by Eugène Sue
The distinguished patriot Chalier, at the head of a list of eighty-three, was led to the scaffold at Lyons. The instrument worked poorly. Chalier was twice mutilated. The cruelties of the royalists and parishioners of Lyons will call down great calamities upon the city.
AUGUST 2, 1793. — Often did my sister and I wonder at receiving no news from Prince Franz of Gerolstein, our relative, and one of the most ardent of the Illuminati. The secret of Franz’s silence has just been revealed to me. An officer of the garrison of Mayence, long a prisoner in the duchy of Deux Ponts, adjoining the principality of Gerolstein, informed me to-day that for four years, the length of time since Franz left us, the latter was held in a state prison by order of his father, the reigning prince. So did Franz of Gerolstein expiate in harsh captivity his sympathy with the new ideas.
AUGUST 4, 1793. — The Convention passed yesterday a decree of marked Socialist and revolutionary character:
The National Convention, in consideration of the evils which monopolists inflict upon society by their murderous speculations in the most pressing necessaries of life and upon the public misery, decrees:
Article 1. — Monopoly is a capital crime....
Article 8. — Eight days from the publication and proclamation of the present law, those who have not made the prescribed declarations shall be held to be monopolists, and, as such, be punished with death; their goods shall be confiscate, and also the merchandise and food-stuffs seized in their possession.
AUGUST 7, 1793. — The law against monopolies has had its effect upon the produce and stock jobbers. All food-stuffs have fallen considerably in price.
With redoubled energy the Convention is turning its attention to the dangers which threaten the Republic. News is brought that among the Vendeans have been uncovered the widow of Louis Capet, a large number of non-juring priests, and several imprisoned ex-nobles. The following decrees are passed:
The National Assembly denounces, in the name of the outraged humanity of all nations, and even of the English people, the cowardly, perfidious and atrocious conduct of the British government, which is instigating and paying for the employment of assassination, poison, arson, and every imaginable crime, for the triumph of tyranny and the annihilation of the rights of man.
Marie Antoinette is taken before the tribunal extraordinary. From there she is at once transferred to the Conciergerie Prison:
All the individuals of the Capet family are to be deported outside of the territory of the Republic, with the exception of the two children of Louis Capet and those members of the family who are under the sword of the law. Elizabeth Capet may not be deported until after the trial of Marie Antoinette.
Also:
The tombs and mausoleums of the old Kings, erected in the Church of St. Denis, in the temples, and in other places throughout the whole extent of the Republic, shall be destroyed on the 10th of August next, and their ashes thrown to the winds.
AUGUST 8, 1793. — Up to date Victoria, true to her promise, has written me regularly every week in her own name and that of Oliver. He, she says, is treading with firm step the path of duty. My sister raises not the veil of mystery in which she has enshrouded herself since she quit our house. She announces that she is going to suspend her correspondence, but that if anything untoward intervenes she will inform me of it at once.
AUGUST 23, 1793. — Allied Europe is increasing the masses of troops she is hurling on our frontiers, here menaced, there already invaded. O Fatherland! you appeal to the heroism of your children; your call shall be heard. The Committee of Public Safety, among whose most influential members are Robespierre, St. Just and Couthon, increases its vigilance. The Convention passes decree upon decree, brief, pointed, courageous, like the roll of the drum beating the charge:
The National Convention, having heard the report of its Committee of Public Safety, decrees:
Article 1. — Until the moment when the foreign hordes and all the enemies of the Republic shall have been driven out of the land, all French people are under permanent requisition for the service of the armies.
The young men shall go to the front; the married men shall forge arms and transfer supplies; the women shall make tents and uniforms, and serve in the hospitals; the children shall pull lint, and the old men shall betake themselves to the public places to kindle the courage of the warriors, keep alive hatred for Kings, and promote the unity of the Republic.
The French people will soon present to the tyrants a united front. The effect produced to-day by the latest decrees of the Convention was immense, indescribable. Thanks to God! the consignment of arms I was charged with making will be finished in a few days. I will be able to rejoin the army. Castillon and I have enrolled in one of the battalions of our Parisian volunteers.
