CHAPTER LII
THE TRIAL
"Well, I'll say as you did just now, we'll talk about it when
I return, if I do."
"Bless me!" exclaimed Bonaparte, "I'm not afraid; you'll kill
him as you have the others; only this time, I must admit, I shall
be sorry to have him die."
"If you are going to feel so badly about it, general, I can easily
be killed in his stead."
"Don't do anything foolish, ninny!" cried Bonaparte; hastily;
"I should feel still worse if I lost you."
"Really, general, you are the hardest man to please that I know
of," said Roland with his harsh laugh.
And this time he took his way to Chivasso without further delay.
Half an hour later, Roland was galloping along the road to Ivrae
in a post-chaise. He was to travel thus to Aosta, at Aosta take
a mule, cross the Saint-Bernard to Martigny, thence to Geneva,
on to Bourg, and from Bourg to Paris.
While he is galloping along let us see what has happened in France,
and clear up the points in the conversation between Bonaparte and
his aide-de-camp which must be obscure to the reader's mind.
The prisoners which Roland had made at the grotto of Ceyzeriat
had remained but one night in the prison at Bourg. They had been
immediately transferred to that of Besançon, where they were
to appear before a council of war.
It will be remembered that two of these prisoners were so grievously
wounded that they were carried into Bourg on stretchers. One
of them died that same night, the other, three days after they
reached Besançon. The number of prisoners was therefore reduced
to four; Morgan, who had surrendered himself voluntarily and
who was safe and sound, and Montbar, Adler, and d'Assas, who
were more or less wounded in the fight, though none of them
dangerously. These four aliases hid, as the reader will remember,
the real names of the Baron de Sainte-Hermine, the Comte de Jayat,
the Vicomte de Valensolle, and the Marquis de Ribier.
While the evidence was being taken against the four prisoners
before the military commission at Besançon, the time expired
when under the law such cases were tried by courts-martial. The
prisoners became accountable therefore to the civil tribunals.
This made a great difference to them, not only as to the penalty
if convicted, but in the mode of execution. Condemned by a
court-martial, they would be shot; condemned by the courts, they
would be guillotined. Death by the first was not infamous; death
by the second was.
As soon as it appeared that their case was to be brought before
a jury, it belonged by law to the court of Bourg. Toward the
end of March the prisoners were therefore transferred from the
prison of Besançon to that of Bourg, and the first steps toward
a trial were taken.
But here the prisoners adopted a line of defence that greatly
embarrassed the prosecuting officers. They declared themselves to
be the Baron de Sainte-Hermine, the Comte de Jayat, the Vicomte
de Valensolle, and the Marquis de Ribier, and to have no connection
with the pillagers of diligences, whose names were Morgan, Montbar,
Adler, and d'Assas. They acknowledged having belonged to armed
bands; but these forces belonged to the army of M. de Teyssonnet
and were a ramification of the army of Brittany intended to operate
in the East and the Midi, while the army of Brittany, which had
just signed a peace, operated in the North. They had waited only
to hear of Cadoudal's surrender to do likewise, and the despatch
of the Breton leader was no doubt on its way to them when they
were attacked and captured.
It was difficult to disprove this. The diligences had invariably
been pillaged by masked, men, and, apart from Madame de Montrevel
and Sir John Tanlay, no one had ever seen the faces of the
assailants.
The reader will recall those circumstances: Sir John, on the
night they had tried, condemned, and stabbed him; Madame de
Montrevel, when the diligence was stopped, and she, in her nervous
struggle, had struck off the mask of the leader.
Both had been summoned before the preliminary court and both
had been confronted with the prisoners; but neither Sir John
nor Madame de Montrevel had recognized any of them. How came
they to practice this deception? As for Madame de Montrevel, it
was comprehensible. She felt a double gratitude to the man who
had come to her assistance, and who had also forgiven, and even
praised, Edouard's attack upon himself. But Sir John's silence
was more difficult to explain, for among the four prisoners he
must have recognized at least two of his assailants.
