The Last Day of a Condemned Man Page 8

  I rose and took one step forward; it seemed as though I could not take another, my head was so heavy and my limbs so weak. But after a moment I recovered myself, and walked with firm steps. Before leaving the cell, I cast a last glance at it. I loved it, that cell! Then I left it empty and open; a strange thing in a cell.

  But it will not remain so very long. This evening they expect some one, the jailers said, a convict whom the Court of Assizes is sentencing even now.

  At a turn of the corridor the priest joined us. He had just breakfasted.

  As we left the jail, the director took me affectionately by the hand, and added four veterans to my escort.

  Before the door of the hospital a dying old man cried out to me, "Au revoir!"

  We reached the courtyard, where I breathed again; the air did me good.

  We did not walk far, however.

  A carriage drawn by post-horses was waiting in the first court; it was the same that had brought me, a kind of long cabriolet, divided into two sections by a longitudinal grating of iron wire, so thick that it looked as if it might have been knitted. Each section had a door, one in front, the other at the rear of the cabriolet. The whole thing was so dirty, so black and dusty, that a hearse for paupers would be a king's chariot in comparison.

  Before burying myself in this two-wheeled tomb, I glanced about the yard with a desperate look, before which the very walls might have crumbled. The court, a small square, planted with trees, was even fuller of spectators than it had been for the galleys. Already the crowd had begun!

  As on the day of the departure of the galleys, a fine, icy rain was falling, which is coming down even now as I write, and which will probably continue all day, even after I am gone.

  The roads were rough, the courtyard full of mud and water. I was glad to see the crowd standing in all this mud.

  The bailiff and a gendarme stepped into the front compartment, the priest, a second gendarme, and myself into the other. There were four mounted gendarmes around the carriage. So, without the driver, there were eight men to one.

  As I stepped in, an old woman with gray eyes exclaimed, "I like this even better than the galleys."

  I understood what she meant. It was a sight that was more easily grasped and sooner over. It was just as pleasant, and more convenient. There is nothing to distract one. There is only one man, and on him alone is centred as much misery as on all the galleys together. Only it is less scattered; it is a concentrated liquor, and much sweeter.

  The carriage began to move. It made a dull sound as it passed under the arch of the great entrance; then it turned into the avenue, and the dark walls of Bicetre were lost behind us. As in a stupor I felt myself carried on, like a man in a lethargy, who knows that he is being buried, yet who can neither move nor cry. In a vague way I heard the jingling of the bells on the horses' necks, keeping time, and playing a sort of hiccough, the iron wheels moving over the pavement or grating against the carriage as it crossed the ruts in the road, the even galop of the gendarmes on either side of the carriage, and the lashing of the driver's whip. It all seemed like a whirlwind that was sweeping me away.

  Through a hole in the wire grating opposite me, my eyes fell mechanically on the inscription engraved in large letters above the great door of Bicetre: "Hospital for the Aged."

  "Ah," I said to myself, "there are people who indeed grow old there."

  And as happens between sleep and waking, I turned the idea over and over again in my mind, which was already dull with grief. All at once the carriage passed from the avenue into the highroad, and the point of view of my skylight was changed. The towers of Notre Dame arose blue and dim in the mist of Paris. Immediately the view-point of my mind changed also. I was a machine like the carriage. To the thought of Bicetre now succeeded the thought of the towers of Notre Dame. "Those who are on the tower where the flag is have a fine view," I said to myself, smiling stupidly.

  I think that it was at that moment that the priest began to speak. I patiently let him talk. The noise of the wheels, the gallop of the horses, the lash of the driver's whip, still were in my ears. The priest's words were only an extra noise.

  So I listened in silence to the monotonous fall of words which lulled my mind like the murmur of a fountain, and which passed before me, always varied, yet always the same, like the gnarled elms along the highroad, when suddenly I was roused by the sharp, jerky voice of the bailiff.

  "Well, Monsieur Abbe," said he, in a tone that sounded almost gay, "what news have you?"

  He turned to the priest.