SEPTEMBER 18, 1793. — Since the commencement of this month, Terror is the order of the day. Terror reigns; but to whom impute this fatal necessity, if not to the enemies of the fatherland? The Republic struck only after she had been outraged; she attacked not, she but defended. She obeyed the supreme law of self-preservation, the common right of an individual and a body social. The Terror is reducing our enemies within to impotence.
OCTOBER 17, 1793. — Yesterday the revolutionary tribunal sentenced Marie Antoinette to death, in these words:
The court, in accord with the unanimous verdict of the jury, in accordance with its right as public investigator and accuser, and in conformity with the laws which it has cited, condemns the said Marie Antoinette, of Lorraine in Austria, widow of Louis Capet, to the penalty of death. It declares, conformably to the law of the 10th of March last, that her goods, if any she have within the confines of French territory, be confiscate to the benefit of the nation. It orders that, at the request of the public ministry, the present sentence be executed upon the Place of the Revolution, and printed and posted throughout the Republic.
Throughout her trial Marie Antoinette maintained an air of calmness and assurance. She left the audience chamber after the pronouncement of sentence without evincing the slightest emotion, or uttering a word to judges or jurors. She mounted the scaffold at half past four in the morning. Only a few spectators were present.
October 18, 1793. — The Convention has superseded the old calendar with a new one, based on the observations of exact science. The new names for the months are as poetic, harmonious, and above all as rational, as the old ones were barbarous and senseless, borrowed, as they were in part from the fetes and rulers of the Roman Empire, in part from a pagan theocracy. The decree of the Convention is as follows:
Article 1. — The era of the French dates from the foundation of the Republic, which took place the 22nd of September, 1792, of the common era, on which day the sun arrived at the true autumnal equinox, and entered the sign Libra at nine hours, eighteen minutes, thirty seconds, Paris Observatory.
Article 2. — The common year is abolished from civil usage.
Article 3. — Each year commences at midnight of the day on which falls the true autumnal equinox, for the Observatory of Paris....
Article 7. — The year is divided into twelve equal months of thirty days each. After the twelve months follow five days to complete the ordinary year. These five days belong to no month.
Article 8. — Each month in divided into three equal parts of ten days each, which are called decades.
Article 9. — The names of the days of the decade are: Primidi, Duodi, Tridi, Quartidi, Quintidi, Sextidi, Septidi, Octidi, Nonidi, Decadi.
The names of the months are,
For Autumn:
Vendemiaire (the Vintage month, September 22 to October 21), Brumaire (the Foggy month, October 22 to November 20), Frimaire (the Frosty month, November 21 to December 20).
For Winter:
Nivose (the Snowy month, December 21 to January 19), Pluviose (the Rainy month, January 20 to February 18), Ventose (the Windy month, February 19 to March 20).
For Spring:
Germinal (the Budding month, March 21 to April 19
), Floreal (the Flowery month, April 20 to May 19), Prairial (the Pasture month, May 20 to June 18).
For Summer:
Messidor (the Harvest month, June 19 to July 18), Thermidor (the Hot month, July 19 to August 17), Fructidor (the Fruit month, August 18 to September 16).
12th BRUMAIRE, YEAR II (November 2, 1793). — The detail of arms is completed, and Castillon and I leave day after to-morrow to join at Lille the Seventh Battalion, Paris Volunteers.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A REVOLUTIONARY OUTPOST.
ON THE 5TH Nivose of the year II (December 25, 1793), an advance post of the main body of the Army of the Republic lay in military occupancy of an isolated tavern some quarter of a league’s distance from Ingelsheim, a French burg about twelve leagues from Strasburg. Hoche and Pichegru, the Generals of the detachments called “of the Rhine and Moselle,” had removed their headquarters to Ingelsheim, after several advantages gained over Marshal Wurmser, the Duke of Brunswick and the Prince of Condé. The republican troops were bivouacked about the city. The light of their campfires struggled with difficulty through the mists of a black winter’s night. A line of scouts and pickets covered the position of the post, which was composed of a company of the Seventh Battalion, Paris Volunteers, among whom were John Lebrenn and his foreman Castillon.
