An Episode Under the Terror | Page 9

When the priest came to the Latin words, Introibo ad altare Dei, a
sudden divine inspiration flashed upon him; he looked at the three
kneeling figures, the representatives of Christian France, and said
instead, as though to blot out the poverty of the garret, "We are about to
enter the Sanctuary of God!"
These words, uttered with thrilling earnestness, struck reverent awe into
the nuns and the stranger. Under the vaulted roof of St. Peter's at Rome,
God would not have revealed Himself in greater majesty than here for

the eyes of the Christians in that poor refuge; so true is it that all
intermediaries between God and the soul of man are superfluous, and
all the grandeur of God proceeds from Himself alone.
The stranger's fervor was sincere. One emotion blended the prayers of
the four servants of God and the King in a single supplication. The holy
words rang like the music of heaven through the silence. At one
moment, tears gathered in the stranger's eyes. This was during the Pater
Noster; for the priest added a petition in Latin, and his audience
doubtless understood him when he said: "Et remitte scelus regicidis
sicut Ludovicus eis remisit semetipse"--forgive the regicides as Louis
himself forgave them.
The Sisters saw two great tears trace a channel down the stranger's
manly checks and fall to the floor. Then the office for the dead was
recited; the Domine salvum fac regem chanted in an undertone that
went to the hearts of the faithful Royalists, for they thought how the
child-King for whom they were praying was even then a captive in the
hands of his enemies; and a shudder ran through the stranger, as he
thought that a new crime might be committed, and that he could not
choose but take his part in it.
The service came to an end. The priest made a sign to the sisters, and
they withdrew. As soon as he was left alone with the stranger, he went
towards him with a grave, gentle face, and said in fatherly tones:
"My son, if your hands are stained with the blood of the royal martyr,
confide in me. There is no sin that may not be blotted out in the sight of
God by penitence as sincere and touching as yours appears to be."
At the first words the man started with terror, in spite of himself. Then
he recovered composure, and looked quietly at the astonished priest.
"Father," he said, and the other could not miss the tremor in his voice,
"no one is more guiltless than I of the blood shed----"
"I am bound to believe you," said the priest. He paused a moment, and
again he scrutinized his penitent. But, persisting in the idea that the
man before him was one of the members of the Convention, one of the
voters who betrayed an inviolable and anointed head to save their own,
he began again gravely:
"Remember, my son, that it is not enough to have taken no active part
in the great crime; that fact does not absolve you. The men who might
have defended the King and left their swords in their scabbards, will

have a very heavy account to render to the King of Heaven--Ah! yes,"
he added, with an eloquent shake of the head, "heavy indeed!--for by
doing nothing they became accomplices in the awful wickedness----"
"But do you think that an indirect participation will be punished?" the
stranger asked with a bewildered look. "There is the private soldier
commanded to fall into line--is he actually responsible?"
The priest hesitated. The stranger was glad; he had put the Royalist
precisian in a dilemma, between the dogma of passive obedience on the
one hand (for the upholders of the Monarchy maintained that obedience
was the first principle of military law), and the equally important
dogma which turns respect for the person of a King into a matter of
religion. In the priest's indecision he was eager to see a favorable
solution of the doubts which seemed to torment him. To prevent too
prolonged reflection on the part of the reverend Jansenist, he added:
"I should blush to offer remuneration of any kind for the funeral service
which you have just performed for the repose of the King's soul and the
relief of my conscience. The only possible return for something of
inestimable value is an offering likewise beyond price. Will you deign,
monsieur, to take my gift of a holy relic? A day will perhaps come
when you will understand its value."
As he spoke the stranger held out a box; it was very small and
exceedingly light. The priest took it mechanically, as it were, so
astonished was he by the man's solemn words, the tones of his voice,
and the reverence