Coursegol’s exploits

Coursegol returned home about midnight. In accordance with his usual custom he was passing through the lower hall without stopping on his way to his room on the floor above, when he heard some one call him. He recognized the voice of Vauquelas, but it seemed to proceed from the chamber occupied by Dolores. Surprised that the latter was not in bed at this late hour, and fearing she was ill, he hastily entered her room. Vauquelas was there alone, pale, nervous and excited. The girl’s bed had not been disturbed. Her absence struck Coursegol at once.

“Where is Dolores?” he asked, quickly.

“Coursegol, why did you not tell me she was receiving Philip de Chamondrin here?” was his friend’s only response.

“She receiving M. Philip!” cried Coursegol, greatly astonished.

“Yes, here in my house; here in this chamber. They were discovered here.”

“Then M. Philip is still alive!”

“Unfortunately for me, he is still alive.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Coursegol, who as yet understood but one thing that his master was not dead.

“I mean that Dolores, whom I received into my house at your request, has been sheltering here, at the risk of compromising and ruining me, Philip de Chamondrin, one of the prime movers in a conspiracy formed for the purpose of saving the widow Capet.”

“Ah! I understand,” murmured Coursegol, at once divining that Philip being pursued had taken refuge in the house of Vauquelas, and had found Dolores there. “Ah, well! citizen, the young man must not remain here. We will help him to make his escape and no one will be the wiser ”

“It is too late!”

“Why?”

“Both have been arrested; he, for conspiring against the government, she, as his accomplice.”

Coursegol uttered a terrible oath: then, turning to Vauquelas and seizing him by the collar, he cried:

“It was you, wretch, who betrayed them!”

“You are choking me!” groaned Vauquelas, breathless in Coursegol’s violent grasp.

“Tell me where they are!” thundered Coursegol. “I must see them. Where are they?”

“Release me,” gasped Vauquelas.

This time Coursegol obeyed; but he stood before Vauquelas, angry and menacing. The latter trembled. He had not foreseen that Coursegol would hold him accountable for the arrest of Philip and Dolores.

“Explain and quickly!” cried Coursegol.

“The soldiers came to the house in pursuit of young Philip, who had taken refuge in this room. To save him, Dolores said she was his wife. Philip, fearing she would be compromised, denied her statement; and as their explanation did not seem sufficiently clear, they were both taken to prison.”

“Could you not have vouched for them declared that they were friends of yours?”

“I did all I could to save them,” whined Vauquelas.

“You lie! you lie! I tell you, you lie! It was you who betrayed them! I am sure of it. You trembled for your life, for your money. Woe be unto you!”

And Coursegol accompanied those words with a gesture so menacing that Vauquelas, believing his last hour had come, fell on his knees begging for mercy. But Coursegol seemed pitiless.

“Poor children! that death should overtake them just as Providence had united them. Wretch! fool! you were less merciful than destiny.”

“Have pity!”

“Had you any pity on them? No! Ah well! you shall die!”

And drawing from his pocket a dagger that he always carried with him, Coursegol raised it above the old man’s head.

“But if I promise to save them ”

The hand of Coursegol, raised to strike, fell.

“You will save them! That is only another lie. How can you save them? The prisons of the Republic release their victims only to send them to the guillotine.”

“I will bribe the jailers to let them escape.”

“The jailers are not the only masters: and who among them would expose himself to almost certain death for the sake of your money?”

“Then I will do still better,” replied Vauquelas. “I will bribe the judges of the Revolutionary Tribunal, and they will acquit your friends.”

“Useless! these judges will demand that the money shall be paid in advance! and as soon as they have it in their grasp, they will condemn the prisoners.”

“What can I do then?”

“There is no help for the misfortune, and it is because you are the cause of it that I am going to wreak my vengeance upon you!”

“Stop, stop! I will go to Robespierre.”

“He will refuse your petition.”

“No! my influence over him is all-powerful. I have means to compel him to grant my request.”

“Even when you ask for the release of one of the leaders of the conspiracy to save the queen?”

“Yes; he will not refuse me.”

Coursegol reflected a moment. Vauquelas, still on his knees before him, looked up, trying to read his fate in the stern face above him.

