The Historical Nights' Entertainment by Rafael Sabatini (most important books to read .txt) 📖
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Marc Antoine looked into the Representative’s face, and saw there
the wickedness of his intent. He stiffened. Nature had endowed
him with wits, and he used them now.
“Citizen Carrier,” he said, “I understand. I am to be murdered
tonight in the gloom and the silence. But you shall perish after
me in daylight, and amid the execrations of the people. You may
have intercepted my letters to my father and to Robespierre. But
if I do not leave Nantes, my father will come to ask an account of
you, and you will end your life on the scaffold like the miserable
assassin that you are.”
Of all that tirade, but one sentence had remained as if corroded
into the mind of Carrier. “My letters to my father and to
Robespierre,” the astute Marc Antoine had said. And Marc Antoine
saw the Representative’s mouth loosen, saw a glint of fear replace
the ferocity in his dark eyes.
What Marc Antoine intended to suggest had instantly leapt to
Carrier’s mind - that there had been a second letter which his
agents had missed. They should pay for that. But, meanwhile, if
it were true, he dare not for his neck’s sake go further in this
matter. He may have suspected that it was not true. But he had
no means of testing that suspicion. Marc Antoine, you see, was
subtle.
“Your father?“growled the Representative. “Who is your father?”
“The Deputy Jullien.”
“What?” Carrier straightened himself, affecting an immense
astonishment. “You are the son of the Deputy Julien?” He burst
into a laugh. He came forward, holding out both his hands. He
could be subtle, too, you see. “My friend, why did you not say
so sooner? See in what a ghastly mistake you have let me flounder.
I imagined you - of course, it was foolish of me - to be a
proscribed rascal from Angers, of the same name.”
He had fallen upon Marc Antoine’s neck, and was embracing him.
“Forgive me, my friend!” he besought him. “Come and dine with me
to-morrow, and we will laugh over it together.”
But Marc Antoine had no mind to dine with Carrier, although he
promised to do so readily enough. Back at his inn, scarce
believing that he had got away alive, still sweating with terror
at the very thought of his near escape, he packed his valise,
and, by virtue of his commission, obtained post-horses at once.
On the morrow from Angers, safe beyond the reach of Carrier, he
wrote again to Robespierre, and this time also to his father.
“In Nantes,” he wrote, “I found the old regime in its worst form.”
He knew the jargon of Liberty, the tune that set the patriots
a-dancing. “Carrier’s insolent secretaries emulate the intolerable
haughtiness of a ci-devant minister’s lackeys. Carrier himself
lives surrounded by luxury, pampered by women ‘and parasites,
keeping a harem and a court. He tramples justice in the mud. He
has had all those who filled the prisons flung untried into the
Loire. The city of Nantes,” he concluded, “needs saving. The
Vendean revolt must be suppressed, and Carrier the slayer of Liberty
recalled.”
The letter had its effect, and Carrier was recalled to Paris, but
not in disgrace. Failing health was urged as the solicitous reason
for his retirement from the arduous duties of governing Nantes.
In the Convention his return made little stir, and even when early
in the following July he learnt that Bourbotte, his successor at
Nantes, had ordered the arrest of Goullin, Bachelier, Grandmaison,
and his other friends of the committee, on the score of the
drownings and the appropriation of national property confiscated
from emigres, he remained calm, satisfied that his own position was
unassailable.
But the members of the Committee of Nantes were sent to Paris for
trial, and their arrival there took place on that most memorable
date in the annals of the Revolution, the 10th Thermidor (July 29,
1794, O.S.), the day on which Robespierre fell and the floodgates
of vengeance upon the terrorists were flung open.
You have seen in the case of Marc Antoine Jullien how quick Carrier
could be to take a cue. In a coach he followed the tumbril that
bore Robespierre to execution, radiant of countenance and shouting
with the loudest, “Death to the traitor!” On the morrow from the
rostrum of the Convention, he passionately represented himself as
a victim of the fallen tyrant, cleverly turning to his own credit
the Marc Antoine affair, reminding the Convention how he had
himself been denounced to Robespierre. He was greeted with applause
in that atmosphere of Thermidorean reaction.
But Nemesis was stalking him relentlessly if silently.
Among a batch of prisoners whom a chain of curious chances had
brought from Nantes to Paris was our old friend Leroy the cocassier,
required now as a witness against the members of the committee.
Having acquainted the court with the grounds of his arrest, and the
fact that for three years he had lain forgotten and without trial
in the pestilential prison of Le Bouffay, Leroy passed on to a
recital of his sufferings on that night of terror when he had gone
down the Loire in the doomed lighter. He told his tale with an
artlessness that rendered it the more moving and convincing. The
audience crowding the chamber of justice shuddered with horror,
and sobbed over the details of his torments, wept for joy over his
miraculous preservation. At the close he was applauded on all
sides, which bewildered him a little, for he had never known
anything but abuse in all his chequered life.
