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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
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 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PQ2289 
 
 .0313 
 1902 
 
a 00000 42776 4 
 
 This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the 
 last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be 
 renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
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In the Wood of La Saudraie. — ô 
 
 Etched by R. de Los Rios. — From Drawing 
 by Francois Flameng. 
 
Illustrated Sterling Gdîtîon 
 
 NINETY-THREE 
 
 TWO VOLUMES IN ONE 
 
 BUG JARGAL— CLAUDE GUEUX 
 
 BY 
 VICTOR HUGO 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 DANA ESTES & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Wt»* Carafe» 
 
 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 
 U 
 
CONTENTS. 
 Vol. I. 
 
 PAKT L — AT SEA. 
 
 Page 
 
 BOOK I. — The Wood of La Saudraib. 1 
 
 BOOK II. — The Corvette " Claymore." 
 
 Chapter 
 
 I. England and France in Concert 16 
 
 II. Night on the Vessel and with the Passenger . 21 
 
 III. Noble and Plebeian in Concert 24 
 
 IV. TORMENTUM BELLI 32 
 
 V. Vis et Vir 36 
 
 VI. The Two Scales op the Balance 43 
 
 VII. He who sets Sail puts into a Lottery .... 47 
 
 VIII. 9 = 380 .... 52 
 
 IX. Some one escapes 58 
 
 X. Does he escape ? 60 
 
 BOOK III. — Halmalo. 
 
 I. Speech is the "Word" 63 
 
 II. The Peasant's Memory is as good as the Captain's 
 
 Science 69 
 
iV CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK IY. — Tellmarch. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. The Top of the Dune , . . 81 
 
 II. AuRES HABET, ET NON AUDIET 85 
 
 III. Usefulness of Big Letters 88 
 
 IV. The Caimand 91 
 
 V. Signed Gauvain 99 
 
 VI. The Whirligigs of Civil War ....... 103 
 
 VII. "No Mercy!" (Watchword of the Commune) 
 
 " No Quarter ! " (Watchword of the Princes) 109 
 
 PAET II. — IN PAEIS. 
 
 BOOK I. ClMOURDAIN. 
 
 I. The Streets of Paris at teat Time 116 
 
 II. ClMOURDAIN .............. 125 
 
 HI. A Corner not dipped in Styx 133 
 
 BOOK II. — The Public House of the Rue du Paon. 
 
 I. Minos, iEAcus, and Rhadamanthus 136 
 
 II. Magna Testantur Voce per Umbras 140 
 
 £11. A Stirring of the Inmost Nerves . . . . . . 158 
 
 BOOK III. — The Convention. 
 
 1 170 
 
 II .172 
 
 til 175 
 
 IV. 182 
 
 V 188 
 
 VI 190 
 
 VH 192 
 
 VIF 195 
 
CONTENTS- t V 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 IX. . . . . c ... 197 
 
 X. .199 
 
 XI. .803 
 
 XII. ..[.'. 205 
 
 XIII. Marat in the Green-Room • • . . 906 
 
 PART III.™ LA VENDÉE. 
 
 BOOK I. — La Vendée. 
 
 ï. The Forests . , ....',...*... t 213 
 
 II. The Peasants . ............. 216 
 
 III. Connivance of Men and Forests ...... 218 
 
 IV. Their Life Underground ......... 222 
 
 V. Their Life in Warfare .......... 224 
 
 VI. The Spirit of the Place passes into the Man . 231 
 
 VII. La Vendée ended Brittany 235 
 
 BOOK II. — The Three Children. 
 
 I. Plusquam Civilia Bella . .' . 237 
 
 II. Dol ........... 246 
 
 III. Small Armies and Great Battles ...... 254 
 
 IV. "It is the Second Time " .i ........ 263 
 
 V. The Drop of Cold Water . 266 
 
 VI. A Healed Breast; a Bleeding Heart .... 269 
 
 VII. The Two Poles of the Truth . 276 
 
 VIII. Dolorosa .284 
 
 IX. A Provincial Bastile ."*... 287 
 
 X. The Hostages 298 
 
 XI. Terrible as the Antique 305 
 
 XII. Possible Escape 309 
 
 XIII. What the Marquis was doing 312 
 
 XIV. What Imanus was doing 315 
 
Vl CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK III. — The Massacre of Saint Bartholomew. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I 318 
 
 II 322 
 
 III 325 
 
 IV 327 
 
 V 331 
 
 VI ■ 333 
 
 VII 336 
 
 BOOK IV. — The Mother. 
 
 I. Death passes 338 
 
 II. Death speaks 342 
 
 III. MUTTERINGS AMONG THE PEASANTS 347 
 
 IV. A Mistake . . . 352 
 
 V. Vox in Deserto 355 
 
LIST OP ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 Vol. I. 
 
 Pagk 
 In the Wood op La Saudraie Frontispiece 
 
 "The old man raised himself to his full height " . . 64 
 
 The Marquis de Lantenac Discovering that a Price had 
 
 been Set upon his Head 88 
 
 Boissy d'Anglas Uncovering before the Head of the 
 
 Deputy Féraud 198 
 
 The Children in the Library 318 
 
NINETY-THREE, 
 
 PART L 
 
 AT SEA. ^f 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 THE WOOD OF LA SAUDKAIE. 
 
 IN the latter part of May, 1793, one of the Paris bat= 
 talions sent into Brittany by Santerre, searched the 
 much dreaded forest of La Saudraie, in Astillé. There 
 were only about three hundred men in the reconnoitring 
 party, for the battalion had been well-nigh annihilated 
 in the fierce conflicts in which it had engaged. 
 
 It was after the battles of Argonne, Jemmapes, and 
 Valmy, and of the First Paris Eegiment, which consisted 
 originally of six hundred volunteers, only twenty-seven 
 men remained, of the Second Eegiment only thirty- 
 three, of the third only fifty-seven. It was unquestion- 
 ably a time of epic strife. 
 
 Each of the battalions sent from Paris to the Vendée 
 numbered nine hundred and twelve men, and was pro- 
 vided with three field-pieces. The force had been very 
 hastily organized. On the 25th of April, — Gohier 
 being minister of Justice, and Bouchotte minister of 
 war, — the Committee of Public Welfare urged the 
 
2 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 necessity of immediately dispatching a large body ot 
 troops to Vendée. Lubin, a member of the Commune, 
 reported the bill favourably ; and on the 1st of May, 
 Santerre had twelve thousand men, thirty cannon, and 
 a corps of gunners ready for the field. 
 
 These battalions, though organized so hurriedly, were 
 organized so well that they serve as models even at the 
 present day. Eegiments of the Line are yet organized 
 in the same manner ; the relative proportion between the 
 number of soldiers and non-commissioned officers has 
 been changed, — that is all. 
 
 On the 28th of April, the Commune of Paris gave 
 Santerre' s volunteers this order: "No mercy; no quar- 
 ter. " By the end of May, of the twelve thousand men 
 that left Paris, eight thousand were dead. 
 
 The troops who were exploring the forest of La Saudraie 
 held themselves on the alert. They advanced slowly 
 and cautiously. Each man cast furtive glances to the 
 right and to the left of him, in front of him and behind 
 him. It was Kléber who said : " A soldier has one eye 
 in his back. " They had been marching a long while. 
 What time of day could it be? It was difficult to say, 
 for a dim twilight always pervades these dense forests. 
 It is never really light there. 
 
 The forest of La Saudraie was tragic. It was in its 
 copses that, from the month of November, 1792, civil 
 war commenced its crimes. Mousqueton, the ferocious 
 cripple, came out of its fatal shades. The ' list of the 
 murders that had been committed there was enough to 
 make one's hair stand on end. There was no place 
 more to be dreaded. The soldiers moved cautiously for- 
 ward. The depths were full of flowers; on each side 
 was a trembling wall of branches and dew-wet leaves. 
 Here and there rays of sunlight pierced the green 
 shadows. The gladiola, that flame of the marshes, the 
 
THE WOOD OF LA SAUDRAIE. 3 
 
 meadow narcissus, the little wood daisy, harbinger of 
 spring, and the vernal croc as, embroidered the thick 
 carpet of vegetation, crowded with every form of moss, 
 from that resembling velvet {chenille) to that which 
 looks like a star. The soldiers advanced in silence, step 
 by step, pushing the brushwood softly aside. The birds 
 twittered above the bayonets. 
 
 In former peaceable times La Saudraie was a favourite 
 place for the Houiche-ba 3 the hunting of birds by night ; 
 now they hunted men there. 
 
 The thicket was one of birch-trees, beeches, and oaks; 
 the ground flat ; the thick moss and grass deadened the 
 scund of the men's steps; there were no paths, or only 
 blind ones, which quickly disappeared among the holly, 
 wild sloes, ferns, hedges of rest-harrow, and high bram- 
 bles. It would have been impossible to distinguish a 
 man ten steps off. 
 
 Now and then a heron or a moor-hen flew through the 
 branches, indicating the neighbourhood of marshes. 
 
 They pushed forward. They went at random, with 
 uneasiness, fearing to find that which they sought. 
 
 From time to time they came upon traces of encamp- 
 ments, — burned spots, trampled grass, sticks arranged 
 crosswise, branches stained with blood. Here soup had 
 been made ; there, Mass had been said ; yonder, they 
 had dressed wounds. But all human beings had disap- 
 peared. Where were they. Very far off, perhaps ; per- 
 haps quite near, hidden, blunderbuss in hand. The 
 wood seemed deserted. The regiment redoubled its 
 prudence. Solitude — hence distrust. They saw no one : 
 so much more reason for fearing some one. They had 
 to do with a forest with a bad name. An ambush was 
 probable. 
 
 Thirty grenadiers, detached as scouts, and commanded 
 by a sergeant, marched at a considerable distance in 
 
4 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 front of the main body. The vivandière of the battalion 
 accompanied them. The vivandières willingly join 
 the vanguard ; they run risks, but they have the chance 
 of seeing whatever happens. Curiosity is one of the 
 forms of feminine bravery. 
 
 Suddenly the soldiers of this little advance party 
 started like hunters who have neared the hiding-place of 
 their prey. They had heard something like a breathing 
 from the centre of a thicket, and seemed to perceive a 
 movement among the branches. The soldiers made 
 signals. 
 
 In the species of watch and search confided to scouts, 
 the officers have small need to interfere ; the right thing 
 seems done by instinct. 
 
 In less than a minute the spot where the movement 
 had been noticed was surrounded ; a line of pointed 
 muskets encircled it ; the obscure centre of the thicket 
 was covered on all sides at the same instant; the sol- 
 diers, finger on trigger, eye on the suspected spot, only 
 waited for the sergeant's order. Notwithstanding this, 
 the vivandière ventured to peer through the underbrush, 
 and at the moment when the sergeant was about to cry, 
 " Fire ' " this woman cried, " Halt ! " 
 
 Turning toward the soldiers, she added, " Do not fire, 
 comrades ! " 
 
 She plunged into the thicket ; the men followed. 
 
 There was, in truth, some one there. 
 
 In the thickest of the brake* on the edge of one of 
 those little round clearings left by the fires of the char- 
 coal-burners, in a sort of recess among the branches, a 
 kind of chamber of foliage, half open like an alcove, 
 a woman was seated on the moss, holding to her breast 
 a nursing babe, while the fair heads of two sleeping 
 children rested on her knees. 
 
 This was the ambush. 
 
THE WOOD OF LA SAUDRAIE. 5 
 
 i( What are you doing here, you ? " cried the vivandière. 
 
 The woman lifted her head. 
 
 The vivandière added furiously : — 
 
 " Are you mad, that you are there ? A little more 
 and you would have been blown to pieces ! " 
 
 Then she addressed herself to the soldiers, — 
 
 " It is a woman. " 
 
 " Well, that is plain to be seen, " said a grenadier. 
 
 The vivandière continued, — ■ 
 
 " To come into the wood to get yourself massacred ! 
 The idea of such stupidity ! " 
 
 The woman, stunned, petrified with fear, looked about 
 like one in a dream at these guns, these sabres, these 
 bayonets, these savage faces. 
 
 The two children awoke, and cried. 
 
 " I am hungry, " said the first. 
 
 " I am afraid, " said the other. 
 
 The baby was still suckling ; the vivandière addressed 
 it. 
 
 " You are in the right of it, " said she. 
 
 The mother was dumb with terror. The sergeant 
 cried out to her : — 
 
 " Do not be afraid ; we are the battalion of the Bonnet 
 Eouge. " 
 
 The woman trembled from head to foot. She stared 
 at the sergeant, of whose rough visage there was nothing 
 visible but the moustaches, the brows, and two burning 
 coals for eyes. 
 
 " Formerly the battalion of the Eed Cross, " added the 
 vivandière. 
 
 The sergeant continued : " Who are you, madame ? " 
 
 The woman scanned him, terrified. She was slender, 
 young, pale, and in rags ; she wore the large hood and 
 woollen cloak of the Breton peasant, fastened about her 
 neck by a string. She left her bosom exposed with the 
 
S NINETY -THREE, 
 
 indifference of an animal Her feet, shoeless ana stocfc- 
 ingless, were bleeding. 
 
 " It is a beggar, " said the sergeant 
 
 The vivandière began anew, in a voice at once sol- 
 dierly and feminine, but sweet, — 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 The woman stammered so that she was scarcely 
 intelligible. 
 
 u Michelle FÏéchard. » 
 
 The vivandière stroked the little head of the sleeping 
 babe with her large hand 
 
 K What is the age of this mite ? " demanded she. 
 
 The mother did not understand. The vivandière 
 persisted. 
 
 " T ask you> how old is it ? " 
 
 u Ah! " said the mother ; K eighteen months. " 
 
 * It is old, " said the vivandière ; " it ought not to 
 suckle any longer. You must wean it ; we will give it 
 soup. " 
 
 The mother began to feel a certain confidence, The 
 two children, who had awakened, were rather curious 
 than scared. They admired the plumes of the soldiers. 
 
 " Ah, w said the mother, " they are very hungry, * 
 
 Then she added. " I have no more milk. " 
 
 " We will give them something to eat, " cried the 
 sergeant ; a and you too. But that 's not all. What 
 are your political opinions ? " 
 
 The woman looked at him, out did not reply, 
 
 " Did you hear my question ? " 
 
 She stammered, — 
 
 "I was put into a convent very young — but i am 
 married — I am not a nun. The sisters taught me to 
 speak French. The village was set on fire. We ran 
 away so quickly that I had not time to put on my 
 shoes, " 
 
THE WOOD OF LA SAUDRAIE. 7 
 
 * I ask you, what are your political opinions ? * 
 
 * I don't know what that means. " 
 The sergeant continued, — 
 
 " There are such things as female spies. We shoot 
 spies. Come, speak ! You are not a gipsy ? Which is 
 your side ? " 
 
 She still looked at him as if she did not understand. 
 
 The sergeant repeated, — 
 
 a Which is your side ? " 
 
 * I do not know, " she said. 
 
 se How ? You do not know your own country. " 
 
 * Ah, my country ! Oh, yes, I know that. " 
 " Well, where is it ? " 
 
 The woman replied, — 
 
 " The farm of Siscoignard, in the parish of Aie. * 
 
 It was the sergeant's turn to be stupefied. He re- 
 mained thoughtful for a moment, then resumed : " You 
 say — " 
 
 " Siscoignard. " 
 
 * That is not a country. " 
 
 * It is my country, " said the woman ; and added, 
 after an instant's reflection, " I understand, sir. You 
 are from France ; I belong to Brittany. " 
 
 •"Well?" 
 a It is not the same neighbourhood. " 
 " But it is the same country, " cried the sergeant. 
 The woman only repeated, — 
 " I am from Siscoignard. " 
 
 :i Siscoignard be it," returned the sergeant 4t Youi 
 family belong there ? " 
 ■ Yes. " 
 
 * What is their occupation ? " 
 
 " They are all dead ; I have nobody left. " 
 The sergeant, who thought himself a fine talker, con 
 tinued his interrogatories : — 
 
8 IjÏNETY-THREE. 
 
 " What ? the devil t One has relations, or one has 
 had. Who are you ? Speak ! " 
 
 The woman listened, astounded by this : " Or one 
 has had ! " which was more like the growl of an animal 
 than any human sound. 
 
 The vivandière felt the necessity of interfering. She 
 began again to caress the babe, and to pat the cheeks of 
 the two other children. 
 
 " How do you call the baby ? " she asked. " It is a 
 little girl — this one ? " 
 
 The mother replied, " Georgette. " 
 
 * And the eldest fellow ? For he is a man, the small 
 rascal ! " 
 
 " Bene- Jean. " 
 
 " And the younger ? He is a man, too, and chubby- 
 faced into the bargain. " 
 
 K Gros- Alain, " said the mother. 
 
 u They are pretty little fellows, " said the vivandière ; 
 * they already look as if they were somebody. " 
 
 Still the sergeant persisted. " Now, speak, madame I 
 Have you a house ? " 
 
 " I had one. 3 ' 
 
 "Where was it?" 
 
 K At Azé. " 
 
 " Why are you not in your house ? " 
 
 " Because they burned it " 
 
 " Who ? r 
 
 u I do not know — a battle. " 
 
 " Where did you come from ? " 
 
 " From there. " 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " I don't know. " 
 
 " Get to the facts ! Who are you ? " 
 
 * I don't know." 
 
 m You don't know who you are ? 3? 
 
THE WOOD OF LA BAUDRAIE. \i 
 
 ' We are people who are running away. 5i 
 
 " What party do you belong to ? " 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Are you Blues ? Are you Whites ? Who are you 
 with ? " 
 
 " T am with my children. " 
 
 There was a pause. The vivandière said, — 
 
 " As for me, I have no children ; I have not had time. " 
 
 The sergeant began again : — 
 
 " But your parents ? See here, madame ! give us the 
 facts about your parents. My name is Eadoub ; I am a 
 sergeant, from the street of Cherche Midi; my father 
 and mother, belonged there. I can talk about my 
 parents ; tell us about yours. Who were they ? " 
 
 " Their name was Fléchard, — that is all. " 
 
 " Yes ; the Fléchards are the Fléchards, just as the 
 Eadoubs are the Badoubs. But people have a calling. 
 What was your parents' calling ? What was their busi- 
 ness, these Fléchards of yours ? " 
 
 " They were labourers. My father was sickly, and 
 could not work on account of a beating that the lord — 
 his lord — our lord — had given to him. It was a 
 kindness, for my father had poached a rabbit, — a thing 
 for which one was condemned to death ; but the lord 
 showed him mercy, and said, c You need only give him 
 a hundred blows with a stick ; ' and my father was left 
 crippled. " 
 
 " And then ? " 
 
 " My grandfather was a Huguenot. The curé had 
 him sent to the galleys. I was very little at the time. " 
 
 " And then ? " 
 
 " My husband's father smuggled salt. The king had 
 him hung. " 
 
 u And your husband, — what did he do ? " 
 
 * Lately, he fought. " 
 
Î0 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 ■ For whom ? " 
 
 < For the king. " 
 
 * And afterward ? " 
 
 " Well, for his lordship. * 
 
 " And next ? " 
 
 u Well, then for the curé. " 
 
 " A thousand names of brutes ! " cried a grenadier. 
 
 The woman gave a start of terror. 
 
 " You see, madame, we are Parisians, " said the vivan- 
 dière, graciously. 
 
 The woman clasped her hands, and exclaimed, — 
 
 " O my God and blessed Lord ! " 
 
 " No superstitious ejaculations ! " growled the sergeant. 
 
 The vivandière seated herself by the woman, and 
 drew the eldest child between her knees. He sub- 
 mitted quietly. Children show confidence as they do 
 distrust, without any apparent reason ; some internal 
 monitor warns them. 
 
 " My poor, good woman of this neighbourhood, " said 
 the vivandière, " your brats are very pretty, — babies are 
 always that. I can guess their ages. The big one is 
 four years old ; his brother is three. Upon my word ! 
 the little sucking poppet is a greedy one. Oh, the mon- 
 ster ! Will you stop eating up your mother ? See here, 
 madame, do not be afraid. You ought to join the bat- 
 talion. Do like me, I call myself Houzarde. It is a 
 nickname ; but I like Houzarde better than being called 
 Mamzelle Bicorneau. like my mother. I am the canteen 
 woman ; that is the same as saying, ' she who offers drink 
 when they are firing and stabbing. ' Our feet are about 
 the same size. I will give you a pair of my shoes. I 
 was in Paris the 10th of August. I gave Westermann 
 drink too. How things went ! I saw Louis XYI. guil- 
 lotined, — Louis Capet, as they call him. It was against 
 his will. Only just listen, now! To think that the 
 
THE WOOD OJb' LA SAUUIiAlE. 11 
 
 13 til of January he roasted chestnuts and laughed with 
 his family. When they forced him down on the see- 
 saw, as they say, he had neither coat nor shoes, nothing 
 but his shirt, a quilted waistcoat, grey cloth breeches, 
 and grey silk stockings. I saw that, I did ! The hack- 
 ney-coach they brought him in was painted green. See 
 here ! come with us ; the battalion are good fellows. 
 You shall be canteen number two ; I will teach you the 
 business. Oh, it is very simple ! You have your can 
 and your hand-bell ; away you go into the hubbub, with 
 the platoons firing, the cannon thundering, — into the 
 thickest of the row ; and you cry, ' Who '11 have a drop 
 to drink, my children ? ' It ' s no more trouble than that. 
 I give everybody and anybody a sup, yes, indeed, — 
 Whites the same as Blues, though I am a Blue myself, and 
 a good Blue, too ; but I serve them all alike. Wounded 
 men are all thirsty. They die without any difference 
 of opinions. Dying fellows ought to shake hands. 
 How silly it is to go fighting ! Do you come with us. 
 If I am killed, you will step into my place. You see I 
 am only so-so to look at ; but I am a good woman, and 
 a brave chap. Don 't you be afraid. " 
 
 When the vivandière ceased speaking, the woman 
 murmured, — 
 
 " Our neighbour was called Marie Jeanne, and our 
 servant was named Marie Claude. " 
 
 In the mean time the sergeant reprimanded the 
 grenadier : — 
 
 " Hold your tongue ' You frighten madame. One 
 does not swear before ladies. " 
 
 * All the same ; it is a downright butchery for an 
 honest man to hear about, " replied the grenadier ; " and 
 to see Chinese Iroquois, that have had their fathers-in- 
 law crippled by a lord, their grandfathers sent to the 
 galleys by the priest, and their fathers hung by the 
 
12 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 king, and who fight — name of the little Black Man I — 
 and mix themselves up with revolts, and get smashed 
 for his lordship, the priest, and the king ' " 
 
 " Silence in the ranks ' " cried the sergeant. 
 
 " A man may hold his tongue, Sergeant, " returned the 
 grenadier; " but that doesn't hinder the fact that it 's 
 a pity to see a pretty woman like this running the risk 
 of getting her neck broken for the sake of a dirty 
 robber. " 
 
 " Grenadier, " said the sergeant, " we are not in the 
 Pike-club of Paris ; no eloquence ' " 
 
 He turned toward the woman. 
 
 " And your husband, madame ? What is he at ? What 
 has become of him ? " 
 
 " There hasn't anything become of him, because they 
 killed him. " 
 
 " Where did that happen ? 7 
 
 " In the hedge. " 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " Three days ago. w 
 
 • Who did it ? " 
 
 " I don't know. " 
 
 " How ? You do not know who killed your husband ?* 
 
 " No. " 
 
 " W as it a Blue ? Was it a White ? " 
 
 " It was a bullet. " 
 
 " Three days ago ? " 
 
 « Yes. " 
 
 " In what direction ? " 
 
 a Toward Ernée My husband fell, — that is all. * 
 
 " And what have you been doing since your husband 
 was killed ? " 
 
 " I bear away my children. " 
 
 " Where are you taking them ? * 
 
 a Straight ahead. * 
 
THE WOOD OF LA SAUDRAIE. 13 
 
 * Where do you sleep ? " 
 
 " On the ground. " 
 
 " What do you eat ? " 
 
 " Nothing. " 
 
 The sergeant made that military grimace which makes 
 the moustache touch the nose. 
 
 " Nothing ? " 
 
 " That is to say, sloes and dried berries left from last 
 year, myrtle seeds, and fern shoots. " 
 
 " Faith ! you might as well say ' nothing. ' " 
 
 The eldest of the children, who seemed to understand, 
 said, " I am hungry. " 
 
 The sergeant took a bit of regulation bread from his 
 pocket, and handed it to the mother. She broke the 
 bread into two fragments, and gave them to the chil- 
 dren, who ate with avidity. 
 
 " She has kept none for herself, " grumbled the 
 sergeant. 
 
 " Because she is not hungry, " said a soldier. 
 
 " Because she is a mother, " said the sergeant 
 
 The children interrupted the dialogue. 
 
 " I want to drink, " cried one. 
 
 " I want to drink, " repeated the other. 
 
 " Is there no brook in this devil's wood? " asked ths 
 sergeant. 
 
 The vivandière took the brass cup which hung at her 
 belt beside her hand-bell, turned the cock of the can she 
 carried slung over her shoulder, poured a few drops into 
 the cup, and held it to the children's lips in turn. 
 
 The first drank and made a grimace. The second 
 drank and spat it out. 
 
 " Nevertheless, it is good, " said the vivandière. 
 
 " Is it some of the old cut-throat ? " asked the sergeant. 
 
 " Yes, and the best ; but these are peasants, ? And 
 she wiped her cup. 
 
14 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 The sergeant resumed : — 
 " And so, madame, you are trying to escape ? * 
 " There is nothing else left for me to do. " 
 " Across fields — going whichever way chance directs ? w 
 " I run with all my might, then I walk, then I 
 fall." 
 
 " Poor villager ' " said the vivandière. 
 
 * The people fight, " stammered the woman. " They 
 are shooting all around me. I do not know what it is 
 they wish. They killed my husband; that is all I 
 understood. " 
 
 The sergeant grounded the butt of his musket till the 
 earth rang, and cried, — 
 
 " What a beast of a war — in the hangman's name! " 
 
 The woman continued, — 
 
 " Last night we slept in an émousse. * 
 
 * All four?" 
 " All four. " 
 "Slept?" 
 
 " Slept. " 
 
 " Then, " said the sergeant, " you slept standing. " 
 
 He turned toward the soldiers : " Comrades, what 
 these savages call an émousse is an old hollow tree-trunk 
 that a man may fit himself into as if it were a sheath. 
 But what would you ? We cannot all be Parisians. " 
 
 " Slept in a hollow tree ? " exclaimed the vivandière. 
 " And with three children ! " 
 
 " And, " added the sergeant, " when the little ones 
 howled, it must have been odd to anybody passing by 
 and seeing nothing whatever, to hear a tree cry, ' Papa ! 
 
 mamma 
 
 " Luckily it is summer, " sighed the woman. 
 
 She looked down upon the ground in silent resigna- 
 tion, her eyes filled with the bewilderment of wretched- 
 ness. 
 
THE WOOD OF LA SAUDRAIE. 15 
 
 The soldiers made a silent circle round this group of 
 misery. A widow, three orphans ; flight, abandonment, 
 solitude, war muttering around the horizon ; hunger, 
 thirst; no other nourishment than the herbs of the field, 
 no other roof than that of heaven. 
 
 The sergeant approached the woman, and fixed his eye 
 on the sucking, baby. The little one left the breast, 
 turned its head gently, gazing with its beautiful blue 
 orbs into the formidable hairy face, bristling and wild, 
 which bent toward it, and began to smile. 
 
 The sergeant raised himself, and they saw a great tear 
 roll down his cheek and cling like a pearl to the end of 
 his moustache. 
 
 He lifted his voice : — 
 
 " Comrades, from all this I conclude that the regiment 
 is going to become a father. Is it agreed ? We adopt 
 these three children ? " 
 
 " Hurrah for the Republic ! " chorused the grenadiers 
 
 " It is decided ! " said the sergeant. 
 
 He stretched his two hands above the mother and her 
 babes. 
 
 " Behold the children of the battalion of the Bonnet 
 Rouge ! " 
 
 The vivandière leaped for joy. 
 
 " Three heads under one bonnet ! " cried she. 
 
 Then she burst into sobs, embraced the poor widow 
 wildly, and said to her, " What a rogue the little girl 
 looks already ! " 
 
 " Vive la République I " repeated the soldiers. 
 
 And the sergeant said to the mother : — • 
 
 u Come, citizeness ! " 
 
BOOK IL 
 
 THE CORVETTE " CLAYMORE." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ENGLAND AND FRANCE IN CONCERT. 
 
 IN the spring of 1793, at the moment when France, 
 simultaneously attacked on all its frontiers, suffered 
 the pathetic distraction of the downfall of the Giron- 
 dists, this was what happened in the Channel Islands. 
 
 At Jersey, on the evening of the 1st of June, about 
 an hour before sunset, a corvette set sail from the soli- 
 tary little Bay of Bonnenuit, in that kind of foggy 
 weather which is favourable to flight because pursuit is 
 -rendered dangerous. The vessel was manned by a 
 French crew, though it made part of the English fleet 
 stationed on the look-out at the eastern point of the 
 island. The Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, who was of 
 the house of Bouillon, commanded the English flotilla : 
 and it was by his orders, and for an urgent and special 
 service, that the corvette had been detached. 
 
 This vessel, entered at Trinity House under the name 
 of the " Claymore, " had the appearance of a transport or 
 trader, but was in reality a war corvette. She had the 
 
ENGLAND AND FRANCE IN CONCERT. 17 
 
 heavy, pacific look of a merchantman ; but it would not 
 have been safe to trust to that. She had been built for 
 a double purpose, — cunning and strength : to deceive if 
 possible, to fight if necessary. For the service before 
 her this night, the lading of the lower deck had been 
 replaced by thirty carronades of heavy calibre. Either 
 because a storm was feared, or because it was desirable 
 to prevent the vessel having a suspicious appearance, 
 these carronades were housed, — that is to say, securely 
 fastened within by triple chains, and the hatches above 
 shut close. Nothing was to be seen from without. The 
 ports were blinded ; the slides closed ; it was as if the 
 corvette had put on a mask. Armed corvettes only 
 carry guns on the upper deck ; but this one, built for 
 surprise and cunning, had the deck free, and was able, 
 as we have just seen, to carry a battery below. The 
 " Claymore " was after a heavy, squat model, but a good 
 sailer, nevertheless, — the hull of the most solid sort used 
 in the English navy, — and in battle was almost as valu- 
 able as a frigate, though for mizzen she had only a small 
 mast of brigantine rig. Her rudder, of a peculiar and 
 scientific form, had a curved frame, of unique shape, 
 which cost fifty pounds sterling in the dockyards of 
 Southampton. 
 
 The crew, all French, was composed of refugee officers 
 and deserter sailors. They were tried men ; not one but 
 was a good sailor, good soldier, and good royalist. They 
 had a threefold fanaticism, — for ship, sword, and king. 
 
 A half-regiment of marines, that could be disem- 
 barked in case of need, was added to the crew. 
 
 The corvette * Claymore " had as a captain chevalier of 
 Saint Louis, Count du Boisberthelot, one of the best 
 officers of the old Eoyal Navy; for second, the Cheva- 
 lier La Vieuville, who had commanded a company of 
 French guards in which Hoche was sergeant; and foT 
 
18 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 pilot, Philip Gacquoil, the most skilful mariner in 
 
 Jersey. 
 
 It was evident that the vessel had unusual business 
 on hand. Indeed, a man who had just come on board 
 had the air of one entering upon an adventure. He was 
 a tall old man, upright and robust, with a severe coun- 
 tenance, whose age it would have been difficult to guess 
 accurately, for he seemed at once old and young, — one of 
 those men who are full of years and of vigour ; who have 
 white hair on their heads and lightning in their glance ; 
 forty in point of energy and eighty in power and author- 
 ity. As he came on deck his sea-cloak blew open, ex- 
 posing his large loose breeches and top-boots, and a goat- 
 skin vest which had one side tanned and embroidered 
 with silk, while on the other the hair was left rough and 
 bristling, — a complete costume of the Breton peasant. 
 These old-fashioned jackets answered alike for working 
 and holidays : they could be turned to show the hairy or 
 embroidered side, as one pleased, — goat-skin all the week, 
 gala accoutrements on Sunday. As if to increase a re- 
 semblance which had been carefully studied, the peasant 
 dress worn by the old man was threadbare at the knees 
 and elbows, and seemed to have been long in use, while 
 his coarse cloak might have belonged to a fisherman. 
 He had on his head the round hat of the period, — high, 
 with a broad rim, which, when turned down, gave the 
 wearer a rustic look, but took a military air when fas- 
 tened up at the side with a loop and a cockade. The old 
 man wore his hat with the brim flattened forward, peas- 
 ant fashion, without either tassels or cockade. 
 
 Lord Balcarras, the governor of the island, and the 
 Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne, had in person conducted 
 and installed him on board. The secret agent of the 
 princes, Gélambre, formerly one of the Count d'Artois 's 
 body-guard, had superintended the arrangement of the 
 
ENGLAND AND FRANCE IN CONCERT. 19 
 
 cabin ; and, although himself a nobleman, pushed courtesy 
 and respect so far as to walk behind the old man, carrying 
 his portmanteau. When they left him to go ashore again, 
 Monsieur de Gélambre saluted the peasant profoundly ; 
 Lord Balcarras said to him, " Good luck, General ! " and 
 the Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne added, " Au revoir \ 
 my cousin ! " 
 
 " The peasant " was the name by which the crew im- 
 mediately designated their passenger during the short 
 dialogues which seamen hold ; but without understand- 
 ing further about the matter, they comprehended that 
 he was no more a peasant than the corvette was a com- 
 mon sloop. 
 
 There was little wind. The " Claymore " left Bonne- 
 nuit, and passed in front of Boulay Bay, and was for 
 some time in sight, tacking to windward ; then she les- 
 sened in the gathering night, and finally disappeared. 
 
 An hour after, Gélambre, having returned to his house 
 at Saint Helier, sent by the Southampton express the 
 following lines to the- Count d'Artois, at the Duke of 
 York's headquarters, — 
 
 Monseigneur, — The departure has just taken place. 
 Success certain. In eight days the whole coast will be on 
 fire from Granville to Saint Malo. 
 
 Four days previous, Prieur, the representative of 
 Marne, on a mission to the army along the coast of 
 Cherbourg, and momentarily residing at Granville, had 
 received by a secret emissary this message, written in 
 the same hand as the dispatch above: — 
 
 Citizen Kepresentative, — On the 1st of June, at the 
 hour when the tide serves, the war corvette (i Claymore, " with 
 a masked battery, will set sail for the purpose of landing 
 
20 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 upon the shore of France a man of whom this is a descrip- 
 tion : tall, old, white hair, peasant's dress, hands of an 
 aristocrat. I will send you more details to-morrow. He 
 will land on the morning of the 2d. Warn the cruisers ; 
 capture the corvette j guillotine the man. 
 
 f ff9 
 
 , 
 
CHAPTEE IL 
 
 NIGHT ON THE VESSEL AND WITH THE PASSENGER. 
 
 THE corvette, instead of going south and making for 
 Saint Catherine's, headed north, then veered to 
 the west, and resolutely entered the arm of the sea be- 
 tween Sark and Jersey, called the Passage de la Deronte. 
 At that time there was no lighthouse upon any point 
 along either coast. The sun had set clear; the night 
 was dark, — darker than summer nights ordinarily are ; 
 there was a moon, but vast clouds, rather of the equinox 
 than the solstice, veiled the sky, and according to all 
 appearance the moon would not be visible till she 
 touched the horizon at the moment of setting. A few 
 clouds hung low upon the water and covered it with 
 mist. 
 
 All this obscurity was favourable. 
 
 The intention of Pilot Gacquoil was to leave Jersey 
 on the left and Guernsey on the right, and to gain, by 
 bold sailing between the Hanois and the Douvree, some 
 bay of the Saint Malo shore, — a route less short than 
 that by the Minquiers, but safer, as the Trench cruisers 
 had standing orders to keep an especially keen watch 
 between Saint Helier and Granville. If the wind were 
 favourable, and nothing occurred, Gacquoil hoped by 
 setting all sail to touch the French coast at daybreak. 
 
 All went well. The corvette had passed Gros-Nez. 
 Toward nine o'clock the weather looked sulky, as sailors 
 say, and there were wind and sea; but the wind was 
 
22 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 good and the sea strong without being violent. Still, 
 now and then the waves swept the vessel's bows. 
 
 The " peasant, " whom Lord Balcarras had called 
 " General, " and whom the Prince de la Tour d'Auvergne 
 addressed as " My cousin, " had a sailor's footing, and 
 paced the deck with tranquil gravity. He did not even 
 seem to notice that the corvette rocked considerably. 
 From time to time he took a cake of chocolate out of his 
 pocket and munched a morsel : his white hair did not 
 prevent his having all his teeth. 
 
 He spoke to no one, except now and then a few low 
 quick words to the captain, who listened with defer- 
 ence, and seemed to consider his passenger, rather than 
 himself, the commander. 
 
 The " Claymore, " ably piloted, skirted unperceived in 
 the fog the long escarpment north of Jersey, hugging 
 the shore on account of the formidable reef Pierres de 
 Leeq, which is in the middle of the channel between 
 Jersey and Sark. Gacquoil, standing at the helm, sig- 
 nalled in turn the Grève de Leeq, Gros-Nez, and Piémont, 
 and slipped the corvette along among this chain of reefs, 
 feeling his way to a certain extent, but with certitude, 
 like a man familiar with the course and acquainted with 
 the disposition of the sea. The corvette had no light 
 forward, from a fear of betraying its passage through 
 these guarded waters. The fog was a cause for rejoiciug. 
 They reached the Grande Étaque. The mist was so 
 thick that the outlines of the lofty pinnacle could 
 scarcely be made out. Ten o'clock was heard to sound 
 from the belfry of Saint Ouen, a proof that the wind 
 was still abaft. All was yet going well. The sea grew 
 rougher on account of the neighbourhood of La Corbière, 
 
 A little after ten. Count de Boisberthelot and the 
 Chevalier La Vieuville reconducted the man in the peas- 
 ant's garb to his cabin, which was in reality the cap- 
 
NIGHT ON THE VESSEL. 23 
 
 tain's state-room. As he went in, he said to them in 
 a low voice : — 
 
 " Gentlemen, you understand the importance of se- 
 crecy. Silence up to the moment of explosion. You 
 two are the only ones here who know my name. " 
 
 " We will carry it with us to the tomb, " replied 
 Boisberthelot. 
 
