Then came another thought forcing its way through my brain, despite my
efforts to crush it. Pauline for the present, it is true, was disgusted
with Millefleurs, especially for this last dastardly act of his, but
women are proverbially fickle--the whole French nation is volatile--and
after my death, and she had shed a few transient tears belike to my
memory, Jacques _might_ work himself into her good graces again, and
even _marry_ her--the thought was agony. The mere fear of death itself
was perhaps the last thought that occupied me, for I felt I had no
parents to regret me; on the contrary, I felt consoled in the thought
that I should see them again in the other world. No; it was not mere
death that I feared so much; but then, to leave Pauline, to be cut short
in my brilliant career, before I had established my fame! These were thoughts that galled me. Nevertheless, I tried to console
myself. Perhaps things might not be so black as my imagination had
painted them, and even if they should be--even if I should die by the
guillotine for an imagined State offence--it was not like being gibbeted
alive in my own country for a highway robbery or murder. No; there was
something aristocratic in the idea of being guillotined, for did not the
scaffold reek with noble blood? Amid such reflections as these I was conducted by the guard to the gates
of the Bastille, and before I was well aware of it, found myself in a
spacious cell, and heard the lock turned upon me. Here a singular and
never-to-be-forgotten scene was presented to my view. The prison was
crowded with men and women of all ranks and ages, many of whom were to
die on the morrow, yet most of them appeared to have no fear of death
whatever. Here and there were knots of friends who seemed determined to
make the most of their short stay in this world, and to enjoy life to
the utmost. Here was dicing and card playing, laughing, joking, and
swearing, as if they thought it prime fun to die in company. Surely
these men, thought I, must be accustomed to death, as they say eels are
to skinning, that they no longer mind it. There were, however, prisoners of another cast, persons who preferred
spending their last moments on earth in prayer and pious meditation. Parents took leave of their children, children of their parents, friends
parted from friends, lovers from lovers. Tears flowed on all sides. Profane mirth and ribald jests mingled discordantly with pious oraisons
and tearful farewells. Others again were sullenly awaiting their doom
with crossed arms and heads drooping on their breasts, keeping apart
from the others, being too proud to pray, and yet indifferent to the
amusements of the more light-hearted. Well, days, weeks, passed by, I suppose, for I do not recollect what
time elapsed during my incarceration, as I kept no count, being in a
kind of mental stupor all the time, nor could I bring myself to believe
that the scene before me was real, and not a dream. All the events from
the time of my arrest, flitted through my mind like a vast
phantasmagoria. Since my imprisonment, I had been tried, found guilty, and condemned to
death. The day had been fixed, and yet it weighed but lightly upon me,
being nothing more that what I had expected and prepared myself for. Each day brought new arrests, and each day some of my companions were
led forth to execution. It is wonderfully consoling to find that others
are about to share a like fate as one's self. This I found by
experience, for, engrossed as I was, with my own selfish thoughts, I
still found time to be touched with the misfortunes of others, and on
several occasions I offered consolation, and received consolation from
many of my fellow prisoners. In some instances I had struck up quite a
warm friendship with the inmates of my cell, but alas! our intimacy
lasted but long enough for us to know, love, and esteem each other. No
sooner had I begun to feel for my fellow sufferer as a friend and
brother, than the following day he was certain to be torn from me, and
led off to execution. One of these friendships formed in prison,
especially dwells upon me; perhaps because it was one of the longest. My friend was a young man of my own years, and of noble family, as he
said. He told me also his name, but I have forgotten it. He was
imprisoned because it was thought he entertained aristocratic opinions,
and was a devout Catholic. He was in love, but the idol of his
affections belonged to an atheistical family. It had been the dream of
his ambition to eradicate the heretical opinions she had imbibed and
convert her to the Catholic faith. He was looked upon with suspicion by
her family, who, disapproving of the match, were instrumental in placing
him in the Bastille. I ventured to condole with him, though he needed
not my consolation, as his comfort was in his religion. Of all my
companions in prison, I found him the most resigned. When I had learnt his tale, I told him mine, saying that I was a poor
_perruquier-barbier_ who had left his country for a while to complete
his art studies, and who, happening to fall in love with his employer's
daughter, had, through the jealousy and malice of a rival, who had
falsely accused him, found himself imprisoned in the Bastille, and
condemned to death. He was touched with my tale as I had been with his,
for our histories had something in common. We were both in love, in
prison, and condemned to death. We wept together, we embraced, we kissed
(Frenchmen always kiss); and though he was a gentleman of noble family,
and I only a lowly barber, yet, on the brink of the grave, all
distinctions are levelled, so we embraced, and called ourselves brothers
in adversity. How I prayed and longed that our lives might be spared,
that we might the longer enjoy each other's friendship, or that we might
quit this world in each other's company! But fate willed it otherwise. On the morrow, he whom I had learnt to love as a brother was torn from
me and led to the scaffold. My life seemed now a blank. Whilst my friend
lived in his troubles, I forgot my own; now that he was no more I began
to realise all the horrors of my situation. At length the eve of my execution arrived. I tried to give myself up
wholly to pious meditation, so throwing myself down in the corner of my
cell, I endeavoured to recall all my past life, to repent of my sins,
and pray for a speedy and peaceful end; but then the guillotine rose up
before me in all its terrors, and bodily fear would usurp the place of
holier thoughts. The nearer the hour drew, the more vividly everything
painted itself to my mind's eye. I must leave Pauline without a word of
farewell. The heartless turnkey, inured to scenes of death and misery,
would witness me depart to execution without a tear.