The Sword of Honor; or, The Foundation of the French Republic

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER IX.

  "TO THE FRONT!"

  The porter of the house in which I had thus compulsorily found asylum, ahouse neighboring on my own, gave me, together with his wife, hissolicitous care. Both knew me by sight as a child of the quarter. Irecovered little by little from my commotion. The porter offered me ajacket to replace the ruined tunic of my uniform. Never shall I forgetthe words the worthy people uttered as I bade them good-bye, thankingthem for their attentions.

  "What the devil, my dear neighbor! Between you and me, you were on thewrong side, this time!" said the brave fellow, who from his door-sillhad taken in the whole scene. "Eh! Without a doubt, you were in thewrong, although you did it out of your good heart! My God! I also have agood heart, and, such as you see me, I couldn't cut the head off achicken. Nevertheless, I say to myself: Those who, at this moment, havethe courage to purge the prisons, are saving the country and ourRevolution, by preventing our enemies from letting loose a civil warupon France, and joining themselves to the out-landers to combat us.Alas, it is indeed hard to be driven to it, but 'Necessity knows nolaw.' It is either kill or be killed. In such a case, each for his ownskin!"

  "Goodness me, yes!" put in the portress, a debonair matron, taking upher knitting again. "And then, whose fault is it? The nobles and thepriests haven't stopped for three years conspiring with Veto and theAustrian woman. They loose the Prussians and Huns upon our poor country.God! Listen, you, neighbor--we are getting tired, and it is high timethat, one way or another, this all be put an end to."

  "My wife is right. And then, do you see, neighbor, when the Sections,and even the Commune and Monsieur Danton, everyone, in fact, says it isnecessary to purge the prisons, one must believe that so many personswould not agree on one and the same course, were it not at bottom just,or at least necessary."

  I have cited these good people's words because they are a faithfulexpression of the general sentiment on the subject of the massacres.

  On leaving the house where I had found a refuge, I set out, not for mySection, to join my comrades of the Guard as I had at first intended;but, acting on the subsequent call of the Commune to all the armorer,blacksmith and iron-worker artisans, who were to take in hand themanufacture in haste of the greatest possible number of arms, I turnedmy steps toward the National Assembly, where the Military Committee satin permanent session. I hoped that the number of workmen in these tradeswho reported would be over-sufficient for the turning out of the arms;in that case I was resolved to leave the next day for the army. Twomotives impelled me to that resolution. First, my duty to my country;second the profound chagrin into which the aberration of my sisterVictoria had thrown me. At that very moment, doubtless, shewas--frightful thought--assisting at the massacre in the prisons, calmand terrible as the goddess of Retribution. Moreover, I had received,two days earlier, a letter from Charlotte Desmarais. She was livingstill at Lyons, with her mother; she assured me of her affection, of herunshakable constancy, and added that, in view of the perils with whichthe allied arms threatened the country, my duty as a citizen was markedout for me; she would support with firmness the new trials that wouldawait her should I go to the front. Unhappily, I could not enrol. Thenumber of mechanics skilled in iron working would hardly suffice forgetting out the arms; by a decree of the Assembly, rendered on September4, it was forbidden to them to leave Paris.

  Behold the spectacle that I was to witness on my way to the Assembly--aspectacle moving in its very simplicity:

  In the middle of Vendome Place was raised a tent, supported at eachcorner by a pike surmounted with a red bonnet. Under this tent,municipal officers, girt with the tricolor scarf, were receiving theenlistments of citizens. Two drums, piled one on the other, served astable. On the upper drum lay an ink-well, a pen, and the register inwhich were inscribed the names of the volunteers. Each of these receiveda fraternal embrace from one of the councilmen, and departed amid thecheers of "Long live the Nation!" uttered by the crowd which filled theplace. Day without equal in history! Strange day! in which love ofcountry, heroism, civic devotion, and the exaltation of the holiestvirtues of the family, were intermingled with the thirst for vengeanceand extermination. I heard uttered here and there about me, here withsavage satisfaction, there with the accent of indifference or theresignation born of painful necessity: "They are going to execute theconspirators and purge the prisons." "Death to the priests and nobles!"

  Into the tent of the municipal officers I saw a distinguished-lookingold man enter. His five sons accompanied him. The youngest seemed abouteighteen; the eldest, aged perhaps forty, held by the hand his own son,hardly out of his boyhood. These seven persons, completely armed andequipped out of their own purse, carried on their backs their soldiers'knapsacks. The old man acted as spokesman, and addressed one of theofficers:

  "Citizen, I am named Matthew Bernard, master tanner, No. 71 St. VictorStreet, where I live with my five sons and my grandson. We come, theyand I, to enlist; we leave for the frontier."

