A True Tale of '48.

Evening Post, Volume L, Issue 36, 10 August 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

A True Tale of '48.

The Reign of Scandal, as they call it, which bids fair to develop ere long into a Bort of shoddy .Reign of Terror in France, with its bribery and blackmail, its selling of secrets, its private trials and public degradations, made me bethink myself the other day of some old Parisian police records which were — well, perhaps stolen by the person from whom I had them, and which one thing and another had prevented me from examining until I got a chance one idle afternoon just after I had been reading about the degradation of Captain Dreyfus. I suppose this put me on the scent of traitors generally, and it wasn't long before I unearthed theparticulars which, with no embellishment whatever, I have woven into the following narrative of the Year of Wonders, 1848. During the Revolution of February in Paris, M. Gabriel Delessert, the Prefeot of Police, had large quantities of dossiers destroyed, but in the hurry and confusion several, possibly through the instrumentality of some of the clerks or other officials interested in their preservation, escaped the flames, and among these there was one which contained more than a thousand reports, the earliest of them going back as far as 1838, and all signed in tie same handwriting, "Pierre." This happened to fall into the hands of Caussidiere, one of the " Greybeards of 1830," as they used to call them, not necessarily because they were old in years, bat to distinguish them from the younger patriots of '48. It was he who, on the retirement of Delessert, went to the Prefecture of Police to take possession in the name of the Provisional Government, and it was in view of ju»t such a visit as this that the late Prefect had destroyed the dossiers, to save the Becret servants of the late Government from the vengeance of the successful revolutionaries. When Caussidiere came to examine this particular parcel of reports he was struck, and that by no means pleasantly, by a very significant circumstance. One of the reports contained certain facts'* which, to his own certain knowledge, could have been known only to himself, a bosom friend of his named Pilhea, and another member of the party of the Revolution, named Lucien Delahodde. Of the bona fides of Pilhea he felt absolutely certain, but Delahodde he had already suspected more than once of looseness of conviction and coolness of devotion to the cause which, for the time being, was now triumphant, therefore it was not difficult for him to come to the conclusion that he was the "Pierre "of the reports. He communicated his suspicions to M. Elouin, Chief of the Municipal Police, and he completely substantiated them by producing a letter dated March 25, 1838, in which Delahodde naked to be admitted to the Secret Police service. Caussidiere acted promptly, and on* March 14 summoned a secret tribunal, which met in the Luxembourg in the office of M. Albert, a member of the Provisional Government. It was composed of fifteen members, including Albert, Caussidiere, Pilhes, one Bocquet, and Delahodde himself, who, of course, had not the slightest reason to suspect the grim purpose for which it had met. Louis Blanc and Ledru-Rollin, though summoned, escaped participation in the tragedy through being detained on other business at the Hotel de ViUe^ The president of the tribunal was a man named Grandmenil. Caussidiere appointed himself to the post of public prosecutor, and another member of the court, named Tiphaine, acted as secretary. When everyone was seated Caussidiere got up, and without any preamble, said: — " Gentlemen, I regret to say that there is a traitor amongst us. We have too long suspected and accused those whom recent events have proved to be honest patriots, and all the time wehave not had the slightest suspicion of there being a serpent in our "very midst. Within the last few dayß I have discovered the name of the real traitor, who for years disclosed our plans to the police, and so led, as you know, to the imprisonment, proscription, and death of many a good patriot who otherwise might have seen with us the success of the Revolution. The name of that traitor is Lucien Delahodde." Delahodde, who, np to the very moment that his name was mentioned, had sat listening with apparent unconcern, jumped to his feet at this direct accusation. But at the same instant Caussidiere pulled a pistol out ■ of his pocket, and, after asking Bocquet to see if the door was looked, 'told Delahodde to sit down under pain of instant death. The accused perforce obeyed, but not without an energetic protest of innocence. " Very good," said Caussidiere. "We shall see! Here is a dossier containing eighteen reports signed 'Pierre,' a signature which I thini you will find familiar, and each of these imports concerns someone here present. Gentlemen, I will distribute them And you shall see for yourselves." With that he handed the reports one by one to different members of the tribunal, and, as he had said, every man found some revelations concerning himself. "And now, who is 'Pierre?" he said, when the neciatary had collected the reports again. "It is not I !" cried Delahodde. "It is not XI I have never been a traitor. ' ' "Then, if that ia so," Boid Caussidiere, coldly, "can you tell me who forged your name to this letter?" And then he read outthe application which Delahodde had made to the Prefecture for employment in the Secret Police. This done, he handed the letter round, and at last it '•came into t*b traitor's own hands. Further denial was now, of course, useless. All he could do was to stammer out