They had recognized him, and a certain quiver had run through
their veins as they did so, but their eyes were none the less
resolutely fixed upon him, when, to their great astonishment,
Sir John, in spite of the judge's insistence, had calmly replied:
"I have not the honor of knowing these gentlemen."
Amélie--we have not spoken of her, for there are sorrows no pen
can depict--Amélie, pale, feverish, almost expiring since that
fatal night when Morgan was arrested, awaited the return of her
mother and Sir John from the preliminary trial with dreadful
anxiety. Sir John arrived first. Madame de Montrevel had remained
behind to give some orders to Michel. As soon as Amélie saw him
she rushed forward, crying out: "What happened?"
Sir John looked behind him, to make sure that Madame de Montrevel
could neither see nor hear him, then he said: "Your mother and
I recognized no one."
"Ah! how noble you are I how generous! how good, my lord!" cried
the young girl, trying to kiss his hand.
But he, withdrawing his hand, said hastily: "I have only done
as I promised you; but hush--here is your mother."
Amélie stepped back. "Ah, mamma!" she said, "so you did not say
anything to compromise those unfortunate men?"
"What!" replied Madame de Montrevel; "would you have me send to
the scaffold a man who had helped me, and who, instead of punishing
Edouard, kissed him?"
"And yet," said Amélie, trembling, "you recognized him, did you
not?"
"Perfectly," replied Madame de Montrevel. "He is the fair man with
the black eyebrows who calls himself the Baron de Sainte-Hermine."
Amélie gave a stifled cry. Then, making an effort to control
herself, she said: "Is that the end of it for Sir John and you?
Will you be called to testify again?"
"Probably not," replied Madame de Montrevel.
"In any case," observed Sir John, "as neither your mother nor
I recognized any one, she will persist in that declaration."
"Oh I most certainly," exclaimed Madame de Montrevel. "God keep
me from causing the death of that unhappy young man. I should
never forgive myself. It is bad enough that Roland should have
been the one to capture him and his companions."
Amélie sighed, but nevertheless her face assumed a calmer expression.
She looked gratefully at Sir John, and then went up to her room,
where Charlotte was waiting for her. Charlotte had become more
than a maid, she was now Amélie's friend. Every day since the
four young men had returned to the prison at Bourg she had gone
there to see her father for an hour or so. During these visits
nothing was talked of but the prisoners, whom the worthy jailer,
royalist as he was, pitied with all his heart. Charlotte made him
tell her everything, even to their slightest words, and later
reported all to Amélie.
Matters stood thus when Madame de Montrevel and Sir John arrived
at Noires-Fontaines. Before leaving Paris, the First Consul had
informed Madame de Montrevel, both through Josephine and Roland,
that he approved of her daughter's marriage, and wished it to
take place during his absence, and as soon as possible. Sir John
had declared to her that his most ardent wishes were for this
union, and that he only awaited Amélie's commands to become the
happiest of men. Matters having reached this point, Madame de
Montrevel, on the morning of the day on which she and Sir John
were to give their testimony, had arranged a private interview
between her daughter and Sir John.
The interview lasted over an hour, and Sir John did not leave
Amélie until the carriage came to the door which was to take
Madame de Montrevel and himself to the court. We have seen that
his deposition was all in the prisoners' favor, and we have also
seen how Amélie received him on his return.
That evening Madame de Montrevel had a long conversation with
her daughter. To her mother's pressing inquiries, Amélie merely
replied that the state of her health was such that she desired a
postponement of her marriage, and that she counted on Sir John's
delicacy to grant it.
The next day Madame de Montrevel was obliged to return to Paris,
her position in Madame Bonaparte's household not admitting of
longer absence. The morning of her departure she urged Amélie to
accompany her; but again the young girl dwelt upon the feebleness
of her health. The sweetest and most reviving months in the year
were just opening, and she begged to be allowed to spend then
in the country, for they were sure, she said, to do her good.
Madame de Montrevel, always unable to deny Amélie anything, above
all where it concerned her health, granted her request.