  The wife of the brave citizen, his daughter, a young girl of seventeen,and his son's wife, awaited them outside. On the countenances of thethree women was legible neither fear nor regret; the tears that shone intheir eyes were tears of enthusiasm.

  "Farewell, wife! Farewell, daughter and daughter-in-law! We departassured of your safety. The prisons are purged," said the old man in avoice calm and strong. "We have none now to fight but the Prussians onthe frontier. Adieu till we meet again. Long live the Nation! Long livethe Republic! Death to the priests and the aristocrats!"

  In the midst of the procession of recruits, I heard the snapping of awhip, and these words, shouted out in deep and joyous tones:

  "Make way, citizens, make way, please! Oh, hey! Alright, Double-grey!Alright, Reddy!" And soon I saw drawing near, through the crowd whichfell back to give him passage, a man in the hey-day of his strength,with an open and martial countenance, clad in a great-coat and anoilskin hat. He rode a grey horse, and led by the bridle a bay, bothharnessed for the carriage. Across the crupper of one of the animalswere slung a saddle-bag of oats and a bale of grass tied with a cord;the other horse carried a valise. The great-coat of the rider wasdrawn-tight at the waist by the belt of a cavalry saber that hung besidehim. I remarked with surprise that the white leather of his sword-tasselwas red, as if wet with blood.

  "Citizen officers," called the rider without descending from the horsehe rode, and which he reined in on the threshold of the tent, "Write asa voluntary recruit James Duchemin, stage driver by occupation andformerly an artilleryman; I have sold my coach to pay my expenses on theway. I am off to the frontier with my horses Double-grey and Reddy, ofwhom I make an offering to the country, asking only the favor not to beseparated from them and to be enrolled with them in a regiment of fieldartillery. You'll see them do famously in the harness when they'rehitched up to a four-pounder. So, then, citizen officers, write us down,my horses and me. I have just lent a hand to the patriots who areworking down there, at the Abbey," added the stage driver, carrying hishand to the blood-reddened saber. "The business is done. The prisons arepurged;--now, to the front!"

  The day was nearly over when I arrived at the Assembly to put myself atthe disposal of the Military Committee. While awaiting my turn forenrolment, I wandered into the Assembly galleries. I was anxious to knowwhether the massacre in the prisons was known to the popularRepresentatives. I then learned that the Assembly, informed as to theoccurrences at the Abbey, at La Force, and at the Chatelet, had sent tothese places, with instructions to oppose the carnage, a commissioncomposed of Citizens Bazire, Dussaulx, Francis of Neufchateau, Isnardand Lequino.

  Soon several of the commissioners entered the chamber, accompanied byTallien, a member of the Commune, who took the floor and said:

  "Citizens, the commissioners of the Assembly are powerless to turn asidethe vengeance of the people, a vengeance in some sort just, for, we mustsay it, these blows have fallen upon the issuers of false notes, whomthe law condemns to death. What excited the vengea
nce of the people wasthat they found in the prisons none but recognized criminals!"

  I left the Assembly chamber and returned to take my place in the lineand pass before the Committee. The Committee was presided over, thatday, by Carnot the elder, an officer of genius, and one of the greatestcaptains of the time. I had myself inscribed as an iron-worker, andreceived the order to appear next morning at daybreak, at thegreen-house of the Louvre, where they were setting up the forges andwork-benches for the fashioning of the munitions of war.

  While awaiting Victoria, at our lodging, I busied myself with recordingin my journal the various events of the day. One in the morning sounded;my sister had not returned. Up till now, I had felt no anxiety for her;only those who would attempt to disarm the popular anger, only those, onthat day, ran any danger; and Victoria partook of the general sentimentof Paris on the subject of a mass extermination. But suddenly thereflashed back to my mind Jesuit Morlet and his tool Lehiron. I knew thehatred entertained by the reverend Father for my sister. These thoughtsthrew me into deep anxiety. The Jesuit Morlet and Lehiron were capableof any crime; and on this unlucky day, when blood flowed in torrents,nothing would have been easier than for the wretches to make away withVictoria. Faithful to his hope of seeing the Revolution besmirch itselfor lose itself in excesses, Abbot Morlet would not fail to be on hand tourge on the carnage of the prisoners; he could easily, under a newdisguise, repair to the prisons with Lehiron and his cut-throats, and,on encountering my sister, point her out to their weapons.

