Theofficer who was there the evening before had returned to conduct theprisoners to the Tribunal. He began to call their names.
"Farewell, farewell," murmured Dolores, huskily.
In this parting from the friend who had loved her so long andfaithfully, she experienced the first pang of anguish that had assailedher heart since she had decided to sacrifice her own life forAntoinette's sake.
"Not farewell," responded Coursegol, "but au revoir!"
And without another word, he departed.
Dolores glanced around the hall; but saw nothing of Philip orAntoinette. She was greatly relieved, for she had feared that theiremotion would unnerve her; but now she could reasonably hope to carrywith her to the grave the secret of the devotion which was to cost herher life. She did not wish Philip ever to know that she had died inplace of Antoinette, lest her friend should become hateful in his sight,and Antoinette herself be condemned to eternal remorse.
It was now nine o'clock, and about twenty persons had assembled in thehall. The majority of them were unfortunates who, like Dolores, were toappear that morning before the tribunal; but all did not enjoy aserenity like hers. One, a young man, seated upon a chair, a littleapart from his companions, allowed his eyes to rove restlessly aroundwithout pausing upon any of the objects that surrounded him. Though hisbody was there, his mind assuredly, was far away. He was thinking,doubtless, of days gone by, memories of which always flock into theminds of those who are about to die; not far from him, a venerable mancondemned to death, was striving to conquer his emotion in order toconsole a young girl--his daughter--who hung about his neck, wipingbitterly; there, stood a priest, repeating his breviary, pausing everynow and then to reply to each of the prisoners who came to implore thebenediction which, according to the tenets of the Romish Church,insures the soul the eternal joys of Paradise. So these prisoners, alldifferently occupied, were grouped about the hall; and those who were todie displayed far more fortitude and resignation than those who wouldsurvive them. Dolores approached the priest.
"Father," said she, "on returning from the Tribunal, I shall beg you tolisten to my confession and to grant me absolution."
As he looked upon this beautiful young girl who confronted death socalmly and serenely, the priest closed his book and said, in a voicetrembling with compassion:
"What! are you, too, a victim for the guillotine? You cannot be aconspirator. Do these wretches respect nothing?"
"I am glad to die," Dolores said, simply.
Did he comprehend that this resignation concealed some great sacrifice?Perhaps so. He looked at her with admiration, and bowed respectfullybefore her, as he replied:
"You set us all an example of courage, my child. If you are condemned, Iwill give you absolution; and I shall ask you to address to Him, whonever turns a deaf ear to the petitions of the innocent, a prayer forme."
There was so much sadness in his voice that all the sympathies ofDolores were aroused. She pitied those who were doomed to die withouteven remembering to weep over her own sad fate.
When the name of Mademoiselle de Mirandol was called, Dolores steppedforward as she had done the evening before, and took her place with theother prisoners between the double file of soldiers who were to conductthem to the Tribunal. Then the gloomy cortege started. When they enteredthe court-room a loud shout rent the air. The hall was filled withsans-culottes and tricoteuses who came every day to feast their eyesupon the agony of the prisoners, and to accompany them to theguillotine. Never was there such an intense and long-continued thirstfor blood as prevailed in those horrible days.
The prisoners were obliged to pass through this hooting and yellingcrowd, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that the soldiersprotected them from its violence. Several wooden benches occupied thespace between the bar and the chairs of the judges; and upon these theprisoners were seated, eleven on each bench and so close together thatit was almost impossible for them to make the slightest movement. Ontheir right stood the arm chair of the prosecuting attorney, or"accusateur;" on their left, were the seats of the jurors. Ten minutespassed, and the noise and confusion increased until it became positivelydeafening. Suddenly, a door opened and the court entered. The judgescame first, dressed in black, with plumed hats, and with red sashesabout their waists. The government attorney took his seat; the jurorsinstalled themselves noisily in their places, and the session began.