something about a terrible fatality that had driven him into the hands of the police, but this availed him little, and Caussidiere, leaving his place, crossed the room to him, cocked his pistol, and, holding it out to him by the barrel, said: — "I suppose there U no need for me to remind you of the woids of jour oath, or to tell you that this is tho only resource open to you." A braver and a cooler man than Delahodde would hare taken the pistol, and forced the public prosecutor to go and open the door for him under \>*iu of iustaut death, but his serves had already completely failed him. He sat back in his chair, pale and trembling, and stammered : — " No, no. I cannot do it ! I will not be my own murderer ! As for you X I ajn at your mercy." " At this Bocquet, who had been seriously compromised iv one of the reports, rushed forward in a passion, matched the pistol from Caussjdipre, thrust tfie butt in Delahodde'a fuee, vnd shouted: — ' "Come, now, coward, traitor! Blow those miserable brains of yours out, or I will blow them out myself." "No, no, I can't !" stammered Delahodde again. " I canjt do it ! Have mercy and - spore me. I confess I was a traitor, but I can do you services that will atone my treason if you let me live." - At this point M. Albert, the member of the Government, intervened, possibly because he did not want the man's brains blown out in his office. While Bocquet was still flourishing the pistol about he caught his arm and took it out of his hand, saying : — "No, no, that won't do ! A pistol shot would make too much noise, and might call the guards and lead to inconvenient enquiries." "Yes," said Bocquet, suddenly cooling down. " And so it would, now I come to think of it. Well, happily, there are other means. I daresay poison would do quite as well if we had any." "Perfectly!" Baid Caussidifere. "Fortunately I happen to have some with me, which I think we shall find effectual." He took one of the glasses standing on the table at which tho president was seated, poured about a wineglossful of water into it, and then ho took a lump of sugar And a little- white paper packet from his waistcoat pocket. He melted the sugar in the water first, saying, in tho midst of a horrible silence : — " This will take the taste off." And then, when the sugar was dissolved, he shook some white powder from the paper into the glass, swirled the water round in it, and handed it to Bocquet, who politely presented it with a bow to Delahodde. "So, then, you are determined to murder me!" he said, pater than ever, and wjth the perspiration standing out all over his face. "Since you put it that war, of course we are," said Bocqnet. Then Delahodde buried his face in his fiands, and murmured again : — " 3So, J can't. I won't be my own murilerer!" "Come, coma, man, drink!" criedCaussidiere. " Yon are wasting our time. You ceedn'^beafraid. Jt will kill you quickly - - 1 ' ' No, no, I won't ! I won't ! Kill me as you like, bnt don't make me mjrown murderer," the traitor stammered once more. " It is no use," aaidCaussidiere, advancing to where he sat. "He is not fit to live, and for our own safety we dare not Ist him live. Come, gentlemen, you must help m», and we mut>t make him drink." Then three or four of them seized the poor, trembling wretch ivnd held him in his choir while Caussidiero forced his mouth OP en > and Bocquet poured the poison into it. Than Causisidiere forced his jaw up so as to make him swallow it, bnt he struggled with all the strength of a desperate man, and, though some of the deadly fluid went down his throat, he managed to eject the greater part of it. Then his struggles ceased, and he fell back in his chair paler than ever, and breathing heavily. "He is dying !" cried Albert. " Can we cot g«l him out of here before he is dead? You knoitf jt might be very awkward for . Jiim to be found here." " Certainly we pan," said Caussidiere. "I tare a coach waiting in the court for some such use m that. X thought if. would probably be wanted, We .can say that he has

fainted, and so we will have him taken down to it and he can be driven home and die there decently." • •*♦•* The Revolution was over, Dec 2 had come and gone, and Napoleon the Little was seated on the throne of the great Buonaparte. The Provisional Government was a thing of the past, and its members, with many of their friends, were dead, or in prison, or in exile. Among these lost were Caussidiere and Bocquet, who had found a refuge in the Bame asylum of the persecuted which had sheltered the Man of December himself. The scene, in fact, had changed from the Palace of the Luxembourg to a house in an obscure and shabby street in Soho. To this house, through the friendly recommendation of a compatriot also in exile, the two former members of the secret tribunal which tried Dolahodde for treachery to the cause of the Revolution came one cold, i°gK7 night in November, seeking- lodging'. They were admitted without hesitation on giving their names, and escorted by an unwashed, slatternly girl up to the second floor. The girl knocked, a door was opened and they went into a shabby room, furnished in a tawdry, half Parisian, half English fashion. In the room were two men and a woman, all apparently friends. One of the men, apparently an invalid, was lying on the sofa ; the other pan was burly and active, and evidently in full possession of robust health. The woman was pale and slender, graceful — like all French women who are not fat — and with a pair of dark, brilliant eyes, a rather thin-lipped mouth, and a firm, determined jaw. On a table in the centre of the room were two pistols and four wine-glasses full of different coloured liquids. No sooner