  The gloomiest of apprehensions were raised in me by these reflections.My alarm increased from minute to minute. There was, alas, no way tostill it. My anguish had almost reached the breaking point when I heardhurried steps on the stair-landing. I ran to the door. It flew open.Victoria uttered a cry of joy, threw herself into my arms, pressed meconvulsively to her breast, and broke into tears. Then, between hersobs, she murmured in a voice choked with joy:

  "Brother, my poor brother, I find you again! God be praised!"

  As her emotion subsided, Victoria acquainted me in the following wordswith the source of her alarm:

  "Just now, on my way here, I met, ten steps from the house, ourneighbor Dubreuil. On seeing me he stopped, looked at me an instant withan expression of surprise and grief, and said, 'Are you coming to seeJohn?' 'Surely,' answered I. 'Alas, poor John harangued the crowd thismorning at this very place; he spoke against the massacre in theprisons; they took him for a traitor, and the crowd, in its temper--'and our neighbor buried his face in his hands and did not finish. Iunderstood everything. Yielding to the goodness of your heart, desiringto oppose popular justice in its course, you had paid for the attemptwith your life!--such was my first thought. For an instant I stoodmotionless with stupor, my soul in a whirl. I felt I should go mad. ThenI ran to our door. 'Brother, brother!' I cried. 'Whence your alarm,mademoiselle?' the porter asked me; 'Monsieur John is upstairs since teno'clock.' My heart bounded with joy;--but I was not completely reassuredtill I saw you."

  I recounted to my sister the cause of our neighbor's mistake in thinkingI had lost my life in the attempt to intervene in favor of theprisoners. And I followed by confiding to Victoria the fears which herown prolonged absence had caused me.

  "True," Victoria answered, "the Jesuit did appear once at the AbbeyPrison with Lehiron and some of his brigands. But they soon saw thatthat was not the place for them, for at the Abbey there was nopillaging, there was no assassination. We judged and condemned theguilty; we freed the innocent."

  "Alas, and in the name of what law did you condemn the ones, and acquitthe others?"

  "In the name of Eternal Justice, which smites the wicked and spares thegood."

  I heard Victoria in a sort of daze. "And even if," exclaimed I, "asemblance of justice did preside over the carnage, by what right didthese men constitute themselves the accusers, judges and executioners ofthe prisoners?"

  "Brother, by what right did the jurors who assisted at the sessions ofthe revolutionary tribunal instituted on August the 17th of this year,declare the accused innocent or guilty?"

  "They exercised a right conferred on them by the law."

  "Then the law confers in certain cases, and on citizens elected by thepeople, the right to judge or to absolve?"

  "In certain cases, yes; and the present case is not of their number."

  "John, those are the subtleties of a lawyer. Listen to what passedbefore my eyes: The people elected by acclamation and installed in theprison a revolutionary tribunal of eleven jurors. The prisoners werebrought before them. Then--I saw everything, I heard everything, and Iswear before God, aye, on my soul and conscience, that all those whowere sentenced deserved the death. My mind is clear, my thoughts calm.Hear what I have to tell you, then you shall pronounce between those whoglorify the events of September and those who condemn them:

  "Three carriages bearing priests accused of having fomented civil war,were driving towards the Abbey. As the vehicles approached the prison,one of the priests, who was braving the crowd with the violence of hisdiscourse, was cursed by it. In a passion he raised his cane and struckone of those who insulted him over the head. The crowd, exasperated,followed the vehicles into the Abbey and massacred all the priests inthem."

  Victoria gasped for breath and continued:

  "It was at this moment that I entered the prison. Almost at the sametime as I, Manuel, the attorney-at-law for the Commune, arrived. Thepeople called on the guards to deliver the prisoners to them. Manuelasked to be heard. He began by reading a decision of the Commune, whichdeclared:

  "'In the name of the people, citizens, you are enjoined to pass judgmenton all the prisoners in the Abbey Prison without distinction; with theexception of Abbot Lenfant, whom you shall bestow in a safe place.

  "'At the City Hall, September 2, 1792.

  "'Signed, Panis, Sergent, administrators.'

  "Having read the decree, Manuel continued:

  "'Citizens, your resentment is just. Wage, if you will, war without letupon the enemies of the public weal! Fight them to the death; they mustperish. But you love justice, and you would shudder at the thought ofimbruing your hands with innocent blood. Cease, then, from throwingyourselves like tigers upon men, your brothers.'"

