A man had just entered. He was attired in black, and he wore a large red cockade on his hat. In his hand he held a roll of papers. Four soldiers accompanied him. It was easy to recognize in this personage a clerk of the Revolutionary Tribunal; and it was his duty as an officer of that body, to visit the prisons and read the names of those condemned to death and of those who were summoned to appear before the Tribunal to answer the charges against them. Like an avenging spirit, he appeared every day at the same hour, rigid, inflexible, cruel, deaf to supplications 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 prisoners always caused a thrill of horror. There was so much youth, beauty, innocence, grace, and devotion there! Why should they be doomed? They were enemies to whom? To what projects were they an obstacle? Useless questions! It is because Robespierre laid his merciless hand upon the good, upon the weak and upon the timid that his name will be eternally held in execration by all generous hearts.
When this official entered, Antoinette and Philip, who were as yet unversed in the customs of the prison, were pushed back by the crowd into the yard, without understanding why. Dolores, who knew what was to come, 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 loud voice the names of all who were to appear before the Tribunal the following day. What a strange medley of names! Names of plebeians and of nobles; of nuns and of priests; of royalists and of republicans; of old men and of children; of men and of women; it was all the same, provided the guillotine was not compelled to wait for its prey.
Each time a prisoner's name was called a murmur, more or less prolonged according as the rank, the age or the sex of the victim inspired more or less sympathy or pity, ran through the crowd. Then, the person named came forward and received from the hands of the official a paper, enumerating the real or imaginary crimes with which he was charged and ordering him to appear before his judges the following day. If his father, his wife or his children were in prison with him, the air was filled 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 the officer, and generally lasted the entire night until the hour of final adieu; but if the prisoner designated was alone and without family, he came forward with a firm step, stoically accepted his sentence of death, and hummed a lively air as he returned to the crowd where a dozen unknown, but friendly, hands were extended as if to encourage and strengthen him.