were they inside than the burly man shut the door, put his back against it, and pulling a double-barrelled pistol out of each of his trousers pockets covered them with the threatening muzzles. "Good evening, gentlemen!" said the man on the sofa, in a thin, querulous voice. "Nay, nay, you are welcome, and there is no need for you to start like that and look so uncomfortable. No, no, don't look at the door as if you would force your way out, for if you do that my good friend Adolpho will tjlioot you. We are not tired of your company yet, for you have only just come. Perhaps you don't recognise me. Well, well, that is quite likely ; but if you will sit down and make yourselves at home, good friends, you shall soon have everything explained to you. Gabrielle, the ohairs, please." Without a word, the woman brought two ohairs, and put them behind the astounded visitors. Not sorry to do so, they dropped into them, looked at each other, and took out their handkerchiefs, and began to wipe their brows somewhat nervously. "What does this mean?" criedCaussidifcre. "Is this the sort of welcome that exiles should receive? We were recommended here ." "Yes, yes," said the man on the sofa. " Quite so, quite so. Sit still and listen, and you shall have all explained as I have said. You remember, gentlemen," he went on with a wan sort of smile at their puzzled, frightened faces, " you remember how you, M. Caussidere, summoned a secret tribunal in the Luxembourg three years— very nearly three and a-half years ago — to try one Delahodde for treason to he cause of the .Revolution P You remember how you found him guilty, and, after seeking to make him shoot himself, brutally forced a glass of poison into his mouth ? "As you know, he did not swallow it all, and, as you see, it did not kill him. Yes, gentlemen, you may stare, and possibly the news is disconcerting to you, but I am the some Delahodde- not dead, but only just alive, and yet alive enough to give you a fitting welcome here to-night. Gabrielle yonder was my sweetheart, now my wife, and Adolphe there is her brother, and among us we have arranged this little surprise for you. "It was Adolphe who procured the recommendations which brought you here, and now, as you see, we are prepared to give you the some hospitality as you gave me in M. Albert's room in the Luxembourg. I asked you for mercy, and you gave me instead the choice between the pistol and the poison. Now, as you see, the some choice is before you. "No, no ; believe me it is no use getting excited and begging for mercy', for there is no more mercy here than there was at the Luxembourg. You remember what I was then— a strong man in the full possession of my strength and faculties, You see me now what your poison has made me— the shattered wreck of a man, broken in health and strength, and chained to my bed on tfiis sofa for the rest of the life which you have made miserable. "But I have been more generous than you were, for I offer you a more ample choice. There are the pistols — no, don't touch them yet, or Adolphe will shoot you , he has two bullets for each of you, and will not miss with both. The police? No, that matters not, for our revenge would be complete before they came. "Now, there, in those glasses before you, are. four kinds of poison. The first, that one to the right, contains strychnine ; if you drink that you will die in tome pain, and with many contortions. The next to it is prussic acid ; not painless, but swifter. The next is morphine ; choose that, and you will die perhaps a pleasanter death than you deserve. The last is belladonna, from which you will albo derive a pleasant end with the added consolation of knowing that your eyes, with their expanded pupils, will look more beautiful in death than, I must confess, they do now in life. "And now, gentlemen, if you please, make your choice, otherwise I shall have to ask Adolphe to choose for you. You have three minntes to moke your choice in." The little gilded French clock, surmounted by its two Cupids on the mantelshelf, ticked off the seconds of the ghastly silence which, followed. At the end of the second minute, Adolphe came forward, and as M, Cauosidiere and Bouquet turned their white faces towards him they met the two double "'muzzles of the pistols within a foot or to of their eyes. " Cry out and I shoot," he said, in a low, pitiless tone. "There is one minute left. Which will you have— the poiton or the bullets?" There were two low, gasping, inarticulate cries, then two trembling hands went out towards the third and fourth glasses. They were carried slowly back to two pairs of white, dry lips, and then, as the last seconds of the third minute were ticked off, the hands went up and the contents of the two glasses flowed down two dry choking throats, the glasses dropped to the floor, and the next morning two French exiles, reputed to be Revolutionists hiding from French justice, were found dead in their beds. Of course, there was an inquest and a police inquiry, but there was no evidence to show that .they had died otherwise than by their own Jiands. The invalid who rented the upper part of the house returned soon after to Paris with his wife and brother-in-law. He is now buried in Pere Lachoise. His brother waß killed in the Crimea, and his widow, to whose communicativeness the sequel to the story of the police records is due, ia still living, an old woman of eighty, in a humblo apartment in the Quortier Latin, on a modest pension paid to her in respect of services rendered by her deceased husband to that Prefecture of Police, which, though empires and republics may come and go, remains the one permanent institution in Franca.