CHAPTER XXVIII.
TOULAN'S DEATH.
The next morning, at the stroke of nine, Toulan, in the garb of a commissioner, entered the house of the new collector at the Macon gate. Simon received him at the door, and conducted him into the sitting-room.
"You see," said Toulan, "that I am punctual, and I must tell you that I have been almost too impatient to wait. I hope you do not regret your promise, and that you mean to give me the noble present that you promised me."
"Unfortunately I can not," answered Simon, with a shrug. "My wife insisted on giving you the hair with her own hands, and she has just gone out. You will have to wait for her, if you really are anxious to possess the hair of little Capet."
"Yes, I am anxious to own it," replied Toulan. "The hair of my dear young king will be my most cherished possession, and—"
"Come, come," interrupted Simon, "there you exaggerate. The gold salt's-bottle, which the Austrian gave you, is a great deal dearer to you, is it not? You still have that, have you not?"
"Still have it?" cried Toulan. "I would sooner part with my life than with this remembrancer of Marie Antoinette!"
"Well, then, see which you would rather keep, your life, or the bottle the Austrian gave you," said Simon, with a laugh, as he sprang toward the door and opened it Two officials of the Safety Committee, followed by armed men, entered.
"Have you heard every thing?" asked Simon, triumphantly.
"Yes, we have heard every thing, and we arrest you, Toulan, as a traitor. Take him to the Conciergerie. The authorities will decide what shall be done with him further."
"Well," said Toulan, calmly, "the authorities will, perhaps, do me the honor of letting me go the same way that my king—and my queen have taken, and I shall follow the example of the noble sufferers, and die for the hallowed cause of royalty. Let us go, that I may not longer breathe the air which the blasphemer and traitor Simon has poisoned. Woe upon you, Simon! In your dying hour think of me, and of what I say to you now: You are sending me to death, that you may live in peace. But you will find no peace on earth, and if no man accuses you, your conscience will. On your dying bed you will see me before you, and on the day of judgment you will hear my voice, accusing you before the throne of God as a betrayer and murderer. May my blood come on your head, Simon!"
Simon lived to enjoy his freedom and his money only a short time. At the expiration of a year he fell into lunacy, which soon made him attempt his own life. He died in the Asylum of Bicetre. His wife lived till 1821, in a hospital at Paris, and in her dying hour asserted that little Capet was released in the way above related.
On the next day, there was a great excitement within the Temple, and the Safety Committee repaired thither in a body. The lamplighter, who made his rounds on the evening of the day on which Simon left the Temple, had asserted that the child that lay upon the mattress was not the little Capet. "He must know this," he said, "for he had seen the child daily when he lighted the lamp in the boy's room."
The new keeper, Augustus Lasne, was very much excited at the communication of the lamplighter, and at dawn of the next day repaired to the city hall to report the statement. The Safety Committee resolved on an immediate investigation of the Temple, after pledging one another to the deepest secrecy, and enjoining the same on all the servants at the Temple.
The officials found on the mattress a moaning, feverish boy, in the garments of the dauphin. These they recognized as the ones which the republic had had made a month before for little Capet, but no one could say whether this child, with a body covered with sores, a swollen face, and sunken, lustreless eyes, was really little Capet or not; no one knew whether sickness had so changed his looks that this stupid, idiotic boy was the one whom they had all known when he was well, as they saw him joyously flitting around. First of all they summoned Doctor Naudin, the director of Hotel Dieu, to examine the boy. He appeared without delay, and declared solemnly and decidedly that this was the same boy whom he had seen there some days before when he visited Simon's wife, only the English sickness which afflicted the child had distorted his limbs, while the cutting off of his hair gave him a changed look, and it was no wonder that the lamplighter failed to recognize him.
Simon, who was summoned to give evidence, asserted the same thing, and affirmed that he recognized little Capet in the sick boy, and that his wife had cut off his hair only the day before. He brought the hair as a complete proof of the identity, and it was seen to agree perfectly with that of the sick child.
Yet some of the officials still doubted, and their doubts were increased when on the same day the servant of Count Frotte reported to the Safety Committee that his master had made a sudden and secret journey, accompanied by a boy, whom the count had treated with great deference.
This boy might be the dauphin, whom Count Frotte, in conjunction with Toulan, might have spirited out of the Temple in some secret way, and who must be followed at all hazards. At the same time the government were informed that the Count de St. Prix had left Paris in company with a boy, and had taken the road to Germany.