 " As for me, " added the old man, " were I in face of 
 death, I would not tell it. " 
 
 He entered his cabin. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 NOBLE AND PLEBEIAN IN CONCERT. 
 
 THE commander and the second officer returned on 
 deck and walked up and down, side by side, in 
 conversation. They were evidently talking of their 
 passenger, and this was the dialogue which the wind 
 dispersed among the shadows. 
 
 Boisbert helot grumbled in a half -voice in the ear of 
 La Vieuville : — 
 
 " We shall see if he is really a leader. " 
 
 La Vieuville replied. " in the mean time he is a 
 prince. " 
 
 " Almost. " 
 
 " Nobleman in France, but prince in Brittany. n 
 
 " Like the La Trémoilles ; like the Eohans. " 
 
 " "With whom he is connected. " 
 
 Boisberthelot resumed : — 
 
 " In France, and in the king's carriages, he is mar- 
 quis, as I am count, and you are chevalier. * 
 
 " The carriages are far off ! " cried La Vieuville. " We 
 have got to the tumbrel. " 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 Boisberthelot began again : — ■ 
 
 * For lack of a French prince, a Breton one is taken. " 
 
 " For lack of thrushes, — no, for want of an eagle, — 
 a crow is chosen. " 
 
 " I should prefer a vulture, " said Boisberthelot. 
 
 And La Vieuville retorted, — 
 
NOBLE AND PLEBEIAN IN CONCERT. 25 
 
 u Yes, indeed ! a beak and talons. " 
 
 " We shall see. " \ v 
 
 " Yes, " resumed La Yieuville, " it is time there was a 
 head. I am of Tinteniac's opinion : ' A true chief, and 
 — gunpowder!' See, Commander ; I know nearly all 
 the leaders, possible and impossible, — those of yester- 
 day, those of to-day, and those of to-morrow; there is 
 not one with the sort of headpiece we need. In that 
 accursed Vendée it wants a general who is a lawyer at 
 the same time. He must worry the enemy, dispute 
 every mill, thicket, ditch, pebble ; quarrel with him ; 
 take advantage of everything; see to everything; 
 slaughter plentifully ; make examples ; be sleepless, 
 pitiless. At this hour there are heroes among that army 
 of peasants, but there are no captains. D'Elbée is nil ; 
 Lescure is ailing ; Bonchampe shows mercy, — he is 
 kind, that means stupid ; La Bochejacquelein is a mag- 
 nificent sub-lieutenant ; Silz an officer for open country, 
 unfit for a war of expedients ; Cathelineau is a simple 
 carter; Stofflet is a cunning gamekeeper; Bérard is 
 inept ; Boulainvilliers is ridiculous ; Charette is shock- 
 ing. And I do not speak of the barber Gaston. For, 
 in the name of Mars ! what is the good of opposing the 
 Eevolution, and what is the difference between the re- 
 publicans and ourselves, if we set hairdressers- to com- 
 mand noblemen ? " 
 
 " You see that beast of a Eevolution has infected us 
 $lso. " 
 
 * An itch that France has caught. " 
 
 '" An itch of the Third Estate, " replied Boisberthelot. 
 
 " It is only England that can cure us of it. " 
 
 " And she will cure us, do not doubt it, Captain. " 
 
 * In the mean while it is ugly. " 
 
 " Indeed, yes. Clowns everywhere ! The monarchy 
 which has for commander-in-chief Stofflet, the game- 
 
26 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 keeper of M. de Maulevrier, has nothing to envy in the 
 republic that has for minister, Pache, son of the Duke 
 de Castries 's porter. What men this Vendean war brings 
 out against each other ! On one side San terre the brewer, 
 on the other Gaston the wigmaker ! " 
 
 " My dear Vieuville, I have a certain respect for 
 Gaston. He did not conduct himself ill in his com- 
 mand of Gueménée. He very neatly shot three hundred 
 Blues, after making them dig their own graves. " 
 
 " Well and good ; but I could have done that as well 
 as he. " 
 
 " Zounds ! no doubt ; and I also. " 
 
 " The great acts of war, " resumed La Vieuville, " re- 
 quire to be undertaken by noblemen. They are matters 
 for knights and not hairdressers. " 
 
 " Still, there are some estimable men among this 
 ' Third Estate, ' " returned Boisberthelot. " Take, for 
 example, Joby the clockmaker. He had been a ser- 
 geant in a Flanders regiment ; he gets himself made a 
 Vendean chief ; he commands a coast band ; he has a 
 son who is a Eepublican, and while the father serves 
 among the Whites, the son serves among the Blues. 
 Encounter. Battle. The father takes the son prisoner, 
 and blows out his brains. " 
 
 " He 's a good one, " said La Vieuville. 
 
 " A royalist Brutus, " replied Boisberthelot. 
 
 " All that does not hinder the fact that it is insup- 
 portable to be commanded by a Coquereau, a Jean-Jean, a 
 Mouline, a Focart, a Bouju, a Chouppes ! " 
 
 " My dear chevalier, the other side is equally disgusted. 
 We are full of plebeians ; they are full of nobles. Do 
 you suppose the sansculottes are content to be commanded 
 by the Count de Canclaux, the Viscount de Miranda, 
 the Viscount de Beauharnais, the Count de Valence, the 
 Marquis de Custine, and the Duke de Biron. " 
 
NOBLE AND PLEBEIAN IN CONCERT. 27 
 
 * What a hash ! " 
 
 " And the Duke de Chartres ! " 
 
 " Son of Égalité. Ah, then, when will he ever be 
 king ? " 
 " Never. " 
 
 * He mounts toward the throne. He is aided by his 
 crimes. " 
 
 " And held back by his vices, " said Boisberthelot. 
 
 There was silence again ; then Boisberthelot continued : 
 
 " Still, he tried to bring about a reconciliation. He 
 went to see the king. I was at Versailles when some- 
 body spat on his back. " 
 
 " From the top of the grand staircase ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " It was well done. " 7 
 
 " We call him Bourbon the Bourbeux. " 
 
 " He is bald ; he has pimples ; he is a regicide — 
 poh ! " 
 
 Then La Yieuville added, — 
 
 " I was at Ouessant with him. " 
 
 "On the ' Saint Esprit'?" 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " If he had obeyed the signal that the Admiral 
 d'Orvilliers made him, to keep to the windward, he 
 would Jiave kept the English from passing. " 
 
 " Certainly. " 
 
 * Is it true that he was hidden at the bottom of the 
 hold ? " 
 
 " No ; but it must be said all the same. " 
 
 And La Vieuville burst out laughing. 
 
 Boisberthelot observed, — ^ 
 
 " There are idiots enough. Hold ! That Boulainvilliers 
 you were speaking of, La Vieuville, — I knew him. I 
 had a chance of studying him. In the beginning, the 
 peasants were armed with pikes : if he did not get it 
 
28 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 into his head to make pikemen of them! He wanted 
 to teach them the manual of exercise, de la piquc~en-biais 
 et de la pique-trainante-le-fer-dévant. He dreamed of 
 transforming those savages into soldiers of the Line. He 
 proposed to show them how to mass battalions and form 
 hollow squares. He jabbered the old-fashioned military 
 dialect to them ; for ' chief of a squad, ' he said un cap 
 d'escade, which was the appellation of corporals under 
 Louis XIV. He persisted in forming a regiment ot 
 those poachers : he had regular companies. The ser- 
 geants ranged themselves in a circle every evening to 
 take the countersign from the colonel's sergeant, who 
 whispered it to the sergeant of the lieutenants ; he re- 
 peated it to his neighbour, and he to the man nearest ; 
 and so on, from ear to ear, down to the last. He cash- 
 iered an officer because he did not stand bareheaded to 
 receive the watchword from the sergeant's mouth. You 
 can fancy how all succeeded. The booby could not un- 
 derstand that peasants must be led peasant fashion, and 
 that one cannot make drilled soldiers out of woodchop- 
 pers. Yes, I knew that Boulainvilliers. " 
 
 They moved on a few steps, each pursuing his own 
 thoughts. Then the conversation was renewed. 
 
 " By the way, is it true that Dampierre is killed ? " 
 
 " Yes, Commander. " 
 
 ° Before Condé ? " 
 
 " At the camp of Pamars, by a gunshot. * 
 
 Boisberthelot sighed. 
 
 " The Count de Dampierre. Yet another of ours who 
 went over to them ! " 
 
 " A good journey to him, " said La Vieuville. 
 
 " And the princesses — where are they ? " 
 
 a At Trieste. " 
 
 ■ Still ? " 
 
 " Still. Ah, this republic ! " cried Vieuville. " What 
 
NOBLE AND PLEBEIAN IN CONCERT. 29 
 
 havoc from such slight consequences ! When one thinks 
 that this revolution was caused by the deficit of a few 
 millions. " 
 
 " Distrust small outbreaks, " said Boisberthelot. 
 
 " Everything is going badly, " resumed La Vieuville. 
 
 " Yes ; La Kouarie is dead ; Du Dresnay is an idiot. 
 What pitiful, leaders all those bishops are, — that Coney, 
 Bishop of Eochelle ; that Beaupoil Samt-Aulaire, Bishop 
 of Poitiers ; that Mercy, Bishop of Lueon and lover of 
 Madame de 1 'Eschasserie — " 
 
 " Whose name is Servanteau, you know, Commander ; 
 L 'Eschasserie is the name of an estate. " 
 
 " And that false Bishop of Agra, who is curé of I 
 know not what. " 
 
 " Of Dpi. He is called Guillot de Folleville. At 
 least" he is brave, and he fights." 
 
 " Priests when soldiers are needed ! Bishops who are 
 not bishops ! Generals who are no generals ! " 
 
 La Vieuville interrupted Boisberthelot. 
 
 " Commander, have s you the 'Moniteur ' in your 
 cabin ? " 
 
 " Yes, " 
 
 " What are they playing in Paris just now ? " 
 
 " 'Adèle and Poulin, ' and ' The Casern. ' " 
 
 -' I should v ke to see that. " 
 
 "-You will be able to. We shall be at Paris in a 
 month. " 
 
 Boisberthelot reflected a moment, and added, — 
 
 " At the latest. Mr, Windham said so to Lord 
 Hood. " 
 
 " But then, Captain, everything is not going so ill. " 
 
 " Zounds ! everything would go well, on condition 
 that the war in Brittany could be properly conducted. " 
 
 La Vieuville shook his head. 
 
 " Commander, '" he asked, " do we land the marines ? * 
 
30 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Yes, if the coast is for us, not if it is hostile. Some- 
 times war must break down doors, sometimes slip in 
 quietly. Civil war ought always to have a false key in 
 its pocket. We shall do all in our power. The most 
 important is the chief. " 
 
 Then Boisberthelot added thoughtfully : — 
 
 " La Vieuville, what do you think of the Chevalier de 
 Dieugie ? " 
 
 " The younger ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " For a leader ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 * That he is another officer for open country and pitched 
 battles. Only the peasant understands the thickets. " 
 
 " Then resign yourself to General Stofflet and to Gen- 
 eral Cathelineau. " 
 
 La Vieuville mused a while, and then said, " It needs 
 a prince, — a prince of France, a prince of the blood, a 
 true prince. " 
 
 " Why ? Whoever says prince — " 
 
 * Says poltroon. I know it, Captain. But one is 
 needed for the effect on the big stupid eyes of the coun- 
 try lads. " 
 
 " My dear chevalier, the princes will not come. " 
 
 " We will get on without them. " 
 
 Boisberthelot pressed his hand upon his forehead with 
 the mechanical movement of a man endeavouring to 
 bring out some idea. He* exclaimed, — 
 
 " Well, let us try the general we have here. " 
 
 " He is a great nobleman. " 
 
 " Do you believe he will answer ? " 
 
 " Provided he is strong. " 
 
 " That is to say, ferocious, " said Boisberthelot. 
 
 The count and the chevalier looked fixedly at each 
 other. 
 
NOBLE AND PLEBEIAN IN CONCERT. 31 
 
 " Monsieur du Boisberthelot, you have said the word, 
 — ferocious. Yes ; that is what we need. This is a 
 war without pity. The hour is to the bloodthirsty. 
 The regicides have cut off Louis XVI. 's head ; we will 
 tear off the four limbs of the regicides. Yes, the gen- 
 eral necessary is General Inexorable. In Anjou and 
 Upper Poitou the chiefs do the magnanimous ; they 
 dabble in generosity : nothing moves on. In the Ma- 
 rais and the country of Eetz, the chiefs are ferocious : 
 everything goes forward. It is because Charette is sav- 
 age that he holds his own against Parrein ; it is hyaena 
 against hyaena. " 
 
 Boisberthelot had no time to reply; La Vieuville's 
 words were suddenly cut short by a desperate cry, and 
 at the same instant they heard a noise as unaccountable 
 as it was awful. The cry and this noise came from the 
 interior of the vessel. 
 
 The captain and lieutenant made a rush for the gun- 
 deck, but could not get down. All the gunners were 
 Imrrying frantically up. 
 
 A frightful thing had just happened. 
 
CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 TORMENTUM BELLI. 
 
 ONE of the carronades of the battery, a twenty -four 
 pounder, had got loose. 
 
 This is perhaps the most formidable of ocean acci- 
 dents. Nothing more terrible can happen to a vessel in 
 open sea and under full sail. 
 
 A gun that breaks its moorings becomes suddenly 
 some indescribable supernatural beast. It is a machine 
 which transforms itself into a monster. This mass tarns 
 upon its wheels, has the rapid movements of a billiard- 
 ball ; rolls with the rolling, pitches with the pitching ; 
 goes, comes, pauses, seems to meditate ; resumes its 
 course, rushes along the ship from end to end like an 
 arrow, circles about, springs aside, evades, rears, breaks, 
 kills, exterminates. It is a battering-ram which as- 
 saults a wall at its own caprice. Moreover, the batter- 
 ing-ram is metal, the wall wood. It is the entrance of 
 matter into liberty. One might say that this eternal 
 slave avenges itself. It seems as if the power of evil 
 hidden in what we call inanimate objects finds a vent 
 and bursts suddenly out. It has an air of having lost 
 patience, of seeking some fierce, obscure retribution; 
 nothing more inexorable than this rage of the inanimate. 
 The mad mass has the bounds of a panther, the weight 
 of the elephant, the agility of the mouse, the obstinacy 
 of the axe, the unexpectedness of the surge, the rapidity 
 
TORMENTUM BELLI. 33 
 
 of lightning, the deafness of the tomb. It weighs ten 
 thousand pounds, and it rebounds like a child's ball. 
 Its flight is a wild whirl abruptly cut at right angles. 
 What is to be done ? How to end this ? A tempest 
 ceases, a cyclone passes, a wind falls, a broken mast is 
 replaced, a leak is stopped, a fire dies out ; but how to 
 control this enormous brute of bronze ? In what way 
 can one attack it ? 
 
 You can make a mastiff hear reason, astound a bull, 
 fascinate a boa, frighten a tiger, soften a lion ; but there 
 is no resource with that monster, — a cannon let loose 
 You cannot kill it, — it is dead ; at the same time it 
 lives. It lives with a sinister life bestowed on it by 
 Infinity. 
 
 The planks beneath it give it play. It is moved by 
 the ship, which is moved by the sea, which is moved 
 by the wind. This destroyer is a plaything The ship, 
 the waves, the blasts, all aid it ; hence its frightful 
 vitality. How to assail this fury of complication ? 
 How to fetter this monstrous mechanism for wrecking 
 a ship ? How foresee its comings and goings, its re- 
 turns, its stops, its shocks? Any "one of these blows 
 upon the sides may stave out the vessel. How divine 
 its awful gyrations ! One has to deal with a projectile 
 which thinks, seems to possess ideas, and which changes 
 its direction at each instant. How stop the course of 
 something which must be avoided ? The horrible cannon 
 flings itself about, advances, recoils, strikes to the right, 
 strikes to the left, flees, passes, disconcerts ambushes, 
 breaks down obstacles, crushes men like flies. The great 
 danger of the situation is in the mobility of its base. 
 How combat an inclined plane which has caprices ? The 
 ship, so to speak, has lightning imprisoned in its womb 
 which seeks to escape ; it is like thunder rolling above 
 an earthquake. 
 
34 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 In an instant the whole crew were on foot. The 
 fault was the chief gunner's ; he had neglected to fix 
 home the screw-nut of the mooring-chain, and had so 
 badly shackled the four wheels of the carronade that the 
 play given to the sole and frame had separated the plat- 
 form, and ended by breaking the breeching. The cord- 
 age had broken, so that the gun was no longer secure on 
 the carriage. The stationary breeching which prevents 
 recoil was not in use at that period. As a heavy 
 wave struck the port, the carronade, weakly attached, 
 recoiled, burst its chain, and began to rush wildly 
 about. Conceive, in order to have an idea of this 
 strange sliding, a drop of water running down a pane 
 of glass. 
 
 At the moment when the lashings gave way the gun- 
 ners were in the battery, some in groups, others stand- 
 ing alone, occupied with such duties as sailors perform 
 in expectation of the command to clear for action. The 
 carronade, hurled forward by the pitching, dashed into 
 this knot of men, and crushed four at the first blow; 
 then, flung back and shot out anew by the rolling, it cut 
 in two a fifth poor fellow, glanced off to the larboard 
 side, and struck a piece of the battery with such force 
 as to unship it. Then rose the cry of distress which 
 had been heard. The men rushed toward the ladder; 
 the gun-deck emptied in the twinkling of an eye. The 
 enormous cannon was left alone. She was given up to 
 herself. She was her own mistress, and mistress of the 
 vessel. She could do what she willed with both. This 
 whole crew, accustomed to laugh in battle, trembled 
 now. To describe the universal terror would be 
 impossible. 
 
 Captain Boisberthelot and Lieutenant Vieuville, al- 
 though both intrepid men, stopped at the head of the 
 stairs, and remained mute, pale, hesitating, looking 
 
TORMENTUM BELLI. 35 
 
 down on the deck. Some one pushed them aside with 
 his elbow and descended. 
 
 It was their passenger, the peasant, — the man of 
 whom they had been speaking a moment before. 
 
 When he reached the foot of the ladder, he stood still. 
 
CHAPTEE V. 
 
 VIS ET VIE. 
 
 THE cannon came and went along the deck. One 
 might have fancied it the living chariot of the 
 Apocalypse. The marine-lantern, oscillating from the 
 ceiling, added a dizzying whirl of lights and shadows to 
 this vision. The shape of the cannon was undistinguish- 
 able from the rapidity of its course ; now it looked black 
 in the light, now it cast weird reflections through the 
 gloom. 
 
 It kept on its work of destruction. It had already 
 shattered four other pieces, and dug two crevices in the 
 side, fortunately above the water-line, though they would 
 leak in case a squall should come on. It dashed itself 
 frantically against the frame-work ; the solid tie-beams 
 resisted, their curved form giving them great strength, 
 but they creaked ominously under the assaults of this 
 terrible club, which seemed endowed with a sort of ap- 
 palling ubiquity, striking on every side at once. The 
 strokes of a bullet shaken in a bottle would not be madder 
 or more rapid. The four wheels passed and repassed above 
 the dead men, cut, carved, slashed them, till the five 
 corpses were a score of stumps rolling about the deck ; 
 the heads seem to cry out ; streams of blood twisted in 
 and out of the planks with every pitch of the vessel. 
 The ceiling, damaged in several places, began to gape. 
 The whole ship was filled with the awful tumult. 
 
 The captain promptly recovered his composure, and at 
 his order the sailors threw down into the deck everything 
 
VIS ET VIR. 37 
 
 which could deaden and check the mad rush of the gun, 
 ■ — mattresses, hammocks, spare sails, coils of rope, extra 
 equipments, and the bales of false assignats of which the 
 corvette carried a whole cargo : an infamous deception 
 which the English considered a fair trick in war. 
 
 But what could these rags avail ? No one dared de- 
 scend to arrange them in any useful fashion, and in a 
 few instants they were mere heaps of lint. 
 
 There was just sea enough to render an accident as 
 complete as possible. A tempest would have been de- 
 sirable, — it might have thrown the gun upside down; 
 and the four wheels once in the air, the monster could 
 have been mastered. But the devastation increased. 
 There were gashes and even fractures in the masts, 
 which, imbedded in the woodwork of the keel, pierce 
 the decks of ships like great round pillars. The mizzen 
 mast was cracked, and the main-mast itself was injured 
 under the convulsive blows of the gun. The battery was 
 being destroyed. Ten pieces out of the thirty were dis- 
 abled ; the breaches multiplied in the side, and the cor- 
 vette began to take in water. 
 
 The old passenger, who had descended to the gun- 
 deck, looked like a form of stone stationed at the foot of 
 the stairs. He stood motionless, gazing sternly about 
 upon the devastation. Indeed, it seemed impossible to 
 take a single step forward. 
 
 Each bound of the liberated carronade menaced the 
 destruction of the vessel. A few minutes more and 
 shipwreck would be inevitable. 
 
 They must perish or put a summary end to the disas- 
 ter. A decision must be made — ■ but how ? 
 
 What a combatant — this cannon' 
 
 They must check this mad monster. They must seize 
 this flash of lightning. They must overthrow thie 
 thunderbolt 
 
38 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Boisberthelot said to La Vieuville : — 
 
 " Do you believe in God, Chevalier ? " 
 
 La Vieuville replied, — 
 
 " Yes. No. Sometimes. " 
 
 " In a tempest ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and in moments like this. * 
 
 " Only God can aid us here, " said Boisberthelot. 
 
 All were silent : the cannon kept up its horrible 
 fracas. 
 
 The waves beat against the ship ; their blows from 
 without responded to the strokes of the cannon. 
 
 It was like two hammers alternating. 
 
 Suddenly, into the midst of this sort of inaccessible 
 circus, where the escaped cannon leaped and bounded, 
 there sprang a man with an iron bar in his hand. It 
 was the author of this catastrophe, — the gunner whose 
 culpable negligence had caused the accident; the cap- 
 tain of the gun. Having been the means of bringing 
 about the misfortune, he desired to repair it. He had 
 caught up a handspike in one fist, a tiller-rope with a 
 slipping-noose in the other, and jumped down into the 
 gun-deck. 
 
 Then a strange combat began, a titanic strife, — the 
 struggle of the gun against the gunner ; a battle between 
 matter and intelligence ; a duel between the inanimate 
 and the human. 
 
 The man was posted in an angle, the bar and rope in 
 his two fists; backed .against one of the riders, settled 
 firmly on his legs as on two pillars of steel , livid, calm, 
 tragic, rooted as it were in the planks, he waited. 
 
 He waited for the cannon to pass near him. 
 
 The gunner knew his piece, and it seemed to him 
 that she must recognize her master. He had lived a 
 long while with her. How many times he had thrust 
 his hand between her jaws ! It was his tame mon- 
 
VIS ET VIR. 39 
 
 ster. He began to address it as he might have done 
 his dog. 
 
 "'' Come ! " said he. Perhaps he loved it. 
 
 He seemed to wish that it would turn toward him. 
 
 But to come toward him would be to spring upon 
 him. Then he would be lost. How to avoid its crush ? 
 There was the question. All stared in terrified silence. 
 
 Not a breast respired freely, except perchance that of 
 the old man who alone stood in the deck with the two 
 combatants, a stern second. 
 
 He might himself be crushed by the piece. He did 
 not stir. 
 
 Beneath them, the blind sea directed the battle. 
 
 At the instant when, accepting this awful hand-to- 
 hand contest, the gunner approached to challenge the 
 cannon, some chance fluctuation of the waves kept it for 
 a moment immovable, as if suddenly stupefied. 
 
 " Come on ! " the man said to it. It seemed to listen. 
 
 Suddenly it darted upon him. The gunner avoided 
 the shdck. 
 
 The struggle began, — struggle unheard of. The frag- 
 ile matching itself against the invulnerable. The thing 
 of flesh attacking the brazen brute. On the one side 
 blind force, on the other a soul. 
 
 The whole passed in a half-light. It was like the in- 
 distinct vision of a miracle. 
 
 A soui; — strange thing ; but you would have said that 
 the cannon had one also, — a soul filled with rage and 
 hatred. This blindness appeared to have eyes. The 
 monster had the air of watching the man. There was 
 — one might have fancied so at least — cunning in this 
 mass. It also chose its moment. It became some 
 gigantic insect of metal, having, or seeming to have, 
 the will of a demon. Sometimes this colossal grass- 
 hopper would strike the low ceiling of the gun-deck. 
 
40 NINETY-THREE, 
 
 then fall back on its four wheels like a tiger upon its 
 four claws, and dart anew on the man. He, supple, 
 agile, adroit, would glide away like a snake from the 
 reach of these lightning-like movements. He avoided 
 the encounters ; but the blows which he escaped fell 
 upon the vessel and continued the havoc. 
 
 An end of broken chain remained attached to the 
 carronade. This chain had twisted itself, one could not 
 tell how, about the screw of the breech-button. One 
 extremitv of the chain was fastened to the carriage. 
 The other, hanging loose, whirled wildly about the gun 
 and added to the danger of its blows. 
 
 The screw held it like a clinched hand, and the chain 
 multiplying the strokes of the battering-ram by its 
 strokes of a thong, made a fearful whirlwind about the 
 cannon, — a whip of iron in a fist of brass. This chain 
 complicated the battle. 
 
 Nevertheless, the man fought. Sometimes, even, it 
 was the man who attacked the cannon. He crept along 
 the side, bar and rope in hand, and the cannon had the 
 air of understanding, and fled as if it perceived a snare. 
 The man pursued it, formidable, fearless. 
 
 Such a duel could not last long. The gun seemed 
 suddenly to say to itself, " Come, we must make an 
 end ! " and it paused. One felt the approach of the 
 crisis. The cannon, as if in suspense, appeared to have, 
 or had, — because it seemed to all a sentient being. — a 
 furious premeditation. It sprang unexpectedly upon the 
 gunner. He jumped aside, let it pass, and cried out 
 with a laugh, " Try again ! " The gun, as if in a fury, 
 broke a carronade to larboard ; then, seized anew by the 
 invisible sling which held it, was flung to starboard 
 toward the man, who escaped. 
 
 Three carronades gave way under the blows of the 
 gun ; then, as if blind and no longer conscious of what 
 
VIS ET VIR. 41 
 
 It was doing, it turned its back on the man, rolled from 
 the stern to the bow, bruising the stem and making a 
 breach in the plankings of the prow. The gunner had 
 taken refuge at the foot of the stairs, a few steps from 
 the old man, who was watching. 
 
 The gunner held his handspike in rest. The cannon 
 seemed to perceive him, and, without taking the trouble 
 to turn itself, backed upon him with the quickness 
 of an axe-stroke. The gunner, if driven back against 
 the side was lost. • The crew uttered a simultaneous 
 cry. 
 
 But the old passenger, until now immovable, made a 
 spring more rapid than all those wild whirls. He seized 
 a bale of the false assignats, and at the risk of being 
 crushed, succeeded in flinging it between the wheels of 
 the carronade. This manoeuvre, decisive and dangerous, 
 could not Jiave been executed with more adroitness and 
 precision by a man trained to all the exercises set down 
 in Durosel's " Manual of Sea Gunnery. " 
 
 The bale had the effect of a plug. A pebble may 
 stop a log, a tree-branch turn an avalanche. The car- 
 ronade stumbled. The gunner, in his turn, seizing 
 this terrible chance, plunged his iron bar between the 
 spokes of one of the hind wheels. The cannon was 
 stopped. 
 
 It staggered. The man, using the bar as a lever, 
 rocked it to and fro. The heavy mass turned over with 
 a clang like a falling bell, and the gunner, dripping 
 with sweat, rushed forward headlong and passed the 
 slipping-noose of the tiller-rope about the bronze neck 
 of the overthrown monster. 
 
 It was ended. The man had conquered. The ant 
 had subdued the mastodon ; the pygmy had taken the 
 thunderbolt prisoner. 
 
 The marines and the sailors clapped their hands. 
 
42 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 The whole crew hurried down with cables and chains, 
 and in an instant the cannon was securely lashed. 
 
 The gunner saluted the passenger. 
 
 " Sir, " he said to him, " you have saved my life. " 
 
 The old man had resumed his impassible attitude, and 
 did not reply. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE TWO SCALES OF THE BALANCE. 
 
 THE man had conquered, but one might say that 
 the cannon had conquered also. Immediate ship- 
 wreck had been avoided, but the corvette was by no 
 means saved. The dilapidation of the vessel seemed 
 irremediable. The sides had five breaches, one of which, 
 very large* was in the bow. Out of the thirty carron- 
 ades, twenty lay useless in their frames. The carron- 
 ade, which had been captured and rechained, was itself 
 disabled : the screw of the breech-button was forced, and 
 the levelling of the piece impossible in consequence. 
 The battery was "reduced to nine pieces. The hold had 
 sprung a leak. It was necessary at once to repair the 
 damages and set the pumps to work. 
 
 The gun-dêck, now that one had time to look about it, 
 offered a terrible spectacle. The interior of a mad ele- 
 phant's cage could not have been more completely 
 dismantled. 
 
 However great the necessity that the corvette should 
 escape observation, a still more imperious necessity pre- 
 sented itself,' — immediate safety. It had been necessary 
 to light up the deck by lanterns placed here and there 
 along the sides. 
 
 But during the whole time this tragic diversion had 
 lasted, the crew were so absorbed by the one question of 
 life or death that they noticed little what was passing 
 outside the scene of the duel. The fog had thickened ; 
 
44 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the weather had changed ; the wind had driven the ves« 
 sel at will ; it had got out of its route, in plain sight oi 
 Jersey and Guernsey, farther to the south than it ought 
 to have gone, and was surrounded by a troubled sea. 
 The great waves kissed the gaping wounds of the cor- 
 vette, — kisses full of peril. The sea rocked her men- 
 acingly. The breeze became a gale. A squall, a tempest 
 perhaps, threatened. It was impossible to see before 
 one four oars' length. 
 
 While the crew were repairing summarily and in 
 haste the ravages of the gun-deck, stopping the leaks 
 and putting back into position the guns which had es- 
 caped the disaster, the old passenger had gone on deck. 
 
 He stood with his back against the main-mast. 
 
 He had paid no attention to a proceeding which had 
 taken place on the vessel The Chevalier La Vieuville 
 had drawn up the marines in line on either side of the 
 main-mast, and at the whistle of the boatswain the 
 sailors busy in the rigging stood upright on the yards. 
 
 Count du Boisberthelot advanced toward the passenger. 
 
 Behind the captain marched a man, haggard, breath- 
 less, his dress in disorder, yet wearing a satisfied look 
 under it all. It 'was the gunner who had just now so 
 opportunely shown himself a tamer of monsters, and who 
 had got the better of the, cannon. 
 
 The count made a military salute to the unknown in 
 peasant garb, and said to him : — 
 
 " General, here is the man. " 
 
 The gunner held himself erect, his eyes downcast, 
 standing in a soldierly attitude. 
 
 Count du Boisberthelot continued, — 
 
 " General, taking into consideration what this man 
 has done, do you not think there is something for his 
 commanders to do ? " 
 
 " I think there is, " said the old man. 
 
THE TWO SCALES OF THE BALANCE. 45 
 
 " Be good enough to give the orders, " returned 
 Boisbertlielot. 
 
 " It is for you to give them. You are the captain. n 
 
 " But you are the general, " answered Boisberthelot. 
 
 The old man looked at the gunner. 
 
 "' Approach, " said he. 
 
 The gunner moved forward a step. The old man 
 turned toward Count du Boisberthelot, detached the 
 cross of Saint Louis from the captain's uniform and 
 fastened it on the jacket of the gunner. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried the sailors. 
 
 The marines presented arms. The old passenger, 
 pointing with his finger toward the bewildered gunner, 
 added, — 
 
 " Now let that man be shot. " 
 
 Stupor succeeded the applause. 
 
 Then, in the midst of a silence like that of the tomb, 
 the old man raised his voice. He said, — 
 
 "A negligence has endangered this ship. At this 
 moment she is perhaps lost. To be at sea is to face the 
 enemy. A vessel at open sea is an army which gives 
 battle. The- tempest conceals, but does not absent it- 
 self. The whole sea is an ambuscade. Death is the 
 penalty of any fault committed in the face of the enemy. 
 No fault is reparable. Courage ought to be rewarded 
 and negligence punished. " 
 
 These words fell one after the other, slowly, solemnly, 
 with a sort of inexorable measure, like the blows of an 
 axe upon an oak. 
 
 And the old man, turning to the soldiers, added, — 
 
 a Do your duty. " 
 
 The man upon whose breast shone the cross of Saint 
 Louis bowed his head 
 
 At a sign from Count du Boisberthelot, two sailors 
 descended between decks, then returned, bringing the 
 
46 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 hammock winding-sheet. The ship's chaplain, who 
 since the time of sailing had been at prayer in the offi- 
 cers ' quarters, accompanied the two sailors ; a sergeant 
 detached from the line twelve marines, whom he ar- 
 ranged in two ranks, six by six; the gunner, without 
 uttering a word, placed himself between the two files. 
 The chaplain, crucifix in hand, advanced and stood near 
 him. 
 
 " March ! " said the sergeant. 
 
 The platoon moved with slow steps toward the bow. 
 The two sailors who carried the shroud followed. 
 < A gloomy silence fell upon the corvette. A hurricane 
 moaned in the distance. 
 
 A fewc instants later there was a flash ; a report fol- 
 lowed, echoing among the shadows ; then all was silent ; 
 then came the thud of a body falling into the sea. 
 
 The old passenger still leaned back against the main- 
 mast with folded arms, thinking silently. 
 
 Boisberthelot pointed toward him with the forefinger 
 of his left hand, and said in a low voice to La Vieuville : 
 
 " The Vendée has found a head I * 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 HE, WHO SETS SAIL PUTS INTO A LOTTERY. 
 
 BUT what was to become of the corvette ? 
 The clouds, which the whole night through had 
 touched the waves, now lowered so thickly that the 
 horizon was no longer visible ; the sea seemed to be 
 covered with a pall. Nothing to be seen but fog, — a 
 situation always perilous, even for a vessel in good 
 condition. 
 
 Added to the mist came the surging swell. 
 
 The time had been used to good purpose : the corvette 
 had been lightened by throwing overboard everything 
 which could -be cleared from the havoc made by the 
 carronade, — the dismantled guns, the broken carriages, 
 frames twisted or unnailed, the fragments of splintered 
 wood and iron ; the port-holes had been opened, and the 
 corpses and parts of bodies, enveloped in tarpaulin, were 
 slid down planks into the waves. 
 
 The sea was no longer manageable. Not that the 
 tempest was imminent ; it seemed, on the contrary, that 
 the hurricane rustling behind the horizon decreased, 
 and the squall was moving northward; but the waves 
 were very high still, which indicated disturbance in the 
 depths. The corvette could offer slight resistance to 
 shocks in her crippled condition, so that the great waves 
 might prove fatal to her. 
 
48 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Gacquoil stood thoughtfully at the helm. 
 
 To face ill-fortune with a bold front is the habit of 
 those accustomed to rule at sea. 
 
 La Vieuville, who was the sort of man that becomes 
 gay in the midst of disaster, accosted Gacquoil. 
 
 " Well, pilot, " said he, " the squall has missed fire. 
 Its attempt at sneezing comes to nothing. We shall 
 get out of it. We shall have wind, and that is all. " 
 ' Gacquoil replied, seriously, " Where there is wind 
 there are waves. " 
 
 Neither laughing nor sad, such is the sailor. The 
 response had a disquieting significance. For a leaky 
 ship to encounter a high sea is to fill rapidly. Gacquoil 
 emphasized his prognostic by a frown. Perhaps La 
 Vieu ville had spoken almost jovial and gay words a 
 little too soon after the catastrophe of the gun and its 
 gunner. There are things which bring bad luck at sea. 
 The ocean is secretive ; one never knows what it means 
 to do ; it is necessary to be always on guard against it. 
 
 La Vieuville felt the necessity of getting back to 
 gravity. 
 
 " Where are we, pilot ? " he asked. 
 
 The pilot replied, — 
 
 " We are in the hands of God. " 
 
 A pilot is a master ; he must always be allowed to 
 do what he will, and often he must be allowed to say 
 what he pleases. Generally this species of man speaks 
 little. 
 
 La Vieuville moved away. He had asked a question 
 of the pilot; it was the horizon which replied. The 
 sea suddenly cleared. 
 
 The fogs which trailed across the waves were quickly 
 rent; the dark confusion of the billows spread out to 
 the horizon's verge in a shadowy half-light, and this 
 was what became visible: — 
 
HE WHO SETS SAIL PUTS INTO A LOTTERY. 49 
 
 The sky seemed covered with a lid of clouds, but they 
 no longer touched the water; in the east appeared a 
 whiteness, which was the dawn ; in the west trembled 
 a corresponding pallor, which was the setting moon. 
 These two ghostly presences drew opposite each other 
 narrow bands of pale lights along the horizon, between 
 the sombre sea and the gloomy sky. 
 
 Across each of these lines of light were sketched black 
 profiles, upright and immovable. 
 
 To the west, against the moonlight sky, stood out 
 sharply three lofty rocks,' erect as Celtic cromlechs. 
 
 To the east, against the pale horizon of morning, rose 
 eight sail, ranged in order at regular intervals in a for- 
 midable array. 
 
 The three rocks were a reef; the eight ships, a 
 squadron. 
 
 Behind the vessel was the Minquiers, — a rock of an 
 evil renown ; before her, the French cruisers. To the 
 west, the abyss ; to the east, carnage : she was between 
 a shipwreck and a combat. 
 
 For meeting the reef, the corvette had a broken hull, 
 rigging disjointed, masts tottering in their foundations ; 
 for facing battle, she had a battery where one-and- 
 twenty cannon out of thirty were dismounted, and whose 
 best gunners were dead. 
 
 The dawn was yet faint ; there still remained a little 
 night to them. This might even last for some time, 
 since it was principally made by thick, high clouds pre- 
 senting the solid appearance of a vault. 
 
 The wind, which had succeeded in dispersing the lower 
 mists, was forcing the corvette toward the Minquiers. 
 
 In her excessive feebleness and dilapidation, she 
 scarcely obeyed the helm ; she rolled rather than sailed, 
 and, smitten by the waves, she yielded passively to 
 their impulse. 
 