  The latter continued talking to me, and made no reply. The noise of the carriage-wheels drowned the bailiffs words.

  "Oh!" he continued, raising his voice above the noise of the carriage; "this infernal wagon!"

  Infernal indeed!

  He went on,--

  "No doubt it is the joggling of the carriage that prevents his hearing me. What was I saying? Tell me what was I saying, Monsieur Abbe? Oh, yes! Do you know the news of Paris today?"

  I swayed, as though he were speaking of me.

  "No," replied the priest, who finally heard; "I had no time to read the papers this morning. I shall see them this evening. When I am busy like this all day, I tell my porter to keep my papers, and I read them on my return."

  "Bah!" resumed the bailiff, "you must know this. The news of Paris! the news of this morning!"

  I spoke.

  "I think I know it."

  The bailiff looked at me.

  "You! Indeed! In that case, what do you think of it?"

  "You are curious!" I replied.

  "And why, sir?" asked the bailiff. "Every one has his political opinion, and I esteem you too highly to think that you are without one. As for me, I am entirely of the opinion that the National Guard should be restored. I was sergeant of my company, and it was very pleasant."

  I interrupted him.

  "I did not know that this was the news."

  "And what is it, then? You said you knew."

  "I was referring to something else, in which Paris is interested to-day."

  The stupid fellow did not understand, and his curiosity was roused.

  "Something else? Where in the devil could you learn any news? What is it, my dear sir? Do you know what it is, Monsieur Abbe? Are you better informed than I? Tell me, I beg you. What is this news? You know I love news. I tell it to the President, and it amuses him."

  And a thousand idle stories they are, too, that he tells. He turned first to the priest and then to me; but I only shrugged my shoulders.

  "Well," said he, "of what are you thinking?"

  "I think," I answered, "that I will not think any more this evening."

  "Ah, yes, of course!" he replied. "But come! you are too sad! Monsieur Castaing talked."

  Then, after a pause,--

  "I escorted Monsieur Papavoine; he wore his otter cap, and smoked his cigar. As to the young fellows of La Rochelle, they talked only among themselves. But they talked."

  Another pause; then he continued,--

  "Fools! Enthusiasts! Apparently they scorned the whole world. But for what you have done, I find you very pensive, young man."

  "'Young man,'" I cried; "I am older than you; and every fifteen minutes makes me a year older, besides."

  He turned, looked at me a moment in stupid wonder, and then began to laugh loudly.

  "Come! you are jesting, you older than I! I might well be your grandfather!"

  "I am not jesting," I answered sadly.

  He opened his tobacco pouch.

  "Here, my dear sir, do not be angry; take a pinch of tobacco, and do not bear me ill-will."

  "Do not fear; I shall not have long to bear it."

  Just then his tobacco pouch, which he offered me, came in contact with the fire grating between us. A jolt of the carriage knocked it out of his hand, and it fell violently to the floor, at the gendarme's feet.

  "Cursed grating!" cried the bailiff.

  He turned to me. />
  "Am I not unfortunate? All my tobacco is lost!"

  "I am losing more than you," I replied, smiling.

  He tried to gather up the tobacco, muttering between his teeth,--

  "More than I! That is easy to say! But no tobacco all the way to Paris! It's dreadful!"

  The priest addressed a few consoling words to him; and, perhaps I was dreaming, but it seemed as though it were the conclusion of the exhortation, the beginning of which I had heard. By degrees the conversation was carried on only between the priest and the bailiff; I let them talk on their side, and gave myself up to my own thoughts on mine.

  When we reached the city limits I was still preoccupied, no doubt, but Paris seemed noisier than ever.

  The carriage stopped a moment at the toll-gate. The city custom-house officers came out to examine it. Had I been a sheep or an ox going to slaughter, they would have had a purse of silver thrown them; but a human head does not pay for right of way, and we passed on.