“Listen,” said Coursegol at last. “I will spare your life on certain conditions. It depends upon yourself whether you are to live or die.”

“Name them. I will obey!” murmured Vauquelas, servilely, beginning to breathe freely once more.

“To-morrow by sunset, I must receive from you a blank order signed by Robespierre which will enable me to obtain the release of two prisoners.”

“You shall have it.”

“I also desire that Robespierre shall remain in ignorance of the names of the prisoners who are to be released.”

“He shall not know.”

“Under these conditions, your life is yours. Only do not attempt to deceive me. I know that it is in your power to obtain an order for my arrest and thus save yourself from the chastisement you so richly deserve.”

“Can you believe ”

Vauquelas could not finish his sentence. He stammered and blushed, feeling that his most secret thoughts had been divined.

“But to prevent that, it is here in this house that I shall await your return; and if to-morrow the soldiers, guided by you, come here to arrest me, they will find me in the cellar where your wealth is concealed; and it is I who will have the pleasure of initiating them into the secrets of your patriotic life.”

Vauquelas uttered an exclamation of mingled astonishment and dismay.

“It is here,” repeated Coursegol, “that I shall wait to receive from your hands the order of release that you have promised me. Now, it is for you to decide whether you will live or die.”

As he spoke, Coursegol pushed open the door leading to the cellar used by Vauquelas as the repository of his riches and disappeared. Vauquelas rose from his kneeling posture, filled with consternation by what he had just heard. The extremity to which he was reduced was a cruel one; he must bribe the incorruptible Robespierre. When he made the promise to Coursegol he did not intend to fulfil it: he intended to denounce him; but the shrewdness of his partner had placed him in a most embarrassing position. He was obliged to keep his promise, but he could do it only by compromising his influence and his reputation; and yet there was no help for it since Coursegol could ruin him by a single word. How much he regretted that the strength and vigor of his youth were now paralyzed by age. If he had been twenty years younger, how desperately he would have struggled with the man who had suddenly become a formidable enemy! What an effort he would have made to kill him and thus silence him forever. But such a plan was no longer feasible; nothing was left for him but submission. About an hour after Coursegol left him, he went to his room to obtain the rest of which he stood so greatly in need. He threw himself upon the bed; but sleep refused to come to his relief. At daybreak he was upon his feet once more. He wished, before leaving the house, to see Coursegol again. The latter had slept with his pistol in his hand, guarding the strong-box upon which his life as well as the lives of Dolores and Philip depended.

“Have you the order?” inquired Coursegol.

“I am going for it,” responded Vauquelas, meekly.

“Do not return without it if you wish to leave this place alive.”

Vauquelas hastily retired. Robespierre lived on the Rue Saint Honore. Thither Vauquelas went, wondering under what form he should present his petition. The friendship existing between this celebrated man and himself was lively and profound. It had its origin in former relations, in services mutually rendered, and in common interests, but so far as Robespierre was concerned, he would never allow friendship to conflict with what he considered his duty. Even in his most cruel decisions, he was honest and sincere. He was deeply impressed with a sense of his responsibility and no consideration foreign to what he regarded as the welfare of the Nation could move him. He never granted a pardon; he never allowed his heart to be touched with compassion; and when one reads his history, it is hard to decide which is most horrible, the acts of his life or the spirit of fanaticism that inspired them. Vauquelas understood the character of the man with whom he had to deal, and felt that there was no hope of exciting Robespierre’s pity by the recital of the misfortunes of Philip and Dolores, or by an explanation of the embarrassing position in which he found himself; so he finally decided to resort to strategy to obtain what he desired.

When he reached the house, he found that Robespierre had just gone out. Vauquelas did not seem at all annoyed. He entered the office that dread place from which emanated those accusations that carried death and despair to so many households. The visitor was well-known to the servants of the household and he was permitted to roam about at will. As he declared his intention of awaiting Robespierre’s return, the servant who ushered him into the room withdrew, leaving him quite alone. He hastened to Robespierre’s desk and began rummaging among the papers with which it was strewn, keeping one eye all the while upon the door lest some one should enter and detect him. There were intended orders, lists of proscriptions, documents and reports from the provinces, as well as police reports, but Vauquelas paid no attention to these. He continued his search until Robespierre’s signature on the bottom of a blank sheet of paper met his eyes, and drew from him an exclamation of joy.