On her return to Paris, Madame de Montrevel travelled as before,
with Sir John. Much to her surprise, during the two days' journey
he did not say anything to her about his marriage to Amélie.
But Madame Bonaparte, as soon as she saw her friend, asked the
usual question: "Well, when shall we marry Amélie and Sir John?
You know how much the First Consul desires it."
To which Madame de Montrevel replied: "It all depends on Sir John."
This response furnished Madame Bonaparte with much food for
reflection. Why should a man who had been so eager suddenly grow
cold? Time alone could explain the mystery.
Time went by, and the trial of the prisoners began. They were
confronted with all the travellers who had signed the various
depositions, which, as we have seen, were in the possession of
the minister of police. No one had recognized them, for no one
had seen their faces uncovered. Moreover, the travellers asserted
that none of their property, either money or jewels, had been
taken. Jean Picot testified that the two hundred louis which
had been taken from him by accident had been returned.
These preliminary inquiries lasted over two months. At the end
of that time the accused, against whom there was no evidence
connecting them with the pillage of the coaches, were under no
accusation but that of their own admissions; that is to say,
of being affiliated with the Breton and Vendéan insurrection.
They were simply one of the armed bands roaming the Jura under
the orders of M. de Teyssonnet.
The judges delayed the final trial as long as possible, hoping
that some more direct testimony might be discovered. This hope
was balked. No one had really suffered from the deeds imputed to
these young men, except the Treasury, whose misfortunes concerned
no one. The trial could not be delayed any longer.
The prisoners, on their side, had made the best of their time.
By means, as we have seen, of an exchange of passports, Morgan
had travelled sometimes as Ribier, and Ribier as Sainte-Hermine,
and so with the others. The result was a confusion in the testimony
of the innkeepers, which the entries in their books only served
to increase. The arrival of travellers, noted on the registers
an hour too early or an hour too late, furnished the prisoners
with irrefutable alibis. The judges were morally convinced of
their guilt; but their conviction was impossible against such
testimony.
On the other hand, it must be said that public sympathy was wholly
with the prisoners.
The trial began. The prison at Bourg adjoins the courtroom. The
prisoners could be brought there through the interior passages.
Large as the hall was, it was crowded on the opening day. The
whole population of Bourg thronged about the doors, and persons
came from Mâcon, Sons-le-Saulnier, Besançon, and Nantua, so great
was the excitement caused by the stoppages, and so popular were
the exploits of the Companions of Jehu.
The entrance of the four prisoners was greeted by a murmur in
which there was nothing offensive. Public sentiment seemed equally
divided between curiosity and sympathy. Their presence, it must
be admitted, was well calculated to inspire both. Very handsome,
dressed in the latest fashion of the day, self-possessed without
insolence, smiling toward the audience, courteous to their judges,
though at times a little sarcastic, their personal appearance
was their best defence.
The oldest of the four was barely thirty. Questioned as to their
names, Christian and family, their age, and places of birth,
they answered as follows:
"Charles de Sainte-Hermine, born at Tours, department of the
Indre-et-Loire, aged twenty-four."
"Louis-André de Jayat, born at Bage-le-Château, department of
the Ain, aged twenty-nine."
"Raoul-Frederic-Auguste de Valensolle, born at Sainte-Colombe,
department of the Rhone, aged twenty-seven."
"Pierre-Hector de Ribier, born at Bollène, department of Vaucluse,
aged twenty-six."
Questioned as to their social condition and state, all four said
they were of noble rank and royalists.
These fine young men, defending themselves against death on the
scaffold, not against a soldier's death before the guns--who asked
the death they claimed to have merited as insurrectionists, but a
death of honor--formed a splendid spectacle of youth, courage,
and gallant bearing.
The judges saw plainly that on the accusation of being
insurrectionists, the Vendée having submitted and Brittany being
pacificated, they would have to be acquitted. That was not a
result to satisfy the minister of police. Death awarded by a
council of war would not have satisfied him; he had determined
that these men should die the death of malefactors, a death of
infamy.