Chazel, a member of the Convention, was sent secretly to Puy to arrest Frotte and the boy there; and Chauvaine, another member, was ordered to follow the road to Germany, and, if possible, to bring back Count St. Prix.
After a while both of them returned, with nothing accomplished. Chazel had, indeed, arrested Count Frotte and the boy in Puy, but the count had given such undeniable proofs that the boy was not the dauphin—he had summoned so many unimpeachable witnesses from Paris, who recognized the boy as the son of M. de Gueriviere, who was in Coblentz with the princes, that nothing more remained but to release the count and his comrade.
Chauvaine had not been able to arrest the Count de St. Prix, and had only learned that in company with a boy he had crossed the Rhine and entered Germany.
It was of no use, therefore, to undertake farther investigations, and the conclusion must be firmly held to that the boy in the Temple, whose sickness increased from day to day, was the real Capet, the son of Louis XVI. The suspicion which had been aroused must be kept a deep secret, that the royalists should not take renewed courage from the possibility that the King of France had been rescued. [Footnote: Later investigations in the archives of Paris have brought to light, among other important papers relative to the flight of the prince, a decree of the National Convention, dated Prairial 26 (June 14), 1704, which gave all the authorities orders "to follow the young Capet in all directions." The boy who remained a prisoner in the Temple, died there June 8, 1798, a complete idiot.]
But the secret investigations, and the efforts to draw something from Toulan, caused the authorities to postpone his fate from week to week, from month to month. On the 20th of January he was arrested and taken to the Conciergerie, and not till the month of May did the Convention sentence him to death. The charge was this: that he had accepted presents from the Widow Capet, in particular the gold salt's-bottle, and had made frequent plans to release the Capet family from prison.
On the same day Madame Elizabeth, the sister of Louis XVI., was sentenced to death, on the charge of conducting a correspondence with her brothers, through the agency of Toulan, having for its end the release of the royal family.
When the sentence was read to Madame Elizabeth, she smiled. "I thank my judges that they allow me to go to those I love, and whom I shall find in the presence of God."
Toulan received his sentence with perfect composure. "The one, indivisible, and exalted republic is just as magnanimous, is it not, as the monarchy was in old times, and it will grant a last favor to one who has been condemned to death, will it not?"
"Yes, it will do that, provided it is nothing impossible. It will gladly grant you a last request."
"Well," said Toulan, "then I ask that I may be executed the same day and the same hour as Madame Elizabeth, the sister of the king, and that I may be allowed to remain by her side at her execution."
"Then you have only till to-morrow to live, Citizen Toulan," replied the presiding officer of the court, "for Elizabeth Capet will be executed to-morrow."
Early the next morning three cars drove away from the Conciergerie. In each of these cars sat eight persons, men and women of the highest aristocracy. They had put on their most brilliant court attire for that day, and arranged themselves as for a holiday. Over the great crinoline the ladies wore the richest silks, adorned with silver and gold lace; they had had their hair dressed and decorated with flowers and ribbons, and carried elegant fans in their hands. The gentlemen wore velvet coats, brilliant with gold and silver, while cuffs of the finest lace encompassed their white hands. Their heads were uncovered, and they carried the little three-cornered hat under the arm, as they had done at court in presence of the royal family.
All the aristocrats imprisoned in cells at the Conciergerie had begged for the high honor of being executed on that day, and every one whose request had been granted, had expressed his thanks for it as for a favor.
"What we celebrate to-day is the last court festival," said the prisoners, as they ascended the cars to be carried to the guillotine. "We have the great good fortune of being present at the last great levee, and we will show ourselves worthy of the honor." All faces were smiling, all eyes beaming, and when the twenty-four condemned persons dismounted from their cars at the foot of the scaffold, one would believe that he saw twenty-four happy people preparing to go to a wedding. No one would have suspected that it was death to whom they were to be united.
There were only two persons in this brilliant and select society who were less elegantly adorned than the others. One was the young girl, with the pale angel face, who sat between the sister of Malesherbes and the wife of the former minister, Montmorin, in a neat white robe, with a simple muslin veil, that surrounded her like a white cloud on which she was floating to heaven. The other was the man who sat behind her, whose firm, defiant countenance gave no token that an hour before he had wept hot, bitter tears as he took leave of his wife and only child. But this was all past, and on that lofty, thoughtful brow not the slightest trace remained of earthly sorrow. The pains of each had been surmounted, and, even in death, Toulan would do honor to the name which that woman had given him—whom he had loved most sacredly on earth-and he would die as Fidele.