50 MNETY-THEEJS. 
 
 The Minquiers, a dangerous reef, was still more 
 rugged at that time than it is now. Several towers of 
 this citadel of the abyss have been razed by the inces- 
 sant chopping of the sea. The configuration of reefs 
 changes. It is not idly that waves are called the 
 swords of the ocean ; each tide is the stroke of a saw. 
 At that period, to strike on the Minquiers was to 
 perish. 
 
 As for the cruisers, they were the squadron of Cancale, 
 afterward so celebrated under the command of that Cap- 
 tain Duchesne whom Léquinio called Father Duchesne. 
 
 The situation was critical. During the struggle of 
 the unchained carronade, the corvette had, unobserved, 
 got out of her course, and sailed rather toward Granville 
 than Saint Malo. Even if she had been in a condition 
 to have been handled and to carry sail, the Minquiers 
 would have barred her return toward Jersey, and the 
 cruisers would have prevented her reaching France. 
 
 For the rest, tempest there was none. But, as the 
 pilot had said, there was a swell. The sea, rolling 
 under a rough wind and above a rocky bottom, was 
 savage. 
 
 The sea never says at once what it wishes. The gulf 
 hides everything, even trickery. One might almost say 
 that the sea has a plan. It advances and recoils ; it pro- 
 poses and contradicts itself; it sketches a storm and 
 renounces its design ; it promises the abyss, and does 
 not hold to it; it threatens the north, and strikes the 
 south. 
 
 All night the corvette " Claymore " had had the fog 
 and the fear of the storm. The sea had belied itself, but 
 in a savage fashion ; it had sketched in the tempest, but 
 developed the reef. It was shipwreck just the same,, 
 under another form. 
 
 So that to destruction upon the rocks was added ex- 
 
HE WHO SETS SAIL PUTS INTO A LOTTERY. 51 
 
 termination by combat, — one enemy complementing the 
 
 other. 
 
 La Vieuville cried amid his brave merriment: — 
 
 " Shipwreck here — battle there ! We have thrown 
 
 double fives ! " 
 
CHAPTEE VÏIL 
 
 9 = 380. 
 
 nr^HE corvette was little more than a wreck. 
 
 -*■ In the wan, dim light, midst the blackness oi 
 the clouds, in the confused, changing line of the horizon, 
 in the mysterious sullenness of the waves, there was a 
 sepulchral solemnity. Except for the hissing breath of 
 the hostile wind, all was silent. The catastrophe rose 
 with majesty from the gulf. It resembled rather an 
 apparition than an attack. Nothing stirred among the 
 rocks; nothing moved on the vessels. It wa .3 an in- 
 describable, colossal silence. Had they to deal with 
 something real ? One might have believed it a dream 
 sweeping across the sea ; there are legends of such 
 visions. The corvette was in a manner between the 
 demon reef and the phantom fleet. 
 
 Count du Boisberthelot gave orders in a half-voice to 
 La Vieuville, who descended to the gun-deck ; then the 
 captain seized his telescope and stationed himself at the 
 stern by the side of the pilot. 
 
 Gacquoil's whole effort was to keep the corvette to the 
 wind ; for if struck on the side by the wind and the sea, 
 she would inevitably capsize. 
 
 " Pilot, " said the captain, " where are we ? * 
 
 " Off the Minquiers. " 
 
 * On which side ? " 
 ■ The bad one. " 
 
 * What bottom ? " 
 
9 = 380. 53 
 
 * Small rocks. » 
 
 * Can we turn broadside on ? " 
 
 " We can always die, " said the pilot. 
 
 The captain levelled his glass toward the west and 
 examined the itylinquiers ; then he turned to the east 
 and studied the sail in sight. 
 
 The pilot continued, as if talking to himself: — 
 
 " It is the Minquiers. It is where the laughing sea 
 mew and the ^reat black-hooded gull rest, when they 
 make for Holland.," 
 
 In the mean time the captain counted the sail. 
 
 There were, indeed, eight vessels, drawn up in line, 
 and lifting their- warlike profiles above the water. Id 
 the centre was seen the lofty sweep of a three-decker. 
 
 The captain questioned the pilot. 
 
 " Do you know those ships ? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes ! " replied Gacquoil. 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 " It is the squadron. " 
 
 " Of France ? " 
 
 " Of the devil. " 
 
 There was a silence. The captain resumed : — 
 
 " The whole body of cruisers are there. " 
 
 " Not all. " 
 
 In fact, on the 2d of April, Valazé had announced to 
 the Convention that ten frigates and six ships-of-the- 
 line were cruising in the Channel. The recollection of 
 this came into the captain's mind. 
 
 " Eight, " said he ; " the squadron consists of sixteen 
 vessels. There are only eight here. " 
 
 " The rest, * said Gacquoil, " are lagging below, the 
 whole length of the coast, and on the look-out. " 
 
 The captain, still with his glass to his eye, murmured : 
 
 " A three-decker, two first-class frigates, and five 
 second-class. " 
 
54 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " But I, too, " growled Gacquoil, " have marked them 
 out." 
 
 " Good vessels, " said the captain. " I have done some- 
 thing myself toward commanding them. " 
 
 " As for me, " said Gacquoil, " I have seen them close 
 by. I do not mistake one for the other. I have their 
 description in my head. " 
 
 The captain handed his telescope to the pilot. 
 
 " Pilot, can you make out the three-decker clearly ? " 
 
 " Yes, Captain ; it is the ' Côte d'Or. ' " 
 
 " Which they have rebaptized, " said the captain. 
 " She was formerly the ' États de Bourgogne. ' A new 
 vessel ; a hundred and twenty-eight guns. " 
 
 He took a pencil and note-book from his pocket, and 
 made the figure 128 on one of the leaves. 
 
 He continued, — 
 
 " Pilot, what is the first sail to larboard ? " 
 
 " It is the ' Expérimentée/ The — * 
 
 " First-class frigate. Fifty-two guns. She was fitted 
 out at Brest two months since. " 
 
 The captain marked the figure 52 on his note-book. 
 
 " Pilot, " he asked, " what is the second sail to 
 larboard ? " 
 
 " The ' Dryade. * " 
 
 " First-class frigate. Forty eighteen-pounders. She 
 has been in India. She has a good naval reputation. " 
 
 And beneath the 52 he put the figure 40 ; then lifting 
 his head: — 
 
 " Now, to starboard. " 
 
 " Commander, those are all second-class frigates. 
 There are five of them. " 
 
 " Which is the first, starting from the three-decker ? " 
 
 " The ' Eésolute. ' " 
 
 * Thirty-two pieces of eighteen. And the second ? " 
 
 * The f Eichemont. ' " 
 
9 s= 380. 66 
 
 " Same. The next ? 8 
 
 " The ' Athéiste. ' " 1 
 
 " Odd name to take to sea. What next ? " 
 
 "«The ' Calypso. '' ■ 
 
 * And then ? " 
 
 " ' La Preneuse. ' " 
 
 " Five frigates, each of thirty-two guns. " 
 
 The captain wrote 160 below the first figures. 
 
 " Pilot, " said he, " you recognize them perfectly. n 
 
 * And you, " replied Gacquoil — - " you know them well, 
 Captain. To recognize is something ; to know is better. " 
 
 The captain had his eyes fixed on his note-book, and 
 added between his teeth : — 
 
 " One hundred and twenty-eight, fifty-two, forty, a 
 hundred and sixty. " 
 
 At this moment La Vieuville came on deck again. 
 
 " Chevalier, " the captain cried out to him, " we are in 
 sight of three hundred and eighty cannon. " 
 
 " So be it, " said La Vieuville. 
 
 * You come from the inspection, La Vieuville : how 
 many guns, exactly, have we fit for firing ? " 
 
 u "JsTine. " 
 
 " So be it, " said Boisberthelot, in his turn. 
 
 He took the telescope from the pilot's hands and 
 studied the horizon. 
 
 The eight vessels, silent and black, seemed motion- 
 less, but they grew larger. 
 
 They were approaching imperceptibly. 
 
 La Vieuville made a military salute. 
 
 " Commander, " said he, " this is my report. I dis- 
 trusted this corvette ' Claymore. ' It is always annoy- 
 ing to embark suddenly on a vessel that does not know 
 you or that does not love you. English ship — traitor 
 to Frenchman. That slut of a carronade proved it I 
 
 1 Marine Archives : State of the Fleet in 1793. 
 
56 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 have made the round. Anchors good. They are not 
 made of half-finished iron, but forged bars soldered 
 under the tilt-hammer. The flukes are solid. Cables 
 excellent, easy to pay out; regulation length, a hun- 
 dred and twenty fathoms. Munitions in plenty. Six 
 gunners dead. A hundred and seventy-one rounds 
 apiece. " 
 
 " Because there are but nine pieces left, " murmured 
 the captain. 
 
 Boisberthelot levelled his telescope with the horizon. 
 The squadron was still slowly approaching. 
 
 The carronades possess one advantage, — three men are 
 enough to work them ; but they have one inconvenience, 
 — they do not carry so far nor aim so true as guns. It 
 would be necessary to let the squadron get within range 
 of the carronades. 
 
 The captain gave his orders in a low voice. There 
 was silence throughout the vessel. No signal to clear 
 for battle had been given, but it was done. The cor- 
 vette was as much disabled for combat with men as 
 against the waves. Everything that was possible was 
 done with this ruin of a war-vessel. By the gangway 
 near the tiller-ropes were heaped all the hawsers and 
 spare cables for strengthening the masts in case of need. 
 The cockpit was put in order for the wounded. Accord- 
 ing to the naval use of that time, the deck was barri- 
 caded, which is a guaranty against balls but not against 
 bullets. The bail-gauges were brought, although it was 
 a little late, to verify the calibres; but so many in- 
 cidents had not been foreseen. Each sailor received a 
 cartridge-box, and stuck into his belt a pair of pistols 
 and a dirk. The hammocks were stowed away, the 
 artillery pointed, the musketry prepared, the axes and 
 grapplings laid out, the cartridge and bullet stores made 
 ready, and the powder-room opened. Every man was 
 
9 = m). 57 
 
 at his post. All was done without a word being spoken, 
 like arrangements carried on in the chamber of a dying 
 person. All was haste and gloom. 
 
 Then the corvette showed her broadside. She had six 
 anchors, like a frigate. The whole six were cast, — the 
 cockbill anchor forward, the kedger aft, the flood-anchor 
 toward the open, the ebb-anchor on the side to the rocks, 
 the bower-anchor to starboard, and the sheet-anchor to 
 larboard. 
 
 The nine carronades still in condition were put into 
 form: the whole nine on one side, — that toward the 
 enemy. I 
 
 The squadron had on its part not less silently com- 
 pleted its manoeuvres. The eight vessels now formed 
 a semicircle, of which the Minquiers made the chord. 
 The " Claymore, " enclosed in this semicircle, and into 
 the bargain tied down by her anchors, was backed 
 by the reef, — that is to say, by shipwreck. 
 
 It was like a pack of hounds about a wild boar, not 
 yet giving tongue, but showing their teeth. 
 
 It seemed as if on the one side and the other they 
 awaited some signal. 
 
 The gunners of the " Claymore " stood to their pieces. 
 
 Boisberthelot said to La Vieuville : — ■ 
 
 * I should like to open fire. " 
 
 8 A coquette's whim, " replied La Vieuville. 
 
 1 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 SOME ONE ESCAPES. 
 
 ^TPHE passenger had not quitted the deck ; he watched 
 -*- all the proceedings with the same impassible 
 mien. 
 
 Boisberthelot approached. 
 
 " Sir, " he said to him, " the preparations are complete. 
 We are now lashed fast to our tomb ; we shall not let 
 go our hold. We are the prisoners of either the squad- 
 ron or the reef. To yield to the enemy, or founder 
 among the rocks : we have no other choice. One re- 
 source remains to us, — to die. It is better to fight than 
 be wrecked. I would rather be shot than drowned ; in 
 the matter of death, I prefer fire to water. But dying 
 is the business of the rest of us ; it is not yours. You 
 are the man chosen by the princes ; you are appointed 
 to a great mission, — the direction of the war in Vendee. 
 Yoi> i loss is perhaps the monarchy lost ; therefore you 
 must live. Our honour bids us remain here ; yours bids 
 you go. General, you must quit the ship. I am going 
 to give you a man and a boat. To reach the coast by a 
 detour is not impossible. It is not yet day ; the waves 
 are high, the sea is dark; you will escape. There are 
 cases when to fly is to conquer. " 
 
 The old man bowed his stately head in sign of 
 acquiescence. 
 
 Count du Boisberthelot raised his voice :•— 
 
 " Soldiers and sailors ! " he cried. 
 
SOME ONE ESCAPES. 59 
 
 Every movement ceased ; from each point of the ves- 
 sel all faces turned toward the captain. 
 He continued : — 
 " This man who is among us represents the king. He 
 
 has been confided to us ; we must save him. He is 
 
 i j 
 
 necessary to the throne of France ; in default of a prince 
 he will be, — at least this is what we try for — the 
 leader in the Vendée. He is a great general. He was 
 to have landed in France with us ; he must land with- 
 out us. To save the head is to save all. " 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! yes ! " cried the voices of the whole crew. 
 
 The captain continued : — 
 
 " He is about to risk, he also, serious danger. It will 
 not be easy to reach the coast. In order to face the 
 angry sea the boat should be large, and should be small 
 in order to escape the cruisers. What must be done is 
 to make land at some safe point, and better toward 
 Fougères than in the direction of Coutances. It needs 
 an athletic sailor, a good oarsman and swimmer, who 
 belongs to this coast, and knows the Channel. There 
 is night enough, so that the boat can leave the corvette 
 without being perceived. And besides, we are going 
 to have smoke, which will serve to hide her. The 
 boat's size will help her through the shallows. Where 
 the panther is snared, the weasel escapes. There is 
 no outlet for us ; there is for her. The boat will row 
 rapidly off N ; the enemy's ships will not see her: and 
 moreover, during that time we are going to amuse them 
 ourselves. Is it decided ? " 
 
 * Yes ! yes ! yes ! " cried the crew. 
 
 " There is not an instant to lose, " pursued the captain. 
 " Is there any man willing ? " 
 
 A sailor stepped out of the ranks in the darkness, and 
 said, " L " 
 
CHAPTEE Xo 
 
 DOES HE ESCAPE? 
 
 A FEW minutes later, one of those little boats called 
 a " gig, " which are especially appropriated to the 
 captain's service, pushed off from the vessel. There 
 were two men in this boat, — the old man in the stern, 
 and the sailor who had volunteered in the bow. The 
 night still lingered. The sailor, in obedience to the 
 captain's orders, rowed vigorously in the direction of 
 the Minquiers. For that matter, no other issue was pos 
 sible. Some provisions had been put into the boat, — a 
 bag of biscuit, a smoked ox-tongue, and a cask of water. 
 
 At the instant the gig was let down, La Vieuville, a 
 scoffer even in the presence of destruction, leaned over 
 the corvette's stern-post, and sneered this farewell to 
 the boat : — 
 
 " She is a good one if one want to escape, and excel- 
 lent if one wish to drown. " 
 
 " Sir, " said the pilot, " let us laugh no longer. " 
 
 The start was quickly made, and there was soon a 
 considerable distance between the boat and the cor- 
 vette. The wind and the waves were in the oarsman's 
 favour; the little bark fled swiftly, undulating through 
 the twilight, and hidden by the height of the waves. 
 
 The sea seemed to wear a look of sombre, indescriba- 
 ble expectation. 
 
 Suddenly, amid the vast and tumultuous silence of 
 the ocean, rose a voice, which, increased by the speak- 
 ing-trumpet as if by the brazen mask of antique tragedy, 
 sounded almost superhuman. 
 
DOES HE ESCAPE? 61 
 
 t 
 
 It was the voice of Captain Boisberthelot giving his 
 commands : " Eoyal marines, " cried he, " nail the white 
 flag to the mam -mast. We are about to see our last 
 sunrise. " 
 
 And the corvette fired its first shot. 
 
 " Long live the king ! " shouted the crew. 
 
 Then from the horizon's verge echoed an answering 
 shout, immense, distant, confused, yet 'distinct nevei\ 
 theless : — 
 
 " Long live the Eepublic ! " 
 
 And a din like the peal of three hundred thunderbolts 
 burst over the depths of the sea. 
 
 The battle began. 
 
 The sea was covered with smoke and fire. Streams 
 of foam, made by the tailing bullets, whitened the 
 waves on every side. 
 
 The " Claymore " began to spit flame on the eight 
 vessels. At the same time the whole squadron, ranged 
 in a half -moon about the corvette, opened fire from all 
 its batteries. The horizon was in a blaze. A volcano 
 seemed to have burst suddenly out of the sea. Tne 
 wind twisted to and fro the vast crimson banner of 
 battle, amid which the ships appeared and disappeared 
 like phantoms. 
 
 In front 1 the black skeleton of the corvette showed 
 against the red background. 
 
 The white banner, with its fleur-de-lis, could be seen 
 floating from the main. 
 
 The two men seated in the little boat kept silence. 
 The triangular shallows of the Minquiers, a sort of sub- 
 marine Trinacrium, is larger than the entire island of 
 Jersey. The sea covers it. It has for culminating point 
 a platform which even the highest tides do not reach, 
 from whence six mighty rocks detach themselves toward 
 the northeast, ranged iD a straight line, and producing 
 
62 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the effect of a great wall, which has crumbled here and 
 there. The strait between the plateau and the six reefs 
 is only practicable to boats drawing very little water. 
 Beyond this strait is the open sea. 
 
 The sailor who had undertaken the command of the 
 boat made for this strait. By that means he put the 
 Minquiers between the battle and the little bark. He 
 manoeuvred thé narrow channel skilfully, avoiding the 
 reefs to larboard and starboard. The rocks now masked 
 the conflict. The lurid light of the horizon, and the 
 awful uproar of the cannonading, began to lessen as the 
 distance increased; but the continuance of the reports 
 proved that the corvette held firm, and meant to ex- 
 haust to the very last her one hundred and seventy-one 
 broadsides. Presently the boat reached safe water, be- 
 yond the reef, beyond the battle, out of reach of the 
 bullets. 
 
 Little by little the face of the sea became less dark ; 
 the rays, against which the darkness struggled, widened ; 
 the foam burst into jets of light, and the tops of the 
 waves gave back white reflections. 
 
 Day appeared. 
 
 The boat was out of danger so far as the enemy was 
 concerned, but the most difficult part of the task re- 
 mained. She was saved from grape-shot, but not from 
 shipwreck. She was a mere egg-shell, in a high sea, 
 without deck, without sail, without mast, without com- 
 pass, having no resource but her oars, in the presence of 
 the ocean and the hurricane, — an atom at the mercy of 
 giants. 
 
 Then, amid this immensity, this solitude, lifting his 
 face, whitened by the morning, the man in the bow of 
 the boat looked fixedly at the one in the stern, and said : 
 
 " I am the brother of him you ordered to be shot " 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 HALMALO. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 SPEECH IS THE " WOKD. " 
 
 THE old man slowly raised his head. He who had 
 spoken was a man of about thirty. His forehead 
 was brown with sea- tan ; his eyes were peculiar : they 
 had the keen glance of a sailor in the open pupils of a 
 peasant. He held the oars vigorously in his two hands. 
 His air was mild. 
 
 In his belt were a dirk, two pistols, and a rosary. 
 
 " Who are you ? " asked the old man. 
 
 " I have just told you. " 
 
 " What do you want with me ? " 
 
 The sailor shipped the oars, folded his arms, and 
 replied, — 
 
 " To kill you. " 
 
 " As you please, " said the old man. 
 
 The other raised his voice : — 
 
 " Get ready ! " 
 
 " For what ? " 
 
 " To die. " 
 
 " Why ? " asked the old man. 
 
 There was a silence. The sailor seemed for an instant 
 confused by the question. He repeated : — 
 
 " I say that I mean to kill you. " 
 
64 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " And I ask you, what for ? " 
 
 The sailor's eyes Hashed lightning: — 
 
 M Because you killed my brother. " 
 
 The old man replied with perfect calmness : — 
 
 " I began by saving his life. " 
 
 " That is -true. You saved him first, then you killed 
 him. " 
 
 " It was not I who killed him. " 
 
 " Who, then ? " 
 
 " His own fault. " 
 
 The sailor stared open-mouthed at the old man ; then 
 his eyebrows met again in their murderous frown. 
 
 " What is your name ? " asked the old man. 
 
 " Halmalo ; but you do not need to know my name in 
 order to be killed by me. " 
 
 At this moment the sun rose. A ray struck full upon 
 the sailor's face, and vividly lighted up that savage coun- 
 tenance. The old man studied it attentively. ' 
 
 The cannonading, though it still continued, was 
 broken and irregular. A vast cloud of smoke weighed 
 down the horizon. The boat, no longer directed by the 
 oarsman, drifted to leeward. 
 
 The sailor seized in his right hand one of the pistols 
 at his belt, and the rosary in his left. 
 
 The old man raised himself to his full height. 
 
 " You believe in God ? " said he. 
 
 " Our Father which art in heaven, " replied the sailor ; 
 and he made the sign of the cross. 
 
 " Have you a mother ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 He made a second sign of the cross. Then he resumed : 
 
 " It is all said. I give you a minute, my lord. " And 
 he cocked the pistol. 
 
 " Why do you call me ' my lord ' ? " 
 
 " Because you are a lord. That is plain enough to be 
 seen. " 
 
"The old man raised himself to his full height.' 
 
SPEECH IS THE "WORD." 65 
 
 " Have you a lord — you ? " 
 
 u Yes, and a grand one. Does one live without a 
 lord?" 
 
 " Where is he ? " , 
 
 " I don't know. He has left this country. He is 
 called ,the Marquis de Lantenac, Viscount de Fontenay, 
 Prince in Brittany ; he is the lord of the Seven Forests. 
 I never saw him, but that does not prevent his being 
 my master. " 
 
 " And if you were to see him, would you obey him ? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes. Why, I should be a heathen if ^1 did 
 not obey him. I owe obedience to God; then to the 
 king, who is like God ; and then to the lord, who is like 
 the king. But we have nothing to do with all that. 
 You killed my brother ; I must kill you. " 
 
 The old man replied, — 
 
 " Agreed ; I killed your brother. Ï did well. " 
 
 The sailor clinched the pistol more tightly. 
 
 " Come, " said he. 
 
 " So be it, " said the old man. Still perfectly com- 
 posed, he added, " Where is the priest ? " 
 
 The sailor stared at him. 
 
 " The priest ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the priest. I gave your brother a priest ; 
 you owe me one. " 
 
 " I have none, " said the sailor. And he continued, 
 " Are priests to be found out at sea ? " 
 
 The convulsive thunderings of battle sounded more 
 and more distant. 
 
 " Those who are dying yonder have theirs, " said the 
 old man. 
 
 " That is true, " murmured the sailor ; " they have the 
 chaplain. " 
 
 The old man continued : " You will lose me my soul ; 
 that is a serious matter. 5> 
 
$6 NINETY-THREE. . 
 
 The sailor bent his head in thought. 
 
 " And in losing me my soul, " pursued the old man, 
 " you lose your own. Listen. I have pity on you. 
 Do what you choose. As for me, I did my duty a little 
 while ago, — first, in saving your brother's life, and 
 afterward in taking it from him ; and I am doing my 
 duty now in trying to save your soul. Reflect It is 
 your affair. Do you hear the cannon-shots at this in- 
 stant ? There are men perishing yonder, there are des- 
 perate creatures dying, there are husbands who will 
 never again see their wives, fathers who will never 
 again see their children, brothers who, like you, will 
 never again see their brothers. And by whose fault? 
 Your brother's — yours ! You believe in God, do you not ? 
 Well, you know that God suffers in this moment; he 
 suffers in the person of his Most Christian Son the King 
 of France, who is a child as Jesus was, and who is a pris- 
 oner in the fortress of the Temple. God suffers in his 
 Church of Brittany; he suffers in his insulted cathe- 
 drals, his desecrated Gospels, in his violated houses 
 of prayer, in his murdered priests. What did we in- 
 tend to do, we, with that vessel which is perishing at 
 this instant? We were going to succour God's children. 
 If your brother had been a good servant, if he had faith- 
 fully done his duty like a wise and prudent man, the 
 accident of the carronade would not have occurred, the 
 corvette would not have been disabled, she would not 
 have got out of her course, she would not have fallen in 
 with this fleet of perdition, and at this hour we should 
 be landing in France, — all, like valiant soldiers and 
 seamen as we were, sabre in hand, the white flag un- 
 furled, numerous, glad, joyful; and we should have 
 gone to help the brave Vendean peasants to save France, 
 to save the king; we should have been doing God's 
 work. This was what we meant to do ; this was what 
 
SPEECH IS THE "WORD." 67 
 
 I 
 
 we should have done. It is what I — the only one who 
 remains — ■ set out to do. But you oppose yourself 
 thereto. In this contest of the impious against the 
 priests, in this strife of the regicides against the king, 
 in this struggle of Satan against God, you are on the 
 devil's side. Your brother was the demon's first auxil- 
 iary ; you are the second. He commenced ; you finish. 
 You are with the regicides against the throne ; you are 
 with die impious against the Church. You take away 
 from God his last resource. Because I shall not be there, 
 — I, who represent the king, — the hamlets will continue 
 to burn, families to weep, priests to bleed, Brittany to 
 suffer, the king to remain in prison, and Jesus Christ to 
 be in distress. And who will have caused this ? You ! 
 Go on; it is your \ affair. I depended on you to he]p 
 bring about just the contrary of all this. I deceived 
 myself. Ah, yes ! it is true, — you are right : I killed 
 your brother. Your brother was courageous ; I recom- 
 pensed that. He was culpable ; I punished that. He 
 had failed in his duty ; I did not fail in mine. What 
 I did, I would do again. And I swear by the great 
 Saint Anne, of Auray, who sees us, that in a similar 
 case I would shoot my son just as I shot your brother. 
 Now you are master. Yes, I pity you. You have lied 
 to your captain. You, Christian, are without faith ; 
 you, Breton, are without honour. I was confided to 
 your loyalty and accepted by your treason ; you offer my 
 death to those to whom you had promised my life. Do 
 you know who it is you are destroying here ? It is 
 yourself. You take my life from the king, and you 
 give your eternity to the devil. Go on ; commit your 
 crime,— it is well. You sell cheaply your share in Para- 
 dise. Thanks to you, the devil will conquer; thanks 
 to you, the churches will fall ; thanks to you, the 
 heathen will continue to melt the bells and make can- 
 
68 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 non of them. They will shoot men with that which 
 used to warn souls ! At this moment in which I speak 
 to you, perhaps the bell that rang for your baptism is 
 killing your mother. Go on ; aid the devil, — do not 
 hesitate. Yes, I condemned your brother; but know 
 this : I am an instrument of God. Ah, you pretend to 
 judge the means God uses ! Will you take it on your- 
 self to judge Heaven's thunderbolt? Wretched man, 
 you will be judged by it ! Take care what you do. Do 
 you even know whether I am in a state of grace ? No. 
 Go on, all the same. Do what you like. You are free 
 to cast me into hell, and to cast yourself there with me. 
 Our two damnations are in your hand. It is you who 
 will be responsible before God. We are alone ; face to 
 face in the abyss. Go on — finish — make an end. I am 
 old and you are young; I am without arms and you 
 are armed ; kill me ! " 
 
 While the old man stood erect, uttering these words 
 in a voice louder than the noise of the sea, the undula- 
 tions of the waves showed him now in the shadow, now 
 in the light. The sailor had grown lividly white ; great 
 drops of sweat fell from his forehead ; he trembled like 
 a leaf ; he kissed his rosary again and again. When the 
 old man finished speaking, he threw down his pistol 
 and fell on his knees. 
 
 " Mercy, my lord ! Pardon me ! " he cried ; " you 
 speak like God. I have done wrong. My brother did 
 wrong. I will try to repair his crime. Dispose of me t 
 Command ; I will obey. " 
 
 " I give you pardon, " said the old man. 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 THE PEASANT'S MEMORY IS AS GOOD AS THE 
 CAPTAIN'S SCIENCE. 
 
 THE provisions which had been put into the boat 
 proved most acceptable. The two fugitives, 
 obliged to make long detours, took thirty-six hours to 
 reach the coast. They passed a night at sea; but the 
 night was fine, though there was too much moon to be 
 favourable to those seeking concealment. 
 
 They were obliged firsjt to row away from France, and 
 gain the open sea toward Jersey. 
 
 They heard the last broadside of the sinking corvette 
 as one hears the final roar of the lion whom the hunters 
 are killing in the wood. Then a silence fell upon the sea. 
 
 The '"' Claymore " died like the a Avenger, " but glory 
 has ignored her. The man who fights against his own 
 country is never a hero. 
 
 Halmalo was a marvellous seaman. He performed 
 miracles of dexterity and intelligence ; his improvisa- 
 tion of a route amid the reefs, the waves, and the 
 enemy's watch was a masterpiece. The wind had 
 slackened and the sea grown calmer. Halmalo avoided 
 the Caux des Minquiers, coasted the Chaussée-aux-Bœufs. 
 and in order that they might have a few hours' rest, 
 took shelter in the little creek on the north side, practi- 
 cable at low water; then, rowing southward again, 
 found means to pass between Granville and the Chausey 
 Islands without being discovered by the look-out either 
 of Granville or Chausey. He entered the bay of Saint- 
 
70 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Michael, — a bold undertaking, on account of the neigh- 
 bourhood of Cancale, an anchorage for the cruising 
 squadron. 
 
 About an hour before sunset on the evening of the 
 second day, he left Saint Michael's Mount behind him, 
 and proceeded to land on a beach deserted because the 
 shifting sands made it dangerous. 
 
 Fortunately the tide was high. 
 
 Halmalo drove the boat as far up as he could, tried 
 the sand, found it firm, ran the bark aground, and sprang 
 on shore. The old man strode over the side after him 
 and examined the horizon. 
 
 " Monseigneur, " said Halmalo, " we are here at the 
 mouth of the Couesnon. There is Beauvoir to starboard, 
 and Huisnes to larboard. The belfry in front of us is 
 Ardevon. " 
 
 The old man bent down to the boat and took a bis- 
 cuit, which he put in his pocket, and said to Halmalo : 
 
 " Take the rest. " 
 
 Halmalo put the remains of the meat and biscuit into 
 the bag and slung it over his shoulder. This done, he 
 said : — 
 
 " Monseigneur, must I conduct or follow you ? " 
 
 " Neither the one nor the other. " 
 
 Halmalo regarded the speaker in stupefied wonder. 
 
 The old man continued : — 
 
 " Halmalo, we must separate. It will not answer to 
 be two. There must be a thousand or one alone. " 
 
 He paused, and drew from one of his pockets a green 
 silk bow, rather like a cockade, with a gold fleur-de-lis 
 embroidered in the centre. He resumed : — 
 
 " Do you know how to read ? " 
 
 8 No. " 
 
 " That is fortunate. A man who can read is trouble- 
 some. Have you a good memory ? " 
 
MEMORY IS AS GOOD AS SCIENCE. 71 
 
 ' Yes. n 
 
 " That will do. Listen, Halmalo. You must take to 
 the right and I to the left. I shall go in the direction 
 of Fougères, you toward Bazouges. Keep your bag ; it 
 gives you the look of a peasant. Conceal your weapons. 
 Cut yourself a stick in the thickets. Creep among the 
 fields of rye, which are high. Slide behind the hedges. 
 Climb the fences in order to go across the meadows. 
 Leave passers-by at a distance. Avoid the roads and 
 the bridges. Do not enter Pontorson. Ah ! you will 
 have to cross the Couesnon. How will you manage ? " 
 
 8 I shall swim. " 
 
 " That 's right. And there is a ford — do you know 
 where it is ? " 
 
 " Between Ancey and Vieux-Viel. " 
 
 " That is right. You do really belong to the country. " 
 
 " But night is coming on. Where will Monseigneur 
 sleep ? " 
 
 " I can take care of myself. And you — where will 
 you sleep ? " 
 
 " There are hollow trees. I was a peasant before I 
 was a sailor. " 
 
 "Throw away your sailor's hat; it will betray you. 
 You will easily find a woollen cap. " 
 
 " Oh, a peasant's thatch is to be found anywhere. 
 The first fisherman will sell me his. " 
 
 " Very good. Now listen. You know the woods ? " 
 
 " All of them. " 
 
 " Of the whole district ? " 
 
 :i From Noirmoutier to Laval. " 
 
 :i Do you know their names too ? " 
 
 " I know the woods ; I know their names ; I know 
 about everything. " 
 
 " You will forget nothing ? " 
 
 a Nothing. w 
 
72 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Good ! At present, attention. How many leagues 
 can you make in a day ? " 
 
 " Ten, fifteen — twenty, if necessary. " 
 
 " It will be. Do not lose a word of what I am about 
 to say. You will go to the wood of Samt-Aubin. " 
 
 " Near Lamballe ? " 
 
 " Yes. On the edge of the ravine between Saint- 
 Reuil and Plédiac there is a large chestnut-tree. You 
 will stop there. You will see no one. " 
 
 " Which will not hinder somebody's being there. I 
 know. " 
 
 " You will give the call. Do you know how to 
 give the call?" 
 
 Halmalo puffed out his cheeks, turned toward the sea, 
 and there sounded the " to-whit, to-hoo " of an owl. 
 
 One would have said it came from the night-locked 
 recesses of a forest. It was sinister and owl-like. 
 
 " Good !" said the old man. " You have it. " 
 
 He held out the bow of green silk to Halmalo. 
 
 " This is my badge of command. Take it. It is im- 
 portant that no one should as yet know my name ; but 
 this knot will be sufficient. The fleur-de-lis was em- 
 broidered by Madame Royale -in the Temple prison. " 
 
 Halmalo bent one knee to the ground. He trembled 
 as he took the flower-embroidered knot, and brought it 
 near to his lips, then paused, as if frightened at this 
 kiss. 
 
 " Can I ? " he demanded. 
 
 " Yes, since you kiss the crucifix. " 
 
 Halmalo kissed the fleur-de-lis. 
 
 " Rise, " said the old man. 
 
 Halmalo rose and hid the knot in his breast. 
 
 The old man continued : — 
 
 " Listen well to this. This is the order : Up ! Revolt ! 
 No quarter ! On the edge of this wood of Saint-Aubin 
 
MEMORY IS AS GOOD AS SCIENCE. 73 
 
 you will give the call. You will repeat it thrice. The 
 third time you will see a man spring out of the ground. " 
 
 " Out of a hole under the trees. I know. " 
 
 " This man will be Planchenault, who is also called 
 the King's Heart. You will show him this knot. He 
 will understand. Then, by routes you must find out, 
 you will go to the wood of Astillé ; there you will find 
 a cripple, who is surnained Mousqueton, and who shows 
 pity to none. You will tell him that I love him, and 
 that he is to set the parishes in motion. From there you 
 will go to the wood of Couesbon, which is a league from 
 Ploërmel. You will give the owl-cry ; a man will come 
 put of a hole. It will be Thuault, seneschal of Ploërmel, 
 who has belonged tè what is called the Constituent As- 
 sembly, but on the good side. You will tell him to 
 arm the castle of Couesbon, which belongs to the Mar- 
 quis de Guer, a refugee. Eavines, little woods, ground 
 uneven, --a good place. Thuault is a clever, straight- 
 forward man. Thence you will go to Saint-Guen-les- 
 Toits, and you will talk with Jean Chouan, who is, in 
 my mind, the real chief. From thence you will go to 
 the wood of Vilie-Anglose, where you will see Guitter, 
 whom they call Saint Martin ; you will bid him have 
 his eye on a certain Courmesnil, who is the son-in-law 
 of old Goupil de Préfeln, and who leads the Jacobinery 
 of Argentan. Kecoilect all this. I write nothing, be- 
 cause nothing should be written. La Eouarie made out 
 a list ; it ruined all. Then you will go to the wood of 
 Rougefeu, where is Miélette, who leaps the ravine on a 
 long pole. " 
 
 " It is called a leaping-pole. " 
 
 " Do you know how to use it ? " 
 
 "Am I not a Breton and a peasant? The ferte is 
 our friend. She widens our arms and lengthens our 
 -egs. " 
 
74 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " That is to say, she makes the enemy smaller and 
 shortens the route. A good machine. " 
 
 " Once on a time, with my ferte, I held my own 
 against three salt-tax men who had sabres. " 
 
 " When was that ? " 
 
 " Ten years ago. " 
 
 " Under the king ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course. " 
 
 " Then you fought in the time of the king ? " 
 
 " Yes, to be sure. " 
 
 " Against whom ? " 
 
 " My faith, I do not know ! I was a salt-smuggler. " 
 
 " Very good. " 
 
 " They called that fighting against the excise officers. 
 Were they the same thing as the king ? " 
 
 " Yes. No. But it is not necessary that you should 
 understand. " 
 
 " I beg Monseigneur's pardon for having asked a 
 question of Monseigneur. " 
 
 " Let us continue. Do you know La Tourgue ? " 
 
 " Do I know La Tourgue ? Why, I belong there. " 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Certainly, since I come from Parigné. " 
 
 " In fact, La Tourgue is near Parigné. " 
 
 " Know La Tourgue ! The big round castle that be- 
 longs to my lord's family? There is a great iron door 
 which separates the new part from the old that a cannon 
 could not blow open. The famous book about Saint 
 Bartholomew, which people go to look at from curiosity, 
 is in the new building. There are frogs in the grass. 
 When I was little, I used to go and tease them. And 
 the underground passage, I know that; perhaps there 
 is nobody else left who does. " 
 
 " What underground passage ? I do not know what 
 you mean. " 
 
MEMORY IS AS GOOD AS SCIENCE. 75 
 
 " It was made for old times, in the days when La 
 Tourgue was besieged. The people inside could escape 
 by going through the underground passage which leads 
 into the wood. " 
 
 " There is a subterranean passage of that description 
 in the castle of Jupellière, and the castle of Hunaud- 
 aye, and the tower of Cliampéon ; but there is nothing 
 of the sort at La Tourgue. " 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed, monseigneur ! I do not know the 
 passages that Monseigneur spoke of ; I only know that 
 of La Tourgue, because I belong to the neighbourhood. 
 Into the bargain, there is nobody but myself who does 
 know it. It was not talked about. It was forbidden, 
 because it had been used in the time of Monsieur de 
 Eohan's wars. My father knew the secret, and showed 
 it to me. I know how to get in and out. If I am m 
 the forest, I can go into the tower, and if I am in the 
 tower, I can go into the forest, without anybody's see- 
 ing me. When the enemy enters, there is no longer any 
 one there. That is what the passage of La Tourgue is. 
 Oh, I know it ! " 
 
 The old man remained silent for a moment. 
 