The trial had now lasted three days without proceeding in the
direction of the minister's wishes. Charlotte, who could reach
the courtroom through the prison, was there each day, and returned
each night to Amélie with some fresh word of hope. On the fourth
day, Amélie could bear the suspense no longer. She dressed herself
in a costume similar to the one that Charlotte wore, except that
the black lace of the head-dress was longer and thicker than
is usual with the Bressan peasant woman. It formed a veil and
completely hid her features.
Charlotte presented Amélie to her father as one of her friends
who was anxious to see the trial. The good man did not recognize
Mademoiselle de Montrevel, and in order to enable the young girls
to see the prisoners well he placed them in the doorway of the
porter's room, which opened upon the passage leading to the
courtroom. This passage was so narrow at this particular point
that the four gendarmes who accompanied the prisoners changed
the line of march. First came two officers, then the prisoners
one by one, then the other two officers. The girls stood in the
doorway.
When Amélie heard the doors open she was obliged to lean upon
Charlotte's shoulder for support, the earth seemed to give way
under her feet and the wall at her back. She heard the sound
of feet and the rattle of the gendarmes' sabres, then the door
of the prison opened.
First one gendarme appeared, then another, then Sainte-Hermine,
walking first, as though he were still Morgan, the captain of
the Companions of Jehu.
As he passed Amélie murmured: "Charles!"
The prisoner recognized the beloved voice, gave a faint cry,
and felt a paper slip into his hand. He pressed that precious
hand, murmured her name, and passed on.
The others who followed did not, or pretended not to, notice the
two girls. As for the gendarmes, they had seen and heard nothing.
As soon as the party stepped into the light, Morgan unfolded the
note and read as follows:
Do not be anxious, my beloved Charles; I am and ever will be
your faithful Amélie, in life or death. I have told all to Lord
Tanlay. He is the most generous man on earth; he has promised me
to break off the marriage and to take the whole responsibility
on himself. I love you.
Morgan kissed the note and put it in his breast. Then he glanced
down the corridor and saw the two Bressan women leaning against
the door. Amélie had risked all to see him once more. It is true,
however, that at this last session of the court no additional
witnesses were expected who could injure the accused, and in the
absence of proof it was impossible to convict them.
The best lawyers in the department, those of Lyons and Besançon,
had been retained by the prisoners for their defence. Each had
spoken in turn, destroying bit by bit the indictment, as, in the
tournaments of the Middle Ages, a strong and dexterous knight
was wont to knock off, piece by piece, his adversary's armor.
Flattering applause had followed the more remarkable points of
their arguments, in spite of the usher's warnings and the
admonitions of the judge.
Amélie, with clasped hands, was thanking God, who had so visibly
manifested Himself in the prisoners' favor. A dreadful weight
was lifted from her tortured breast. She breathed with joy, and
looked through tears of gratitude at the Christ which hung above
the judge's head.
The arguments were all made, and the case about to be closed.
Suddenly an usher entered the courtroom, approached the judge,
and whispered something in his ear.
"Gentlemen," said the judge, "the court is adjourned for a time.
Let the prisoners be taken out."
There was a movement of feverish anxiety among the audience.
What could have happened? What unexpected event was about to
take place? Every one looked anxiously at his neighbor. Amélie's
heart was wrung by a presentiment. She pressed her hand to her
breast; it was as though an ice-cold iron had pierced it to the
springs of life.
The gendarmes rose. The prisoners did likewise, and were then
marched back to their cells. One after the other they passed
Amélie. The hands of the lovers touched each other; those of
Amélie were as cold as death.
"Whatever happens, thank you," said Charles, as he passed.
Amélie tried to answer, but the words died on her lips.
During this time the judge had risen and passed into the
council-chamber. There he found a veiled woman, who had just
descended from a carriage at the door of the courthouse, and had
not spoken to any one on her way in.
"Madame," said the judge, "I offer you many excuses for the way
in which I have brought you from Paris; but the life of a man
depends upon it, and before that consideration everything must
yield."