  We crossed the Boulevard, and the cabriolet went at a rapid rate through the old winding streets of the Faubourg Saint-Marceau and La Cite, which twine and intertwine one about the other like the thousand paths of an ant-hill. On the pavement of these narrow streets the noise of the wheels became so loud that all other sounds were lost. When I glanced through the little square hole, it seemed that the crowd of passers-by had stopped to watch the carriage, and that groups of children were running after it. It seemed, too, as though now and then I saw on the cross-walks a ragged man or woman, sometimes both together, with a bundle of printed papers in their hands, that the people were quarrelling over, opening their mouths as though in the act of giving a loud cry.

  The Palace clock struck half-past eight as we reached the courtyard of the Conciergerie. The sight of the wide staircase, the black chapel, the sinister-looking entrances, froze me; and when the carriage came to a stand-still, I thought the beating of my heart had stopped too.

  But I gathered myself together. The gate was opened like lightning; I jumped from the cell-on-wheels, and was hurried at rapid strides beneath the arch, between two lines of soldiers. Already a great crowd had collected about me.

  Chapter XXIII

  As I walked along the public corridors of the Palais du Justice I felt at my ease and almost free; but all my resolution left me when they opened the low doors, the secret staircases, and the close and dark inner corridors, where no one enters except the prisoners or those who convict them.

  The bailiff never left my side. The priest went away, to return in two hours; he had business to look after.

  They took me to the director's office, where the bailiff left me. It was an exchange. The director begged him to wait an instant, saying that he had some game to give him which he might take at once to Bicetre on the return of the carriage. Probably it is the man who was condemned to-day, and who, this evening, will lie on the straw which I had not the time to use.

  "Very well," said the bailiff to the director. "I will wait a moment; we can make out both reports at the same time. That is a good plan."

  Meanwhile I had been put into a small office opening out of that of the director. There I was left alone under lock and key.

  I do not know of what I was thinking, nor how long I was there, when all at once a rough and loud burst of laughter roused me from my stupor.

  I raised my eyes tremblingly. I was no longer alone in the cell. A man was there with me,--a man about fifty-five, of medium height, wrinkled, round-shouldered, grayish, and thick-set, with an evil look in his gray eyes, and a bitter smile on his lips; dirty, ragged, and half-naked, he was altogether a most repulsive sight.

  The door must have opened, thrust him in, and closed again without my having noticed it. If only death might come in that way!

  For a few seconds we looked at each other, that man and I,--he, with a laugh like a rattle; I, half-amazed, half-frightened.

  "Who are you?" I asked at length.

  "You have the right to ask," he replied; "I am a friauche."

  "A 'friauche!' What is that?"

  The question seemed to augment his gayety.

  "That," he answered, in the midst of a fresh burst of laughter, "that means that the taule will play with my Sorbonne in six weeks, as he is about to play with your body in six hours. Ah, ah! it seems that now you understand."

  I was white; my hair stood on end. He was the other convict, whom they were expecting at Bicetre,--my successor.