 " It is evident that you deceive yourself. If there 
 were such a secret, I should know it. " 
 
 " Monseigneur, I am certain. There is a stone that 
 turns. * 
 
 " Ah, good ! You peasants believe in stones that turn 
 and stones that sing, and stones that go at night to 
 drink from the neighbouring brook. A pack of 
 nonsense ! " 
 
 " But since I have made the stone turn — " 
 
 " Just as others have heard it sing. Comrade, La 
 Tourgue is a fortress, sure and strong, easy to defend; 
 but anybody who counted on a subterranean passage fox 
 getting out of it would be silly indeed. " 
 
76 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " But, monseigneur — " 
 
 The old man shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " We are losing time ; let us talk of what concerns us. - 
 
 The peremptory tone cut short Halmalo's persistence. 
 
 The unknown resumed : — 
 
 " To continue. Listen. From Eougefeu you will go 
 to the wood of Montchevrier ; Bénédicité is there, the 
 chief of the Twelve. There is another good fellow. He 
 says his Bénédicité while he has people shot War and 
 sensibility do not go together. From Montchevrier, 
 you will go — " 
 
 He broke off. 
 
 " I forgot the money. " 
 
 He took from his pocket a purse and a pocket-book, 
 and put them in Halmalo's hand. 
 
 " There are thirty thousand livres in assignats in the 
 pocket-book (something like three pounds) ; it is true 
 the assignats are false, but the real ones are just as 
 worthless. In the purse — attention — there are a hun- 
 dred gold louis. I give you all I have. I have no 
 need of anything here. Besides, it is better that no 
 money should be found on me. I resume. From 
 Montchevrier you will go to Antrain, where you will 
 see Monsieur de Frotté ; from Antrain to La Jupellière, 
 where you will see De Eochecotte ; from La Jupellière 
 to Noirieux, where you will find the Abbé Baudoin. 
 Can you recollect all this ? " 
 
 " Like my paternoster. " 
 
 " You will see Monsieur Dubois-Guy at Saint-Brice- 
 en-Cogles, Monsieur de Turpin at Morannes, which is a 
 fortified town, and the Prince de Talmont at Chateau- 
 Gonthier. " 
 
 " Shall I be spoken to by a prince ? " 
 
 " Since I speak to you. " 
 
 Halmalo took off his hat. 
 
MEMORY IS AS GOOD AS SCIENCE. 77 
 
 " Madame's fleur-de-lis will ensure you a good recep- 
 tion everywhere. Do not forget that you are going into 
 the country of mountaineers and rustics. Disguise your- 
 self. It will be easy to do. These republicans are so 
 stupid that you may pass anywhere with a blue coat, a 
 three-cornered hat, and a tricoloured cockade. There 
 are no longer regiments, there are no longer uniforms ; 
 the companies are not numbered ; each man puts on any 
 rag he pleases. You will go to Saint-Mhervé ; there 
 you will see Gaulier^ called Great Peter. You will go 
 to the cantonment of Parné, where the men blacken 
 their faces. They put gravel into their guns, and a 
 double charge of powder, in order to make more noise. 
 It is well done; but tell them, above all, to kill — kill 
 — kill! You will go to the camp of the Vache Noire, 
 which is on a height; to the middle of the wood of La 
 Charnie, then to the camp Avoine, then to the camp 
 Yert, then to the camp of the Fourmis. You will go to 
 the Grand Bordaçe, which is also called the Haut de 
 Pré, and is inhabited by a widow whose daughter mar- 
 ried Treton, nicknamed the Englishman. Grand Bordage 
 is in the parish of Quelaines. You will visit Epineux - 
 le-Chevreuil, Sillé-le-Guillaume, Parannes, and all the 
 men in all of the woods. You will make friends, and 
 you will send them to the borders of the high and the 
 low Maine ; you will see Jean Treton in the parish of 
 Vaisges, Sans Regret at Bignon, Chambord at Bonchamps ; 
 the brothers Corbin at Maisoncelles, and the Petit-sans- 
 Peur at Saint-John-on-Erve. He is the one who is called 
 Bourdoiseau. All that done, and the watch-word ■ — Re- 
 volt! No quarter! — given everywhere, you will join 
 the grand army, the Catholic and royal army, wherever 
 it may be. You will see D'Elbée, De Lescure, De la 
 Roche jacquelein, all the chiefs who may chance to be 
 still living. You will show them my token of command 
 
78 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 They all know what it means. You are only a sailor, 
 but Cathelineau is only a carter. This is what you 
 must say to them from me : 'It is time to join the two 
 wars, the great and the little. The great makes the most 
 noise ; the little does the most execution. The Vendée 
 is good ; Chouannerie is worse ; and in civil war the 
 worst is the best. The goodness of a war is judged by 
 the amount of bad it does. ' " 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " Halmalo, I say all this to you. You do not under- 
 stand the words, but you comprehend the things them- 
 selves. I gained confidence in you from seeing you 
 manage the boat. You do not understand geometry, yet 
 you perform sea-manœuvres that are marvellous. He 
 who can manage a boat can pilot an insurrection. From 
 the way in which you have conducted this sea intrigue, 
 I am certain you will fulfil all my commands well. I 
 resume. You will tell the whole to the chiefs, in your 
 own way, of course ; but it will be well told. I prefer 
 the war of the forest to the war of the plain ; I have no 
 wish to set a hundred thousand peasants in line, and 
 expose them to Carnot's artillery and the grape-shot of 
 the Blues. In less than a month I mean to have five 
 hundred thousand sharpshooters ambushed in the woods. 
 The Eepublican army is my game. Poaching is our 
 way of waging war, Mine is the strategy of the thick- 
 ets. Good ; there is still another expression you will 
 not catch ; no matter, you will seize this : No quarter, 
 and ambushes everywhere. I depend more on bush fight- 
 ing than on regular battles. You will add that the Eng- 
 lish are with us. We catch the Eepublic between two 
 fires. Europe assists us. Let us make an end of the 
 Revolution. Kings will wage a war of kingdoms against 
 it ; let us wage a war of parishes. You will say this. 
 Have you understood ? " 
 
MEMORY IS AS GOOD AS SCIENCE. 79 
 
 u Yes. Put all to fire and sword. w 
 
 ■ That is it. " 
 
 " No quarter. " 
 
 " Not to a soul. That is it. " 
 
 " I will go everywhere. " 
 
 " And be careful, for in this country it is easy to 
 become a dead man. " 
 
 " Death does not concern me. He who takes his first 
 step uses perhaps his last shoes. " 
 
 " You are a brave fellow. " 
 
 " And if I am asked Monseigneur 's name ? " 
 
 " It must not be known yet. You will say you do 
 not know it, and that will be the truth. " 
 
 " Where shall I see Monseigneur again ? " 
 
 " "Where I shall be. " 
 
 " How shall I know ? " 
 
 " Because all the world will know. I shall be talked 
 of before eight days go by. I shall make examples ; I 
 shall avenge religion and the king, and you will know 
 well that it is I of whom they speak. " 
 
 " I understand. " 
 
 " Forget nothing. " 
 
 " Be tranquil. " 
 
 " Now go. May God guide you ! Go. " 
 
 " I will do all that you have bidden me. I will go. 
 I will speak. I will obey. I will command. " 
 
 " Good ! " 
 
 • And if I succeed ? " 
 
 a I will make you a knight of Saint Louis. " 
 
 " Like my brother. And if I fail, you will have me 
 shot ? " 
 
 " Like your brother. " 
 
 " Done, monseigneur. " 
 
 The old man bent his head and seemed to fall into a 
 sombre reverie. When he raised his eyes he was alone. 
 
80 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Halmalo was only a black spot disappearing on the 
 horizon. 
 
 The sun had just set. 
 
 The sea-mews and the hooded gulls flew homeward 
 from the darkening ocean. 
 
 That sort of inquietude which precedes the night 
 made itself felt in space. The green frogs croaked ; the 
 kingfishers flew whistling out of the pools ; the gulls 
 and the rooks kept up their evening tumult ; the cry of 
 the shore birds could be heard, but not a human sound. 
 The solitude was complete. Not a sail in the bay, not 
 a peasant in the fields. As far as the eye could reach 
 stretched a deserted plain. The great sand-thistles 
 shivered. The white sky of twilight cast a vast livid 
 pallor over the shore. In the distance, the pools scat- 
 tered over the plain looked like great sheets of pewter 
 spread flat upon the ground. The wind hurried in from 
 the sea with a moan. 
 
BO OX IV 
 
 < TELLMAKCH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TOP OF THE DUNK 
 
 THE old man waited till Halmalo disappeared, then 
 he drew his fisherman's cloak closely about him 
 and set out on his course. He walked with slow steps, 
 thinking deeply. He took the direction of Huisnes, 
 while Halmalo went toward Beauvoir. 
 
 Behind him, an enormous black triangle, with a cathe- 
 dral for tiara and a fortress for breastplate, with its two 
 great towers to the east, one round, the other square, 
 helping to support the weight of the church and village, 
 rose Mount Saint Michael, which is to the ocean what 
 the Pyramid of Cheops is to the desert. 
 
 The quicksands of Mount Saint Michael's Bay in- 
 sensibly displace their dunes. Between Huisnes and 
 Ardevon there was at that time a very high one, which 
 is now completely effaced. This dune, levelled by an 
 equinoctial storm, had the peculiarity of being very 
 ancient ; on its summit stood a commemorative column, 
 erected in the twelfth century, in memory of the council 
 held at Avranches against the assassins of Saint Thomas 
 of Canterbury, From the top of this dune the whole 
 district could be seen, and one could fix the points of the 
 compass 
 
82 NINETY-THKEE. 
 
 The old man ascended it. 
 
 When he reached the top, he sat down on one of the 
 projections of the stones, with his back against the pil- 
 lar, and began to study the kind of geographical chart 
 spread beneath his feet. He seemed to be seeking a 
 route in a district which had once been familiar. In the 
 whole of this vast landscape, made indistinct by the 
 twilight, there was nothing clearly defined but the hori- 
 zon stretching black against the sky. 
 
 He could perceive the roofs of eleven towns and vil- 
 lages ; could distinguish for several leagues' distance all 
 the bell-towers of the coast, which were built very high, 
 to serve in case of need as landmarks to boats at sea. 
 
 At the end of a few minutes the old man appeared to 
 have found what he sought in this dim clearness. His 
 eyes rested on an enclosure of trees, walls, and roofs, 
 partially visible midway between the plain and the 
 wood ; it was a farm. He nodded his head in the satis- 
 fied way a man does who says to himself, " There it is, " 
 and began to trace with his finger a route across the 
 fields and hedges. From time to time he examined a 
 shapeless, indistinct object stirring on the principal roof 
 of the farm, and seemed to ask himself, " What can it 
 be ? " It was colourless and confused, owing to the 
 gloom ; it floated — therefore it was not a weather-cock ; 
 and there was no reason why it should be a flag. 
 
 He was weary ; he remained in his resting-place, and 
 yielded passively to the vague forgetfulness which the 
 first moments of repose bring over a tired man. 
 
 There is an hour of the day which may be called noise- 
 less : it is the serene hour of early evening. It was 
 about him now. He enjoyed it; he looked, he listened 
 — to what? The tranquillity. Even savage natures 
 have their moments of melancholy. Suddenly this tran- 
 quillity was not troubled, but accentuated bv the voices 
 
THE TOP OE THE DUNE. 83 
 
 of persons passing below, — the voices of women and 
 children. It was like a chime of joy-bells unexpectedly 
 ringing amid the shadows. The underbrush hid the 
 group from whence the voices came, but it was moving 
 slowly along the foot of the dune toward the plain and 
 the forest. The clear, fresh tones reached distinctly 
 the pensive old man ; they were so near that he could 
 catch every word. 
 
 A woman's voice said, — 
 
 " We must hurry ourselves, Flécharde. Is this the 
 way ? " 
 
 " No, yonder. " 
 
 The dialogue went on between the two voices, — one 
 high-pitched, the other low and timid. 
 
 " What is the name of the farm we are stopping at ? " 
 
 " L'Herbe-en-Pail. " 
 
 " Will it take us much longer to get there ? " 
 
 " A good quarter of an hour. " 
 
 " We must hurry on to get our soup. " 
 
 * Yes ; we are late. " 
 
 " We shall have to run. But those brats of yours are 
 tired. We are only two women; we can't carry three 
 brats. And you — you are already carrying one, my 
 Flécharde ; a regular lump of lead. You have weaned 
 the little gormandizer, but you carry her all the same. 
 A bad habit. Do me the favour to make her walk. Oh, 
 very well — so much the worse ! The soup will be 
 cold. " 
 
 " Oh, what good shoes these are that you gave me ! 
 I should think they had been made for me. " 
 
 " It is better than going barefooted, eh ?" 
 
 K Hurry up, Bene -Jean ! " 
 
 ts He is the very one that hindered us. He must needs 
 chatter with all the little peasant girls he met. Oh, 
 he shows the man already f " 
 
84 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; why, he is going on five years old» " 
 " I say, Eené-Jean, what made you talk to that little 
 
 girl in the village ? " 
 
 A child's voice, that of a boy, replied, — > 
 
 " Because she was an acquaintance of mine. " 
 
 " What, you know her ? " asked the woman. 
 
 " Yes, ever since this morning ; she played some 
 
 games with me. " 
 
 " Oh, what a man you are ! " cried the woman. " We 
 
 have only been three days in the neighbourhood; that 
 
 creature there is no bigger than your fist, and he has 
 
 found a sweetheart already ! " 
 
 The voices grew fainter and fainter ; then every sound 
 
 died away. 
 
The Marquis de Lantenac discovering that a Price had been 
 set upon his Head. 
 
CHAPTEK II 
 
 AURES HABET, ET NON AUDIET. 
 
 THE old man sat motionless. He was not thinking 1 
 scarcely dreaming. About him was serenity, 
 rest, safety, solitude. It was still broad daylight on the 
 dune, but almost dark in the plain, and quite night in 
 the forest. The moon was floating up the east , a few 
 stars dotted the pale blue of the zenith. This man, 
 though full of preoccupation and stern cares, lost him- 
 self in the ineffable sweetness of the infinite. He felt 
 within him the obscure dawn of hope, if the word hope 
 may be applied to the workings of civil warfare. For 
 the instant it seemed to him that in escaping from that 
 inexorable sea and touching land once more, all danger 
 had vanished. No one knew his name ; he was alone, 
 escaped from the enemy, having left no trace behind 
 him, for the sea leaves no track ; hidden, ignored ; not 
 even suspected. He felt an indescribable calm ; a little 
 more and he would have fallen asleep. 
 
 What made the strange charm of this tranquil home 
 to that man, a prey within and without to such tumultSj 
 was the profound silence alike in earth and sky. 
 
 He heard nothing but the wind from the sea ; but the 
 wind is a continual bass, which almost ceases to be a 
 noise, so accustomed does the ear become to its tone. 
 
 Suddenly he started to his feet. 
 
 His attention had been quickly awakened ; he looked 
 about the horizon. Then his glance fixed eagerly upon a 
 
86 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 particular point. What he looked at was the belfry of 
 Cormeray, which rose before him at the extremity of 
 the plain. Something very extraordinary was indeed 
 going on within it. 
 
 The belfry was clearly defined against the sky; he 
 could see the tower surmounted by the spire, and be- 
 tween the two the cage for the bell, square, without 
 pent-house, open at the four sides after the fashion of 
 Breton belfries. 
 
 Now this cage appeared alternately to open and shut 
 at regular intervals ; its lofty opening showed entirely 
 white, then black ; the sky could be seen for an instant 
 through it, then it disappeared ; a gleam of light would 
 come, then an eclipse, and the opening and shutting 
 succeeded each other from moment to moment with the 
 regularity of a hammer striking its anvil. 
 
 This belfry of Cormeray was in front of the old man, 
 about two leagues from the place where he stood. He 
 looked to his right at the belfry of Baguer-Pican, which 
 rose equally straight and distinct against the horizon: 
 its cage was opening and shutting, like that of Cormeray. 
 
 He looked to his left, at the belfry of Tanis : the cage 
 of the belfry of Tanis opened and shut, like that of 
 Baguer-Pican. 
 
 He examined all the belfries upon the horizon, one 
 after another : to his left those of Courtils, of Précey, of 
 Crollon, and the Croix- Avranchin ; to his right the bel- 
 fries of Kaz-sur-Couesnon, of Mordrey, and of the Pas ; 
 in front of him, the belfry of Pontorson. The cages of 
 all these belfries were alternately white and black. 
 
 What did this mean ? 
 
 It meant that all the bells were swinging. In order 
 to appear and disappear in this way they must be vio- 
 lently rung. 
 
 What was it for ? The tocsin, without doubt. 
 
AURES HABET, ET NON AUDIET. 87 
 
 The tocsin was sounding, sounding madly, on every 
 side, from all the belfries, in all the parishes, in all the 
 villages ; and yet he could hear nothing. 
 
 This was owing to the distance and the wind from 
 the sea, which, sweeping in the opposite direction, car- 
 ried every sound of the shore out beyond the horizon. 
 
 All these mad bells calling on every side, and at the 
 same time this silence ; nothing could be more sinister. 
 
 The old man looked and listened. He did not hear 
 the tocsin ; he saw it. It was a strange sensation, that 
 of seeing the tocsin. 
 
 Against whom was this rage of the bells directed ? 
 
 Against whom did this tocsin sound ? 
 
CHAPTEE III 
 
 USEFULNESS OF BIG LETTERS. 
 
 ASSUREDLY some one was snared. 
 Who? 
 
 A shiver ran through this man of steel. 
 
 It could not be he ? His arrival could not have been 
 discovered. It was impossible that the acting represen- 
 tative should have received information ; he had scarcely 
 landed. The corvette had evidently foundered, and not 
 a man had escaped. And even on the corvette, Boisber- 
 thelot and La Vieuville alone knew his name. 
 
 The belfries kept up their savage sport. He mechan- 
 ically watched and counted them; and his meditations, 
 pushed from one conjecture to another, had those fluctu- 
 ations caused by a sudden change from complete se- 
 curity to a terrible consciousness of peril. Still, after 
 all, this tocsin might be accounted for in many ways ; 
 and he ended by reassuring himself with the repetition 
 of, " In short, no one knows of my arrival, and no one 
 knows my name. " 
 
 During the last few seconds there had been a slight 
 noise above and behind him. This noise was like the 
 fluttering of leaves. He paid no attention to it at first, 
 but as the sound continued — one might have said in- 
 *sisted on making itself heard — he turned round at 
 length. It was in fact a leaf, but a leaf of paper. The 
 wind was trying to tear off a large placard pasted on the 
 stone above his head. This placard had been very lately 
 fastened there, for it was still moist, and offered a hold 
 
USEFULNESS OF BIG LETTERS. 89 
 
 to the wind, which had begun to play with and was 
 detaching it. 
 
 The old man had ascended the dune on the opposite 
 side, and had not seen this placard as he came up. 
 
 He mounted the coping where he had been seated, and 
 laid his hand -on the corner of the paper which the wind 
 moved. The sky was clear, for the June twilights are 
 long ; the bottom of the dune was shadowy, but the top 
 in light. A portion of the placard was printed in large 
 letters, and there was still light enough for him to make 
 it out. He read this : — 
 
 THE FRENCH REPUBLIC, ONE AND INDIVISIBLE. 
 
 We, Prieur, of the Marne, acting representative of the 
 people with the army of the coast of Cherbourg, give notice : 
 The ci-devant Marquis de Lantenac, Viscount de Fontenay, 
 so-called Breton prince, secretly landed on the coast of Gran- 
 ville, is declared an outlaw. — A price is set on his bead. — ■ 
 Any person bringing him, alive or dead, will receive the sum 
 of sixty thousand livres. — This amount will not be paid 
 in assignats, but in gold. — A battalion of the Cherbourg 
 coast-guards will be immediately dispatched for the appre- 
 hension of the so-called Marquis de Lantenac. 
 
 The parishes are ordered to lend every assistance. 
 
 Given at the Town-hall of Granville, this 2d of Jane, 
 1793. 
 
 (Signed) Prieur, de la Marne. 
 
 Under this name was another signature, in much 
 smaller characters, and which the failing light prevented 
 the old man's deciphering. 
 
 The old man pulled his hat over his eyes, closed his 
 sea-jacket up to his chin and rapidly descended the 
 dune. 
 
 It was unsafe to remain longer on this summit. 
 
 He had perhaps already stayed too long ; the top of the 
 
90 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 dune was the only point in the landscape which still 
 remained visible. 
 
 When he reached the obscurity of the bottom, he 
 slackened his pace. 
 
 He took the route which he had traced for himself 
 toward the farm, evidently having reason to believe that 
 he should be safe in that direction. 
 
 The plain was deserted. There were no passers-by at 
 that hour. 
 
 He stopped behind a thicket of underbrush, undid his 
 cloak, turned his vest the hairy side out, refastened his 
 rag of a mantle about his neck by its cord, and resumed 
 his way. 
 
 The moon was shining. 
 
 He reached a point where two roads branched off; an 
 old stone cross stood there. Upon the pedestal of the 
 cross he could distinguish a white square, which was 
 most probably a notice like that he had just read. He 
 went toward it. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " said a voice. 
 
 He turned round. 
 
 A man was standing in the hedge-row, tall like him- 
 self, old like himself, with white hair like his own, and 
 garments even more dilapidated, — almost his double. 
 This man leaned on a long stick. 
 
 He repeated, — 
 
 " I ask you where you are going. " 
 
 " In the first place, where am I ? " returned he, with 
 an almost haughty composure. 
 
 The man replied, — 
 
 " You are in the seigneury of Tanis. I am its beggar ; 
 you are its lord. " 
 
 "I?" 
 
 " Yes, you, my lord Marquis de Lantenac. w 
 
CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE CAIMAND. 
 
 THE Marquis de Lantenac — ■ we shall henceforth call 
 him by his name — answered quietly : — 
 
 " So be it. Give me up. " 
 
 The man continued : — 
 
 " We are both at home here : you in the castle, I in 
 the bushes. " 
 
 " Let us finish. Do your work. Betray me, " said the 
 marquis. 
 
 The man went on : — - 
 
 " You were going to the farm of Herbe-en-Pail, were 
 you not ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " Do not go. " 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because the Blues are thera * 
 
 " Since how long ? " 
 
 " These three days. " 
 
 " Did the people of the farm and the hamlet resist ? " 
 
 " No ; they opened all the doors. " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the marquis. 
 
 The man pointed with his finger toward the roof ci 
 the farm-house, which could be perceived above the 
 trees at a short distance. 
 
 " You can see the roof, Marquis ? " 
 
 u Yes. * 
 
 
92 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Do you see what there is above it ? * 
 
 " Something floating ? " 
 
 " Yes. ■ 
 
 " It is a flag. " 
 
 " The tricolour, " said the man. 
 
 This was the object which had attracted the marquis's 
 attention as he stood on the top of the dune. 
 
 " Is not the tocsin sounding ?" asked the marquis. 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " On what account ? " 
 
 " Evidently on yours. " 
 
 " But I cannot hear it. " 
 
 " The wind carries the sound the other way. * 
 
 The man added, — 
 
 " Did you see your placard ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " They are hunting you ; " and casting a glance toward 
 the farm, he added, " There is a demi-battalion there. ' 
 
 ■ Of republicans ? " 
 
 " Parisians. " 
 
 * Very well, " said the marquis : " march on. " 
 
 And he took a step in the direction of the farm. 
 
 The man seized his arm. 
 
 " Do not go there. " 
 
 " Where do you wish me to go ? " 
 
 tt Home with me. " 
 
 The marquis looked steadily at the mendicant. 
 
 " Listen, my lord marquis. My house is not fine, 
 but it is safe. A cabin lower than a cave. For flooring 
 a bed of sea-weed, for ceiling a roof of branches and 
 grass. Come. At the farm you will be shot; in my 
 house you may go to sleep. You must be tired ; and 
 to-morrow morning the Blues will march on, and you 
 can go where you please. " 
 
 The marquis studied this man. 
 
THE CAIMAND. 93 
 
 " Which side are you on?" he asked. " Are you re- 
 publican ? Are you royalist ? " 
 u I am a beggar. " 
 " Neither royalist nor republican ? n 
 
 * I believe not. " 
 
 " Are you for or against the king ? " 
 u I have no time for that sort of thing. " 
 k " What do you think of what is passing ? " 
 
 * I have nothing to live on. " 
 
 " Still you come to my assistance. " 
 
 " Because I saw you were outlawed. What is the 
 law ? So one can be beyond its pale. I do not compre- 
 hend. Am I inside the law ? Am I outside the law ? 1 
 don't in the least know. To die of hunger, is that 
 being within the law?" 
 
 " How long have you been dying of hunger ? " 
 
 " All my life. " 
 
 " And you save me ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " Why ? * 
 
 " Because I said to myself, ' There is one poorer than L 
 I have the right to breathe ; he has not. ' " 
 
 " That is true. And you save me ? " 
 
 " Of course ; we are brothers, monseigneur. I ask 
 for bread : you ask for life. We are a pair of beggars. " 
 
 " But do you know there is a price set on my head ? * 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " How did you know ? " 
 
 " I read the placard. " 
 
 " You know how to read ? " 
 
 u Yes ; and to write, too. Why should I be a brute ? " 
 
 iS Then, since you can read, and since you have seen 
 the notice, you know that a man would earn sixt^ 
 thousand livres by giving me up ? " 
 
 " I know it. " 
 
94 HES T EïY~THIiEE. 
 
 " Not in assignats. " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; in gold. " 
 
 " Sixty thousand livres f Do you know It is a 
 fortune ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " And that anybody apprehending me would make his 
 fortune ? " 
 
 " Very well ; what next ? " 
 
 " His fortune ! " 
 
 " That is exactly what I thought. When I saw you, I 
 said, 'Just to think that anybody by giving up that 
 man yonder would gain sixty thousand livres, and make 
 his fortune ! ' Let us hasten to hide him. " 
 
 The marquis followed the beggar. 
 
 They entered a thicket ; the mendicant's den was 
 there. It was a sort of chamber which a great old oak 
 had allowed the man to take possession of within its 
 heart ; it was dug down among its roots, and covered by 
 its branches. It was dark, low, hidden, invisible. 
 There was room for two persons. 
 
 " I foresaw that I might have a guest, " said the 
 mendicant. 
 
 This species of underground lodging, less rare in Brit- 
 tany than people fancy, is called in the peasant dialect 
 a camichot. The name is also applied to hiding-places 
 contrived in thick walls. 
 
 It was furnished with a few jugs, a pallet of straw 
 or dried wrack, with a thick covering of kersey ; some 
 tallow-dips, a flint and steel, and a bundle of furze 
 twigs for tinder. 
 
 They stooped low, — - crept rather, — penetrated into 
 the chamber, which the great roots of the tree divided 
 into fantastic compartments, and seated themselves on 
 the heap of dry sea-weed which served as a bed. The 
 space between two of the roots, which made the doorway, 
 
THE C AIM AND. 95 
 
 allowed a little light to enter. Night had come on; 
 but the eye adapts itself to the darkness, and one always 
 finds at last a little day among the shadows. A reflec- 
 tion from the moon's rays dimly silvered the entrance. 
 In a corner was a jug of water, a loaf of buckwheat 
 bread, and some chestnuts. 
 
 " Let us sup, " said the beggar. 
 
 They divided the chestnuts ; the marquis contributed 
 his morsel of biscuit. They bit into the same black loaf, 
 and drank out of the jug, one after the other. 
 
 They conversed. 
 The marquis began to question this man. 
 
 " So, no matter whether anything or nothing happens, 
 it is all the same to you ?" 
 
 " Pretty much. You are the lords, you others. Those 
 are ybur affairs. " 
 
 " But after all, present events — " 
 
 " Pass away up out of my reach. " 
 
 The beggar added presently : — 
 
 " Then there are things that go on still higher up : 
 the sun that rises, the moon that increases or dimin- 
 ishes ; those are the matters I occupy myself about. " 
 
 He took a sip from the jug, and said, — 
 
 " The good fresh water ! " 
 
 Then he asked, — 
 
 " How do you find the water, monseigneur ? * 
 
 " What is your name ? " inquired the marquis. 
 
 " My name is Tellmarch, but I am called the 
 Caimand. " 
 
 " I understand. Caimand is a word of the district. " 
 
 " Which means beggar. I am also nicknamed Le 
 Vieux. I have been called ' the old man' these forty 
 years. " 
 
 " Forty years ! But you were a young man then. " 
 
 " I never was young. You remain so always, on the 
 
96 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 contrary, my lord marquis. You have the legs of a 
 boy of twenty ; you can climb the great dune. As for 
 me, I begin to find it difficult to walk ; at the end of a 
 quarter of a league I am tired. Nevertheless, our age is 
 the same. But the rich, they have an advantage over 
 us, — they eat every day. Eating is a preservative. " 
 
 After a silence the mendicant resumed : — 
 
 " Poverty, riches — that makes a terrible business. 
 That is what brings on the catastrophes, — at least, I 
 have that idea. The poor want to be rich ; the rich are 
 not willing to be poor. I think that is about what it 
 is at the bottom. I do not mix myself up with matters. 
 The events are the events. I am neither for the cred- 
 itor nor for the debtor. I know there is a debt, and 
 that it is being paid. That is all. I would rather they 
 had not .killed the king ; but it would be difficult for me 
 to say why. After that, somebody will answer, ' But 
 remember how they used to hang poor fellows on trees 
 for nothing at all. ' See ; just for a miserable gunshot 
 fired at one of the king's roebucks, I myself saw a man 
 hung who had a wife and seven children. There is 
 much to say on both sides. " 
 
 Again he was silent for a while. Then : — 
 
 " I am a little of a bone-setter, a little of a doctor , I 
 know the herbs, I study plants. The peasants see me 
 absent, preoccupied, and that makes me pass for a sor- 
 cerer. Because I dream, they think I must be wise. " 
 
 " You belong to the neighbourhood ? " asked the mar- 
 quis. 
 
 " I never was out of it. " 
 
 " You know me?" 
 
 " Of course. The last time I saw you was when you 
 passed through here two years ago. You went from 
 here to England. A little while since I saw a man on 
 the top of the dune, — a very tall man. Tall men are 
 
 
THE C AIM AND. 97 
 
 rare ; Brittany is a country of small men. I looked 
 close ; I had read the notice ; I said to myself, 'Ah ha i ' 
 And when you came down there was moonlight, and I 
 recognized you. " 
 
 " And yet I do not know you. " 
 
 " You have seen me, but you never looked at me. " 
 
 And Tellmarch the Caimand added, — ■ 
 
 " I looked at you, though. The giver and the beggai 
 do not look with the same eyes. " 
 
 " Had I encountered you formerly ? " 
 
 " Often ; I am your beggar. I was the mendicant at 
 the foot of the road from your castle. You have given 
 me alms. But he who gives does not notice ; he who 
 receives examines and observes. When you say mendi- 
 cant, you say spy. But as for me, though I am often 
 sad, I try not to be a malicious spy. I used to hold out 
 my hand ; you only saw the hand, and you threw into it 
 the charity I needed in the morning in order that I 
 might not die in the evening. I have often been twenty- 
 four hours without eating. - Sometimes a penny is life. 
 I owe you my life ; I pay the debt. " 
 
 " That is true ; you save me. " 
 
 " Yes, I save you, monseigneur. " 
 
 And Tellmarch' s voice grew solemn as he added, — 
 
 " On one condition. " 
 
 " And that ? " 
 
 " That you are not come here to do harm. " 
 
 " I come here to do good, " said the marquis. 
 
 " Let us sleep, " said the beggar. 
 
 They lay down side by side on the sea-weed bed The 
 mendicant fell asleep immediately. The marquis, 
 although very tired, remained thinking deeply for a 
 few moments ; he gazed fixedly at the beggar in the 
 shadow, and then lay back. To lie on that bed was to 
 lie on the ground^ — which suggested to him to put his 
 
98 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 ear to the earth and listen. He could hear a strange 
 buzzing underground. We know that sound stretches 
 down into the depths : he could hear the noise of the 
 bells. 
 
 The tocsin was still sounding 
 
 The marquis fell asleep» 
 
CHAPTEK V. 
 
 SIGNED GAUVAIN. 
 
 T was daylight when he awoke. The mendicant was 
 standing up, — not in the den, for he could not hold 
 himself erect there, but without, on the sill. He was 
 leaning on his stick. The sun shone upon his face. 
 
 "Monseigneur," said Tellmarch, "four o'clock has 
 just sounded from the belfry of Tanis. I could count 
 the strokes, therefore the wind has changed : it is the land 
 breeze. I can hear no other sound, so the tocsin has 
 ceased. Everything is tranquil about the farm and 
 hamlet ox' Herbe-en-Pail. The Blues are asleep or gone. 
 The worst of the danger is over ; it will be wise for us 
 to separate. It is my hour for setting out. " 
 
 He indicated a point in the horizon. 
 
 " I am going that way. " 
 
 He pointed in the opposite direction. 
 
 " Go you this way. " 
 
 The beggar made the marquis a gesture of salute. He 
 pointed to the remains of the supper. 
 
 " Take the chestnuts with you, if you are hungry. " 
 
 A moment after, he disappeared among the trees. 
 
 The marquis rose and departed in the direction which 
 Tellmarch had indicated. 
 
 It was that charming hour called in the old Norman 
 peasant dialect " the song-sparrow of the day. " The 
 finches and the hedge-sparrows flew chirping about. The 
 marquis followed the path by which they had come on 
 
100 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the previous night. He passed out of the thicket and 
 found himself at the fork of the road, marked by the 
 stone cross. The placard was still there, looking white, 
 fairly gay, in the rising sun. He remembered that there 
 was something at the bottom of the placard which he 
 had not been able to read the evening before, on account 
 of the twilight and the size of the letters. He went 
 up to the pedestal of the cross. Under the signature 
 " Prieur, de la Marne, " there were yet two other 
 lines in small characters : — 
 
 The identity of the ci-devant Marquis de Lantenac es- 
 tablished, he will be immediately shot. 
 
 (Signed) Gauvain. 
 
 Chief of battalion commanding 
 
 , the exploring column. 
 
 a Gauvain ! " said the marquis. He stood still, think- 
 ing deeply, his eyes fixed on the notice. 
 
 " Gauvain ! " he repeated. 
 
 He resumed his march, turned about, looked again 
 at the cross, walked back, and once more read the 
 placard. 
 
 Then he went slowly away. Had any person been 
 near, he might have been heard to murmur, in a half- 
 voice, " Gauvain ! " 
 
 From the sunken paths into which he retreated he 
 could only see the roofs of the farm, which lay to the 
 left. He passed along the side of a steep eminence 
 covered with furze, of the species called long-thorn, in 
 blossom. The summit of this height was one of those 
 points of land named in Brittany a hure. 
 
 At the foot of the eminence the gaze lost itself among 
 the trees. The foliage seemed bathed in light. All 
 Nature was filled with the deep joy of the morning. 
 
 Suddenly this landscape became terrible. It was like 
 
SIGNED GAUVAIN. 10i 
 
 the bursting forth of an ambuscade. An appalling, in- 
 describable trumpeting, made by savage cries and gun- 
 shots, struck upon these fields and these woods filled 
 with sunlight, and there could be seen rising from the 
 side toward the farm a great smoke, cut by clear flames, 
 as if the hamlet and the farm buildings were consuming 
 like a truss of burning straw. It was sudden and fear- 
 ful, — the abrupt change from tranquillity to fury; an 
 explosion of hell in the midst of dawn ; a horror without 
 transition. There was fighting in the direction of Herbe- 
 en-Pail. The marquis stood still. 
 
 There is no man in a similar case who would not feel 
 curiosity stronger than a sense of the peril. One must 
 know what is happening, if one perish in the attempt. 
 He mounted the eminence along the bottom of which 
 passed the sunken path by which he had come. From 
 there he could see, but he could also be seen. He re- 
 mained on the top for some instants. He looked about. 
 
 There was, in truth, a fusilade and a conflagration. ■ 
 He could hear the cries, he could see the flames. The 
 farm appeared the centre of some terrible catastrophe. 
 What could it be ? Was the farm of Herbe-en-Pail at- 
 tacked ? But by whom ? Was it a battle ? Was it not 
 rather a military execution? Very often the Blues pun- 
 ished refractory farms and villages by setting them on fire. 
 They were ordered to do so by a revolutionary decree ; 
 they burned, for example, every farm-house and hamlet 
 where the tree-cutting prescribed by law had been neg- 
 lected, or no roads opened among the thickets for the pas- 
 sage of the republican cavalry. Only very lately, the 
 parish of Bourgon, near Ernée, had been thus destroyed. 
 Was Herbe-en-Pail receiving similar treatment ? It was 
 evident that none of the strategic routes called for by the 
 decree had been made among the copses and enclosures. 
 Was this the punishment for such neglect? Had an 
 
102 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 order been received by the advance-guard occupying the 
 farm? Did not this troop make part of one of those 
 exploring divisions called the " infernal columns " ? 
 
 A bristling and savage thicket surrounded on all sides 
 the eminence upon which the marquis had posted him- 
 self for an outlook, This thicket, which was called the 
 grove of Herbe-en-Pail, but which had the proportions of 
 a wood, stretched to the farm, and concealed, like all 
 Breton copses, a network of ravines, by-paths, and 
 deep cuttings, labyrinths where the republican armies 
 lost themselves. 
 
 The execution, if it were an execution, must have been 
 a ferocious one, for it was short. It had been, like all 
 brutal deeds, quickly accomplished. The atrocity of 
 civil wars admits of these savage vagaries. While the 
 marquis, multiplying conjectures, hesitating to de- 
 scend, hesitating to remain, listened and watched, this 
 crash of extermination ceased, or, more correctly speak- 
 ing, vanished. The marquis took note of something in 
 the thicket that was like the scattering of a wild and 
 joyous troop. A frightful rushing about made itself 
 heard beneath the trees. From the farm the band had 
 thrown themselves into the wood. Drums beat. Ko 
 more gunshots were fired. Now it resembled a battue , 
 they seemed to search, follow, track. They were evi- 
 dently hunting some person. The noise was scattered 
 and deep ; it was a confusion of words of wrath and 
 triumph ; of indistinct cries and clamour. Suddenly, as 
 an outline becomes visible in a cloud of smoke, some- 
 thing is articulated clearly and distinctly amid this 
 tamult : it was a name, — a name repeated by a thousand 
 voices, — and the marquis plainly heard this cry : — 
 
 " Lantenac ! Lantenac ! The Marquis de Lantenac ! " 
 
 It was he whom they were looking for. 
 
CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE WHIKLIGIGS OF CIVIL WAR. 
 
 SUDDENLY all about him, from all sides at the 
 same time, the copse filled with muskets, bayonets, 
 and sabres, a tricoloured flag rose in the half-light, the 
 cry of " Lantenac ! " burst forth in his very ear, and at 
 his feet, behind the brambles and branches, savage faces 
 appeared. 
 
 The marquis was alone, standing on a height, visible 
 from every part of the wood. He could scarcely see 
 those who shrieked his name ; but he was seen by all. 
 If a thousand muskets were in the wood, there was he 
 like a target. He could distinguish nothing among the 
 brush-wood but burning eyeballs fastened upon him. 
 
 He took off his hat, turned back the brim, tore a long, 
 dry thorn from a furze-bush, drew from his pocket a 
 white cockade, fastened the upturned brim and the 
 cockade to the. hat with the thorn, and putting back on 
 his head the hat, whose lifted edge showed the white 
 cockade, and left his face in full view, he cried in 
 a loud voice that rang like a trumpet through the 
 forest : — 
 
 " I am the man you seek. I am the Marquis de Lan- 
 tenac, Viscount de Fontenay, Breton prince, lieutenant- 
 general of the armies of the king. Now make an end ! 
 Aim ! Fire ! " 
 
 And tearing open with both hands his goat-skin vest ; 
 he bared his naked breast. 
 
104 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 He looked down, expecting to meet levelled guns, and 
 saw himself surrounded by kneeling men. 
 
 Then a great shout arose : — 
 
 " Long live Lantenac ! Long live Monseigneur ! Long 
 live the general! " 
 
 At the same time hats were flung into the air, sabres 
 whirled joyously, and through all the thicket could be 
 seen rising sticks on whose points waved caps of brown 
 woollen. He was surrounded by a Vendean band. 
 
 This troop had knelt at sight of him. 
 
 Old legends tell of strange beings that were found in 
 the ancient Thuringian forests, — a race of giants, more 
 and less than men, who were regarded by the Komans as 
 horrible monsters, by the Germans as divine incarna- 
 tions, and who, according to the encounter, ran the risk 
 of being exterminated or adored. 
 
 The marquis felt something of the sentiment which 
 must have shaken one of those creatures when, expect- 
 ing to be treated like a monster, he suddenly found 
 himself worshipped as a god. 
 
 All those eyes, full of terrible lightnings, were fas- 
 tened on him with a sort of savage love. 
 
 This crowd was armed with muskets, sabres, scythes, 
 poles, sticks ; they wore great beavers or brown caps, 
 with white cockades, a profusion of rosaries and amu- 
 lets, wide breeches open at the knee, jackets of skins, 
 leather gaiters, the calves of their legs bare, their hair 
 long : some with a ferocious look, all with an open one. 
 
 A man, young and of noble mien, passed through the 
 kneeling throng, and hurried toward the marquis. 
 Like the peasants, he wore a turned-up beaver and a 
 white cockade, and was wrapped in a fur jacket; but 
 his hands were white and his linen fine, and he wore 
 over his vest a white silk scarf, from which hung a 
 gold-hilted sword. 
 
THE WHIRLIGIGS OF CIVIL WAR. 10-, 
 
 When he reached the hure he threw aside his hat, un 
 tied his scarf, bent one knee to the ground, and pre 
 sented the sword and scarf to the marquis, saying : 
 
 " We were indeed seeking you, and we have found 
 you. Accept the sword of command. These men are 
 yours now. I was their leader ; I mount in grade, for 
 I become your soldier. Accept our homage, my lord. 
 General, give me your orders. " 
 
 Then he made a sign, and some men who carried a 
 tricoloured flag moved out of the wood. They marched 
 up to where the marquis stood, and laid the banner at 
 his feet. It was the flag which he had just caught sight 
 of through the trees. 
 
 " General, " said the young man who had presented to 
 him the sword and scarf, " this is the flag we just took 
 from the Blues, who held the farm of Herbe-en-Pail. 
 Monseigneur, I am named Gavard. I belong to the 
 Marquis de la Eouarie. " 
 
 * It is well, " said the marquis. And, calm and grave, 
 he put on the scarf. 
 
 Then he drew his sword, and waving it above his 
 head, he cried, — 
 
 " Up ! Long live the king ! " 
 
 All rose. Through the depths of the wood swelled a 
 wild triumphant clamour : " Long live the king ! Long 
 live our marquis ! Long live Lantenac ! " 
 
 The marquis turned toward Gavard : — 
 
 " How many are you ? " 
 
 " Seven thousand. " 
 
 And as they descended the eminence, while the peas- 
 ants cleared away the furze-bushes to make a path for 
 the Marquis de Lantenac, Gavard continued : — 
 
 " Monseigneur, nothing more simple. All can be 
 explained in a word. It only needed a spark. The 
 reward offered by the Republic, in revealing your 
 
106 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 presence, roused the whole district for the king. Be- 
 sides ihat, we had been secretly warned by the mayor 
 of Granville, who is one of our men, the same who 
 saved the Abbé Ollivier. Last night they sounded the 
 tocsin. " 
 
 " For whom ? " 
 
 " For you. " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the marquis. . 
 
 " And here we are, " pursued Gavard. 
 
 " And you are seven thousand ? " 
 
 " To-day. We shall be fifteen thousand to-morrow. 
 It is the Breton contingent. When Monsieur Henri 
 de la Kochejacquelein set out to join the Catholic army, 
 the tocsin was sounded, and in one night six parishes — ■ 
 Isernay, Corqueux, the Echaubroignes, the Aubiers, 
 Saint- Aubin, and Nueil — brought him ten thousand 
 men. They had no munitions ; they found in the house 
 of a quarry-master sixty pounds of blasting-powder, 
 and M. de la Eochejacquelein set off with that. We 
 were certain you must be in some part of this forest, 
 and we were seeking you. " 
 
 " And you attacked the Blues at the farm of Herbe-en- 
 Pail ? " 
 
 " The wind prevented their hearing the tocsin. They 
 suspected nothing ; the people of the hamlet, who are 
 a set of clowns, received them well. This morning we 
 surrounded the farm ; the Blues were asleep, and we did 
 the thing out of hand. I have a horse. Will you deign 
 to accept it, General ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 A peasant led up a white horse with military ca- 
 parisons. The marquis mounted without the assistance 
 Gavard offered him. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried the peasants. The cries of the 
 English were greatly in use along the Breton coast, in 
 
THE WHIRLIGIGS OF CIVIL WAR. 107 
 
 constant communication as it was with the Channel 
 Islands. 
 
 Gava^l made a military salute, and asked, — 
 
 " Where will you make your head-quarters, mon- 
 seigneur ? " 
 
 " At first in the Forest of Fougères. " 
 
 " It is one of your seven forests, rny lord marquis. " 
 
 " We must have a priest. " 
 ■ " We have one. " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " The curate of the Chapelle-Erbrée. " 
 
 " I know him. He has made the voyage to Jersey. " 
 
 A priest stepped out of the ranks, and said, — 
 
 " Three times. " 
 
 The marquis turned his head. 
 
 " Good-morning, Monsieur le Curé. You have work 
 before you. " 
 
 " So much the better, my lord marquis. * 
 
 " You will have to hear confessions, — those who wish ; 
 nobody will be forced. " 
 
 " My lord marquis, " said the priest, " at Guéménée, 
 Gaston forces the republicans to confess. " 
 
 " He is a hairdresser, " said the marquis ; " death 
 ought to be free. " 
 
 Gavard, who had gone to give some orders, returned. 
 
 " General, I wait your commands. " 
 
 " First, the rendezvous in the Forest of Fougères 
 Let the men disperse, and make their way there. " 
 
 " The order is given. " 
 
 " Did you not tell me that the people of Herbe-en-Pai] 
 had received the Blues well ? " 
 
 " Yes, General. " 
 
 " You have burned the house ? " 
 
 « Yes. " 
 
 " Have you burned the hamlet? " 
 
108 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Burn it. " 
 
 " The Blues tried to defend themselves, but they were 
 a hundred and fifty, and we were seven thousand. " 
 
 " Who were they ? " 
 
 " Santerre's men. " 
 
 " The one who ordered the drums to beat while the 
 king's head was being cut off? Then it is a regiment of 
 Paris ? " 
 
 " A half-regiment. " 
 
 " Its name ? " 
 
 " General, it had on its flag, 5 Battalion of the Bonnet 
 Rouge. ' " 
 
 " Wild beasts. " 
 
 " W r hat is to be done with the wounded ? " 
 
 a Put an end to them. " 
 
 " What shall we do with the prisoners ? w 
 
 " Shoot them. " 
 
 " There are about eighty. " 
 
 " Shoot the whole. " 
 
 " There are two women. " 
 
 " Them also. " 
 
 " There are three children. " 
 
 " Carry them off. We will see what shall be done 
 with them. " 
 
 And the marquis rode on. 
 
 
CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 K NO MERCY ! " (WATCHWORD OF THE COMMUNE). * NO 
 QUARTER ! " (WATCHWORD OF THE PRINCES) 
 
 WHILE all this was passing near Tanis, the mendi- 
 cant had gone toward Crollon. He plunged into 
 the ravines, among the vast silent bowers of shade, 
 inattentive to everything and attentive to nothing, as 
 he had himself said ; di earner rather than thinker, for the 
 thoughtful man has an aim, and the dreamer has none ; 
 wandering, rambling, pausing, munching here and there 
 a bunch of wild sorrel ; drinking at the springs, occa- 
 sionally raising his head to listen to the distant tumult, 
 again falling back into the bewildering fascination of 
 Nature ; warming his rags in the sun ; hearing sometimes 
 the noise of men, but listening to the song of the birds. 
 
 He was old, and moved slowly. He could not walk 
 far; as he had said to the Marquis de Lantenac, a quar- 
 ter of a league fatigued him. He made a short circuit to 
 the Croix-Avranchin, and evening had come before he 
 returned. 
 
 A little beyond Macey, the path he was following led 
 to a sort of culminating point, bare of trees, from 
 whence one could see very far, taking in the whole 
 stretch of the western horizon to the sea. 
 
 A column of smoke attracted his attention. 
 
 Nothing calmer than smoke, but nothing more start- 
 ling. There are peaceful smokes, and there are evil 
 ones. The thickness and colour of a line of smoke 
 marks the whole difference between war and peace, be- 
 
110 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 tween fraternity and hatred, between hospitality and 
 the tomb, between life and death. A smoke mounting 
 among the trees may be a symbol of all that is most 
 charming in the world, — a heart at home ; or a sign 
 of that which is most awful, — a conflagration. The 
 whole happiness of man, or his most complete misery, is 
 sometimes expressed in this thin vapour, which the 
 wind scatters at will. 
 
 The smoke which Tellmarch saw was disquieting. 
 
 It was black, dashed now and then with sudden 
 gleams of red, as if the brasier from which it flowed 
 burned irregularly, and had begun to die out; and it 
 rose above Herbe-en-Pail. 
 
 Tellmarch quickened his steps, and walked toward 
 this smoke. 
 
 He was very tired, but he must know what this 
 signified. 
 
 He reached the summit of a hill, against whose side 
 the hamlet' and the farm were nestled. 
 
 There was no longer either farm or hamlet. 
 
 A heap of ruins was burning still ; it was Herbe-en- 
 Pail. 
 
 There is something which it is more painful to see burn 
 than a palace, — it is a cottage. A cottage on fire is a 
 lamentable sight. It is a devastation swooping down 
 on poverty, the vulture pouncing upon the worms of the 
 ground; there is in it a contradiction which chills the 
 heart. 
 
 If we believe the Biblical legend, the sight of a con- 
 flagration changed a human being into a statue. For a 
 moment Tellmarch seemed thus transformed. The spec- 
 tacle before his eyes held him motionless. Destruction 
 was completing its work amid unbroken silence. Not 
 a cry arose ; not a human sigh mingled with this smoke. 
 This furnace laboured, and finished devouring the vil- 
 
"NO MERCY V' "NO QUARTER!" 11) 
 
 iage, without any noise being heard save the creaking 
 of the timbers and the crackling of the thatch. At 
 moments the smoke parted, the fallen roofs revealed the 
 gaping chambers, the brasier showed all its rubies ; rags 
 turned to scarlet, and miserable bits of furniture, tinted 
 with purple, gleamed amid these vermilion interiors, 
 and Tellmarch was dizzied by the sinister bedazzlement 
 of disaster. 
 
 Some trees of a chestnut grove near the houses had 
 taken lire, and were blazing. 
 
 He listened, trying to catch the sound of a voice, an 
 appeal, a cry. Nothing stirred except the flames ; every- 
 thing was silent, save the conflagration. Was it that all 
 had fled ? 
 
 Where was the knot of people who lived and toiled at 
 Herbe-en-Pail ? What had become of this little band ? 
 Tellmarch descended the hill. 
 
 A funereal enigma rose before him. He approached 
 without haste, with fixed eyes. He advanced toward 
 this ruin with the slowness of a shadow ; he felt like a 
 ghost in this tomb. 
 
 He reached what had been the door of the farm-house, 
 and looked into the court, which had no longer any walls, 
 and was confounded with the hamlet grouped about it. 
 
 What he had before seen was nothing. He had hith 
 erto only caught sight of the terrible ; the horrible ap- 
 peared to him now. 
 
 In the middle of the court was a black heap, vaguely 
 outlined on one side by the flames, on the other by the 
 moonlight. This heap was a mass of men ; these men 
 were dead. 
 
 All about this human mound spread a great poo] 
 which smoked a little ; the flames were reflected in this 
 pool, but it had no need of fire to redden it, — it was 
 blood. 
 
112 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Tellmarch went closer, lie began to examine these 
 prostrate bodies one after another : they were all dead 
 men. 
 
 The moon shone ; the conflagration also. 
 
 These corpses were the bodies of soldiers. All had 
 oheir feet bare ; their shoes had been taken. Their 
 weapons were gone also ; they still wore their uniforms, 
 which were blue. Here and there he could distinguish 
 among these heaped-up limbs and heads shot-riddled 
 hats with trico]oured cockades. They were republicans. 
 They were those Parisians who on the previous evening 
 had been there, all living, keeping garrison at the farm 
 of Herbe-en-Pail. These men had been executed : this 
 was shown by the symmetrical position of the bodies ; 
 they had been struck down in order, and with care. 
 They were all quite dead. Not a single death-gasp 
 sounded from the mass. 
 
 Tellmarch passed the corpses in review without omit- 
 ting one ; they were all riddled with balls. 
 
 Those who had shot them, in haste probably to get 
 elsewhere, had not taken the time to bury them. 
 
 As he was preparing to move away, his eyes fell on a 
 low wall in the court, and he saw four feet protruding 
 from one of its angles. 
 
 They had shoes on them ; they were smaller than the 
 others. Tellmarch went up to this spot. They were 
 women's feet. Two women were lying side by side be- 
 hind the wall ; they also had been shot. 
 
 Tellmarch stooped over them. One of the women 
 wore a sort of uniform; by her side was a canteen, 
 bruised and empty : she had been vivandière. She had 
 four balls in her head. She was dead. 
 
 Tellmarch examined the other. This was a peasant. 
 She was livid : her mouth open. Her eyes were closed 
 There was no wound in her head. Her garments, which 
 
«NO MERCY !" "NO QUARTER!" 173 
 
 long marches, no doubt, had worn to rags, were disar- 
 ranged by her fall, leaving her bosom half naked 
 Tellmarch pushed her dress aside, and saw on one 
 shoulder the round wound which a ball makes ; the 
 shoulder-blade was broken. He looked at her Livid 
 breast. 
 
 ' k Nursing mother, " he murmured. 
 
 He touched her. She was not cold. 
 
 She had no hurts besides the broken shoulder-blade and 
 the wound in the shoulder. 
 
 He put his hand on her heart, and felt a faint throb. 
 She was not dead. 
 
 Tellmarch raised himself, and cried out in a terrible 
 voice, — 
 
 " Is there no one here ? " 
 
 " Is it you, Caimand ? " a voice replied, so low that it 
 could scarcely be heard. 
 
 At the same time a head was thrust out of a hole in 
 the ruin. Then another face appeared at another aper- 
 ture. They were two peasants, who had hidden them- 
 selves, — the only ones who survived. 
 
 The well-known voice of the Caimand had reassured 
 them, and brought them out of the holes in which they 
 had taken refuge. 
 
 They advanced toward the old man, both still trem- 
 bling violently. 
 
 Tellmarch had been able to cry out, but he could not 
 talk ; strong emotions produce such effects. 
 
 He pointed out to them with his finger the woman 
 stretched at his feet. 
 
 " Is there still life in her ? " asked one of the peasants. 
 
 Tellmarch gave an affirmative nod of the head. 
 
 " Is the other woman living \ " demanded the seco*^ 
 man. 
 
 Tellmarch. shook his head 
 
114 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 The peasant who had first shown himself continued*. 
 
 " All the others are dead, are they not ? I saw the 
 whole. I was in my cellar. How one thanks God at 
 such a moment for not having a family ! My house 
 burned. Blessed Saviour ! They killed everybody. This 
 woman here had three children — all little. The children 
 cried, 'Mother!' The mother cried, 'My children!' 
 Those who massacred everybody are gone. They were 
 satisfied. They carried off the little ones, and shot the 
 mother. I saw it all. But she is not dead, — didn't 
 you say so ? She is not dead ? Tell us, Caimand, do 
 you think you could save her? Do you want us to 
 help carry her to your carnichot ? " 
 
 Tellmarch made a sign, which signified " Yes. " 
 
 The wood was close to the farm. They quickly made 
 a litter with branches and ferns. They laid the woman, 
 still motionless, upon it, and set out toward the copse, 
 the two peasants carrying the litter, one at the head, 
 the other at the feet, Tellmarch holding the woman's 
 arm, and feeling her pulse. 
 
 As they walked, the two peasants talked; and over 
 the body of the bleeding woman, whose white face was 
 lighted up by the moon, they exchanged frightened 
 ejaculations. 
 
 "To kill all!" 
 
 " To burn everything ! " 
 
 " Ah, my God ! Is that the way things will go now ? " 
 
 " It was that tall old man who ordered it to be done. " 
 
 " Yes ; it was he who commanded. " 
 
 " I did not see while the shooting went on. Was he 
 there ? " 
 
 " No. He had gone. But no matter ; it was all done 
 by his orders. " 
 
 " Then it was he who did the whole. " 
 
 " He said, ' Kill ! burn ! no quarter ! ' * 
 
"NO MERCY!" "NO QUARTER!" 115 
 
 " He is a marquis. " 
 
 u Of course, since he is our marquis. " 
 
 " What do they, call him now ? " 
 
 " He is M. de Lantenac. " 
 
 Tellmarch raised his eyes to heaven, and murmured : 
 
 " If I had known ! " 
 
PAKT IL 
 W PARIS. 
 
 BOOK L 
 
 CIMOUEBAII. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE STREETS OF PAEIS AT THAT TIME. 
 
 PEOPLE lived in public : they ate at tables spread 
 outside the doors; women seated on the steps of 
 the churches made lint as they sang the * Marseillaise. " 
 Park Monceaux and the Luxembourg Gardens were 
 parade-grounds. There were gunsmiths' shops in full 
 work ; they manufactured muskets before the eyes of the 
 passers-by, who clapped their hands in applause. The 
 watchword on every lip was, " Patience ; we are in revo- 
 lution. " The people smiled heroically. They went to 
 the theatre as they did at Athens during the Pelopon- 
 nesian war. One saw play-bills such as these pasted at 
 the street corners : " The Siege of Thionville ; " "A 
 Mother saved from the Flames ; " " The Club of the 
 Careless ; " " The Eldest of the Popes Joan ; " " The Phi- 
 losopher-Soldiers : " " The Art of Village Love-making. " 
 The Germans were at the gates ; a report was current 
 that the King of Prussia h?d secured boxes at the Opera. 
 
 
THE STREETS OF PARIS AT THAT TIME. 117 
 
 Everything was terrible, and no one was frightened. 
 The mysterious law against the suspected, which was 
 the crime of Merlin of Douai, held a vision of the guil- 
 lotine above every head. A solicitor named Séran, who 
 had been denounced, awaited his arrest in dressing-gown 
 and slippers, playing his flute at his window. Nobody 
 seemed to have leisure: all the world was In a hurry. 
 Every hat bore a cockade. The women said, " We are 
 pretty in red caps. " All Paris seemed to be removing. 
 The curiosity-shops were crowded with crowns, mitres, 
 sceptres of gilded wood, and fleurs-de-lis torn down from 
 royal dwellings : it was the demolition of monarchy 
 that went on. Copes were to be seen for sale at the old- 
 clothesmen's, and rochets hung on hooks at their doors. 
 At Eamponneau's and the Porcherons, men dressed out in 
 surplices and stoles, and mounted on donkeys capari- 
 soned with chasubles, drank wine at the doors from 
 cathedral ciboria. In the Eue Saint Jacques, barefooted 
 street-pavers stopped the wheelbarrow of a peddler who 
 had boots for sale, and clubbed together to buy fifteen 
 pairs of shoes, which they sent to the Convention " for 
 our soldiers. " 
 
 Busts of Franklin, Eousseau, Brutus, and, we must 
 add, of Marat, abounded. Under a bust of Marat in the 
 Eue Cloche-Perce was hung in a black wooden frame, and 
 under glass, an address against Malouet, with testimony 
 in support of the charges, and these marginal lines : 
 
 These details were furnished me by the mistress of Silvain 
 Bailly, a good patriotess, who has a liking for me. 
 
 (Signed) Marat. 
 
 The inscription on the Palais Eoyal fountain — 
 * Quantos effundit in usus ! " — was hidden under two 
 great canvases painted in distemper, the one represent 
 
118 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 ing Cahier de Gerville denouncing to the National As< 
 senibly the rallying ory of the " Chiffonistes " of Aries ; 
 the other, Louis XVjl. brought back from Varennes in 
 his royal carriage, and under the carriage a plank fas- 
 tened by cords, on each end of which was seated a gren- 
 adier with fixed bayonet. 
 
 Very few of the larger shops were open ; peripatetic 
 haberdashery and toy shops were dragged about by 
 women, lighted by candles, which dropped their tallow 
 on the merchandise. Open-air shops were kept by 
 ex-nuns, in blond wigs. This mender, darning stock- 
 ings in a stall, was a countess; that dressmaker, a 
 marchioness. Madame de Boufflers inhabited a garret, 
 from whence she could look out at her own hotel. 
 Hawkers ran about offering the " papers of news. " Per- 
 sons who wore cravats that hid their chins were called 
 " the scrofulous. " Street-singers swarmed. The crowd 
 hooted Pitou, the royalist song-writer, and a valiant 
 man into the bargain ; he was twenty-two times impris- 
 oned and taken before the revolutionary tribunal for slap- 
 ping his coat-tails as he pronounced the word civism. 
 Seeing that his head was in danger, he exclaimed : " But 
 it is just the opposite of my head that is in fault! " — a 
 witticism which made the judges laugh, and saved his 
 life. This Pitou ridiculed the rage for Greek and Latin 
 names ; his favourite song was about a cobbler, whom 
 he called Cujus, and to whom he gave a wife named 
 Cujusdam. They danced the Carmagnole in great circles. 
 They no longer said " gentleman and lady, " but " citizen 
 and citizeness. " They danced in the ruined cloisters 
 with the church-lamps lighted on the altars, with cross- 
 shaped chandeliers hanging from the vaulted roofs, and 
 tombs beneath their feet. Waistcoats of " tyrant's blue " 
 were worn. There were " liberty-cap " shirt-pins made 
 of white, blue, and red stones. The Eue de Eichelieu 
 
THE STREETS OF PARIS AT THAT TIME. 119 
 
 was called the Street of Law ; the Faubourg Saint An- 
 toine was named the Faubourg of Glory ; a statue of Na- 
 ture stood in the Place de la Bastille. People pointed out 
 to one another certain well-known personages, — Chatelet, 
 Didier, Nicholas and Garnier-Delaunay, who stood guard 
 at the. door of Duplay the joiner; Voullant, who never 
 missed a guillotine-day, and followed the carts of the 
 condemned, — he called it going to "the red mass;" 
 Montrlabert, revolutionary juryman,, and a marquis, who 
 took the name of " Dix Août [Tenth of August]. People 
 watched the pupils of the École Militaire file past, de- 
 scribed by the decrees of the Convention as " aspirants 
 in the school of Mars, " and by the crowd as " the pages 
 of Kobespierre. " They read the proclamations of Fréron 
 denouncing those suspected of the crime of " negotian- 
 tism. " The dandies collected at the doors of the mayor- 
 alties to mock at the civil marriages, thronging about 
 the brides and grooms as they passed, and shouting 
 " Married municipaliter ! " At the Invalides the statues 
 of the saints and kings were crowned with Phrygian 
 caps. They played cards on the curb -stones at the cross- 
 ings. The packs of cards were also in the full tide of 
 revolution : the kings were replaced by genii, the queens 
 by the Goddess of Liberty, the knaves by figures repre- 
 senting Equality, and the aces by impersonations of 
 Law. They tilled the public gardens ; the plough worked 
 at the Tuileries. With all these excesses was mingled, 
 especially among the conquered parties, an indescribable 
 haughty weariness of life. A man wrote to Fouquier- 
 Tinville, " Have the goodness to free me from existence. 
 This is my address. " Champcenetz was arrested for hav- 
 ing cried in the midst of the Palais Eoyal garden : " When 
 are we to have the revolution of Turkey ? I want to see 
 the republic à la Porte. " Newspapers appeared in legions. 
 The hairdressers' men curled the wigs of women in pub- 
 
120 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Jic, while the master read the " Moniteur " aloud. Others, 
 surrounded by eager groups, commented with violent 
 gestures upon the journal "Listen to Us," of Dubois 
 Crancé, or the " Trumpet " of Father Bellerose. Some- 
 times the barbers were pork-sellers as well, and hams 
 and chitterlings might be seen hanging side by side 
 with a golden-haired doll. Dealers sold in the open 
 street " wines of the refugees ; " one merchant advertised 
 wines of fifty-two sorts. Others displayed harp-shaped 
 clocks and sofas à la duchesse. One hairdresser had for 
 sign : " I shave the clergy ; I comb the nobility ; I ar- 
 range the Third Estate. " 
 
 People went to have their fortunes told by Martin, at 
 No. 173, in the Eue d'Anjou, formerly Eue Dauphine. 
 There was a lack of bread, of coals, of soap. Herds of 
 milch-cows might be seen coming in from the country. 
 At the Vallée, lamb sold for fifteen francs the pound. 
 An order of the Commune assigned a pound of meat per 
 head every ten days. People stood in rank at the doors 
 of the butchers' shops. One of these files has remained 
 famous : it reached from a grocer's shop in the Eue du 
 Petit Carreau to the middle of the Eue Montorgueil. To 
 form a line was called " holding the cord," from a long 
 rope which was held in the hands of those standing in the 
 row. Amid this wretchedness, the women were brave 
 and mild : they passed entire nights awaiting their turn 
 to get into the bakers' shops. The Eevolution resorted 
 to expedients which were successful ; she alleviated this 
 widespread distress by two perilous means, — the as- 
 signat and the maximum. The assignat was the lever, 
 the maximum was the fulcrum. This empiricism saved 
 France. The enemy, whether of Coblentz or London, gam- 
 bled in assignats. Girls came and went, offering laven- 
 der water, garters, false hair, and selling stocks. There 
 •vere jobbers on the Perron of the Eue Vi vienne, with 
 
THE STREETS OF PARIS AT THAT TIME. 121 
 
 muddy shoes, greasy hair, and fur caps decorated with 
 fox-tails, and there were swells from the Eue Valois, 
 with varnished boots, toothpicks in their mouths, and 
 long-napped hats on their heads, to whom the girls said 
 " theê" and " thou. " Later, the people gave chase to them 
 as they did to the thieves, whom the royalists styled 
 a active citizens. " For the time, theft was rare. There 
 reigned a terrible destitution and a stoical probity. The 
 barefooted and the starving passed with lowered eyelids 
 before the jewellers' shops of the Palais Égalité. Dur- 
 ing a domiciliary visit that the Section Antoine made 
 to the house of Beaumarchais, a woman picked a flower 
 in the garden ; the crowd boxed her ears. Wood cost 
 four hundred francs in coin per cord ; people could be 
 seen in the streets sawing up their bedsteads. In the 
 winter the fountains were frozen ; two pails of water 
 cost twenty sous : every man made himself a water-car- 
 rier. A gold louis was worth three thousand nine hun- 
 dred and fifty francs. A course in a hackney-coach cost 
 six hundred francs. After a day's use of a carriage, 
 this sort of dialogue might be heard : " Coachman, how 
 much do I owe you ? * " Six thousand francs. " A 
 green-grocer woman sold twenty thousand francs' worth 
 of vegetables a day. A beggar said, " Help me, in the 
 name of charity ! I lack two hundred and thirty francs 
 to finish paying for my shoes. " At the ends of the 
 bridges might be seen colossal figures sculptured and 
 painted by David, which Mercier insulted. " Enormous 
 wooden Punches ! " said he. The gigantic shapes sym- 
 bolized Federalism and Coalition overturned. 
 
 There was no faltering among this people. There was 
 ,the sombre joy of having made an end of thrones. Vol- 
 unteers abounded ; each street furnished a battalion. 
 The flags of the districts came and went, every one with 
 its device. On the banner of the Capuchin district 
 
122 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 could be read, " Nobody can cut our beards. * On an- 
 other, " No other nobility than that of the heart. " On 
 all the walls were placards, large and small, white, yel- 
 low, green, red, printed and written, on which might 
 be read this motto : " Long live the Eepublic ! " The 
 little children lisped " Ça ira. " 
 
 These children were in themselves the great future. 
 
 Later, to the tragical city succeeded the cynical city. 
 The streets of Paris have offered two revolutionary as- 
 pects entirely distinct, — that before and that after the 
 9th Thermidor. The Paris of Saint- Just gave place to 
 the Paris of Tallien. Such antitheses are perpetual; 
 after Sinai the Courtille appeared. 
 
 An attack of public madness made its appearance. It 
 had already been seen eighty years before. The people 
 came out from under Louis XIV. as they did from un- 
 der Eobespierre, with a great need to breathe ; hence 
 the regency which opened that century and the direc- 
 tory which closed it, — two saturnalia after two terror- 
 isms. France snatched the wicket-key and got beyond 
 the Puritan cloister just as it did beyond that of monar- 
 chy, with the joy of a nation that escapes. 
 
 After the 9th Thermidor Paris was gay, but with an 
 insane gaiety. An unhealthy joy overflowed all bounds. 
 To the frenzy for dying succeeded the frenzy for liv- 
 ing, and grandeur eclipsed itself, They had a Trimal- 
 cion, calling himself Grimod de la Keynière : there was 
 the " Almanac of the Gourmands. " People dined in the 
 entresols of the Palais Eoyal to the din of orchestras of 
 women beating drums and blowing trumpets ; the " riga- 
 dooner " reigned, bow in hand. People supped Oriental 
 fashion at Méot's surrounded by perfumes. The artist 
 Boze painted his daughters, innocent and charming 
 heads of sixteen, en guillotinées; that is to say, with 
 bare necks and red shifts. To the wild dances in the 
 
THE STREETS OF PARIS AT THAT TIME. 123 
 
 mined churches succeeded the balls of Ruggieri, of 
 Luquet-Wenzel, Mauduit, and the Montansier ; to grave 
 citizenesses making lint succeeded sultanas, savages, 
 nymphs ; to the naked feet of the soldiers covered with 
 blood, dust, and mud, succeeded the naked feet of 
 women decorated with diamonds. At the same time, 
 with shamelessness, improbity reappeared; and it had 
 its purveyors in high ranks, and their imitators among 
 the class below. A swarm of sharpers filled Paris, and 
 every man was forced to guard well his tuc, — that is, 
 his pocket-book. One of the amusements of the day 
 was to go to the Palace of Justice to see the female 
 thieves ; it was necessary to tie fast their petticoats. 
 At the doors of the theatres the street boys opened cab 
 doors, saying, " Citizen and citizeness, there is room for 
 two. " The * Old Cordelier " and the " Friend of the 
 People " were no longer sold. In their places were cried 
 "Punch's Letter" and the "Rogues' Petition." The 
 Marquis de Sade presided at the Section of the Pikes, 
 Place Vendôme. The reaction was jovial and ferocious. 
 The Dragons of Liberty of '92 were reborn under the 
 name of the Chevaliers of the Dagger. At the same 
 time there appeared in the booths that type, Jocrisse. 
 There were " the Merveilleuses, " and in advance of these 
 feminine marvels came " the Incroyables. " People swore 
 by strange and affected oaths ; they jumped back from 
 Mirabeau to Bobèche. Thus it is that Paris sways back 
 and forth; it is the enormous pendulum of civilization; 
 it touches either pole in turn, — Thermopylae and Gomor- 
 rah. After '93 the Revolution traversed a singular oc- 
 cultation ; the century seemed to forget to finish that 
 which it had commenced. A strange orgy interposed 
 itself, took the foreground, swept back to the second 
 place the awful Apocalypse, veiled the immeasurable 
 vision, and laughed aloud after its fright. Tragedy 
 
124 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 disappeared in parody, and, rising darkly from the bot- 
 tom of the horizon, a smoke of carnival effaced Medusa. 
 Bat in '93, where we are, the streets of Paris still 
 wore the grandiose and savage aspect of the beginning. 
 They had their orators, such as Varlet, who promenaded 
 in a booth on wheels, from the top of which- he harangued 
 the passers-by ; they had their heroes, of whom one was 
 called the " Captain of the iron-pointed sticks ; " their 
 favourites, among whom ranked Guffroy, the author of 
 the pamphlet " Kougiff. " Certain of these popularities 
 were mischievous, others had a healthy tone ; one 
 among them all was honest and fatal, — it was that of 
 Cimourdam. 
 
CHAPTEK IL 
 
 # 
 
 CIMOUEDAIN. 
 
 CIMOUEDAIN" had a conscience pure but sombre. 
 There was something of the absolute within him. 
 He had been a priest, which is a grave matter. A man 
 may, like the sky, possess* a serenity which is dark and 
 unfathomable ; it only needs that something should have 
 made night within his soul. The priesthood had made 
 night in that of Cimourdain. He who has been a priest 
 remains one. 
 
 What makes night within us may leave stars. Cimour- 
 dain was full of virtues and verities, but they shone 
 among shadows. 
 
 His history is easily written. He had been a village 
 curate, and tutor in a great family ; then he inherited a 
 small legacy, and gained his freedom. 
 
 He was above all an obstinate man. He made use of 
 meditation as one does of pincers ; he did not think it 
 right to quit an idea until he had followed it to the 
 end ; he thought stubbornly. He understood all the 
 European languages, and something of others besides. 
 This man studied incessantly, which aided him to bear 
 the burden of celibacy ; but nothing can be more dan- 
 gerous than such a life of repression. 
 
 He had from pride, chance, or loftiness of soul been 
 true to his vows, but he had not been able to guard his 
 belief. Science had demolished faith ; dogma had fainted 
 within him. Then, as he examined himself, he felt that 
 
126 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 his soul was mutilated ; he could not nullify his priestly 
 oath, but tried to remake himself man, though in an 
 austere fashion. His family had been taken from him ; 
 he adopted his country. A wife had been refused him ; 
 he espoused humanity. Such vast plenitude has a void 
 at bottom. 
 
 His peasant parents, in devoting him to the priest- 
 hood, had desired to elevate him above the common 
 people ; he voluntarily returned among them. 
 
 He went back with a passionate energy. He regarded 
 the suffering with a terrible tenderness. From priest 
 he had become philosopher; and from philosopher, ath- 
 lete. While Louis XV. still lived, Cimourdain felt 
 himself vaguely republican. But belonging to what re- 
 public ? To that of Plato perhaps, and perhaps also to 
 the republic of Draco. 
 
 Forbidden to love, he set himself to hate. He hated 
 lies, monarchy, theocracy, his garb of priest; he hated 
 the present, and he called aloud to the future ; he had a 
 presentiment of it, he caught glimpses of it in advance ; 
 he pictured it awful and magnificent. In his view, to 
 end the lamentable wretchedness of humanity required 
 at once an avenger and a liberator. He worshipped the 
 catastrophe afar off. 
 
 In 1789 this catastrophe arrived, and found him ready. 
 Cimourdain flung himself into this vast plan of human 
 regeneration on logical grounds, — that is to say, for a 
 mind of his mould, inexorably ; logic knows no softening. 
 He lived among the great revolutionary years, and felt 
 the shock of their mighty breaths, — '89, the fall of the 
 Bastille, the end of the torture of the people ; on the 4th 
 of August, '90, the end of feudalism; '91, Varennes, the 
 end of royalty; '92, the birth of the Eepublic. He saw 
 the Eevolution loom into life ; he was not a man to be 
 afraid of that giant, — far from it. This sudden growth 
 
CIMOURDAIN. 127 
 
 în everything had revivified him; and though already 
 nearly old, — he was fifty, and a priest ages faster than 
 another man, — he began himself to grow also. From 
 year to year he saw events gain in grandeur, and he in- 
 creased with them. He had at first feared that the 
 Eevolution would prove abortive ; he watched it. It had 
 reason and right on its side ; he demanded success for it 
 likewise. In proportion to the fear it caused the timid," 
 his confidence strengthened. He desired that this Mi- 
 nerva, crowned with the stafs of the future, should be 
 Pallas also, with the Gorgon's head for buckler. He 
 demanded that her divine glance should be able at need 
 to fling back to the demons their infernal glare, and give 
 them terror for terror. 
 
 Thus he reached '93. 
 
 '93 was the war of Europe against France, and of 
 France against Paris. And what was the Eevolution ? 
 It was the victory of France over Europe, and of Paris 
 over France. Hence the immensity of that terrible mo- 
 ment, '93, — grander than all the rest of the century. 
 Nothing could be more tragic : Europe attacking France, 
 and France attacking Paris î A drama which reaches 
 the stature of an epic. '93 is a year of intensity. The 
 tempest is there in all its wrath and all its grandeur. 
 Cimourdain felt himself at home. This distracted cen- 
 tre, terrible and splendid, suited the span of his wings. 
 Like the sea-eagle amid the tempest, this man preserved 
 his internal composure and enjoyed the danger. Certain 
 winged natures, savage yet calm, are made to battle the 
 winds, — souls of the tempest : such exist. 
 