And then, at the promptings of that spirit of reaction that was
abroad in those days when France was awakening from the nightmare
of terror, some one made there and then a collection on his behalf,
and came to thrust into his hands a great bundle of assignats and
bank bills, which to the humble cocassier represented almost a
fortune. It was his turn to weep.
Then the crowd in the court which had heard his story shouted for
the head of Carrier. The demand was taken up by the whole of Paris,
and finally his associates of the Convention handed him over to the
Revolutionary Tribunal.
He came before it on November 25th, and he could not find counsel
to defend him. Six advocates named in succession by the President
refused to plead the cause of so inhuman a monster. In a rage, at
last Carrier announced that he would defend himself. He did.
He took the line that his business in Nantes had been chiefly
concerned with provisioning the Army of the West; that he had had
little to do with the policing of Nantes, which he left entirely to
the Revolutionary Committee; and that he had no knowledge of the
things said to have taken place. But Goullin, Bachelier, and the
others were there to fling back the accusation in their endeavours
to save their own necks at the expense of his.
He was sentenced on the very anniversary of that terrible night on
which the men of the Marat Company broke into the prison of Le
Bouffay, and he was accompanied in the tumbril by Grandmaison the
pitiless, who was now filled with self-pity to such an extent that
he wept bitterly.
The crowd, which had hooted and insulted him from the Conciergerie
to the Place de Greve, fell suddenly silent as he mounted the
scaffold, his step firm, but his shoulders bowed, and his eyes upon
the ground.
Suddenly upon the silence, grotesquely, horribly merry, broke the
sound of a clarinet playing the “Ca ira!”
Jerking himself erect, Carrier turned and flung the last of his
terrible glances at the musician.
A moment later the knife fell with a thud, and a bleeding head
rolled into the basket, the eyes still staring, but powerless now
to inspire terror.
Upon the general silence broke an echo of the stroke.
“Vlan!” cried a voice. “And there’s a fine end to a great drowner!”
It was Leroy the cocassier. The crowd took up the cry.
IX. THE NIGHT OF NUPTIALS
CHARLES THE BOLD AND SAPPHIRA DANVELT
When Philip the Good succumbed at Bruges of an apoplexy in the early
part of the year 1467, the occasion was represented to the stout
folk of Flanders as a favourable one to break the Burgundian yoke
under which they laboured. It was so represented by the agents of
that astute king, Louis XI, who ever preferred guile to the direct
and costly exertion of force.
Charles, surnamed the Bold (le Temeraire), the new Duke of Burgundy,
was of all the French King’s enemies by far the most formidable and
menacing just then; and the wily King, who knew better than to
measure himself with a foe that was formidable, conceived a way to
embarrass the Duke and cripple his resources at the very outset of
his reign. To this end did he send his agents into the Duke’s Flemish
dominions, there to intrigue with the powerful and to stir up the
spirit of sedition that never did more than slumber in the hearts of
those turbulent burghers.
It was from the Belfry Tower of the populous, wealthy city of Ghent
- then one of the most populous and wealthy cities of Europe - that
the call to arms first rang out, summoning the city’s forty thousand
weavers to quit their looms and take up weapons - the sword, the
pike, and that arm so peculiarly Flemish, known as the goedendag.
>From Ghent the fierce flame of revolt spread rapidly to the valley
of the Meuse, and the scarcely less important city of Liege, where
the powerful guilds of armourers and leather workers proved as ready
for battle as the weavers of Ghent.
They made a brave enough show until Charles the Bold came face to
face with them at Saint-Trond, and smashed the mutinous burgher army
into shards, leaving them in their slaughtered thousands upon the
stricken field.
The Duke was very angry. He felt that the Flemings had sought to
take a base advantage of him at a moment when it was supposed he
would not be equal to protecting his interests, and he intended to
brand it for all time upon their minds that it was not safe to take
such liberties with their liege lord. Thus, when a dozen of the
most important burghers of Liege came out to him very humbly in
their shirts, with halters round their necks, to kneel in the dust
at his feet and offer him the keys of the city, he spurned the
offer with angry disdain.
“You shall be taught,” he told them, “how little I require your
keys, and I hope that you will remember the lesson for your own
good.”
On the morrow his pioneers began to smash a breach, twenty fathoms
wide, in one of the walls of the city, rolling the rubble into the
ditch to fill it up at the spot. When the operation was complete,
Charles rode through the gap, as a conqueror, with vizor lowered
and lance on thigh at the head of his Burgundians, into his city
of Liege, whose fortifications he commanded should be permanently
demolished.
That was the end of the Flemish rising of 1467 against Duke Charles
the Bold of Burgundy. The weavers returned to their looms, the
armourers to their forges, and the glove-makers and leather workers
to their shears. Peace was restored; and to see that it was kept,
Charles appointed military governors of his confidence where he
deemed them necessary.
One of these
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