The company was gathered in the large hall of the inn, and in the kitchen, where blazed a great fire. The greater part of the men, worn out with fatigue, sought repose on beds of fresh straw laid along the walls, making shift to use their knapsacks as pillows. Others furbished their arms, or blacked their cartridge-boxes; still others were mending their dilapidated garments or exercising their wits to cobble their shoes into a semblance of serviceableness; for neither the stores of the army nor draughts on nature sufficed to clothe and shoe all the citizens called to the flag in the last levies, or to replenish their wardrobes against the havocs of war. Few, indeed, of the volunteers, wore the complete uniform decreed by the Convention and which was already covered with the glory of so many victories. This consisted of a coat of deep blue, with facings and trimmings of red, and large white lapels, which left displayed the vest of white cloth, like the trousers; black knit leggins, with leather buttons, reaching to the knee; a flat three-cornered hat, surmounted with a plume of red horse-hair, falling beside the cockade; and a knapsack of white calf or buffalo-skin. Only the most recent recruits to the battalion were dressed correctly in accord with the decree.
The company was in command of a captain named Martin, a pupil of the painter David, the Convention member. Martin had enrolled after the days of September and at once left for the front. He had already advanced through all the elective ranks. Twice wounded, full of bravery and dash, and knowing how to win obedience in the moment of action, Captain Martin showed himself always jovial, open, and engaging in his relations with the volunteers. Although he had now followed war for fifteen months, David’s young pupil did not renounce his former profession. He only awaited peace to lay down his sword, take up his brushes, and attempt to open a new field in his art by depicting the battles of the Revolution, and episodes of camp life. Seated at one corner of a table that was lighted by an iron lamp, Captain Martin was even now amusing himself with sketching, in a little pocket sketch-book, the figure, at once pitiable and grotesque, of the frightened innkeeper. Although a native of Alsace, the latter spoke an unintelligible dialect, and understood no French. Castillon, who was addressing him, indicated with a gesture a young volunteer in spick-and-span new uniform, scrupulously combed and shaven, and altogether looking, as they say, as if he had stepped out of a band-box, and explained:
“This citizen asks for twenty bottles of Moselle wine, to be paid for, of course. Isn’t what I’m saying to you clear enough — barbarian!”
To which the innkeeper, multiplying his manifestations of distress, replied in an agonizing jargon.
“But, Gott’s t’under, ve vant vine! Ve temant vine of you!” retorted Castillon impatiently, assuming a German patois in the hope of making himself understood.
It was Captain Martin who cut the gordian knot and ended the already too-long debate. Hastily outlining in his sketch-book a bottle and a glass, he waved the drawing under mine host’s eyes together with an assignat which he drew from his pocket. The Alsatian gave a sigh of relief, motioned that he at last comprehended, and was about to scamper off to his cellar when the captain held him back, and, to prevent any further misunderstanding, drew the figure 20 underneath the picture of the bottle. To this new intelligence the tavernkeeper responded with uncouth contortions of delight, and a formidable “Yah!”
“The animal!” exclaimed Castillon, shrugging his shoulders, “why couldn’t he answer like that right off!” And addressing himself to the new recruit: “If our innkeeper weren’t such a booby, we would have been able to drink your welcome to the battalion half an hour ago, Citizen Duresnel.”
“True; but then we would have already drunk it, while now we have still in store the pleasure of putting it down,” replied Duresnel thickly, as if he had a hot potato in his mouth, and dropping all his r’s like one who had never seen Paris.
“Ho, ho! You come in time, comrade,” replied a volunteer banteringly. “We’re going to have a fight to-morrow, you’ll see what it is to go under fire. We’ll have a brush of it!”