 He had put pity aside, reserving it only for the 
 wretched. He devoted himself to those sorts of suffer- 
 ing which cause horror. Nothing was repugnant to 
 him. That was his kind of goodness. He was divine 
 in his readiness to succour what was loathsome. He 
 
128 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 searched for ulcers in order that he might kiss them. 
 Noble actions with a revolting exterior are the most 
 difficult to undertake ; he preferred such. One day at 
 the Hôtel Dieu a man was dying, suffocated by a tumour 
 in the throat, — a fetid, frightful abscess, — contagious 
 perhaps, — which must be at once opened. Cimourdain 
 was there ; he put his lips to the tumour, sucked it, 
 spitting it out as his mouth filled, and so emptied the 
 abscess and saved the man. As he still wore his priest's 
 dress at the time, some one said to him, " If you were 
 to do that for the king, you would be made a bishop. " 
 " I would not do it for the king, " Cimourdain replied. 
 The act and the response rendered him popular in the 
 sombre quarters of Paris. 
 
 They gave him so great a popularity that he could 
 do what he liked with those who suffered, wept, and 
 threatened. At the period of the public wrath against 
 monopolists, — a wrath which was prolific in mistakes, — 
 Cimourdain by a word prevented the pillage of a boat 
 loaded with soap at the quay Saint Nicholas, and dis- 
 persed the furious bands who were stopping the carriages 
 at the barrier of Saint Lazare. 
 
 It was he who, two days after the 10th of August, 
 headed the people to overthrow the statues of the kings. 
 They slaughtered as they fell : in the Place Vendôme, a 
 woman called Keine Violet was crushed by the statue of 
 Louis XIV. , about whose neck she had put a cord, which 
 she was pulling. This statue of Louis XIV. had been 
 standing a hundred years. It was erected the 12th of 
 August, 1692 ; it was overthrown the 12th of August, 
 1792. In the Place de la Concorde, a certain Guin- 
 guerlot. was butchered on the pedestal of Louis XV. 's 
 statue for having called the demolishers scoundrels. 
 The statue was broken in pieces. Later, it was melted 
 to coin, — into sous. The arm alone escaped, — ■ it was 
 
IJIMOURDAIISL 129 
 
 the right arm, which was extended with ^he gesture ot 
 a Soman emperor. At Cimourdain's request the people 
 sent a deputation with this arm to Latude, the man who 
 had been thirty- seven years buried in the Bastille. 
 When Latude was rotting alive, the collar on his 
 neck, the chain about his loins, in the bottom of that 
 prison where he had been cast by the order of thatf 
 king whose statue overlooked Paris, who could have 
 prophesied to him that this prison would fall, this 
 statue would be destroyed ; that he would emerge 
 from the sepulchre and monarchy enter it ; that he, 
 the prisoner, would be the master of this hand of 
 bronze which had signed his warrant; and that of 
 this king of Mud there would remain only his brazen 
 arm ? v ' 
 
 Cimourdain was one of those men who have an interior 
 voice to which they listen. Such men seem absent- 
 minded ; no, they are attentive. 
 
 Cimourdain was at once learned and ignorant. He 
 understood all science, and was ignorant of everything 
 in regard to life. Hence his severity. He had his eyes 
 bandaged, like the Themis of Homer. He had the 
 •blind certainty of the arrow, which, seeing not the goal, 
 yet goes straight to it. In a revolution there is nothing 
 so formidable . as a straight line. Cimourdain went 
 straight before him, fatal, unwavering. 
 
 He believed that in a social Genesis the farthest point 
 is the solid ground, — an error peculiar to minds which 
 replace reason by logic. He went beyond the Conven- 
 tion ; he went beyond the Commune ; he belonged to 
 the Évêché. 
 
 The society called the Évêché, because its meetings 
 were held in a hall of the former episcopal palace, was 
 rather a complication of men than a union. There, as 
 at the Commune, those silent bat significant spectators 
 
130 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 were present who, as Garat said, " had as many pistols 
 as pockets. " 
 
 The Évêché was a strange mixture, — a crowd at once 
 cosmopolitan and Parisian. This is no contradiction, 
 for Paris is the spot where beats the heart of the peoples. 
 The great plebeian incandescence was at the Évêché. In 
 comparison to it, the Convention was cold and the Com- 
 mune lukewarm. The Évêché was one of those revolu- 
 tionary formations similar to volcanic ones ; it contained 
 everything, — ignorance, stupidity, probity, heroism, 
 choler, spies. Brunswick had agents there. It num- 
 bered men worthy of Sparta, and men who deserved 
 the galleys. The greater part were mad and honest. 
 The Gironde had pronounced by the mouth of Isnard, 
 temporary president of the Convention, this monstrous 
 
 "Take care, Parisians ! There will not remain one stone 
 upon another of your city, and the day will come when the 
 place where Paris stood shall be searched for." 
 
 This speech created the Evêché. Certain men — and 
 as we have just said, they were men of all nations — 
 felt the need of gathering themselves close about Paris. 
 Cimourdain joined this club. 
 
 The society reacted on the reactionists. It was born 
 out of that public necessity for violence which is the 
 formidable and mysterious side of revolutions. Strong 
 with this strength, the Évêché at once began its work. 
 In the commotions of Paris it was the Commune that 
 fired the cannon ; it was the Evêché that sounded the 
 tocsin. 
 
 In his implacable ingenuousness, Cimourdain believed 
 that everything in the service of truth is justice, which 
 rendered him fit to dominate the extremists on either 
 side. Scoundrels felt that he was honest, and were satis- 
 
CIMOURDAIN. 131 
 
 fied. Crime is flattered by having virtue to preside over 
 it ; it is at once troublesome and pleasant. Palloy, the 
 architect who had turned to account the demolition of 
 the Bastille, selling its stones to his own profit, and who, 
 appointed to whitewash the cell of Louis XVI., in his 
 zeal covered the wall with bars, chain's, and iron rings ; 
 Gonchon, the suspected orator of the Faubourg Saint 
 Antoine, whose quittances were afterward found ; Four- 
 nier, the American, who on the 17th of July fired at 
 Lafayette a pistol-shot^ paid for, it is said, by Lafayette 
 himself ; Henriot, who had come out of Bicêtre, and who 
 had been valet, mountebank, robber, and spy before be- 
 ing a general and turning the guns on the Convention ; 
 La Keynie. formerly grand-vicar of Chartres, who had 
 replaced his breviary by " The Père Duchesne, " — all 
 these men were held in respect by Cimourdain ; and at 
 certain moments, to keep the worst of them from stum- 
 bling, it was sufficient to feel his redoubtable and be- 
 lieving candour as a judgment before them. It was 
 thus that Saint-Just terrified Schneider. At the same 
 time the majority of the Évêché, composed principally 
 as it was of poor and violent men who were honest, be- 
 lieved in Cimourdain and followed him. He had for 
 curate or aide-de-camp, as you please, that other repub- 
 lican priest, Dan j ou, whom the people loved on account 
 of his height, and had christened Abbé Six-Foot. 
 Cimourdain could have led where he would that intrepid 
 chief called General La Pique, and that bold Truchon 
 named the Great Nicholas, who had tried to save Ma- 
 dame de Lamballe, and had given her his arm, and made 
 her spring over the corpses, — an attempt which would 
 have succeeded, had it not been for the ferocious pleas- 
 antry of the barber Chariot. 
 
 The Commune watched the Convention : the Ëvêché 
 watched the Commune. Cimourdain, naturally upright 
 
132 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 and detesting intrigue, had broken more than one my& 
 terious thread in the hand of Pache, whom Beurnonvilie 
 called " the black man. " Cimourdain at the Évêché was 
 on confidential terms with all. He was consulted by 
 Dob sent and Momoro. He spoke Spanish with Gusman, 
 Italian with Pio, English with Arthur, Flemish with 
 Pereyra, German with the Austrian Proly, the bastard 
 of a prince. He created a harmony between these dis- 
 cordances. Hence his position was obscure and strong. 
 Hébert feared him. 
 
 In these times and among these tragic groups, Cimour- 
 dain possessed the power of the inexorable. He was an 
 impeccable, who believed himself infallible. No person 
 had ever seen him weep. He was Virtue inaccessible 
 and glacial. He was the terrible offspring of Justice. 
 
 There is no half-way possible to a priest in a revolu- 
 tion. A priest can only give himself up to this wild 
 and prodigious chance either from the highest or the 
 lowest motive ; he must be infamous or he must be sub- 
 lime. Cimourdain was sublime, but in isolation, in 
 rugged inaccessibility, in inhospitable secretiveness, 
 sublime amid a circle of precipices. Lofty mountains 
 possess this sinister freshness. 
 
 Cimourdain had the appearance of an ordinary man, 
 dressed in every-day garments, poor in aspect. When 
 young, he had been tonsured; as an old man he was 
 bald. What little hair he had left was grey. His fore- 
 head was broad, and to the acute observer it revealed 
 his character. Cimourdain had an abrupt way of speak- 
 ing, which was passionate and solemn ; his voice was 
 quick, his accent peremptory, his mouth bitter and 
 sad, his eye clear and profound, and over his whole 
 countenance an indescribable indignant expression. 
 
 Such was Cimourdain. 
 
 No one to-day knows his name. History has many of 
 these great Unknown. 
 
CHAPTEK IH 
 
 A CORNER NOT DIPPED IN STYX. 
 
 WAS such a man indeed a man ? Could the servant 
 of the human race know fondness ? Was he not 
 too entirely a soul to possess a heart ? This widespread 
 embrace, which included everything and everybody, 
 could it narrow itself down to one. Could Cimourdain 
 love? We answer, Yes. 
 
 When youug, and tutor in an almost princely family, 
 he had had a pupil whom he loved, — the son and heir 
 of the house. It is so easy to love a child. What can 
 one not pardon a child ? One forgives him for being a 
 lord, a prince, a king. The innocence of his age makes 
 one forget the crime of race ; the feebleness of the crea- 
 ture causes one to overlook the exaggeration of rank. 
 He is sc little that one forgives him for being great. 
 The slave forgives him for being his master. The old 
 negro idolizes the white nursling. Cimourdain had con- 
 ceived a passion for his pupil. Childhood is so ineffable 
 that one may unite all affections upon it.. Cimourdain 's 
 whole power of loving prostrated itself, so to speak, be- 
 fore this boy ; that sweet, innocent being became a sort of 
 prey for that heart condemned to solitude. He loved with 
 a mingling of all tendernesses, — as father, as brother, 
 as friend, as maker. The child was his son, not of his 
 flesh, but of his mind. He was not the father, and this 
 was not his work ; but he was the master, and this his 
 masterpiece. Of this little lord he had made a man, — 
 
134 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 perhaps a great man ; who knows ? Such are dreams* 
 Has one need of the permission of a family to create an 
 intelligence, a will, an upright character. He had 
 communicated to the young viscount, his scholar, all 
 the advanced ideas which he held himself ; he had in- 
 oculated him with the redoubtable virus of his virtue ; 
 he had infused into his veins his own convictions, his 
 own conscience and ideal, — into this brain of an aristo- 
 crat he had poured the soul of the people. 
 
 The spirit suckles ; the intelligence is a breast. There 
 is an analogy between the nurse who gives her milk and 
 the preceptor who gives his thought. Sometimes the 
 tutor is more father than is the father, just as often the 
 nurse is more mother than the mother. 
 
 This deep spiritual paternity bound Cimourdain to his 
 pupil. The very sight of the child softened him. 
 
 Let us add this : to replace the father was easy, — the 
 boy no longer had one. He was an orphan ; his father 
 and mother were both dead. To keep watch over feim 
 he had only a blind grandmother and an absent great- 
 uncle. The grandmother died ; the great-uncle, head of 
 the family, a soldier and a man of high rank, provided 
 with appointments at Court, avoided the old family dun- 
 geon, lived at Versailles, went forth with the army, and 
 left the orphan alone in the solitary castle. So the pre- 
 ceptor was master in every sense of the word. 
 
 Let us add still further: Cimourdain had seen the 
 child born. The boy, while very little, was seized with 
 a severe illness. In this peril of death Cimourdain 
 watched day and night. It is the physician who pre- 
 scribes, it is the nurse who saves ; and Cimourdain saved 
 the child. Not only did his pupil owe to him educa- 
 tion, instruction, science, but he owed him also conva- 
 lescence and health; not only did his pupil owe him 
 the development of his mind, he owed him life itself, 
 
•A. CORNER NOT DIPPED IN STYX. 135 
 
 We worship those who owe us all ; Cimourdain adored 
 this child. 
 
 . The natural separation came about at length. The 
 education completed, Cimourdain was obliged to quit 
 the boy, grown to a young man. With what cold and 
 unconscionable cruelty these separations are insisted 
 upon! How tranquilly families dismiss the preceptor, 
 who leaves his spirit in' a child, and the nurse, who 
 leaves her heart's blood! 
 
 Cimourdain, paid and put aside, went out of the 
 grand world and returned .to the sphere below. The 
 partition between the great and the little closed again. 
 The young lord, an officer of birth, and made captain at 
 the outset, departed for some garrison ; the humble tutor 
 (already at the bottom of his heart an unsubmissive 
 priest, hastened to go down again into that obscure 
 ground-floor of the Church occupied by the under clergy, 
 and Cimourdain lost sight of his pupil. 
 
 The Eevolution came on ; the recollection of that being 
 whom he had made a man brooded within him, hidden 
 but not extinguished by the immensity of public affairs. 
 
 Tt is a beautiful thing to model a statue and give it 
 life ; to mould an intelligence and instil truth therein 
 is still more beautiful. Cimourdain was the Pygmalion 
 of a soul. 
 
 The spirit may own a child. 
 
 This pupil, this boy, this orphan, was the sole being 
 on earth whom he loved. 
 
 But even in such an affection, would a man like this 
 prove vulnerable ? 
 
 We shall see. 
 
BOOK IL 
 
 THE PUBLIC HOUSE OF THE RUE DU PAOH. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 MINOS, jEACUS, and ehadamanthus. 
 
 THERE was a public -house in the Rue du PaoD 
 which was called a café. This café had a back 
 room, which is to-day historical. It was there that 
 often, almost secretly, met certain men, so powerful and 
 so constantly watched that they hesitated to speak with 
 one another in public. 
 
 It was there that on the 23d of October, 1792, the 
 Mountain and the Gironde exchanged their famous kiss. 
 It was there that Garat, although he does not admit it 
 in his Memoirs, came for information on that lugubrious 
 night when, after having put Clavière in safety in the 
 Rue de Beaune, he stopped his carriage on the Pont 
 Royal to listen to the tocsin. 
 
 On the 28th of June, 1793, three men were seated 
 about a table in this back chamber. Their chairs did 
 Qot touch ; they were placed one on either of the three 
 sides of jbhe table, leaving the fourth vacant. It was 
 about eight o'clock in the evening; it was still light in 
 the street, but dark in the back room, and a lamp, hung 
 from a hook in the ceiling, — a luxury there, — lighted 
 the table- 
 
MINOS, ^EACUS, AND RHADAMANTHUS. 137 
 
 The first of these three men was pale, young, grave, 
 with thin iips and a cold glance. He had a nervous 
 movement in his cheek, which must have made it diffi- 
 cult for him to smile. He wore his hair powdered. He 
 was gloved ; his light-blue coat, well brushed, was with- 
 out a wrinkle, carefully buttoned. He wore nankeen 
 breeches, white stockings, a high cravat, a plaited shirt- 
 frill, and shoes with silver buckles. 
 
 Of the other two men, one was a species of giant, the 
 other a sort of dwarf. The tall one was untidily dressed 
 in a coat of scarlet cloth, his neck bare, his unknotted 
 cravat falling down over his shirt-frill, his vest gaping 
 from lack of buttons. He wore top-boots; his hair 
 stood stiffly up and was disarranged, though it still 
 showed traces of powder; his very peruke was like a 
 mane. His face was marked with small-pox ; there was 
 a choleric line between his brows ; a wrinkle that signi- 
 fied kindness at the corner of his mouth ; his lips were 
 thick, the teeth large ; he had the fist of a porter and 
 eyes that blazed. The little one was a yellow man, who 
 looked deformed when seated. He carried his head 
 thrown back ; the eyes were injected with blood, there 
 were livid blotches on his face ; he had a handkerchief 
 knotted about his greasy, straight hair; he had no fore- 
 head ; the mouth was enormous and horrible. He wore 
 pantaloons instead of knee-breeches, slippers, a waist- 
 coat which seemed originally to have been of white 
 satin, and over this a loose jacket, under whose folds a 
 hard, straight line showed that a poniard was hidden. 
 
 The first of these men was named Eobespierre; the 
 second, Danton ; the third, Marat. 
 
 They were alone in the room. Before Danton was set 
 a glass and a dusty wine-bottle, reminding one of 
 Luther's pint of beer; before Marat a cup of coffee; be- 
 fore Eobespierre only papers. 
 
138 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Near the papers stood one of those heavy, round- 
 ridged, leaden ink-stands which will be remembered by 
 men who were school-boys at the beginning of this cen- 
 tury. A pen was thrown carelessly by the side of the 
 inkstand. On the papers lay a great brass seal, on 
 which could be read Palloy fecit, and which was a per- 
 fect miniature model of the Bastille. 
 
 A i map of France was spread in the middle of the 
 table. Outside the door was stationed Marat's " watch- 
 dog, " — a certain Laurent Basse, porter of No. 18, Eue des 
 Cordeliers, who, some fifteen days after this 28th of 
 June, say the 13th of July, was to deal a blow with a 
 chair on the head of a woman named Charlotte Corday, 
 at this moment vaguely dreaming in Caen. Laurent 
 Basse was the proof-carrier of the " Friend of the Peo- 
 ple. " Brought this evening by his master to the café of 
 the Eue du Paon, he had been ordered to keep the room 
 closed where Marat, Danton, and Eobespierre were 
 seated, and to allow no person to enter unless it might 
 be some member of the Committee of Public Safety, the 
 Commune, or the Evêché. 
 
 Eobespierre did not wish to shut the door against 
 Saint- Just ; Danton did not want it closed against Pache ; 
 Marat would not shut it against Gusman. 
 
 The conference had already lasted a long time. It 
 was in reference to papers spread on the table, which 
 Eobespierre had read. The voices began to grow louder. 
 Symptoms of anger arose between these three men. 
 From without, eager words could be caught at moments. 
 At that period the example of the public tribunals 
 seemed to have created the right to listen at doors. It 
 was the time when the copying-clerk Fabricius Paris 
 looked through the keyhole at the proceedings of the 
 Committee of Public Safety, — a feat which, be it said by 
 the way, was nofr "without its use ; for it was this Paris 
 
MINOS, ^EACUS, AND RHADAMANTHUS. 139 
 
 who warned Danton -on the night before the 31st of 
 March, 1794. Laurent Basse had his ear to the door of 
 the back room where Danton, Marat, and Eobespierre 
 were. Laurent Basse served Marat, but he belonged to 
 the Évêché. 
 
CHAPTEK IL 
 
 MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 
 
 DANTON had just risen and pushed his chair hastily 
 back. 
 
 " Listen ! " he cried. " There is only one thing im- 
 minent, — the peril of the Eepublic. I only know one 
 thing, — ■ to deliver France from the enemy. To accom- 
 plish that, all means are fair, — all ! all ! all ! When 
 I have to deal with a combination of dangers, I have 
 recourse to every or any expedient; when I fear all, I 
 have all. My thought is a lioness. No half-measures. 
 No squeamishness in resolution. Nemesis is not a con- 
 ceited prude. Let us be terrible and useful. Does the 
 elephant stop to look where he sets his foot ? We must 
 crush the enemy ! " 
 
 Eobespierre replied mildly, — 
 
 " I shall be very glad. " 
 
 And he added, — 
 
 " The question is to know where the enemy is. " 
 
 " Tt is outside, and I have chased it there, " said 
 Danton. 
 
 " It is within, and Ï watch it, " said Eobespierre. 
 
 " And I will continue to pursue it, " resumed Danton. 
 
 " One does not drive away an internal enemy. " 
 
 "What, then, do you do?" 
 
 * Exterminate it. " 
 
 " T agree to that, " said Danton in his turn. 
 
 Then he continued, — 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 141 
 
 " I tell you Robespierre, it is without. * 
 
 " Danton, I tell you it is within. " 
 
 " Robespierre, it is on the frontier. " 
 
 " Danton, it is in Vendée. " 
 
 " Calm yourselves, " said a third voice. " It is every ^ 
 where, and you are lost. " 
 
 It was Marat who spoke. 
 
 Robespierre looked at him and anwered tranquilly. 
 15 Truce to generalities. I particularize. Here are facts. ' : 
 
 " Pedant ! " grumbled Marat. 
 
 Robespierre laid his hand on the papers spread before 
 him, and continued, — 
 
 " I have just read you the dispatches from Prieur, of 
 the Marne. I have just communicated to you the in^ 
 formation given by that Gélambre. Danton, listen ! The 
 foreign war is nothing ; the civil war is all. The for- 
 eign war is a scratch that one gets on the elbow; civil 
 war is the ulcer which eats up the liver. This is the 
 result of what I have been reading : The Vendée, up to 
 this day divided between several chiefs, is concentrating 
 herself. Henceforth she will have one sole captain — " 
 
 " A central brigand," murmured Danton.^ 
 
 " Who is, " pursued Robespierre, " the man that landed 
 near Pontorson on the 2d of June. You have seen who 
 he was. Remember this landing coincides with the 
 arrest of the acting Representatives, Prieur, of the Côte- 
 d'Or, and Romme, at Bay eux, by the traitorous district of 
 Calvados, the 2d of June, — the same day. " 
 
 " And their transfer to the castle of Caen, " said 
 Danton. 
 
 Robespierre resumed, — 
 
 " I continue my summing up of the dispatches. The 
 war of the Woods is organizing on a vast scale. At the 
 same time, an English invasion is preparing, — Vendeans 
 and English; it is Briton with Breton. The Hurons 
 
 \ 
 
142 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 of Finistère speak the same language as the Topinambes 
 of Cornwall. I have shown you an intercepted letter 
 from Puisaye, in which it is said that ' twenty thousand 
 red-coats distributed among the insurgents will be the 
 means of raising a hundred thousand more. ' When the 
 peasant insurrection is prepared, the English descent 
 will be made. Look at the plan ; follow it on the 
 map. " 
 
 Eobespierre put his finger on the chart and went on : 
 
 " The English have the choice of landing-place from 
 Cancale to Paimbol. Craig would prefer the Bay of 
 , Saint-Brieuc ; Cornwallis, the Bay of Saint-Cast. That 
 is mere detail. The left bank of the Loire is guarded by 
 the rebel Vendean army ; and as to the twenty-eight 
 leagues of open country between Ancenis and Pontorson, 
 forty Norman parishes have promised their aid. The 
 descent will be made at three points, — Plérin, Ifnniac, 
 and Pléneuf. From Plérin they can go to Saint-Brieuc, 
 and from Pléneuf to Lamballe. The second day they 
 will reach Dinan, where there are nine hundred Eng- 
 lish prisoners, and at the same time they will occupy 
 Saint-Jouan and Saint-Méen ; they will leave cavalry 
 there. On the third day, two columns will march, — the 
 one from Jouan on Bedée, the other from Dinan on 
 Bêcherai, which is a natural fortress, and where they 
 will establish two batteries. The fourth day they will 
 reach Rennes. Pennes is the key of Brittany. Whoever 
 has Rennes has the whole. Rennes captured, Châteauneuf 
 and Saint-Malo will fall. There are at Rennes a million 
 of cartridges and fifty artillery field-pieces — " 
 
 " Which they will sweep off, " murmured Danton. 
 
 Robespierre continued, — 
 
 " I conclude. From Rennes three columns will fall,— 
 the one on Fougères, the other on Vitré, the third on 
 Redon. As the bridges are cut, the enemy will furnish 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 143 
 
 themselves — you have seen this fact particularly stated 
 — with pontoons and planks, and they will have guides 
 for the points forclable by the cavalry. From Fougères 
 they will radiate to Avranches ; from Eedon to Ancenis ; 
 from Vitré to Laval. Nantes will capitulate. Brest 
 will yield. Redon opens the whole extent of the 
 Vilaine ; Fougères gives them the route of Normandy ; 
 Vitré opens the route to Paris. In fifteen days they 
 will have an army of brigands numbering three hundred 
 thousand men, and all Brittany will belong to the King 
 of France. " 
 
 " That is to say, to the King of England, " said 
 Danton. 
 
 " No, to the King of France. " 
 
 And Robespierre added, — 
 
 " The King of France is worse. It needs fifteen days 
 to expel the stranger, and eighteen hundred years to 
 eliminate monarchy. " 
 
 Danton, who had reseated himself, leaned his elbows 
 on the table, and rested his head in his hands in a 
 thoughtful attitude. , 
 
 " You see the peril, " said Robespierre. " Vitré lays 
 open to the English tjie road to Paris. " 
 
 Danton raised his ,head and struck his two great 
 clinched hands on the 1 map as on an anvil. 
 
 " Robespierre, did not Verdun open the route to Paris 
 to the Prussians ? " 
 
 " Very well ! " 
 
 " Very well, we will expel the English as we expelled 
 the Prussians. " And Danton rose again. 
 
 Robespierre laid his cold hand on the feverish fist of 
 the other. 
 
 " Danton, Champagne was not for the Prussians, and 
 Brittany is for the English. To retake Verdun was a 
 foreign war ; to retake Vitré will be civil war. " 
 
144 IMINETY-THREK 
 
 And Eobespierre murmured in a chill, deep tone,— 
 
 " A serious difference. " 
 
 He added aloud, — 
 
 " Sit down again, Danton, and look at the map in- 
 stead of knocking it with your fist. " 
 
 But Danton was wholly given up to his own idea. 
 
 " That is madness 3 " cried he, — " to look for the 
 catastrophe in the west when it is in the east. Robes- 
 pierre, I grant you that England is rising on the ocean ; 
 but Spain is rising among the Pyrenees ; but Italy is 
 rising among the Alps ; but Germany is rising on the 
 Rhine. And the great Russian bear is at the bottom. 
 Robespierre, the danger is a circle, and we are within it. 
 On the exterior, coalition ; in the interior, treason. In 
 the south, Servant half opens the door of France to the 
 King of Spain. At the north, Dumouriez passes over 
 to the enemy ; for that matter, he always menaced 
 Holland less than Paris. Neerwinden blots out Jem- 
 mapes and Yalmy. The philosopher Rabaut Saint- 
 Étienne, a traitor like the Protestant he is, corresponds 
 with the courtier Montesquiou. The army is destroyed. 
 There is not a battalion that has more than four hundred 
 men remaining ; the brave regiment of Deux-Ponts is 
 reduced to a hundred and fifty men ; the camp of Pamars 
 has capitulated; there are only five hundred sacks of 
 flour left at Givet; we are falling back on Landau; 
 Wurmser presses Kléber; Mayence succumbs bravely, 
 Condé cowardly. Valencieunes also. But all that does 
 not prevent Chancel, who defends Valenciennes, and old 
 Féraud, who defends Condé, being heroes, as well as 
 Meunier, who defended Mayence. But all the rest are 
 betraying us. Dharville betrays us at Aix-la-Chapelle ; 
 Mouton at Brussels ; Valence at Bréda ; Neuilly at Lim- 
 bourg ; Miranda at Maestricht, Stingel, traitor : Lanoue. 
 traitor ; Ligonnier, traitor ; Menou, traitor ; Dillon. 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 145 
 
 traitor, — hideous coin of Dumouriez. We must make 
 examples. Custine's countermarches look suspicious to 
 me. I suspect Custine of preferring the lucrative prize 
 of Frankfort to the useful capture of Coblentz. Frank- 
 fort can pay four millions of war tribute ; so be it. 
 What would that be in comparison with crushing that 
 nest of refugees ? Treason, I say. Meunier died on the 
 13th of June. Kléber is alone. In the mean time 
 Brunswick strengthens and advances. He plants the 
 German flag on every French place that he takes. The 
 Margrave of Brandenburg is to-day the arbiter of Europe ; 
 he pockets our provinces ; he will adjudge Belgium to 
 himself, — you will see. One would say that we were 
 working for Berlin. If this continue, and we do not 
 put things in order, the French Eevolution will have 
 been for the benefit of Potsdam ; it will have accom- 
 plished for unique result the aggrandizement of the 
 little State of Frederick IL, and we shall have killed 
 the King of France for the King of Prussia's sake. " 
 
 And Danton burst into v a terrible laugh. 
 
 Danton' s laugh made Marat smile. 
 
 " You have each one your hobby, " said he. " Danton, 
 yours is Prussia ; Robespierre, yours is the Vendée. I 
 am going to state facts in my turn. You do not per- 
 ceive the real peril ; it is this : The cafés and the 
 gaming-houses. The Café Choiseul is Jacobin ; the Café 
 Pitou is Royalist; the Café Rendez-Vous attacks the 
 National Guard; the Café of the Porte Saint Martin 
 defends it; the Café Régence is against Brissot; the 
 Café Corazza is for him ; the Café Procope swears by 
 Diderot; the Café of the Théâtre Français swears by 
 Voltaire ; at the Rotunde they tear up the assignats ; 
 the Cafés Saint Marceau are in a fury; the Café 
 Manouri debates the question of flour ; at the Café Foy 
 uproars and fisticuffs; at the Perron the hornets of 
 
146 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the finance buzz. These are the matters which are 
 serious. " 
 
 Danton laughed no longer. Marat continued to smile. 
 The smile of a dwarf is worse than the laugh of a giant. 
 
 " Do you sneer at yourself, Marat ? " growled Danton. 
 
 Marat gave that convulsive movement of his hip 
 which was celebrated. His smile died. 
 
 " Ah, I recognize you, Citizen Danton ! It is indeed 
 you who in full Convention called me, 'the individual 
 Marat. ' Listen ; I forgive you. We are playing the 
 fool ! Ah ! / mock at myself I See what I have done ! 
 I denounced Chazot ; I denounced Pétion ; I denounced 
 Kersaint ; I denounced Moreton ; I denounced Dufriche- 
 Valazé; I denounced Ligonnier; I denounced Menou; I 
 denounced Banneville; I denounced Gensonné; I de- 
 nounced Biron ; I denounced Lidon and Chambon. Was 
 I mistaken ? I smell treason in the traitor, and I find 
 it best to denounce the criminal before he can commit 
 his crime. I have the habit of saying in the evening 
 that which you and others say on the following day. I 
 am the man who proposed to the Assembly a perfect 
 plan of criminal legislation. What have I done up to 
 the present? I have asked for the instruction of the 
 sections in order to discipline them for the Revolution \ 
 I have broken the seals of thirty-two boxes ; I have re- 
 claimed the diamonds deposited in the hands of Roland ; 
 I proved that' the Brissotins gave to the Committee of the 
 General Safety blank warrants; I noted the omissions 
 in the report of Lindet upon the crimes of Capet; I 
 voted the punishment of the tyrant in twenty-four 
 hours ; I defended the battalions of Mauconseil and the 
 Républicain; I prevented the reading of the letter of 
 ISkrbonne and of Malonet ; I made a motion in favour of 
 the wounded soldiers ; I caused the suppression of the 
 Commission of Six ; I foresaw the treason of Dumouriez 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 147 
 
 in the affair of Mons ; I demanded the taking of a hun- 
 dred thousand relatives of the refugees as hostages for 
 the commissioners delivered to the enemy ; I proposed to 
 declare traitor any Representative who should pass the 
 barriers; I unmasked the Roland faction in the troubles 
 at Marseilles ; I insisted that a price should be set on 
 the head of Égalité 's son ; I defended Bouchotte ; I 
 called for a nominal appeal in order to chase Isnard 
 from the chair; I caused it to be declared that the 
 Parisians had deserved well of the country. That is 
 why I am called a dancing-puppet by Louvet; that is 
 why Finistère demands my expulsion ; why the city of 
 Loudun desires that I should be exiled, the city of 
 Amiens that I should be muzzled ; why Coburg wishes 
 me to be arrested, and Lecointe Puiraveau proposes to 
 the Convention to decree me mad. Ah, now, Citizen 
 Danton, why did you ask ihe to come to your little 
 council if it were not to have my opinion ? Did I ask 
 to belong to it ? Far from tha't. I have no taste for dia- 
 logues with counter-re volutiqhists like Robespierre and 
 you. For that matter, I ought to have known that you 
 would not understand me, — you no more than Robes- 
 pierre; Robespierre no more than you. So there is not 
 a statesman here '{ You need to be taught to spell at 
 politics ; you must have the dot put over the i for you. 
 What I said to you meant this : you both deceive your- 
 selves. The danger is not .in London, as Robespierre 
 believes ; nor in Berlin, as Danton believes : it is in 
 Paris. It consists in the absence of unity ; in the right 
 of each one to pull on his own side, commencing with 
 you two ; in the blinding of minds ; in the anarchy of 
 wills'— " 
 
 " Anarchy ! " interrupted Danton. " Who causes that, 
 if not you ? " 
 
 Marat did not pause. 
 
Î48 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Robespierre, Danton, the danger is in this heap of 
 cafés, in this mass of gaming-houses, this crowd of 
 clubs, — Clubs of the Blacks, the Federals, the Women; 
 the Club of the Impartials, which dates from Clermont- 
 Tonnerre, and which was the Monarchical Club of 1790, 
 a social circle conceived by the priest Claude Fauché ; 
 Club of the Woollen Caps, founded by the gazetteer 
 Prudhomme, et cœtera ; without counting your Club of 
 the Jacobins, Eobespierre, and your Club of the Corde- 
 liers Danton. The danger lies in the famine which 
 caused the sack-porter Blin to hang up to the lamp of 
 the Hôtel de Ville the baker of the Market Palu, Fran- 
 çois Denis, and in the justice which hung the sack- 
 porter Blin for having hanged the baker Denis. The 
 danger is in the paper money, which the people depre- 
 ciate. In the Rue du Temple an assignat of a hundred 
 francs fell to the ground, and a passer-by, a man of the 
 people, said, ' It is not worth the pains of picking it 
 up. ' The stock-brokers and the monopolists, — there is 
 the danger. To have nailed the black flag to the Hôtel 
 de Ville, — a fine advance ! You arrest Baron Trenck ; 
 that is not sufficient. I want this old prison intriguer's 
 neck wrung. You believe that you have got out of the 
 difficulty because the President of the Convention puts 
 a civic crown on the head of Labertèche, who received 
 forty-one sabre cuts at Jemmapes, and of whom Chénier 
 makes himself the elephant driver ?• Comedies and jug- 
 gling ! Ah, you will not look at Paris ! You seek the 
 danger at a distance when it is close at hand. What is 
 the use of your police, Robespierre ? For you have your 
 spies, — Payan at the Commune, Coffinhal at the Revo- 
 lutionary Tribunal, David at the Committee of General 
 Security, Couthon at the Committee of Public Safety. 
 You see that I know all about it. Very well, learn 
 this : the danger is over your heads ; the danger is under 
 
MAGNA TESÏANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 149 
 
 your feet, — conspiracies ! conspiracies ! conspiracies 1 
 The people in the streets read the newspapers to one 
 another and exchange nods ; six thousand men, without 
 civic papers, returned emigrants, Muscadins, and Mathe- 
 vons, are hidden in cellars and garrets and the wooden 
 galleries of the Palais Eoyal. People stand in a row at 
 the bakers' shops, the women stand in the doorways and 
 clasp their hands, crying, ' When shall we have peace ? ' 
 You may shut yourselves up as close as you please in 
 the hall of the Executive Council, in order to be alone : 
 every word you speak is known ; and as a proof, Robes- 
 pierre, here are the words you spoke last night to Saint- 
 Just : 'Barbaroux begins to show a fat paunch; it will 
 be a trouble to him in his flight. ' Yes ; the danger is 
 everywhere, and above all in the centre. In Paris the 
 'Retrogrades ' plot, while patrols go barefooted ; the aris- 
 tocrats arrested on the 9th of March are already set at 
 liberty ; the fancy horses which' ought to be harnessed 
 to the frontier-cannon spatter mud on us in the streets ; 
 a loaf of bread weighing four pounds costs three francs 
 twelve sous ; the theatres play indecent pieces ; and 
 Eobespierre will presently have Danton guillotined. " 
 
 " Oh, there, there ! " said Danton. 
 
 Robespierre attentively studied the map. 
 
 " What is needed, " cried Marat, abruptly, " is a dicta- 
 tor. Robespierre, you know that I want a dictator. " 
 
 Robespierre raised his head. 
 
 " I know, Marat ; you or me." !' 
 
 " Me or, you, " said Marat. 
 
 Danton grumbled between his teeth,' — 
 
 " The dictatorship ; only try it ! " 
 
 Marat caught Danton' s frown. 
 
 " Hold ! " he began again ; " one last effort. Let us 
 get some agreement. The situation is worth the trouble. 
 Did we not come to an agreement for the day of the 
 
150 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 31st of May ? The entire question is a more serious one 
 than that of Girondism, which was a question of detail. 
 There is truth in what you say ; but the truth, the whole 
 truth, the real truth, is what I say. In the south, 
 Federalism ; in the west, Eoyalism ; in Paris, the duel 
 of the Convention and the Commune ; on the frontiers^ 
 the retreat of Custine and the treason of Dumouriez. 
 What does all this signify ? Dismemberment. What 
 is necessary to us ? Unity. There is safety ; but we 
 must hasten to reach it. Paris must assume the govern- 
 ment of the Eevolution. If we lose an hour, to-morrow 
 the Vendeans may be at Orleans, and the Prussians in 
 Paris. I grant you this, Danton ; I accord you that, 
 Kobespierre. So be it. Well, the conclusion is — a 
 dictatorship. Let us seize the dictatorship, — we three 
 who represent the Eevolution. W^e are the three heads 
 of Cerebus. Of these three heads, one talks, — that is 
 you, Eobespierre; one roars, — that is you, Danton — - " 
 
 " The other bites, " said Danton ; " that is you, 
 Marat. " 
 
 " All three bite, " said Eobespierre. 
 
 There was a silence. Then the dialogue, full of dark 
 threats, recommenced. 
 
