orce, there were many political prisoners, and of these a certain
number were elaborately absolved. Several prisons were left unvisited;
but at Bicetre and the Saltpetriere, where only the most ignoble
culprits were confined, frightful massacres took place.

As this was utterly pointless and unmeaning, it has given currency to
the theory that all the horrors of that September were the irrational
and spontaneous act of some hundreds of gaolbirds, whose eyes were
stained with the vision of blood, and who ran riot in their impunity.
So that criminal Paris, not revolutionary Paris, was to blame. In
reality, the massacres were organised by the Commune, paid for by the
Commune, and directed by its emissaries. We know how much the various
agents received, and what was the cost of the whole, from the 2nd of
September to the 5th. At first, all was deliberate and methodical, and
the women were spared. Several were released at the last moment; some
were dismissed by the tribunal before which they appeared. The
exception is the Princess de Lamballe, who was the friend of the
queen. But as Madame de Tourzel was spared, the cause of her death
remains unexplained. Her life had not been entirely free from
reproach; and it has been supposed that she was in possession of
secrets injurious to the duke of Orleans.

But the problem is not to know why murderers were guilty of murder,
but how they allowed many of their captives to be saved. One man made
friends with a Marseillais by talking in his native patois. When asked
what he was, he replied, "A hearty royalist!" Thereupon Maillard
raised his hat and said, "We are here to judge actions, not opinions,"
and the man was received with acclamation outside by the thirsty
executioners. Bertrand, brother of the royalist minister, had the same
reception. Two men interrupted their work to see him home. They waited
outside whilst he saw his family, and then went away, thanking him for
the sight of so much happiness, and refusing a reward. Another
prisoner was taken to his house in a cab, with half a dozen dripping
patriots crowded on the roof, and hanging on behind. They would accept
nothing but a glass of spirits. Few men were in greater danger than
Weber, the foster-brother of the queen. He had been on guard at the
Tuileries, and was by her side on the funereal march across the
gardens from palace to prison. As he well knew what she was leaving,
and to what she was going, he was so overcome that