“That’s what I came for,” Duresnel made answer in his muffled voice; “only — and you will laugh at me, citizens — I confess to you — never having smelled gunpowder, I am afraid—”
“Which? What?” cried the troop in chorus, greatly amused at the babyishness of the young Parisian. “What are you afraid of? Come, comrade, explain yourself.”
“Damn! citizens — I am afraid — of being afraid!”
The answer provoked an explosion of hilarity. Without being in the least put out of countenance, Duresnel added: “Yes, wo’d of honor, citizens; never having been in action, and not knowing what effect it will have upon me, I am afraid of being afraid. That’s very simple.”
“Bravo, comrade,” interjected Captain Martin, “it is not always those who make a flourish of their swords in advance who prove the most heady. Your modesty is a good omen; in consequence of which I wager that to-morrow you will take your baptism of fire bravely, with a cry of Long live the Republic! Just have a little confidence in yourself.”
“You’re a good fellow, captain; I shall do my best. For, wo’d of honor, it would be disagreeable to me to know that I am a coward, after having posted from Paris to join the battalion.”
“You came by post?” exclaimed Castillon. “You must have been in a hurry to get here!”
“Surely; I had already lost so much time. First I was at the quarters of the battalion in the barracks of Picpus, where I learned a little of the drill, after which I took a stage coach to reach Strasburg. Then, taking advantage of the escort which accompanied Representatives St. Just and Lebas to Ingelsheim, I rejoined the battalion, and here I am.”
“A beaker of Moselle will give you courage, comrade,” said Captain Martin, full of interest in the young man; and seeing at that moment the host return with two baskets bursting with bottles: “Come, friends, let us drink a welcome to Citizen Duresnel. Drink, comrades, to the extermination of Kings, priests, Jesuits, and aristocrats.”
“Thanks, captain, I drink nothing but water;” and seeing on the sideboard a water-jug, Duresnel poured himself out a glassful. Then raising his bumper, he replied: “To the health of my brave companions of the Seventh Battalion, Volunteers of Paris! To the extermination of all monarchs! To the lamp-post with the aristocrats! — Captain,” continued Duresnel, “since you are my military superior, I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Granted in advance, on one condition.”
“And what’s that, if you please, captain?”
“That you thee-and-thou us, myself and our comrades, as we thee-and-thou you. It is a mark of political fraternity.”
“Very well, captain. Here, then, is the
request I wish to make of you: I am now a soldier of the Army of the Rhine and Moselle. It seems to me I should take more pleasure of the business if I knew whereabouts we were in the war. Otherwise I should be like a man starting to read a story in the middle, and unable to understand a word, since he does not know the beginning.”
“What you say is in point, comrade. I shall do the right thing by your request at one of our next watches.”
At this moment the attention of the volunteers was drawn to a new personage who entered the inn-hall. This individual wore the uniform of a mounted cannonier, and the insignia of chief quartermaster. His dress, like that of the volunteers, bore many a patch. His face was of a strikingly martial cut, his long moustaches were covered with hoar-frost. On entering the room he delivered the military salute, and said briskly:
“Good even, citizens. Have you room for a moment at fire and lamplight for a mounted artilleryman of the Army of the Rhine?”
“By heaven, yes!” replied Castillon, stepping away from the fireplace to make room for the newcomer; then gazing at him curiously, he added: “But tell me, comrade, this doesn’t seem to be the first time we two have met?”
“Quite likely not,” replied the cannonier, in turn searching Castillon’s features. “In fact, listen here, we met on an occasion which is, by heaven, difficult to forget — a meeting without its like!”
“Last year, on the second of September—”
“At the prison of La Force!”
“When we purged it of the priests, the holy shaven-pates, and the aristocrats.”
“Comrade, you are James Duchemin,” cried Captain Martin, seizing him by the hand. “I heard your name pronounced in the National Assembly along with the other names of those who had given themselves to the fatherland. I admire your devotion. You offered all you possessed — your life and your two horses.”