A MERRY MORNING IN THE CONCIERGERIE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4902, 17 March 1894, Page 2

A MERRY MORNING IN THE CONCIERGERIE.

A FANTASY PIECE. ' (Pall Mall Gazette.) The time is Yendomiaire, 1793 ; the scene the cheerful old Conciergerie. The prioon is full of bright activity and of pleasurable excitement. Gaolerß, moutons, huissicrs, are merrily busy, Binging or swearing, and bustling about in eager delight. Sixty aro to die tbat morning. The arriere greffe is littered with the bedding of those (chiefly ladies) who could be accommodated in it, and had there passed the happy night which preceded the blithe and longed-for morning of their death. None of these prisoners was guilty of any crime ; or, indeed, of any offence against even the Republic, one and indivisible. The fournfe comprised many women, and two littio girls of fourteen and of fifteen, from La Vendee. These poor children did not comprehend why they ehould be put to death, and clung timidly to each other. One old man of ninetythree, paralysed and decrepit, had been included by mistake, because he bore tho name of on aristocrat who was disliked by Kobenpierre. A mother and daughter, tenderly attached to each other, wept silently in each other's arms. A young oflicer, brave, handsome, essentially aristocratic in heart, in manners, and appearance, had been condemned merely because he was what he was. He wai deeply attached to A VERT BEAUTIFUL GIEL ; and their comfort waß that they were to die together. The Ciioyenne Eulalie was a lovely young widow of three-and-twenty. Her husband had preceded her to the scaffold only three montha before her own turn came. But wo must not wrong or mis,* construe the feelings of the majority of the condemned. There were, it is true, a few painful exceptions, but. generally thoy were more than contented ; they were, indeed, gleeful, or even ecstatic — for were they not to die for Liberty? The day before they had passed through the gay pleßeantry of a revolutionary trial, with Hermann acting as President, and Fbr-uir-Tinville as accusateur. The list had beon previously submitted to Eobespierre, and had his full approval. The whole sixty (some names had to be filled in afterwards) were included in one acte d'accusation, which was compendius and very brief; and tbe paid jury did their duty without hesitation, and then went to the buvette ta drink. The whole trial lasted only an hour, and was in every way satisfactory. From the condemned yon heard no murmur ; they were ready to die, in mo3t cases with a rapturous eagerness, which was sublimed to gladness and to joy. Pully did those victims (so called by aristocrats) recognise and approve the liberal feeling ot the revolutionary tribunal, and prize the blessing of the holy Ste Guillotine. Apart from a few weak women (inoßtly young and fair) and from children of unripe judgment, there was only one man in the batch whose joy in his fate was merely temperate, and fell short of real gratitude. This was A CYNICAL, SATURINE YOUNG ADVOCATE, of fine intellect, who had been condemned for not haviug sufficiently loved Marat. He wna leaving behind him a young wife — and this fact may partially excuse his deplorable state of mind. Meanwhile, the charreites were being drawn up at the great grille of exit from the prison, and the National Guards were getting ready for their pleasing task. Gaolers, in black shag breeches, wearing the bonnet rouge and cockade, were looking eagerly through tho great grille for someone that they expected. Presently a great shout outside announced an important arrival, and Henri Sanson entered, followed by six of bis valeta carrying ropes and scissors. The chief magistrate of Liberty presented himeelf, with airy pride, in all his sinister charm and bulgy beauty. He was received with glad acclaim — especially by the joyfully condemned. He shook hands with the males of his fournee, aud kipeed, iv his kindly way, all tho pretty women — especially Citoyenne Eulalie. His fond heart was always with the ladies; and he remembered that he had recently operated on Eulalie's late husband. As she saw THE HEADSMAN of tho love of her youth, one tear brightened the fair widow's black eye ; but then she thought of Liberty, and brushed it proudly away, and met Sanson's ardent glance with reciprocity. "Citoyen, you are late," cried the condemned. "We have been waiting so anziouslv for you, Sanson. We are all impatient to die for Liberty ! " " Sanson," cried the concierge, "how is yonr guillotine this morning ? Is she all right ? " A rapture lit up the fine eye of the greatest and most artistic headsman of history. "Ihave just come trom her. I have been trying her, and oh, she works so boautifully! The axe glides so smoothly down the grooves that ib is a joy to see. I am sure that you will be b!1 pleased with her. lam proud of her — bless her ! Cry | with me, Five la Liberie"! vive Robespierre !" And they aU cried, ns he directed. Benevolence irradiated Sanson's noble features. " I can understand, citoyen," eaid the cynical, saturnine man, iv a clow, dry way, *-' that yon must liko Eobespierre immensely." " Like him!" cried enthusiastic Sanson. j " Why, he's the b : ggest man the world haa j ever seen ! He i_ the true Apostle of Liberty." The cynical man resumed. "Suppose, I citoyen, that you ehould some day be called upon to perform your office on Robespierre himself ?" SANSON LAUGHED LONG AND LOUDLY. "No fear of that ! It* impossible. He will put to death all hia enemies and be the Dictator of Freedom. Still," added Sanson | with badinage, "if it were to happen, why I and my machine are impartial. King or { Tribune io all one to us. Our freedom ia I quite French. Bear in mind that yon owe ' it to Eobespierre that you have to-day the