 " Listen, Marat ; before entering into a marriage, peo- 
 ple must know each other. How did you learn what J 
 said yesterday to Saint- Just ? " 
 
 " That is my affair, Eobespierre. " 
 
 "Marat!" 
 
 " It is my duty to enlighten myself, and my business 
 to inform myself. " 
 
 "Marat!" 
 
 " I like to know things. " 
 
 "Marat!" 
 
 " Eobespierre, I 'know what you say to Saint- Just, as I 
 know what Danton says to Lacroix; as I know what 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 151 
 
 passes on the Quay of the Theatins, at the Hôtel Labriffe, 
 tha den where the nymphs of the emigration meet ; as I 
 know what happens in the house of the Thilles, near 
 Gonesse, which belongs to Valmerange, former adminis- 
 trator of the post where Maury and Cazales went ; where, 
 since then, Sieyès and Vergniaud went, and where now 
 some one goes once a week. " 
 
 In saying " some one, " Marat looked significantly at 
 Danton. 
 
 Danton cried, — 
 
 " If I had two farthings' worth of power, this would 
 be terrible. " 
 
 Marat continued, — * 
 
 " I know what I am saying to you, Eobespierre, just 
 as I knew what was going on in the Temple tower when 
 they fattened Louis XVI. there, so* well that the he-wolf, 
 the she-wolf, and the cubs ate up eighty-six baskets of 
 peaches in the month of September alone. During that 
 time the people were starving. I know- that, as I know 
 that Roland was hidden in a lodging looking on a back 
 court, in the Rue de la Harpe ; as I know that six hun- 
 dred of the pikes of July 14th were manufactured by 
 Faure, the Duke of Orleans's locksmith ; as I know what 
 they do in the house of the Saint-Hilaire, the mistress 
 of Sillery. On the days when there is to be a ball, it is 
 old Sillery himself who chalks the floor of the yellow 
 saloon of the Rue Neuve des Mathurins ; Buzot and 
 Kersaint dined there. Saladin dined there on the 
 27th, and with whom, Robespierre ? With your friend 
 Lasource. " 
 
 " Mere words ! " muttered' Robespierre. " Lasource is 
 not my friend. " 
 
 And he added thoughtfully,— 
 
 " In the mean while there are in London eighteen 
 manufactories of false assignats." 
 
152 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Marat went on in a voice still tranquil, though it had 
 a slight tremulousness that was threatening, — 
 
 " You are the faction of the All-Importants ! Yes ; I 
 know everything, in spite of what Saint-Just calls ' the 
 silence of State — ' " 
 
 Marat emphasized these last words, looked at Bobes- 
 pierre, and continued, — 
 
 " I know what is said at your tahle the days when 
 Lehas invites David to come and eat the dinner cooked 
 by his betrothed, Elizabeth Duplay, — your future sister- 
 in-law, Eobespierre. I am the far-seeing ' eye of the 
 people, and from the bottom of my cave I watch. Yes, 
 I see ; yes, I hear ; yes, I know ! Little things content 
 you. You admire yourselves. Eobespierre poses to be 
 contemplated by his Madame de Chalabre, the daughter 
 of that Marquis de Chalabre who played whist with 
 Louis XV. the evening Damiens was executed. Yes, 
 yes ; heads are carried high. Saint-Just lives in a 
 cravat. Legendre's dress is scrupulously correct, — new 
 frock-coat and white waistcoat, and a shirt-frill to make 
 people forget his apron. Eobespierre imagines that his- 
 tory will be interested to know that he wore an olive- 
 coloured frock-coat à la Constituante, and a sky-blue 
 dress-coat à la Convention. He has his portrait hanging 
 on all the walls of his chamber — " 
 
 Eobespierre interrupted him in a voice even more 
 composed than Marat's own: — 
 
 " And you, Marat, have yours in all the sewers. " 
 
 They continued this style of conversation, in which 
 the slowness of their voices emphasized the violence of 
 the attacks and retorts, and added a certain irony to 
 menace. 
 
 " Eobespierre, you have called those who desire the 
 overthrow of thrones ' the Don Quixotes of the human 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 153 
 
 * And you, Marat, after the 4th of August, in No. 559 
 of the ' Friend of the People ' (ah, I have remembered 
 the number; it may be useful!), you demanded that the 
 titles of the nobility should be restored to them. You 
 said, ' A duke is always a duke. 
 
 " Robespierre, in the sitting of December 7th, you 
 defended the woman Eoland against Viard. " 
 
 " Just as my brother defended you, Marat, when you 
 were attacked at the Jacobin Club. What does that 
 prove ? Nothing I " 
 
 " Robespierre, we know the cabinet of the Tuileries 
 where you said to Garat : ' I am tired of the Revolution ! ' " 
 
 " Marat, it was here, in this public-house, that, on the 
 29th of October, you embraced R&rbaroux. " 
 
 "' Robespierre, you said to Buzot : ' The Republic ! 
 What is that ? ' " 
 
 " Marat, it was also in this public-house that you 
 invited three Marseillais suspects to keep you company." 
 
 " Robespierre, you have yourself escorted by a stout 
 fellow from the market, armed with a club. " 
 
 " And you, Marat, on the eve of the 10th of August 
 you asked Buzot to help you flee to Marseilles disguised 
 as a jockey. " 
 
 " During the prosecutions of September you hid your- 
 self, Robespierre. " 
 
 " And you, Marat — you showed yourself. " 
 
 " Robespierre, you flung the red cap on the ground. " 
 
 " Yes, when a traitor hoisted it. That which deco- 
 rates Dumouriez sullies Robespierre. " 
 
 " Robespierre, you refuse^ to cover Louis XVI. 's head 
 with a veil ivhile soldiers of Chateauvieux were passing. " 
 
 " I did better than veil his head : I cut it off. " 
 
 Danton interposed, but it was like oil flung upon 
 flames. 
 
 " Robespierre, Marat, " said he ; " calm yourselves. " 
 
154 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Marat did not like being named the second. He 
 turned about. 
 
 " With what does Danton meddle ? " he asked. 
 
 Danton bounded. 
 
 "With what do I meddle? With this! That we 
 must not have fratricide; that there must be no strife 
 between two men who serve the people; that it is 
 enough to have a foreign war ; that it is enough to have 
 a civil war ; that it would be too much to have a domes- 
 tic war ; that it is I who have made the Revolution, and 
 I will not permit it to be spoiled. Now you know what 
 it is I meddle with ! " 
 
 Marat replied, without raising his voice, — 
 
 " You had better meddle with getting your accounts 
 ready. " 
 
 " My accounts ! " cried Danton. " Go ask for them 
 in the defiles of Argonne, in Champagne delivered, 
 in Belgium conquered, in the armies where I have 
 already four 'times offered my breast to the musket- 
 shots. Go demand them at the Place de la Revolution, 
 at the scaffold of January 21st, from the throne flung to 
 the ground, from the guillotine ; that widow — " 
 
 Marat interrupted him, — 
 
 " The guillotine is a virgin Amazon ; she does not give 
 birth. " 
 
 " Are you sure ? " retorted Danton. " I tell you I 
 will make her fruitful. " 
 
 " We shall see, " said Marat. He smiled. 
 
 Danton saw this smile. 
 
 " Marat, " cried he, " you are the man that hides ; 1 
 am the man of the open air and broad day. I hate the 
 life of a reptile. It would not suit me to be a wood- 
 louse. You inhabit a cave ; I live in the street. You 
 hold communication with none ; whosoever passes may 
 see and speak with me. " 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 155 
 
 " Pretty fellow ! Will you mount up to where I live ? " 
 snarled Marat. 
 
 Then his smile disappeared, and he continued, in a 
 peremptory tone, — 
 
 " Danton, give an account of the thirty-three thousand 
 crowns, ready money, that Montmorin paid you in the 
 king's name under pretext of indemnifying you for your 
 post of solicitor at the Châtelet." 
 
 "'I was of the 14th of July," said Danton, haughtily. 
 
 " And the Garde-Meuble, and the crown diamonds ? " 
 
 "I was of the 6th of October." * 
 
 " And the thefts of your ( alter ego, Lacroix, in 
 Belgium ? " 
 
 " I was of the 20th of June. " \ 
 
 " And the loans to the Montansier ? " 
 
 " I urged the people on to the return from Varennes. " 
 
 " And the opera-house, built with money that ypu 
 furnished ? " 
 
 " 1 armed the sections of Paris. * 
 
 " And 'the hundred thousand livres, secret funds of 
 the Ministry of Justice ? " 
 
 lc I caused the 10 th of August." 
 
 " And the two millions for the Assembly's secret ex 
 penses, of which you took the iourth ? " 
 
 " I stopped the enemy on their march, and I barred 
 the passage to the kings in coalition. w 
 
 " Prostitute ! " said Marat. 
 
 Danton was terrible as he rose to his full height. 
 
 " Yes ! " cried he. " I anl a harlot ! I sold myself, 
 but I saved the world ! " 
 
 Eobespierre had gone back to biting his nails. As 
 for him, he could neither laugh nor smile. The laugh 
 (the lightning) of Danton, and the smile (the sting) 
 of Marat were both wanting to him. 
 
 Danton resumed, — 
 
156 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " I am like the ocean ; I have my ebb and flow. At 
 low water my shoals may be seen ; at high tide you may 
 see my waves, " 
 
 " You foam, " said Marat. 
 
 " My tempest, " said Danton. 
 
 Marat had risen at the same moment as Danton. He 
 also exploded. The snake became suddenly a dragon. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried he. " Ah, Eobespierre ! Ah, Danton ! 
 You will not listen to me ! Well, you are lost ; I tell 
 you so. Your policy ends in an impossibility to go 
 farther; you have no longer an outlet; and you do 
 things which shut every door against you, — except that 
 of the tomb. " 
 
 " That is our grandeur, " said Danton. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 Marat hurried on : — 
 
 " Danton, beware. Vergniaud has also a wide mouth, 
 thick lips, and frowning eyebrows ; Vergniaud is pitted, 
 too, like Mirabeau and like thee ; that did not prevent 
 the 31st of May. Ah, you shrug your shoulders ! Some- 
 times a shrug of the shoulders makes the head fall. 
 Danton, I tell thee, that big voice, that loose cravat, 
 those top-boots, those little suppers, those great pockets, 
 — all those are things which concern Louisette. " 
 
 Louisette was Marat's pet name for the guillotine. 
 
 He pursued : — 
 
 " And as for thee, Eobespierre, thou art a Moderate, 
 but that will serve nothing. Go on ! powder thyself, 
 dress thy hair, brush thy clothes, play the vulgar cox- 
 comb, have clean linen, keep curled and frizzed and 
 bedizened ; none the less thou wilt go to the Place de 
 Grève! Read Brunswick's proclamation. Thou wilt get 
 a treatment no less than that of the regicide Damiens ! 
 Fine as thou art, thou wilt be dragged at the tails of 
 four horses. " 
 
MAGNA TESTANTUR VOCE PER UMBRAS. 157 
 
 " Echo of Coblentz ! " said Kobespierre between his 
 teeth. 
 
 " I am the echo of nothing ; I am the cry of the 
 
 whole, Kobespierre ! Ah, you are young, you ! How 
 old art thou, Danton ? Four-and-thirty. How many 
 are your years, Kobespierre ? Thirty-three. Well, I — 
 I have lived always ! I am the old human suffering ; 
 I am six thousand years old. " 
 
 " That is true, " retorted Danton. " For six thousand 
 years Cain has been preserved in hatred, like the toad 
 in a rock ; the rock breaks, Cain springs out among men, 
 and is called Marat. " , 
 
 " Danton ! " cried Marat, and a livid glare illuminated 
 his eyes. 1 
 
 " Well, what ? " asked Danton. l 
 
 Thus these three terrible men conversed. 
 
 They were conflicting thunderbolts. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A STIRRING OF THE INMOST NERVES. 
 
 THERE was a pause in the dialogue ; these Titans 
 withdrew for a moment each into his own 
 reflections. 
 
 Lions dread hydras. Robespierre had grown very 
 pale, and Danton very red. A shiver ran through the 
 frames of both. 
 
 The wild-beast glare in Marat's eyes had died out; 
 a calm, cold and imperious, settled again on the face of 
 this man, dreaded by his formidable associates. 
 
 Danton felt himself conquered, but he would not 
 yield. He resumed. — 
 
 " Marat talks very loud about the dictatorship and 
 unity, but he has cnly one ability, — that of breaking 
 to pieces. " 
 
 Robespierre parted his thin lips, and said, — 
 
 " As for me, I am of the opinion of Anacharsis Cloots : 
 I say, Neither Roland nor Marat. " 
 
 " And I, " replied Marat, " I say, Neither Danton nor 
 Robespierre. " 
 
 He regarded both fixedly, and added, — 
 
 " Let me give you advice, Danton. You are in love, 
 you think of marrying again ; do not meddle any more 
 with politics. Be wise. " 
 
 And moving backward a step toward the door, as if to 
 go out, he made them a menacing salute, and said, — 
 
 " Adieu, gentlemen. " 
 
A STIRRING OF THE INMOST NERVES. 159 
 
 Danton and Kobespierre shuddered. 
 
 At this instant a voice rose from the bottom of the 
 room, saying, — 
 
 " You are wrong, Marat. " 
 
 All three turned about. During Marat's explosion 
 some one had entered unperceived by the door at the 
 end of the room. 
 
 " Is it you, Citizen Cimourdain ? " asked Marat. 
 m Good -day." 
 
 It was indeed Cimourdain. 
 
 " I say you are wrong, Marat," lie repeated. 
 
 Marat turned green, which was his way of growing 
 pale. 
 
 " You are useful, but Eobespierre and Danton are 
 necessary. Why threaten them ? Union, union, citi- 
 zens ! Thepeople expect unity." 
 
 This entrance acted like a dash of cold water, and had 
 the effect that the arrival of a stranger does on a family 
 quarrel, — it calmed the surface, if not the depths. 
 
 Cimourdain advanced toward the table. 
 
 Danton and Eobespierre knew him. They had often 
 remarked among the public tribunals of the Convention 
 this obscure but powerful nran, whom the people sa- 
 luted. Nevertheless, Robespierre, always a stickler for 
 forms, asked, — 
 
 " Citizen, how did you enter? "' - 
 
 " He belongs to the Évêché, " replied Marat, in a voice 
 in which a certain submission was perceptible. 
 
 Marat braved the Convention, led the Commune, and 
 feared the Évêché. This is a law. 
 
 Mirabeau fell Eobespierre stirring at some unknown 
 depth below; Eobespierre felt Marat stir; Marat felt 
 Hébert stir; Hébert, Babeuf. As long as the layers un- 
 derneath are still, the politician can advance ; but under 
 the most revolutionary there must be some subsoil, and 
 
160 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the boldest stop in dismay when they feel under theii 
 feet the earthquake they have created. 
 
 To be able to distinguish the movement which covet- 
 ousness causes from that brought about by principle, to 
 combat the one and second the other, is the genius and 
 the virtue of great revolutionists. 
 
 Danton saw that Marat faltered. 
 
 " Oh, Citizen Cimourdain is not one too many, " said he. 
 And he held out his hand to the new-comer. 
 
 Then he said, — 
 " Zounds ! explain the situation to Citizen Cimourdain. 
 He appears just at the right moment. I represent the 
 Mountain ; Eobespierre represents the Committee of 
 Public Safety ; Marat represents the Commune ; Cimour- 
 dain represents the JÉvêché. He is come to give the 
 casting vote. " 
 
 " So be it, " said Cimourdain, simply and gravely. 
 
 * What is the matter in question ? " 
 
 " The Vendée, " replied Eobespierre. 
 
 * The Vendée ! " repeated Cimourdain. 
 
 Then he continued : " There is the great danger If 
 the Eevolution perish, she will perish by the Vendée. 
 One Vendée is more formidable than ten Germanys. 
 In order that France may live, it is necessary to kill 
 the Vendée. " 
 
 These few words won him Eobespierre. 
 
 Still Eobespierre asked this question : " Were you not 
 formerly a priest ? " 
 
 Cimourdain 's priestly air did not escape Eobespierre. 
 He recognized in another that which he had within 
 himself. 
 
 Cimourdain replied, — 
 
 * Yes, citizen. " 
 
 " What difference does that make ? " cried Danton. 
 
 * When priests are good fellows, they are worth more 
 
A STIRRING OF THE INMOST NERVES. 161 
 
 than others. In revolutionary times the priests melt 
 into citizens, as the bells do into arms and cannon. 
 Danjou is a priest ; Daunou is a priest ; Thomas Lindet 
 is the Bishop of Evreux. Kobespierre, you sit in the 
 Convention side by side with Massieu, Bishop of Beau- 
 vais. The Grand Vicar Vaugeois was a member of the 
 Insurrection Committee of August 10th. Chabot is a 
 Capuchin. It was Dom Gerle who devised the tennis- 
 court oath; it was the Abbé Audran who caused the 
 National Assembly to. be declared superior to the king; 
 it was the Abbé Goutte who demanded of the Legisla- 
 ture that the dais should be taken away from Louis 
 XVI. 's armchair-; ij, was the Abbé Grégoire who pro- 
 posed the abolition of royalty. " 
 
 Seconded, * sneered Marat, " by the actor Collot 
 d'Herbois. Between them they did the work, — the 
 priest overturned the throne ; the comedian flung down 
 the king. " 
 
 " Let us get back to the Vendée, " said Robespierre. 
 
 * Well, what is it ? " demanded Cimourdain. " What 
 is this Vendée doing now?" 
 
 Eobespierre answered, — 
 
 " This : she has found a chief. She becomes terrible. " 
 
 " Who is this chief, Citizen Robespierre ? " 
 
 " A ci-devant Marquis de Lantenac, who styles himself 
 a Breton prince. " 
 
 Cimourdain made a movement.! 
 
 "I know him," said he; "I was chaplain in his 
 house. " 
 
 He reflected for a moment, then added, — 
 
 " He was a man of gallantry before being a soldier. " 
 
 " Like Biron, who was a Lauzun, " said Danton. 
 
 And Cimourdain continued, thoughtfully : * Yes, an 
 old man of pleasure. He must be terrible. " 
 
 " Frightful, " said Robespierre. " He burns the vil- 
 
162 ninety-three: 
 
 lages, kills the wounded, massacres the prisoners, shoots 
 the women. " 
 
 " The women ! " 
 
 " Yes. Among others he had the mother of three 
 children shot. Nobody knows what became of the little 
 ones. He is really a captain : he understands war. " 
 
 " Yes, in truth, " replied Cimourdain. " He was in 
 the Hanoverian war, and the soldiers said, ' Eichelieu 
 in appearance, Lantenac at the bottom. ' Lantenac was 
 the real general. Talk about him to your colleague 
 Dussaulx. " 
 
 Eobespierre remained silent for a moment ; then the 
 dialogue began anew between him and Cimourdain. 
 
 " Well, Citizen Cimourdain, this man is in Vendée. " 
 
 " Since when ? " 
 
 " The last three weeks. " 
 
 " He must be declared an outlaw. " 
 
 " That is done. " 
 
 " A price must be set on his head. " 
 
 " It is done. " 
 
 " A large reward must be offered to whoever will take 
 him. " 
 
 " That is done. " 
 
 " Not in assignats. w 
 
 " That is done. " 
 
 " In gold. " 
 
 ■ That is done. " 
 
 * And he must be guillotined. w 
 " That will be done. " 
 
 ■ By whom ? " 
 « By you. " 
 
 " By me ? w 
 
 " Yes ; you will be delegated by the Committee of 
 Public Safety with unlimited powers. " 
 " I accept, " said Cimourdain. 
 
A STIRRING OF THE INMOST NERVES. 163 
 
 Eobespierre made his choice of men rapidly, — the 
 quality of a true statesman. He took from the portfolio 
 before him a sheet of white paper, on which could be 
 read this printed heading : " The Fkench Eepublic One 
 and Indivisible. — Committee of Public Safety. " 
 
 Cimourdain continued, — 
 
 " Yes, I accept. The terrible against the terrible. 
 Lantenac is ferocious ; I shall be so too. War to the 
 death against this man. I will deliver the Eepublic 
 from him, please God. " 
 
 He cheeked himself; then resumed, — 
 
 " I am a priest ; no matter ; I believe in God. " 
 
 " God has gone out of date, " said Danton. 
 
 " I believe in God, " said Cimourdain, unmoved. 
 
 Eobespierre gave a sinister nod of approval. 
 
 Cimourdain asked,— 
 
 " To whom am I delegated ,? " 
 
 " The commandant of the exploring division sent 
 against Lantenac. Only, — I warn you, — he is a 
 nobleman. " 
 
 Danton cried out, — 
 
 " That is another thing which matters little. A 
 noble ! Well, what then ! It is with the nobles as 
 with the priests. When one of (either class is good, he 
 is excellent. Nobility is a prejudice ; but we should 
 not have it in one sense more than the other, — no more 
 against than in favour of it. Eobespierre, is not Saint- 
 Just a noble ? Florelle de Saint- Just, zounds ! Anachar- 
 sis Cloots is a baron. Our friend Charles Hesse, who 
 never misses a meeting of the Cordeliers, is a prince, and 
 the brother of the reigning Landgrave of Hesse-Eothen- 
 burg. Montaut, the intimate of Marat, is the Marquis 
 de Montaut. There is in the revolutionary tribunal a 
 juror who is a priest, — Vilate ; and a juror who is a 
 nobleman, — Leroy, Marquis de Montflabert. Both are 
 tried men. " 
 
164 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " And you forget, " added Robespierre, " the foreman 
 of the revolutionary jury. " 
 
 "Antonelle?" 
 
 * Who is the Marquis Antonelle, " said Robespierre. 
 
 Danton continued, — 
 
 " Dampierre was a nobleman, — the one who lately got 
 himself killed before Condé for the Republic; and 
 Beaurepaire was a noble, — he who blew his brains out 
 rather than open the gates of Verdun to the Prussians. " 
 
 " All of which, " grumbled Marat, " does not alter the 
 fact that on the day Condorcet said, ' the Gracchi were 
 nobles, ' Danton cried out, * All nobles are traitors, be- 
 ginning with Mirabeau and ending with thee. ' " 
 
 Cimourdain's grave voice made itself heard: — 
 
 " Citizen Danton, Citizen Robespierre, you are perhaps 
 right to have confidence, but the people distrusts them ; 
 and the people is not wrong in so doing. When a priest 
 is charged with the surveillance of a nobleman, the re- 
 sponsibility is doubled, and it is necessary for the priest 
 to be inflexible. " 
 
 " True, " said Robespierre. 
 
 Cimourdain added, — 
 
 " And inexorable, " 
 
 Robespierre replied, — 
 
 " It is well said, Citizen Cimourdain. You will have 
 to deal with a young man. You will have the ascen- 
 dency over him, being double his age. It will be neces- 
 sary to direct him, but he must be carefully managed. 
 It appears that he possesses military talent; all the 
 reports are unanimous as to that. He belongs to a corps 
 which has been detached from the Army of the Rhine 
 to go into Vendee. He arrives from the frontier, where 
 he was noticeable for intelligence and courage. He 
 leads the exploring column in a superior way. For fif- 
 teen days he has held the old Marquis de Lantenac in 
 
A STIRRING OF THE INMOST NERVES. 165 
 
 check. He restrains and drives him before him. He 
 will end by forcing him to the sea, and tumbling him 
 into it headlong. Lantenac has the cunning of an old 
 general, and the audacity of a youthful captain. This 
 young man has already enemies, and those who are 
 envious of him. The Adjutant-General Léchelle is jeal- 
 ous of him. " 
 
 " That L'Échelle 1 wants to be commander-in-chief, " 
 interrupted Danton. " There is nothing in his favoui 
 but a pun : ' It needs a ladder to get on top of a cart. 
 All the same. Charette 2 beats him. " 
 
 " And he is not willing, " pursued Eobespierre, " that 
 anybody besides himself should beat Lantenac. The 
 misfortune of the Vendean war is in such rivalries. 
 Heroes badly commanded, — that is what our soldiers 
 are. A simple captain of hussars, Chérin, enters Saumur 
 with trumpets playing Ça ira ; he takes Saumur ; he 
 could keep on and take Cholet but he has no orders, so 
 he halts. All those commands of the Vendée must be 
 remodelled. The head-quarters are scattered, the forces 
 dispersed. A scattered army is an army paralyzed ; it is 
 a rock crumbled into dust. At the camp of Paramé 
 there are only some tents. There are a hundred useless 
 little companies posted between Tréguier and Dinan, of 
 which a division might be formed that could guard the 
 whole coast. Léchelle, supported by Parrein, strips the 
 northern coast under pretext of protecting the southern, 
 and so opens France to the English. A half million 
 peasants in revolt and a descent of England upon France, 
 — that is Lantenac 's plan. The young commander of 
 the exploring column presses his sword against Lante- 
 nac 's loins, keeps it there, and beats him without 
 Léchelle' s permission. Now, Léchelle is his general, so 
 Léchelle denounces him. Opinions are divided in re- 
 
 1 A ladder. 2 Charrette. — a cart. 
 
166 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 gard to this young man. Léchelle wants to have him 
 shot. Prieur, of the Marne, wants to make him adjutant- 
 general. " 
 
 " This youth appears to me to possess great qualities, " 
 said Cimourdain. 
 
 " But he has one fault. " The interruption came from 
 Marat. 
 
 " What is it ? " demanded Cimourdain. 
 
 " Clemency, " said Marat. 
 
 Then he added, — 
 
 " He is firm in battle, and weak afterward. He 
 shows indulgence ; he pardons ; he grants mercy ; he 
 protects devotees and nuns ; he saves the wives and 
 daughters of aristocrats ; he releases prisoners ; he sets 
 priests free. " 
 
 " A grave fault, " murmured Cimourdain. 
 
 " A crime, " said Marat. 
 
 " Sometimes, " said Danton. 
 
 " Often, " said Kobespierre. 
 
 " Almost always, " chimed in Marat. 
 
 " When one has to deal with the enemies of the coun- 
 try — always, " said Cimourdain. 
 
 Marat turned toward him. 
 
 " And what, then, would you do with a republican 
 chief who set a royalist chief at liberty ? " 
 
 " I should be of Léchelle 's opinion ; I would have him 
 shot. * 
 
 " Or guillotined, * said Marat. 
 
 ft He might have his choice, " said Cimourdain. 
 
 Danton began to laugh. 
 
 " I like one as well as the other. " 
 
 " Thou art sure to have one or the other, " growled 
 Marat. 
 
 His glance left Danton and settled again on Cimour« 
 dain. 
 
A STIRRING OF THE INMOST NERVES. 167 
 
 " So, Citizen Cimourdain, if a republican leader were 
 to flinch, you would cut off his head ? " 
 
 " Within twenty-four hours. " 
 
 " Well, " retorted Marat, " I am of Kobespierre's opin- 
 ion ; Citizen Cimourdain ought to be sent as delegate of 
 the Committee of Public Safety to the commandant of 
 the exploring division of the coast army. How is it 
 you call this commandant ? " 
 
 Eobespierre answered, — 
 
 K He is ^ci-devant noble. " 
 
 He began to turn over the papers. 
 
 " Get the priest to guard the nobleman, " said Danton. 
 " I distrust a priest when he is alone ; I distrust a noble 
 when he is alone. When they are together, I do not fear 
 them. One watches the other, and they do well. " 
 
 The indignant look always on Cimourdain 's face grew 
 deeper, but without doubt finding the remark just at 
 bottom, he did not look at Danton, but said in his stern 
 voice : — 
 
 " If the republican commander who is confided to me 
 makes one false step the penalty will be death. " 
 
 Eobespierre, with his eyes on the portfolio, said, — • 
 
 " Here is the name, Citizen Cimourdain. The com- 
 mandant, in regard to whom full( powers will be granted 
 you, is a so-called viscount ; his name is Gauvain. " 
 
 Cimourdain turned pale. 
 
 " Gauvain ! " he cried. 
 
 Marat saw his sudden pallor. 
 
 " The Viscount Gauvain ! " repeated Cimourdain. 
 
 " Yes, " said Eobespierre. 
 
 a Well, " said Marat, with his eyes fixed on the priest. 
 
 There was a brief silence, which Marat broke. 
 
 " Citizen Cimourdain, on the conditions named by your- 
 self, do you accept the mission as commissioner delegate 
 near the Commandant Gauvain ? Is it decided ? " 
 
168 NÏNETY-THREE. 
 
 " It is decided, " replied Cimourdain. He grew palei 
 and paler. 
 
 Robespierre took the pen which lay near him, wrote 
 in his slow, even hand four lines on the sheet of paper 
 which bore the heading Committee of Public Safety, 
 signed them, and passed the sheet and the pen to Dan- 
 ton ; Danton signed, and Marat, whose eyes had not left 
 Cimourdain 's livid face, signed after Danton. 
 
 Robespierre took the paper again, dated it, and gave 
 it to Cimourdain, who read, — 
 
 Year II. of the Republic. 
 
 Full powers are granted to Citizen Cimourdain, delegated 
 Commissioner of Public Safety to the Citizen Gauvam, com- 
 manding the Exploring Division of the Army of the Coasts. 
 Robespierre. Danton. Marat. 
 
 And beneath the signatures : — 
 
 June 28, 1793. 
 
 The revolutionary calendar, called the Civil Calendar, 
 had no legal existence at this time, and was not adopted 
 by the Convention, on the proposition of Romme, until 
 October 5, 1793. 
 
 While Cimourdain read, Marat watched him. 
 
 He said in a half -voice, as if talking to himself, — - 
 
 " It will be necessary to have all this formalized by a 
 decree of the Convention, or a special warrant ol the 
 Committee of Public Safety. There remains something 
 yet to be done " 
 
 " Citizen Cimourdain, where do you live ? " asked 
 Robespierre. 
 
 " Court of Commerce. " 
 
 " So do I, too, w said Danton. " You are my neighbour. * 
 
 Robespierre resumed, — 
 
A STIRRING OF THE INMOST NERVES. 169 
 
 " There is not a moment to lose. To-morrow you will 
 receive your commission in form, signed by all the 
 members of the Committee of Public Safety. This is a 
 confirmation of the commission. It will accredit you in 
 a special manner to the acting Kepresentatives, Philip- 
 peaux, Prieur of the Marne, Lecointre, Alquier, and the 
 others. We know you. Your powers are unlimited. 
 You can make Oauvain a general or send him to the 
 scaffold. You will receive your commission to-morrow 
 at three o'clock. When shall you set out? " 
 
 " At four, " said Cimourdain. 
 
 And they separated. 
 
 As he entered his house, Marat informed Simonne 
 Evrard that he should go to the Convention on the 
 morrow. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 THE CONVENTION 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 WE approach the grand summit. 
 Behold the Convention ! 
 
 The gaze grows steady in presence of this height. 
 
 Never has a more lofty spectacle appeared on the 
 horizon of mankind. 
 
 There is one Himalaya, and there is one Convention. 
 
 The Convention is perhaps the culminating point of 
 History. 
 
 During its lifetime — for it lived — men did not quite 
 understand what it was. It was precisely the grandeur 
 which escaped its contemporaries ; they were too much 
 scared to be dazzled. Everything grand possesses a sa- 
 cred horror. It is easy to admire mediocrities and hills ; 
 but whatever is too lofty, whether it be a genius or a 
 mountain, — an assembly as well as a masterpiece, — > 
 alarms when seen too near. An immense height ap- 
 pears an exaggeration. It is fatiguing to climb. One 
 loses breath upon acclivities, one slips down declivities ; 
 one is hurt by sharp, rugged heights which are in them- 
 selves beautiful; torrents in their foaming reveal the 
 precipices ; clouds hide the mountain-tops ; a sudden 
 ascent terrifies as much as a fall. Hence there is a 
 greater sensation of fright than admiration. What one 
 
THE CONVENTION. 171 
 
 feels is fantastic enough, — an aversion to the grand. 
 One sees the abyss and loses sight of the sublimity ; one 
 sees the monster and does not perceive the marvel. 
 Thus the Convention was at first judged. It was meas- 
 ured by the purblind,— it, which needed to be looked at 
 by eagles. .. 
 
 To-day we see Nit in perspective, and it throws across 
 the deep and distant heavens, against a background at 
 once serene and, tragic, the immense profile of the French 
 Eevolution. 
 
CHAPTEE II 
 
 THE 14th oî July delivered. 
 The 10th of August blasted. 
 
 The 21st of September founded. 
 
 The 21st of September was the Equinox; was Equi- 
 librium, — Libra, the balance. It was, according to the 
 remark of Komme, under this sign of Equality and Jus- 
 tice that the Eepublic was proclaimed. A constellation 
 heralded it. 
 
 The Convention is the first avatar of the peoples. It 
 was by the Convention that the grand new page opened 
 and the future of to day commenced. 
 
 Every idea must have a visible enfolding ; a habita- 
 tion is necessary to any principle ; a church is God be- 
 tween four walls ; every dogma must have a temple. 
 When the Convention became a fact, the first problem 
 to be solved was how to lodge the Convention. 
 
 At first the Eiding-school, then the Tuileries, was 
 taken. A platform was raised, scenery arranged, — a 
 great grey painting by David imitating bas-reliefs; 
 benches were placed in order ; there was a square tribune, 
 parallel pilasters with plinths like blocks and long rectili- 
 near stems ; square enclosures, into which the spectators 
 crowded, and which were called the, public tribunes ; 
 a Eoman velarium, Grecian draperies; and in these 
 right-angles and these straight lines the Convention was 
 installed, — the tempest confined within this geometrical 
 
THE CONVENTION. 173 
 
 plan. On the tribune the Eed Cap was painted in 
 grey. The royalists began by laughing at this grey red 
 cap, this theatrical hall, this monument of pasteboard, 
 this sanctuary of papier-maché, this Pantheon of mud 
 and spittle. How quickly it would disappear! The 
 columns were made of the staves from hogsheads, the 
 arches were of deal boards, the bas-reliefs of mastic, 
 the entablatures were of pine, the statues of plaster ; 
 the marbles were paint, the walls canvas ; and of this 
 provisional shelter France has made an eternal dwelling. 
 
 When the Convention began to hold its sessions in 
 the Kiding-school, the walls were covered with the pla- 
 cards which sprouted over Paris at the period of the 
 return from Varennes. 
 
 On one might be read : " The king returns. Any 
 person who cheers him shall be beaten ; any person whf 
 insults him shall be hanged. " On another : " Peace ! 
 Hats on ! He is about to pass before his judges. " On 
 another : " The king has aimed at the nation. He 
 has hung fire; it is now the nation's turn." On an- 
 other : " The Law ! The Law ! " It was within those 
 walls that the Convention sat in judgment on Louis 
 XVI. 
 
 At the Tuileries, where the Convention began to sit 
 on the 10th of May, 1793, and which was called the 
 Palais-National, the assembly-hall occupied the whtle 
 space between the Pavillon de l'Horloge, called the 
 Pavilion of Unity, and the Pavillon Marsan, then 
 named Pavilion of Liberty. The Pavilion of Flora was 
 called Pavillon Égalité. The hall was reached by the 
 grand staircase of Jean Bullant. The whole, ground- 
 floor of the palace, beneath the story occupied by the 
 Assembly, was a kind of long guard-room, littered with 
 bundles and camp-beds of the troops of all arms, who 
 kept watch about the Convention. The Assembly had 
 
174 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 a guard of honour styled " the Grenadiers of the 
 Convention. " 
 
 A tricoloured ribbon separated the palace where the 
 Assembly sat from the garden in which the people came 
 and went 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 LET us finish the description of that sessions-hall. 
 Everything in regard to this terrible place is 
 interesting. 
 
 What first struck the sight of any one entering was a 
 great statue of Liberty, placed between two wide windows. 
 One hundred and forty feet in length, thirty-four feet in 
 width, thirty-seven feet in height, — such were the di- 
 mensions of this room, which had. been the king's thea- 
 tre, and which became the theatre of the Revolution. 
 The elegant, and magnificent hall built by Vigarani for 
 the courtiers was hidden by the rude timber-work which 
 in '93 supported the weight of the people. This frame- 
 work, whereon the public tribunes were erected, had (a 
 detail deserving notice) one single post for its only point 
 of support. This post was of one piece, ten metres [32 
 feet 6 inches] in circumference. Few caryatides have 
 laboured like that beam -, it supported for years the rude 
 pressure of the Revolution. It sustained applause, en- 
 thusiasm, insolence, noise, tumult, riot, — the immense 
 chaos of opposing rages. It did not give way. After the 
 Convention it witnessed the Council of the Ancients. 
 The 18th Brumaire relieved it. 
 
 Percier then replaced the wooden pillar by columns 
 of marble, which did not last so well. 
 
 The ideal of architects is sometimes strange. The 
 architect of the Rue de Rivoli had for his ideal the 
 trajectory of a cannon-ball; the architect of Carlsruhe, 
 
176 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 a fan ; a gigantic drawer would seem to have been the 
 model of the architect who built the hall where the 
 Convention began to sit on the 10th of May, 1793. it 
 was long, high, and flat. At one of the sides of the 
 parallelogram was a great semicircle; this amphitheatre 
 contained the seats of the Representatives, but without 
 tables or desks. Garan-Coulon, who wrote a great 
 deal, held his paper on his knee. In front of the 
 seats was the tribune ; before the tribune, the bust of 
 Lepelletier Saint-Fargeau ; behind was the President's 
 arm-chair. 
 
 The head of the bust passed a little beyond the ledge 
 of the tribune, for which reason it was afterward moved 
 away from that position. 
 
 The amphitheatre was composed of nineteen semi- 
 circular rows of benches, rising one behind the other, 
 the supports of the seats prolonging the amphitheatre 
 into the two corners. 
 
 Below, in the horse-shoe at the foot of the tribune, 
 the ushers had their places. 
 
 On one side of the tribune a placard nine feet in 
 length was fastened to the wall in a black wooden frame 
 bearing on two leaves, separated by a sort of sceptre, 
 the " Declaration of the Rights of Man ; " on the other 
 side was a vacant place, at a later period occupied by a 
 similar frame, containing the Constitution of Year IL, 
 with the leaves divided by a sword. Above the tribune, 
 over the head of the orator, from a deep loge with double 
 compartments always filled with people, floated three 
 immense tricoloured flags, almost horizontal, resting on 
 an altar upon which could be read the word Law. 
 Behind this altar there arose, tall as a column, an enor- 
 mous Roman fasces like the sentinel of free speech, 
 Colossal statues, erect against the wall, faced the Repre- 
 sentatives. The President had Lycurgus on his right 
 
THE CONVENTION. 177 
 
 hand and Solon on his left, Plato towered above the 
 Mountain. 
 