Nothing could be more summary than the proceedings of this tribunal.The prisoner at the bar was generally ignorant of the charges againsthim, for the so-called act of accusation was in most cases, a scrap ofpaper covered with cramped and illegible hand-writing that frequentlyproved undecipherable. The president read a name. The person designated,rose and replied to such questions as were addressed to him. If theresponses were confused, the prisoner's embarrassment was regarded as aconclusive proof of his guilt; if they were long, he was imperiouslyordered to be silent. Witnesses were heard, of course; but those whotestified in favor of the accused were roughly handled. Then theprosecuting attorney spoke five minutes, perhaps; the
jury rendered itsverdict, and the judge sentenced the prisoner or set him at liberty asthe case might be. That day, eleven persons were tried and condemned todeath in less than two hours. Dolores' turn came last.
"Your name?" asked the president.
"Antoinette de Mirandol."
As she made this reply, she heard an ill-suppressed cry behind her. Sheturned quickly, and saw Coursegol. He was leaning upon the arm ofBridoul, and his hands were clenched and his face flushed. He nowcomprehended, for the first time, the girl's heroic sacrifice. Fearinghe would betray her, she gave him a warning glance, as if to imposesilence. It was unnecessary. He well knew that any statement of the realfacts would be useless now; and that the truth would ruin Antoinettewithout saving Dolores. Such mistakes were not rare during the Reign ofTerror. Almost daily, precipitancy caused errors of which no one wasconscious until it was too late to repair them. Only a few days before,a son had been condemned in place of his father; and another unfortunateman had paid with his head, for the similarity between his name and thatof another prisoner in whose stead he had been summoned before theTribunal, and with whom he was executed; for Fouquier-Tinville, notknowing which was the real culprit, chose rather to doom two innocentmen to death than to allow one guilty man to escape. Dolores wassentenced to be beheaded under the name of Antoinette de Mirandol Whenher sentence was pronounced, the business of the Court was concluded,and the judges were about to retire when suddenly a man made his waythrough the crowd to the bar, and cried a stentorian voice:
"The sentence you have just pronounced is infamous. You are not judges,but assassins and executioners."
Then he crossed his arms upon his breast and glowered defiance on theindignant and wrathful judges.
"Arrest that man!" thundered the public accusateur.
Two gendarmes sprang forward, and the officer who had just spoken added:
"Citizen judges, I place this prisoner at your bar. Question him thatthe citizen jurors may decide upon his fate."
It was Coursegol, who, hearing Dolores condemned, had suddenly resolvednot to survive her, but to die with her.
"Unfortunate man!" murmured the young girl, and for the first time thatmorning her eyes filled with tears.
Coursegol looked at her as if to ask if she thought him worthy of her.In answer to the question put by the chief judge, he curtly replied:
"It is useless to seek any other explanation of my conduct than thatwhich I am about to give. I am weary of the horrors which I havewitnessed. I hate the Republic and its supporters. I am a Royalist; andI have no other wish than to seal with my blood, the opinions I havehere proclaimed.
"Citizen jurors," cried his accuser, angrily; "I ask for this man apunishment which shall be an example to any who may desire to imitatehim."
"He is mad!" objected one of the jurors.
"No, I am not mad!" cried Coursegol. "Down with the Republic and longlive the King!"
There was such boldness in this defiance that a profound stillness madeitself felt in the crowded hall. Judges and jurors conferred together inwrathful whispers. In a few moments, Coursegol was condemned to sufferdeath upon the guillotine for having been guilty of the heinous crime ofinsulting the court in the exercise of its functions, and of utteringseditious words in its presence. Then he approached Dolores. She wassobbing violently, entirely overcome by this scene which had moved hermuch more deeply than her own misfortunes.
"Forgive me, mademoiselle," said he, "for being so bold as to resolvenot to survive you; but even in death, my place is beside you."
"My friend! my protector! my father!" sobbed Dolores.
And yielding to an irresistible impulse, she threw herself intoCoursegol's arms. He held her pressed tightly to his breast until he wasordered to make ready to start for the prison with the other victims.They were to remain there until the hour of execution.