  He continued,--

  "What can you expect? I will tell you my story. I am the son of a good peigre; it is a pity that Chariot (the hangman) took the trouble once to tie his cravat. It was when the gallows reigned, by the grace of God. At the age of six, I had neither father nor mother. In the summer I rolled in the dust of the gutters, to see if some one would throw me a penny from the door of the stages; in the winter I went about in the mud with bare feet, blowing on my red fingers to keep them warm. My skin could be seen through my trousers. At the age of nine I had begun to use my hands; now and then I emptied a pocket or stole a cloak. At the age of ten I was a pickpocket. Then I made some acquaintances. At seventeen I was a thief. I forced open a shop by means of a false key. I was arrested. Being of age, I was sent to work in the galleys. It was hard there; sleeping on a plank, drinking nothing but water, eating black bread, dragging after me a stupid ball, which was of no use to any one, and suffering from burns from a baton, and from the hot sun too. Besides all this, we were shaved, and I had such beautiful brown hair. Well, no matter! I served my time. Fifteen years pass, after a while! I was thirty-two. One fine morning they gave me a ticket and sixty-six francs, which I had saved during the fifteen years in the galleys by working sixteen hours a day, thirty days a month, and twelve months a year. That was all right. I wanted to be an honest man with my sixty-six francs, and I had more beautiful ideas under my rags than there are under an abbe's cassock. But how the devils acted with that passport! It was yellow, and they had written on it 'Freed galley.' I had to show it everywhere, and present it every week before the mayor of the village where they compelled me to live. It was a fine recommendation! A galley! They were afraid of me; the children ran from me, and every door was shut in my face. No one would give me work. I devoured my sixty-six francs. I had to live. I showed that my arms were strong enough to work, but they shut their doors. I offered to do a day's labor for fifteen sous, for ten, for five. No. So what was there left for me to do? One day I was hungry. I knocked in a baker's case, seized some bread, and the baker seized me. I did not eat the bread; and I had the galleys for life, with three letters branded on my shoulders. You may see them if you wish. They call this act of justice the second offence. I was back again to the galleys. They took me to Toulon; this time with the life convicts. I had to escape. I had three walls to cut through, two chains to break, and one nail with which to do it; but I succeeded. They shot after me; for, like the cardinals at Rome, we were dressed in scarlet, and they shoot when we leave. Their powder went to the sparrows. This time I had no yellow passport, but no money either. I met some fellows who had served their turn or broken their chains. Their chief suggested that I join them; they committed murders on the great highways. I accepted his offer, and set about killing in order to live. Now it was a stage-coach, now a post-chaise, now a cattle-dealer on horseback. We took the money, let the beast or the wagon go, and buried the man under a tree, being careful that his feet did not stick out; then we danced on the spot, so that the earth would not look as though it had been freshly turned. I grew old in such pursuits, living in the brush-wood, sleeping beneath the shining stars, and wandering from wood to wood, but at least I was free and my own master. Every one has some object in life; it may as well be one as another. But one starry night, the gendarmes seized us by our collars. My comrades escaped; but I, the eldest, was caught in the claws of these cats with their cockade hats. I was brought here. Already I had mounted every step of the ladder except one. To have stolen a handkerchief or murdered a man was a
ll the same to me once; there remained but one more recidive to apply to me. I had only to reach the hangman. My trial was short. I was beginning to grow old, and to be of no further use. My father was hanged, and I am now about to enter the monastery of Mont-a-Regret (the guillotine). There, comrade!"

  I was speechless at his story. He began to laugh louder than ever, and tried to take my hand, but I recoiled in horror.

  "Friend," said he, "you do not look brave. Do not be a coward in the face of death. It will be hard for a moment, when you reach the Place de Greve, but it is so soon over with! I should like to be there to show you how to fall. A thousand gods! I would rather not make another appeal, if they would cut me down with you. The same priest would serve us both; it is all the same to me to take your leavings. You see that I am a good fellow. Hey? Will you accept my friendship?"

  Again he started to approach me.

  "Monsieur," I replied, pushing him away, "I thank you."

  Fresh burst of laughter at my reply.

  "Ah! ah! monsieur, you are a marquis! You are a marquis!"

  I interrupted him.

  "My friend, I have need to collect myself; leave me."

  The serious tone in which I uttered the words sobered him at once. He nodded his gray and almost bald head; then imprinting his nails into his shaggy breast, which was bare under his open shirt, he murmured between his teeth,--

  "Ah, I understand, the priest!"

  After a few moments' silence,--

  "Yes," he said, almost timidly, "you are a marquis; that is good. But you have a fine cloak which will not be of much use to you! The taule will take it. Give it to me; I will sell it, and buy tobacco."

  I took off my cloak, and handed it to him. He began to clap his hands in childish glee. Then, seeing that I was in my shirtsleeves and shivering, he exclaimed,--

  "You are cold, sir; take this. It is raining, and you will get wet; besides, one must look decent in the wagon."

  He removed his thick gray linen coat, and put my arms through it. I let him do so.

  Then I leaned against the wall; but I cannot tell what effect the man had on me. He began to examine the cloak which I had given him, crying out every second with joy,--