This sheet was the last belonging to a police report which had been approved by the committee, and the only one upon which the clerk to whom the copying of the document had been entrusted had as yet written nothing. It was upon this sheet that Robespierre had placed his signature. His name, written by his own hand and ornamented with the flourish which he always appended to his signature, lay upon the immaculate whiteness of the paper like a blood stain. Without the slightest hesitation, Vauquelas tore this precious page loose from the others; then in a feigned hand he wrote these words “Permission to leave the prison is hereby granted to the man and woman bearing this order.” These lines written above the signature transformed the paper into the safe-conduct which Coursegol had demanded. Greatly agitated by the audacious act he had just accomplished, Vauquelas placed the document he had fabricated in his pocket, hid the mutilated report in the bottom of a desk drawer under a pile of memorandum books; then, after giving his agitation time to subside, he left the house, lingering a moment to chat with those on guard at the door, and remarking as he left them:

“I have not time to wait just now; I will call again.”

But as soon as he had gained the street he quickened his pace, as if fearing pursuit. On reaching home he hastened to the cellar and, addressing Coursegol who had not once quitted his post, he said:

“Here is what you desired. Go!”

Coursegol took the paper without a word, scrutinized it closely to convince himself that the signature was genuine: then satisfied with his examination he replied:

“I am going with the hope that I shall be able to save Dolores and Philip; but do not consider yourself forgiven for the injury you have done them. Remember this; if my efforts fail and any harm befalls them it is on you that my vengeance will fall.”

He rose to go; then changing his mind, he added:

“For six months we have worked together, and as I shall probably need a good deal of money to carry this undertaking to a successful termination, I wish you to give me my share of the profits.”

“Make your own estimate,” replied Vauquelas, who was too thoroughly frightened to haggle as to terms.

“Give me fifty thousand francs; half in gold, half in assignats.”

Vauquelas breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that Coursegol would demand an amount ten times as large. He counted out fifty thousand francs. Coursegol put the assignats in his pocket, and secreted the gold in a leather belt he wore; then without another word, he started in quest of Philip and Dolores.

How could he reach them? He must first discover where they were. Prisons were very numerous in those days. There were the Luxembourg, the Abbaye, the Force, the Carmes, the Madelonnettes, Saint-Lazare and many others. In which of them were Philip and Dolores immured? Had they been sent to the same prison or had they been separated? Vauquelas had been unable to furnish any information on this subject, and Coursegol could only conjecture. He repaired immediately to the house of the Bridouls, where he made arrangements to remain for a time. He apprised these tried friends of the events that had occurred since the evening before. Cornelia could not restrain her tears when she heard that her young friend was in prison. As for Bridoul, he soon decided upon the course to be pursued. In most of the prisons there were many persons charged with no particular offence. It was not at all probable that they would ever be brought to trial, and, in spite of the surveillance to which they were subjected, they enjoyed comparative freedom. They were not absolutely forbidden to hold communication with the world outside, and if they possessed pecuniary resources it was possible for them to purchase the good-will of the jailers and to obtain permission to receive letters, food and even visits from their friends. It may have been that the number of prisons and of prisoners prevented the maintenance of very severe discipline; it may have been that the Committee of Public Safety, having decided to execute all convicted prisoners, did not desire to exercise a too rigid surveillance. However this may have been, many of the prisoners were in daily communication with the outer world. Wives and children obtained permission to visit their husbands and fathers without much difficulty; and there had been established, for the convenience of the prisoners, a corps of regularly appointed messengers who came and went at all hours of the day on condition that they paid the jailers a certain percentage on their earnings. Coursegol was ignorant of these details, but Bridoul acquainted him with them.

“One of these messengers is a friend of mine,” added Bridoul, “and for a fair compensation, he will consent to take you with him as his assistant. In his company, you can visit the different prisons without the slightest danger.”

This plan delighted Coursegol. That same evening they made the desired arrangement with the man of whom Bridoul had spoken. The next day, he began his search, and three days later he ascertained that Dolores was confined in the Conciergerie and Philip in the Madelonnettes.