"You have no need to excuse yourself, sir," replied the veiled
lady, "I know the prerogatives of the law, and I am here at your
orders."
"Madame," said the judge, "the court and myself recognize the
feeling of delicacy which prompted you, when first confronted
with the prisoners, to decline to recognize the one who assisted
you when fainting. At that time the prisoners denied their identity
with the pillagers of the diligences. Since then they have confessed
all; but it is our wish to know the one who showed you that
consideration, in order that we may recommend him to the First
Consul's clemency."
"What!" exclaimed the lady, "have they really confessed?"
"Yes, madame, but they will not say which of their number helped
you, fearing, no doubt, to contradict your testimony, and thus
cause you embarrassment."
"What is it you request of me, sir?"
"That you will save the gentleman who assisted you."
"Oh! willingly," said the lady, rising; "what am I to do?"
"Answer a question which I shall ask you."
"I am ready, sir."
"Wait here a moment. You will be sent for presently."
The judge went back into the courtroom. A gendarme was placed
at each door to prevent any one from approaching the lady. The
judge resumed his seat.
"Gentlemen," said he, "the session is reopened."
General excitement prevailed. The ushers called for silence, and
silence was restored.
"Bring in the witness," said the judge.
An usher opened the door of the council-chamber, and the lady,
still veiled, was brought into court. All eyes turned upon her.
Who was she? Why was she there? What had she come for? Amélie's
eyes fastened upon her at once.
"O my God!" she murmured, "grant that I be mistaken."
"Madame," said the judge, "the prisoners are about to be brought
in. Have the goodness to point out the one who, when the Geneva
diligence was stopped, paid you those attentions."
A shudder ran through the audience. They felt that some fatal
trap had been laid for the prisoners.
A dozen voices began to shout: "Say nothing!" but the ushers,
at a sign from the judge, cried out imperatively: "Silence!"
Amélie's heart turned deadly cold. A cold sweat poured from her
forehead. Her knees gave way and trembled under her.
"Bring in the prisoners," said the judge, imposing silence by
a look as the usher had with his voice. "And you, madame, have
the goodness to advance and raise your veil."
The veiled lady obeyed.
"My mother!" cried Amélie, but in a voice so choked that only
those near her heard the words.
"Madame de Montrevel!" murmured the audience.
At that moment the first gendarme appeared at the door, then the
second. After him came the prisoners, but not in the same order
as before. Morgan had placed himself third, so that, separated
as he was from the gendarmes by Montbar and Adler in front and
d'Assas behind, he might be better able to clasp Amélie's hand.
Montbar entered first.
Madame de Montrevel shook her head.
Then came Adler.
Madame de Montrevel made the same negative sign.
Just then Morgan passed before Amélie.
"We are lost!" she said.
He looked at her in astonishment as she pressed his hand
convulsively. Then he entered.
"That is he," said Madame de Montrevel, as soon as she saw
Morgan--or, if the reader prefers it, Baron Charles de
Sainte-Hermine--who was now proved one and the same man by means
of Madame de Montrevel's identification.
A long cry of distress burst from the audience. Montbar burst
into a laugh.
"Ha! by my faith!" he cried, "that will teach you, dear friend,
to play the gallant with fainting women." Then, turning to Madame
de Montrevel, he added: "With three short words, madame, you
have decapitated four heads."
A terrible silence fell, in the midst of which a groan was heard.
"Usher," said the judge, "have you warned the public that all
marks of approbation or disapproval are forbidden?"
The usher inquired who had disobeyed the order of the court.
It was a woman wearing the dress of a Bressan peasant, who was
being carried into the jailer's room.
From that moment the accused made no further attempt at denial;
but, just as Morgan had united with them when arrested, they
now joined with him. Their four heads should be saved, or fall
together.
That same day, at ten in the evening, the jury rendered a verdict
of guilty, and the court pronounced the sentence of death.
Three days later, by force of entreaties, the lawyers obtained
permission for the accused to appeal their case; but they were
not admitted to bail.
