Part 42 (1/2)
The Abbot moved impa.s.sively toward the door, only replying to the looks of wonder on every face with the words, ”I have said.”
But Hubert blocked his pa.s.sage, and cried: ”Miserable ca.s.sock, hypocrite, c.o.c.k-roach! Would you be also capable of denouncing us?”
”I am capable of everything to the end of preventing an act reprobated by the General of my Order. The General of the Jesuits has spoken; all must obey him--even Kings, even the Pope. Silence and obedience are the words!”
So saying, and profiting by the stupor into which his audacity and self-possession threw the other conspirators, the Jesuit left the room.
”We are off, G.o.d-son,” he said to little Rodin when he had descended to the second floor. ”Come, my child; other cares call me elsewhere.”
”Me also,” responded the boy, blessing himself and rising. ”I am ready to follow you, good G.o.d-father. Command. To hear you is to obey.”
CHAPTER XV.
THE KING ON TRIAL.
As already recounted, John Lebrenn, in his capacity as munic.i.p.al officer, was charged on the night of December 10, 1793, with the task of watching over Louis XVI, detained, with his family, at the Temple.
Occupying a room before the chamber of the ex-King, Lebrenn felt for the prisoner a sort of compa.s.sion, as he reflected that this man, not without his good inclinations, and endowed with certain undeniable domestic virtues, had been pushed by his position as King to wrongful acts which were about to bring down a terrible punishment upon his head.
Louis submitted to his confinement with mingled carelessness and resignation, rarely displaying either annoyance or anger at the rigorous surveillance of which he was the object; he hoped that the penalty p.r.o.nounced against him by the Convention would not exceed imprisonment until after the peace, and then banishment. For his wife, his sister, and his son and daughter, he showed great solicitude; one proof of the inherent sin of royalty, which could transform a good husband, a good brother, and a good father--a man without malice in his private life--into an execrable tyrant, capable of every transgression.
The curtains which screened the gla.s.s door separating the ante-chamber from that occupied by the fallen King accidentally falling apart in the middle, they revealed to John Lebrenn Louis XVI pacing up and down the room, although his usual bed-time had long sounded. The King seemed to be in a state of agitation which accorded ill with his apathetic nature.
On the morrow he was to appear at the bar of the Convention; and during the day he had learned from Clery, his man-in-waiting, who, due to his secret connection with the royalists, was informed of their moves, that a plan was afoot to s.n.a.t.c.h him from his escort on the way from the Temple to the Convention. Quite likely to turn his mind from these thoughts, he opened the door leading into the room guarded by John Lebrenn, in order to speak with him. The countenance of his watchman seemed to inspire some confidence in the prisoner; perhaps he remarked on the young man's features an expression of compa.s.sion, easy to confound with the respectful interest of a subject for a prisoner King.
He stepped into the room of his guard. Not out of respect for the King, but out of commiseration for the captive man, the soldier rose from the camp cot on which he had been sitting. Louis addressed him affably, as follows:
”My friend, I am not disposed to sleep, to-night. If you will, let us talk together, that my sleeplessness may be rendered less irksome.”
”Willingly, Sire,” replied Lebrenn.
This was the first time since his captivity that Louis XVI heard one of his captors address him by that t.i.tle 'Sire.' They called him habitually 'citizen,' or 'monsieur,' or 'Louis Capet.' Seeking to read the inner thoughts of the man before him, Louis resumed, after a moment's silence:
”My friend, I do not think I am mistaken in believing that you pity my lot? I have been calumniated, but the light will break some day, perhaps soon: thank G.o.d, I still have friends. I know not what it is that tells me you are one of those faithful and devoted subjects of whom I speak.”
”Sire, I am too loyal to leave you a single instant in error. I do not accept the designation of 'subject,' Sire! I am a citizen of the French Republic.”
”Enough, monsieur; I was mistaken,” bitterly replied Louis.
”Nevertheless, I thank you for your frankness.”
”My words were dictated by my dignity, first of all; next, by my pity for the misfortunes, not of the King, but of the man.”
”Sir,” cried Louis XVI haughtily, ”I require no one's pity; the commiseration of heaven and my conscience are enough. Let us stop there.”
”Sire, I did not seek the honor of this conversation; and, should it continue, it is well that you be under no illusion as to my sentiments towards royalty. The Revolution and the Republic have no more devoted soldier than myself. Now, Sire, I am at your service.”
Louis XVI was not utterly lacking in sense; his first resentment past, he admitted to himself that the conduct of this munic.i.p.al officer was all the more praiseworthy, inasmuch as while declaring himself a revolutionist and a republican, he nevertheless treated a captive King with respect.
”I was rude just now, I am sorry for it,” he said at length. ”Hoping for a moment to discover in you a faithful subject, I found myself face to face with an enemy. The disappointment was great. Still, let us talk a little on this subject of your hatred for royalty. What harm have this royalty, this n.o.bility, this clergy, against which you rail, done to you and your like?”