privilege 'of dying for Liberty/ They all felt that gratefully, and eaid so with conviction. A sudden inspiration seized Sanson. " Some of us may, pwhaps, never again be bo happy as we are now. Let ua, in the sacred name of Liberty, dance a Carmagnole raise 1" As he spoke heclaaped X-ulalie'B waist, and the majority of the condemned ■ assented with effusion. The two children olune, crying, to each other -> the two lovers talked apart, and the old gentleman was )aid down on the floor againat the wall. He eeemed qnite unconFcioue, but Bmiled feebly when an aotive lady dancer trod upon hie faoe. A mouton played the violin ; and the wild whirl of ecstasy gyrated madly round bim. Suddenly, they heard, coming through the grille, A FURIOUS NOISE, like that made by an enraged audience when the performance does not begin at the proper time. Tbe noiee suggested tbe raucous yelling of demons produced by unsexed women and fiendish men.. Sanson etopned, and his gay glance of ion-. homie hardened into spectral sternness. "Hush ."he eaid; "the virtuous people , are becoming impatient, and we must not I keep them waiting. Now, my lads— ! business." The well-practised valets used | ropes and ecissora deftly ; and Sanson said to Eulalie, " I shall not bind yon till we get there ; and you Bhall ride with me ' in the firat tumbril." She smiled a glad assent, and the procession began to issue, leaving the prison to the hectic quiet of its daily horror. Outside, where the free air blew, they were assailed by blasphemies and bra-, taiities, by objurgations and obscenities. "How fond they are of Liberty!" whispered Sanson to Eulalie, "though they were a little hard upon poor Bailly 1" He sat by hia late payiaer, and, in his thoughtless kindness '>io caresses became almost indelicate. < / -*_'hey're not aristocrats," cried one*. __c furies. " See, they go on just like *J» do." The other tumbrils sang TH- "lrt__S_lLL_lß_" gaily; and when, in about an hour, they reacned the scaffold, aU agreed that tbey never enjoyed so pleasant a ride. They tripped lightly up tbe stops, and Btood upon the scaffold, gazing tondly on tho beautiful rod machine which Blood out against the passive heavens. Baskets, planks, sawdußt, and all the playful preparations for the vast ditch in the cemetery of Moußseaux, wore, strewn around; and Sanson seemed nobly elated. "I fear that I must keep some of you waiting a little," he said, in a tone of kind apology, "but I shall be quiok! Now, citoyenne." As he bound them to the planks they felt how he loved chem ; and the colossal 6tatoe of Liberty looked on without any particular expression upon its unmoved countenance. When ber turn came, one of the little girla shrank back in horror from a dull, red pool. "Don't mind that, my dear," Baid Sanson, "that's only blood; and we don't care for that here." A CRT FEOM THE POOB CHILD was cut short by the agile knife which shore away the young life, and Sanson smiled. He had sighed as he beheaded Eulalie. Presently Saneon looked afc his watoh and laughed. "Sixty heads in sixty minutes," he said approvingly* "That** smart work." And he looked up with. rapture to his beautiful, placid machine. " I expect about as many to-morrow. Will they be as nice as those I had to-day P I don't know. Ab, Enlalie, I wißh we had known each other longer; but Btill, my dear, you have died bravely for Liberty j and she's my goddess, and my truest love., Well, well, to-day, at least, we have had a merry morning in the Conciergerie ?"