  Victoria, after accentuating this fact, went on:

  "A court elected by those present and presided over by Maillard,convened in the registrar's office; one enters the place by a gratingcommunicating with the interior of the prison, and leaves it by a dooropening on the prison courtyard. It was in the latter place that thejusticiaries awaited the condemned, to execute them. Maillard laidbefore him the prison register; this gave the charge against eachinmate, and the cause of his arrest. A warder, as each prisoner's namewas called, went to fetch him. He was led before the tribunal, whichproceeded in this wise:

  "For instance, they brought in a Knight of St. Louis, an ex-captain ofthe King's Huntsmen. The accused, formerly the seigneur of severalparishes, enjoyed still a large fortune. His name was Journiac of St.Meard. Here he comes before the tribunal. He gives his name and surname.'Are you a royalist?' asks Maillard. And as, at that question, St. Meardseemed troubled, Maillard adds: 'Answer truthfully and without fear. Weare here to judge not opinions but their consequences.' The Chevalier ofSt. Meard, a firm and loyal man, replies: 'I am a royalist, I mourn theold regime. I believe that France is essentially monarchist. I havenever concealed my regrets. I have a naturally satirical spirit, and Ihave published in several miscellanies, adhering to my opinion, severalmocking verses against the Revolution. Those are the principal factscharged against me. As to the rest, I have here papers which will,happily, make clear to you my innocence.' And St. Meard drew from aportfolio several sheets. They were carefully examined. Some witnesses,brought there by the merest chance, were heard for and against theaccused. His defense, worked out in much detail, occupied over half anhour, and ended with these words: 'I mourn the old regime; but I havenever conspired against the new. I did not flee the country; I regard
asa crime the appeal to foreign arms. I hope I have proved to you,citizens, my innocence, and I believe that you will set me at liberty,to which I am much inclined both by principle and by nature.' The jurorsconferred in a low voice, and in a few seconds Maillard rose, removedhis hat, and said aloud, 'Prisoner at the bar, you are free.' Then,addressing three patriots armed with pikes and bloody swords, Maillardadded, 'Watch over the safety of this citizen; conduct him to hishome.'--"

  "Ah," I broke in, experiencing a mingled sensation of compassion andhorror, "the heart of man is an abyss--an abyss--one's reason is lost intrying to fathom it!"

  "That is how things were conducted at the Abbey," proceeded Victoria."After examination and free defense I saw set at liberty Bertrand LaMolleville, brother of the minister; Maton La Varenne, a lawyer; AbbotSolomon Duveyrier; and the Count of Afry, a colonel in the Swissregiments, after he had proven an alibi from Paris during the events ofthe 10th of August."

  And Victoria completed the account of the things she witnessed while theprisoners were being judged:

  "I told you, brother, how they acquitted the innocent; now I shall showyou how they performed sentence on the guilty. Let me take the case ofMontmorin, the double traitor absolved by the Orleans High Court. Thatscandalous acquittal was one of the causes of to-day's events. Thepeople, tired and irritated at seeing the criminals pass scathelessunder the sword of the law, has done justice to itself, by strikingthem! Montmorin, brought before the court, showed himself haughty andarrogant; a contemptuous smile contracted his lips. 'You are CitizenMontmorin? The crimes of which you are accused are notorious. What haveyou to say in your defense?' Maillard asked the former minister. 'Irefuse to reply; I do not recognize your right to sit upon me,' retortedMontmorin. In vain Maillard urged him to speak; the prisoner maintainedan obstinate silence. 'Take the accused to La Force,' ordered Maillard,after with a look consulting the jurors, all of whom gave, by anaffirmative nod of the head, their approval of the sentence of the Countof Montmorin."

  "But Maillard had just ordered the prisoner to be taken to La Force?"

  "A conventional phrase, to spare the condemned up to the last moment theagonies of death. 'Take the accused to La Force,' or 'Release theaccused,' were the formulas for the supreme penalty. They opened beforethem the door that gave on the courtyard; the door closed on them, andthe justiciaries performed their office."

  "Strange contradiction--pity and ferocity!"

  "Misled by the words pronounced by Maillard, Montmorin quoth in asupercilious voice, 'I do not go on foot; let them call a coach.' 'Itawaits you at the door,' responded Maillard. Montmorin was pushed intothe courtyard, where they ended him. Bakman, the Swiss regimentalcolonel, also acquitted by the High Court of Orleans, underwent the samefate as Montmorin; also Protot and Valvins, both counterfeiters; AbbotBardy, a monster who had cut his own brother to pieces, and--but we cancontent ourselves with these examples."

  Victoria sank into somber silence; I pressed her hand compassionately,and passed to my own room to seek in repose forgetfulness from thiswretched day.