The ladies and gentlemen of this unwontedly solemn company, who were collected here in view of the scaffold, had dismounted from the cars. Above stood the glistening instrument of death, and near it the executioners. They were all left free to decide in what order they would ascend and place the head beneath the axe. The Convention had made the simple order that Madame Elizabeth should be the last but one, and that Toulan should follow her.
Joyous and bright was the countenance of the princess; joyous and bright was the aspect of the improvised court, whose master of ceremonies was Death.
The gentlemen had begged the favor of preceding the ladies upon the scaffold. One after another they ascended the staircase, and in passing by they greeted the princess with the same deep bow that would have been given at court. And Madame Elizabeth thanked them with a smile that was not of this world.
When the heads of the twelve gentlemen had fallen, the bodies laid on one side, and the scaffold cleansed a little from blood, the ladies' turn came. Every one of them asked the favor of embracing Princess Elizabeth, and, with the kiss which she pressed upon their lips, a heavenly joy seemed to spring up in their hearts. With smiles they ascended the scaffold, with smiles they placed their heads beneath the axe.
The last of the ladies, the Marchioness de Crussol d'Amboise, had received the parting kiss and ascended the steps of the guillotine. Only Elizabeth and Toulan now remained at the foot. "Fidele," whispered Elizabeth in gentle tones, "I shall soon be with my brother and my sister. Give me your hand, my brother. You shall conduct me to death, and I will give you my hand above, at the opening of the new life, and conduct you to Marie Antoinette. 'Sister,' I will say to her, 'this is the one true and good heart which beat on earth for you, and I bring it to you that you may rejoice in it in heaven.' Toulan, there is only one title of honor for all men, and that is Fidele. It is sanctioned even by the word of God: 'Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.'"
Just at that moment the axe rattled, there was a muffled sound, and the head of the Marchioness Crussol d'Amboise fell into the basket.
"Elizabeth Capet, it is your turn—come up!"
"I come."
She ascended the scaffold. Arrayed, as she was, in this white robe, her transparent face was like that of an angel. It seemed to Toulan as if her foot no longer rested on the earth. He followed her to the scaffold; and as she was about to ascend the steps, he laid his hand upon her arm.
"Princess, I have a secret to impart to you. I have promised with a solemn oath that my lips should disclose it to no mortal; but you, Elizabeth, belong already to the immortals, the peace of God illumines your brow, and I want you to have one last joy before you ascend into heaven. This is my secret: The boy who is confined in the Temple is not the dauphin. I have fulfilled the promise which I gave the queen. I have saved the dauphin, and he is now in Vendee, under the safe care of Prince de Conde."
"Elizabeth Capet, come up, or we must bring you by force."
"I am coming. Farewell, Fidele! you have spoken the truth; you have given me a last joy! I thank you; now kiss my lips; give your sister a parting kiss, Fidele. Farewell, my brother!"
He touched the lips that were illumined with a sad smile—"Farewell, my sister!"
She ascended the steps, and, reaching the scaffold, she calmly laid aside the veil, and prepared her toilet for death.
At the foot of the scaffold Toulan remained upon his knees; his great eyes, which had been directed to Elizabeth, beamed with rapture, and in his heart there were words written with a finger of diamond—words hallowed and comforting, that Toulan read in meditation and prayer: "Love vanquishes death; love is victorious even over life; love, which is the highest friendship, and friendship, which is the highest love, rise so far above every thing earthly, that thou must surrender every thing for them, every thing which thou hast valued upon earth, every thing which has stood to thee in the most tender relations. In this love thou hast lived, and in this love thou shalt die and ascend into heaven."
"Toulan, come up! Do you not hear us calling you? Do you not see that Elizabeth Capet has made place for you?"
He had not seen when the noble head of the princess fell into the basket, he had not heard the executioner call him; he had only read in his heart the revelation of love.
He ascended the steps, and his countenance beamed with the same light of rapture which had surrounded Elizabeth's brow.
A piercing scream came from the crowd, as a young wife fell senseless into the arms of her neighbors, while the boy who stood near her extended his hands to the scaffold, and called, loudly, "Father, dear father!"
Toulan did not turn to them. No earthly sorrow had place in this soul, which had overcome pain, and received eternal joy into itself.
Calmly he laid his head beneath the axe. "God is love," he said, aloud. "He that abideth in love, abideth in God, and God—"
The axe descended, and left Toulan's last words unspoken.