 These statues had plain blocks of wood for pedestals, 
 resting on a long cornice which encircled the hall, and 
 separated the people from the Assembly, The spectators 
 could lean their elbows on this cornice. 
 
 The black wooden frame of the proclamation of the 
 "' Rights of Man " reached to the cornice, and broke the 
 regularity of the entablature, — an infraction of the 
 straight line which caused Chabot to murmur : " It is 
 ugly, " he said to Vadier. 
 
 On the heads of the statues alternated crowns of oak- 
 leaves and laurel. A green drapery, on which similar 
 crowns were painted in deeper green, fell in heavy folds 
 straight down from the cornice of the circumference, 
 and covered the whole wall of the ground-floor occupied 
 by the Assembly. Above this drapery the wall was 
 white and naked. In it, as if hollowed out by a gigan- 
 tic axe, without moulding or foliage, were two stories 
 of public tribunes, — -the lower ones square, the upper 
 ones round. According to rule, for Vitruvius was not 
 dethroned, the archivolts were superimposed upon the 
 architraves. There were ten tribunes on each side of 
 the hall, and two huge boxes at either end, — in all, 
 twenty-four. There the crowds gathered thickly. 
 
 The spectators in the lower tribunes, overflowing their 
 borders, grouped themselves along the reliefs of the cor- 
 nice. A long iron bar, firmly fixed at a height to lean 
 on, served as a safety rail to the upper tribunes, and 
 guarded the spectators against the pressure of the throngs 
 mounting the stairs. Nevertheless, a man was once 
 thrown headlong into the Assembly ; he fell partly upon 
 Massieu, Bishop of Beauvais and thus was not killed. 
 He said " Hullo ! Why, a bishop is really good for some- 
 thing ! " 
 
178 NINETY-THREE 
 
 The hall of the Convention could hold two thousand 
 persons comfortably ; on the days of insurrection it held 
 three. 
 
 The Convention held two sittings, one in the daytime 
 and one in the evening. 
 
 The back of the President's chair was curved, and 
 studded with gilt nails. The table was upheld by four 
 winged monsters, with a single foot; one might have 
 thought they had come out of the Apocalypse to assist 
 at the Eevolution. They seemed to have been unhar- 
 nessed from Ezekiel's chariot to drag the dung-cart of 
 Sanson. 
 
 On the President's table was a huge hand-bell almost 
 large enough to have served for a church, a great cop- 
 per inkstand, and a parchment folio, which was the book 
 of official repprts. 
 
 Many times freshly severed heads, borne aloft on the 
 tops of pikes, sprinkled their blood-drops over this 
 table. 
 
 The tribune was reached by a staircase- of nine steps. 
 These steps were high, steep, and hard to mount. One 
 day Gensonné stumbled as he was going up. " It is a 
 scaffold-ladder, " said he. " Serve your apprenticeship, " 
 Carrier cried out to him. 
 
 In the angles of the hall, where the wall had looked 
 too naked, the architect had put Roman fasces for decora- 
 tions, with the axe turned to the people. 
 
 At the right and left of the tribune were square blocks 
 supporting two candelabra twelve feet in height, having 
 each four pairs of lamps. There was a similar candela- 
 brum in each public box. On the pedestals were carved 
 circles, which the people called guillotine-collars. 
 
 The benches of the Assembly reached almost to the 
 cornice of the tribunes ; so that the Representatives and 
 ^the spectators could talk together. 
 
THE CONVENTION. 179 
 
 The outlets from the tribunes led into a labyrinth of 
 sombre corridors, often filled with a savage din. 
 
 The Convention overcrowded the palace and flowed 
 into the neighbouring mansions, — the Hôtel de Longue- 
 ville and the Hôtel de Coigny. It was to the Hôtel de 
 Coigny, if one may believe a letter of Lord Bradford's, 
 that the royal furniture was carried after the 10th of 
 August. It took two months to empty the Tuileries. 
 
 The committees were lodged in the neighbourhood of 
 the hall : in the Pavillon Égalité were those of Legisla- 
 tion, Agriculture, and Commerce ; in the Pavilion of 
 Liberty were the Marine, the Colonies, Finance, Assig- 
 nats, and Public Safety; the War Department was at 
 the Pavilion of Unity. 
 
 The Committee of General Security communicated 
 directly with that of Public Safety by an obscure pas- 
 sage, lighted day and night with a reflector-lamp, where 
 the spies of all parties came and went. People spoke 
 there in whispers. 
 
 The bar of the Convention was several times moved. 
 Generally it was at the right of the President. 
 
 At the far ends of the hall the vertical partitions 
 which closed the concentric semicircles of the amphi- 
 theatre left between them and the wall a couple of 
 narrow, deep passages, from which opened two dark 
 square doors. 
 
 The Eepresentatives entered directly into the hall by 
 a door opening on the Terrace des Feuillants. 
 
 This hall, dimly lighted during the day by deep-set 
 windows, took a strange nocturnal aspect when, with 
 the approach of twilight, it was badly illuminated by 
 lamps. Their pale glare intensified the evening shadows, 
 and the lamplight sessions were lugubrious. 
 
 It was impossible to see clearly ; from the opposite 
 ends of the hall, to the right and to the left, indistinct 
 
180 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 groups of faces insulted each other. People met without 
 recognizing one another. One day Laignelot, hurrying 
 toward the tribune, hit against some person in the slop- 
 ing passage between the benches. " Pardon, Eobes 
 pierre, " said he. " For whom do you take me ? " replied 
 a hoarse voice. " Pardon, Marat, " said Laignelot. 
 
 At the bottom, to the right and left of the President, 
 were two reserved tribunes ; for, strange to say, the 
 Convention had its privileged spectators. These tri- 
 bunes were the only ones that had draperies. In the 
 middle of the architrave two gold tassels held up the 
 curtains. The tribunes of the people were bare. 
 
 The whole surroundings were peculiar and savage, yet 
 correct. Eegularity in barbarism is rather a type of 
 revolution. The hall of the Convention offered the most 
 complete specimen of what artists have since called 
 " architecture Messidor ; " it was massive, and yet frail. 
 
 The builders of that time mistook symmetry for 
 beauty. The last word of the Eenaissance had been 
 uttered under Louis XV. , and a reaction followed. The 
 noble was pushed to insipidity, and the pure to absurd- 
 ity. Prudery may exist in architecture. After the 
 dazzling orgies of form and colour of the eighteenth 
 century, Art took to fasting, and only allowed herself 
 the straight line. This species of progress ends in ugli- 
 ness, and Art reduced to a skeleton is the phenomenon 
 which results. The fault of this sort of wisdom and 
 abstinence is, that the style is so severe that it becomes 
 meagre. 
 
 Outside of all political emotion, there was something 
 in the very architecture of this hall which made one 
 shiver. One recalled confusedly the ancient theatre 
 with its garlanded boxes, its blue and crimson ceiling, 
 its prismed lustres, its girandoles with diamond reflec- 
 tions, its brilliant hangings, its profusion of Cupids and 
 
THE CONVENTION. 181 
 
 Nymphs on the curtain and draperies, the whole royal 
 and amorous idyll — painted, sculptured, gilded — which 
 had brightened this sombre spot with its smile, where 
 now one saw on every side hard rectilinear angles, cold 
 and sharp as steel ; it was something like Boucher guil- 
 lotined by David. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BUT when one saw the Assembly, the hall was for- 
 gotten. Whoever looked at the drama no longer 
 remembered the theatre. Nothing more chaotic and 
 more sublime. A crowd of heroes ; a mob of cowards. 
 Fallow deer on a mountain; reptiles in a marsh. 
 Therein swarmed, elbowed one another, provoked one 
 another, threatened, struggled, and lived, all those 
 combatants who are phantoms to-day. 
 
 A convocation of Titans. 
 
 To the right, the Gironde, — a legion of thinkers ; to 
 the left, the Mountain, — a group of athletes. On one 
 side Brissot, who had received the keys of the Bastile ; 
 Barbaroux, whom the Marseillais obeyed ; Kervélégan, 
 who had under his hand the battalion of Brest, garri- 
 soned in the Faubourg Saint Marceau ; Gensonné, who 
 had established the supremacy of the Bepresentatives 
 over the generals ; the fatal Guadet, to whom the queen 
 one night, at the Tuileries, showed the sleeping Dau- 
 phin : Guadet kissed the forehead of the child, and 
 caused the head of the father to fall. Salles, the crack- 
 brained denouncer of the intimacy between the Moun- 
 tain and Austria. Sillery, the cripple of the Right, as 
 Couthon was the paralytic of the Left. Lause-Duperret, 
 who, having been called a scoundrel by a journalist, in- 
 vited him to dinner, saying, " I know that by scoundrel 
 you simply mean a man who does not think like your- 
 self. " Rabaut Saint-Étienne, who commenced his al- 
 
THE CONVENTION. 185 
 
 manac for 1790 with this saying: " The Eevolution is 
 ended. " Quinette, one of those who overthrew Louis 
 XVI. ; the Jansenist Camus, who drew up the civil 
 constitution of the clergy, believed in the miracles of 
 the Deacon Paris, and prostrated himself each night be- 
 fore a figure of Christ seven feet high, which was nailed 
 to the wall of his chamber. Fauchet, a priest, who, 
 with Camille Desmoulins, brought about the 14th of 
 July ; Isnard, who committed the crime of saying, 
 •" Paris will be destroyed, " at the same moment when 
 Brunswick was saying, " Paris shall be burned. " Jacob ■ 
 Dupont, the first who cried, " I am an Atheist, " and to 
 whom Eobespierre replied, " Atheism is aristocratic. " 
 Lanjuinais, stern, sagacious, and valiant Breton; Ducos, 
 the Euryalus of Boyer-Fonfrède ; Bebecqui, the Pylades 
 of Barbaroux (Bebecqui gave in his resignation because 
 Eobespierre had not yet been guillotined). Eichaud, 
 who combated the permanency of the Sections. La- 
 source, who had given utterance to the murderous apo- 
 thegm, " Woe to grateful nations ! " and who was 
 afterward to contradict himself at the foot of the scaffold 
 by this haughty sarcasm flung at the Mountainists : 
 " We die because the people sleep ; you will die because 
 the people awake. " Biroteau, who caused the abolition 
 of inviolability to be decreed; who was also, without 
 knowing it, the forger of the axe, and raised the scaffold 
 for himself. Charles Villatte, who sheltered his con- 
 science behind this protest : " I will not vote under the 
 hatchet'. " Louvet, the author of " Faublas, " who was 
 to end as a bookseller in the Palais Eoyal, with Lodoiska 
 behind the counter. Mercier, author of the " Picture of 
 Paris, " who exclaimed, " On the 21st of January, all 
 kings felt for the backs of their necks ! " Marec, whose 
 anxiety was " the faction of the ancient limits. " The 
 journalist Carra, who said to the headsman at the foot 
 
184 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 of the scaffold, a It bores me to die. I would have liked 
 to see the continuation. " Vigée, who called himself a 
 grenadier in the second battalion of Mayenne and Loire, 
 and who, when menaced by the public tribunals, cried, 
 " I demand that at the first murmur of the tribunals we 
 all withdraw and march on Versailles, sabre in hand ! " 
 Buzot, reserved for death by famine ; Valazé destined to 
 die by his own dagger ; Condorcet, who was to perish at 
 Bourg-la-Keine (become Bourg-Égalité), betrayed by the 
 Horace which he had in his pocket ; Pétion, whose des- 
 tiny was to be adored by the crowd in 1792 and devoured 
 by wolves in 1794 : twenty others still, — Pontecoulant, 
 Marboz, Lidon, Saint-Martin, Dussaulx, the translator 
 of Juvenal, who had been in the Hanover campaign ; 
 Boileau, Bertrand, Lesterp-Beauvais, Lesage, Gomaire, 
 Gardien, Mainvelle, Duplentier, Lacaze, Antiboul, and 
 at their head a Barnave, who was styled Yergniaud. 
 
 On the other side, Antoine Louis Léon Florelle de 
 Saint-Just, pale, with a low forehead, a regular profile, 
 eye mysterious, a profound sadness, aged twenty-three. 
 Merlin of Thionville, whom the Germans called Feuer- 
 teufel, — " the fire-devil. " Merlin of Douai, the culpable 
 author of the " Law of the Suspected. " Soubrany, whom 
 the people of Paris at the first Prairial demanded for 
 general. The ancient priest Lebon, holding a sabre in 
 the hand which had sprinkled holy water ; Billaud Va- 
 rennes, who foresaw the magistracy of the future, without 
 judges or arbiters ; Fabre d' Eglantine, who fell upon a de- 
 lightful treasure-trove, — the Eepublican Calendar, — just- 
 as Eouget de Lisle had a single sublime inspiration, — ■ 
 the " Marseillaise ; " neither one nor the other ever pro- 
 duced a second. Manuel, the attorney of the Commune, 
 who had said, " A dead king is not a man the less. " 
 Goujon, who had entered Tripstadt, Neustadt, and Spires, 
 and had seen the Prussian army flee. Lacroix, a lawyer 
 
THE CONVENTION. 185 
 
 turned into a general, named Chevalier of Saint Louis l 
 six days before the 10th of August. Fréron Thersites, 
 the son of Fréron Zoilus. Euth, the inexorable searcher 
 of the iron cupboard, predestined to a great republican 
 suicide, — he was to kill himself the day the Eepublic 
 died. Fouché, with the soul of a demon and the face of 
 a corpse. Camboulas, the friend of Father Duchesne, 
 who said to Guillotin, * Thou belongest to the Club of 
 the Feuillants, but thy daughter belongs to the Jacobin 
 Club. " Jagot, who to such as complained to him of the 
 nudity of the prisoners, replied by this savage saying, 
 " A prison is a dress of stone. " Javogues, the terrible 
 desecrator of the tombs of Saint Denis. Osselm, a pro- 
 scriber, who hid one of the proscribed, Madame Charry, 
 in his house. Bentabolle, who, when he was in the 
 chair, made signs to the tribunes to applaud or hoot. 
 The journalist Eobert, the husband of Mademoiselle 
 Kéralio, who wrote : " Neither Eobespierre nor Marat 
 come to my house. Eobespierre may come when he 
 wishes — Marat, never. " Garan Coulon, who, when 
 Spain interfered in the trial of Louis XVI. , haughtily 
 demanded that the Assembly should not deign to read 
 the letter of a king in behalf of a king. Grégoire, a 
 bishop, at first worthy of the Primitive Church, but 
 who afterward, under the Empire, effaced Grégoire the 
 republican beneath the Count Grégoire. Amar, who 
 said : " The whole earth condemns Louis XVI. To whom, 
 then, appeal for judgment ? To the planets ? " Eouyer, 
 who, on the 21st of January, opposed the firing of the 
 cannon of Pont Neuf, saying, " A king's head ought to 
 make no more noise in falling than the head of another 
 man. " Chénier, the brother of André ; Vadier, one oi 
 those who laid a pistol on the tribunes ; Tanis, who 
 said to Momoro, — 
 
 " I wish Marat and Eobespierre to embrace at my 
 table. ■ 
 
186 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 • Where dost thou live ? " 
 
 "At Charenton." 
 
 " Anywhere else would have astonished me, " replied 
 Momoro. 
 
 Legendre, who was the butcher of the French Eevolu- 
 tion, as Pride had been of the English. " Come, that I 
 may knock you down, " he cried to Lanjuinais. 
 
 " First have it decreed that I am a bullock, " replied 
 Lanjuinais. 
 
 Collot d'Herbois, that lugubrious comedian who had 
 the face of the antique mask, with two mouths which 
 said yes and no, approving with one while he blamed 
 with the other ; branding Carrier at Nantes and defying 
 Châlier at Lyons; sending Eobespierre to the scaffold 
 and Marat to the Pantheon. Génissieux, who demanded 
 the penalty of death against whomsoever should have 
 upon him a medallion of " Louis XVI. martyred. " 
 Léonard Bourdon, the schoolmaster, who had offered his 
 house to the old man of Mont Jura. Topsent, sailor; 
 Goupilleau, lawyer; Laurent Lecointre, merchant; Du- 
 hem, physician; Sergent, sculptor; David, painter; 
 Joseph Égalité, prince. 
 
 Others still : Lecointe Puiraveau, who asked that a 
 decree should be passed declaring Marat mad. Eobert 
 Lindet, the disquieting creator of that devil-fish whose 
 head was the Committee of General Surety, and which 
 covered France with its one-and-twenfrf thousand arms 
 called revolutionary committees. Lebœuf, upon whom 
 Girez-Dupré, in his " Christmas of False Patriots, " had 
 made this epigram, — 
 
 " Lebœuf vit Legendre et beugla. " 
 
 Thomas Payne, the clement American ; Anacharsis 
 Cloots, German, baron, millionaire, atheist, Hébertist, 
 candid. The upright Lebas, the friend of the Duplays. 
 Rovère, one of those strange men who are wicked for 
 
THE CONVENTION. 187 
 
 wickedness' sake, — for the art, from love of the art, ex- 
 ists more frequently than people believe. Charlier, who 
 wished that " you" should be employed in addressing 
 aristocrats. Tallien, elegiac and ferocious, who will 
 bring about the 9th Thermidor from love. Cambacérès, 
 a lawyer, who will be a prince later. Carrier, an attor- 
 ney, who will become a tiger. Laplanche, who will one 
 day cry, " I demand priority for the alarm-gun. * Thu- 
 riot, who desired the vote of the revolutionary tribunal 
 to be given aloud. Bourdon of the Oise, who challenged 
 Chambon to a duel, denounced Payne, and was himself 
 denounced by Hébert. Fayau, who proposed the send- 
 ing of " an army of incendiaries " into the Vendée. 
 Tavaux, who, on the 13th of April, was almost a medi- 
 ator between the Gironde and the Mountain. Vernier, 
 who proposed that the chiefs of the Gironde and the 
 Mountain should be sent to serve as common soldiers. 
 Eewbell, who shut himself up in Mayence. Bourbotte, 
 who had his horse killed under him at the taking of 
 Saumur. Guimberteau, who directed the army of the 
 Cherbourg coast. Jard Panvilliers, who managed the 
 army of the coasts of Kochelle. Lecarpentier, who led 
 the squadron of Cancale. Eoberjot, for whom the am- 
 bush of Eastadt was waiting. Prieur, of the Marne, who 
 bore in camp his old rank of major. Levasseur of the 
 Sarthe, who by a word decided Serrent, commandant of 
 the battalion of Saint- Amand, to kill himself. Eever- 
 chon, Maure, Bernard de Saintes, Charles Eichard, 
 Lequinio, and at the summit of this group a Mirabeau, 
 who was called Danton. 
 
 Outside the two camps, and keeping both in awe, rose 
 the man Eobespierre. 
 
CHAPTEE V. 
 
 BELOW crouched Dismay, which may be noble ; Mia 
 Fear, which is base. Beneath passions, beneath 
 heroisms, beneath devotion, beneath rage, was the gloomy 
 cohort of the Anonymous. The shoals of the Assembly 
 were called the Plain. There was everything there 
 which floats ; the men who doubt, who hesitate, who re- 
 coil, who adjourn, who wait, each one fearing somebody. 
 The Mountain was made up of the Select ; the Gironde 
 of the Select ; the Plain was a crowd. The Plain was 
 summed up and condensed in Sieves. 
 
 Sieves, a profound man, who had grown chimerical. 
 He had stopped at the Tiers-État, and had not been able 
 to mount up to the people. Certain minds are made to 
 rest half-way. Sieves called Eobespierre a tiger, and 
 was called a mole by Eobespierre. This metaphysician 
 had stranded, not on wisdom, but prudence. He was 
 the courtier, not the servitor, of the Eevolution. He 
 seized a shovel, and went with the people to work in 
 the Champ de Mars, harnessed to the same cart as Alex- 
 ander de Beauharnais. He counselled energy, but never 
 showed it. He said to the Girondists, " Put the cannon 
 on your side. " There are thinkers who are wrestlers : 
 those were, like Condorcet, with Vergniaud ; or like 
 Camille Desmoulins, with Danton. There are thinkers 
 whose aim is to preserve their lives : such were with 
 Sieves. 
 
 The best working vats have their lees. Underneath 
 the Plain even was the Marsh, — a hideous stagnation 
 
THE CONVENTION. 189 
 
 which exposed to view the transparencies of egotism. 
 There shivered the fearful in dumb expectation. Noth- 
 ing could be more abject, — a conglomeration of shames 
 feeling no shame ; hidden rage ; revolt under servitude. 
 They were afraid in a cynical fashion ; they had all the 
 desperation of cowardice ; they preferred the Gironde and 
 chose the Mountain ; the final catastrophe depended upon 
 them ; they poured toward the successful side ; they de- 
 livered Louis XVI. to Vergniaud, Vergniaud to Danton, 
 Danton to Eobespierre, Eobespierre to Tallien. They 
 put Marat in the pillory when living, and deified him 
 when dead. They upheld everything up to the day 
 when they overturned everything. They had the in- 
 stinct to give the decisive push to whatever tottered. 
 In their eyes — since they had undertaken to serve on 
 condition that the basis was solid — to waver was to be- 
 tray them. They were number ; they were force ; they 
 were fear. From thence came the audacity of turpitude. 
 
 Thence came May 31st, the 11th Terminal, the 9th 
 Thermidor, — tragedies knotted by giants and untied by 
 dwarfs. 
 
CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 AMONG these men full of passions were mingled 
 men filled with dreams. Utopia was there under 
 all its forms, — under its warlike form, which admitted 
 the scaffold, and under its innocent form, which would 
 abolish capital punishment ; pnantom as it faced thrones ; 
 'dugel as it regarded the people. Side by side with the 
 spirits that fought were the spirits that brooded. These 
 had war in their heads, those peace. One brain, Carnot, 
 brought forth fourteen armies ; another intellect, Jean 
 Debry, meditated a universal democratic federation. 
 
 Amid this furious eloquence, among these shrieking 
 and growling voices, there were fruitful silences. Laka- 
 nal remained voiceless, and combined in his thoughts 
 the system of public national education ; Lanthenas held 
 his peace, and 'created the primary schools; Kevellière 
 Lépaux kept still, and dreamed of the elevation of Phi- 
 losophy to the dignity of Eeligion. Others occupied 
 themselves with questions of detail, smaller and more 
 practical. Guyton Morveaux studied means for render- 
 ing the hospitals healthy ; Maire, the abolition of exist- 
 ing servitudes; Jean Bon Saint- André, the suppression 
 of imprisonment for debt and constraint of the person ; 
 Eomme, the proposition of Chappe ; Duboë, the putting 
 the archives in order ; Coren Fustier, the creation of the 
 Cabinet of Anatomy and the Museum of Natural His- 
 tory ; Guyomard, river navigation and the damming of 
 the Scheldt. Art had its monomaniacs. On the 21st 
 
THE CONVENTION. 191 
 
 of January, while the head of monarchy was falling on 
 the Place de la Eevolution, Bézard, the Kepresentative 
 of the Oise, went to see a picture of Kubens, which had 
 been found in a garret in the Eue Saint-Lazare. Artists, 
 orators, prophets, men-giants like Danton, child-men 
 like Cloots, gladiators and philosophers, all had the 
 same goal, — progress. Nothing disconcerted them. The 
 grandeur of the Convention was, the searching how much 
 reality there is in what men call the impossible. At 
 one extreme, Eobespierre had his eye fixed on Law; at 
 the other, Condorcet had his fixed on Duty. 
 
 Condorcet was a man of reverie and enlightenment. 
 Eobespierre was a man of execution ; and sometimes, in 
 the final crises of worn-out orders, execution means ex- 
 termination. Eevolutions have two currents, — an ebb 
 and a flow ; and on these float all seasons, from that of 
 ice to flowers. Each zone of these currents produces 
 men adapted to its climate, from those who live in the 
 sun to those who dwell among the thunderbolts. 
 
CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 PEOPLE showed each other the recess of the left* 
 hand passage where Eobespierre had uttered low in 
 the ear of Garât. Clavière's friend, this terrible epigram: 
 " Clavière has conspired wherever he has respired. " In 
 this same recess, convenient for words needed to be 
 spoken aside and for half- voiced cholers, Fabre d 'Eglan- 
 tine had quarrelled with Eomme. and reproached him 
 for having disfigured his calendar by changing " Fervi- 
 dor " into " Thermidor. " So, too, was shown the angle 
 where, elbow to elbow, sat the seven Eepresentatives of 
 the Haute-Garonne, who, first called to pronounce their 
 verdict upon Louis XVI. , thus responded, one after the 
 other : Mailhe, " Death ; " Delmas, " Death : " Projean, 
 "Death;" Calés, "Death;" Ayral, "Death;" Julien, 
 " Death ; " Desaby, " Death, " — ■ eternal reverberation, 
 which fills all history, and which, since human justice 
 has existed, has always given an echo of the sepulchre 
 to the wall of the tribunal. People pointed out with 
 their fingers, among that group of stormy faces, all the 
 men from whose mouths had come the uproar of tragic 
 notes, — Paganel, who said : " Death ! A king is only 
 made useful by death. " Millaud, who said : " To-day, if 
 death did not exist it would be necessary to invent it. * 
 The old Eaffon du Trouillet, who said : " Speedy death ! * 
 Goupilleau, who cried : " The scaffold at once. Delay 
 aggravates dying. " Sieyès, who said, with funereal 
 brevity : " Death ! " Thuriot, who had rejected the ap- 
 peal to the people proposed by Buzot : * What ! the 
 
THE CONVENTION. 193 
 
 primary assemblies! What! Forty-four thousand tri 
 bunals î A case without limit. The head of Louis XVI. 
 would have time to whiten before it would fall. " Au- 
 gustin Bon Bobespierre, who, after his brother, cried : 
 " I know nothing of the humanity which slaughters the 
 people and pardons despots. Death ! To demand a re- 
 prieve is to substitute an appeal to tyrants for the appeal 
 to the people. " Foussedoire, the substitute of Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre, who had said : " I have a horror of hu- 
 man bloodshed, but the blood of a king is not a man's 
 blood. Death ! " Jean Bon Saint- André, who said : 
 * No free people without a dead tyrant. " Lavicomterie, 
 who proclaimed this formula : " So long as the tyrant 
 breathes, Liberty is suffocated ! Death ! " Châteauneuf 
 Eandon, who had uttered this cry : " Death to the last 
 Louis ! " Guyardin, who had said : " Let the Barrière 
 Benversée be executed. " (The Barrière Ben versée was 
 the Barrière du Trône). Tellier, who had said : " Let 
 there be forged, to aim against the enemy, a cannon of 
 the calibre of Louis XVI. 's head. And the indulgents, 
 — Gentil, who said : " I vote for confinement. To make 
 a Charles I. is to make a Cromwell. " Bancel, who 
 said : " Exile. I want to see the first king of the earth 
 condemned to a trade in order to earn hjs livelihood. " 
 Albouys, who said : " Banishment ! Let this living 
 ghost go wander among the thrones. " Zangiacomi, who 
 said : " Confinement. Let us keep Capet alive as a 
 scarecrow. " Chaillon, who said : " Let him live. I do 
 not wish to make a dead man of whom Borne will make 
 a saint. " 
 
 While these sentences fell from those severe lips and 
 dispersed themselves one after another into history, 
 women in low-necked dresses and decorated with gems 
 sat in the tribunes, list in hand, counting the voices 
 and pricking each vote with a pin. 
 
194 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Where tragedy entered, horror and pity remain. 
 
 To see the Convention, no matter at what period of 
 its reign, was to see anew the trial of the last Capet. 
 The legend of the 21st of January seemed mingled with 
 all its acts ; the formidable Assembly was full of those 
 fatal breaths which blew upon the old torch of monar- 
 chy, that had burned for eighteen centuries, and extin- 
 guished it. The decisive trials of all kings in that 
 judgment pronounced upon one king was like the point 
 of departure in the great war made against the Past. 
 Whatever might be the sitting of the Convention at 
 which one was present, the shadow of Louis XVI. 's 
 scaffold was seen thrust forward within it. Spectators 
 recounted to one another the resignation of Kersaint, 
 the resignation of Eoland, Duchâtel, the deputy of the 
 Deux-Sèvres, who, being ill, had himself carried to the 
 Convention on his bed, and dying voted the king's life, 
 which caused Marat to laugh ; and they sought with 
 their eyes the Eepresentative whom history has forgot- 
 ten, he who, after that session of thirty-seven hours, 
 fell back on his bench overcome by fatigue and sleep, 
 and when roused by the usher as his turn to vote arrived, 
 half opened his eyes, said " Death, " and fell asleep 
 again. 
 
 At the moment Louis XVI. was condemned to death, 
 Eobespierre had still eighteen months to live ; Danton, 
 fifteen months; Vergniaud, nine months; Marat, five 
 months and three weeks ; Lepelletier Saint-Fargeau, one 
 day. Quick and terrible blast from human mouths ! 
 
CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 THE people had a window opening on the Conven- 
 tion, — the public tribunes ; and when the win- 
 dow was not sufficient, they opened the door, and the 
 street entered the Assembly. These invasions of the 
 crowd into that senate make one of the most astounding 
 visions of history. Ordinarily those irruptions were 
 amicable. The market-place fraternized with the curule 
 chair ; but it was a formidable cordiality, — that of a 
 people who one day took within three hours the cannon 
 of the Invalides and forty thousand muskets besides. 
 At each instant a troop interrupted the deliberations; 
 deputations presented at the bar petitions, homages, 
 offerings. The pike of honour of the Faubourg Saint 
 Antoine entered, borne by women. Certain English 
 offered twenty thousand pairs of shoes for the naked 
 feet of our soldiers. " The citizen Arnoux, " announced 
 the " Moniteur, " " Curé of Aubignan, Commandant of the 
 Battalion of Drome, asks to march to the frontiers, and 
 desires that his 1 cure may be preserved for him. " 
 
 Delegates from the Sections arrived, bringing on hand- 
 barrows, dishes, patens, chalices, monstrances, heaps 
 of gold, silver, and enamel, presented to the country by 
 this multitude in rags, who demanded for recompense 
 the permission to dance the Carmagnole before the Con- 
 vention. Chenard, Narbonne, and Vallière came to 
 sing couplets in honour of the Mountain. The Section 
 of Mont Blanc brought the bust of Lepelletier, and a 
 woman placed a red cap on the head of the President» 
 
196 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 who embraced her. The citizenesses of the Section of 
 the Mail " flung flowers " to the legislators. " The pupils 
 of the country " came, headed by music, to thank the 
 Convention for having prepared the prosperity of the 
 century. The women of the Section of the Gardes Fran- 
 çaises offered roses ; the women of the Champs Elysées 
 Section gave a crown of oak-leaves ; the women of the 
 Section of the Temple came to the bar to swear " only to 
 unite themselves with true Eepublicans. " The Section 
 of Molière presented a medal of Franklin, which was 
 suspended by decree to the crown of the statue of Lib- 
 erty. The Foundlings — declared the Children of the 
 Eepublic — filed through, habited in the national uni- 
 form. The young girls of the Section of Ninety-two 
 arrived in long white robes, and the " Moniteur " of the 
 following morning contained this line : " The President 
 received a bouquet from the innocent hands of a young 
 beauty. " The orators saluted the crowds, sometimes 
 flattered them : they said to the multitude, " Thou art 
 infallible ; thou art irreproachable ; thou art sublime. " 
 The people have an infantile side : they like those sugar- 
 plums. Sometimes Eiot traversed the Assembly : en- 
 tered furious and withdrew appeased, like the Ehone 
 which traverses Lake Leman, and is mud when it enters 
 and pure and azure when it pours out. 
 
 Sometimes the crowd was less pacific, and Henriot 
 was obliged to come with his furnaces for heating shot 
 to the entrance of the Tuileries. 
 
CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 AT the ^ame time that it threw off revolution, this 
 Assembly produced civilization. Furnace, but 
 forge too. In this caldron, where terror bubbled, pro- 
 gress fermented. Out of this chaos of shadow, this 
 tumultuous flight of clouds, spread immense rays of 
 light parallel to the eternal laws, — rays that have re- 
 mained on the horizon, visible forever in the heaven of 
 the peoples, and which are, one, Justice; another, Tol- 
 erance; another, Goodness; another, Eight; another, 
 Truth ; another, Love. 
 
 The Convention promulgated this grand axiom : " The 
 liberty of each citizen ends where the liberty of anothei 
 citizen commences, " — which comprises in two lines all 
 human social law. It declared indigence sacred ; it de- 
 clared infirmity sacred in the blind and the deaf and 
 dumb, who became wards of the State ; maternity 
 sacred in the girl -mother, whom it consoled and lifted 
 up; infancy sacred in the orphan, whom it caused to 
 be adopted by the country ; innocence sacred in the ac- 
 cused who was acquitted, whom it indemnified. It 
 branded the slave-trade; it abolished slavery. It pro- 
 claimed civic joint responsibility. It decreed gratuitous 
 instruction. It organized national education by the 
 normal school of Paris ; central schools in the chief 
 towns ; primary schools in the communes. It created 
 the academies of music and the museums. It decreed 
 the unity of the Code, the unity of weights and meas- 
 ures, and the unity of calculation by the decimal sys- 
 
/98 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 tern. It established the finances of France, and caused 
 public credit to succeed to the long monarchical bank- 
 ruptcy. It put the telegraph in operation. To old age it 
 gave endowed almshouses; to sickness, purified hospi- 
 tals ; to instruction, the Polytechnic School ; to science, 
 the Bureau of Longitudes; to human intellect, the In- 
 stitute. At the same time that it was national it was 
 cosmopolitan. Of the eleven thousand two hundred and 
 ten decrees which emanated from the Convention, a 
 third had a political aim ; two thirds, a human aim. It 
 declared universal morality the basis of society, and 
 universal conscience the basis of law. And all that 
 servitude abolished, fraternity proclaimed, humanity 
 protected, human conscience rectified, the law of work 
 transformed into right, and from onerous made honoura- 
 ble, — national riches consolidated, childhood instructed 
 and raised, up, letters and sciences propagated, light 
 illuminating all heights, aid to all sufferings, promul- 
 gation of all principle, — the Convention accomplished, 
 having in its bowels that hydra, the Vendée ; and upon 
 its shoulders that heap of tigers, the kings. 
 
) ^ 
 
 7"i ~ '"• VV M 
 
 Boissy d'Anglas uncovering before the Head of the 
 Deputy Féraud. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 IMMENSE place ! All types were^there, — human, 
 inhuman, superhuman. Epic gathering of antago- 
 nisms, — Guillotin avoiding David, Bazire insulting 
 Chabot, Guadet mocking Saint-Just, Vergniaud disdain- 
 ing Danton, Louvet attacking Robespierre, Buzot denoun- 
 cing Egalité, Chambon branding Pache : all execrating 
 Marat. And how many names remain still to be regis- 
 tered ! — Armonville, styled Bonnet Rouge, because he 
 always attended the sittings in a Phrygian cap, a friend 
 of Robespierre, and wishing, " after Louis XVI. , to guil- 
 lotine Robespierre in order to restore an equilibrium ; " 
 Massieu, colleague and counterpart of that good Lamour- 
 ette, a bishop fitted to leave his name to a kiss ; Lehardy 
 of the Morbihan, stigmatizing the priests of Brittany; 
 Barère, the man of majorities, who presided when Louis 
 XVI. appeared at the bar, and who was to Pamela what 
 Louvet was to Lodoiska ; the Oratorian Daunou, who 
 said, " Let us gain time ; " Dubois Crancé, close to 
 whose ear leaned Marat; the Marquis de Châteauneuf, 
 Laclos, Hérault of Séchelles, who recoiled before Hen- 
 riot crying, " Gunners, to your pieces ; " Julien, who 
 compared the Mountain to Thermopylae ; Gamon, who 
 desired a public tribune reserved solely for women ; 
 Laloy, who adjudged the honours of the séance to the 
 Bishop Gobel coming into the Convention to lay down 
 his mitre and put on the red cap; Lecomte, who ex- 
 claimed, " So the honours are for whosoever will unfrock 
 himself ; " Féraud, whose head Boissy d'Anglas saluted, 
 
200 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 leaving this question to history <: Did Boissy d'Anglas 
 salute the head, — that is to say, the victim, — or the 
 pike ; that is to say, the assassins ? " the two brothers 
 Duprat, one a member of the Mountain, the other of the 
 Gironde, who hated each other like the two brothers 
 Chénier. 
 
 At this tribune were uttered those mysterious words 
 which sometimes posse&5 t unconsciously to those who 
 pronounce them the prophetic accent of revolutions, and 
 in whose wake material facts appear suddenly to assume 
 an inexplicable discontent and passion, as if they had 
 taken umbrage at the things just heard ; events seem 
 angered by words : catastrophes follow furious, and as if 
 exasperated by the speech of men. Thus a voice upon a 
 mountain suffices to set the avalanche in motion. A word 
 too much may be followed by a landslip. If no one 
 had spoken, the catastrophe would not have happened. 
 You might say sometimes that events are irascible. 
 
 It was thus, by the hazard of an orator's ill-compre- 
 hended word, that Madame Elizabeth's head fell. 
 
 At the Convention intemperance of language was a 
 right. Threats flew about and crossed one another like 
 sparks in a conflagration. 
 
 Petion : " Robespierre, come to the point. " 
 
 Robespierre : " The point is yourself, Pétion ; I shall 
 come to it, and you will see it " 
 
 A voice : " Death to Marat ! " 
 
 Marat : " The day Marat dies there will be no more 
 Paris, and the day that Paris expires there will be no 
 longer a Eepublic. " 
 
 Billaud Varennes rises, and says, " We wish — " 
 
 Barère interrupts him : " Thou speakest like a king. " 
 
 Another day, Philippeaux, says, "A member has 
 drawn his sword upon me. " 
 
 Audouin : " President, call the assassin to order. " 
 
THE CONVENTION. ^01 
 
 The President : " Wait. " 
 
 Panis : " President, I call you to order — I! " 
 
 There was rude laughter moreover. 
 
 Lecointre : a The Curé of Chant de Bout complains of 
 Fauchet, his bishop, who forbids his marrying. " 
 
 A. voice: " I do not see why Fauchet, who has mis- 
 tresses, should wish to hinder others from having wives. " 
 
 A second voice : " Priest, take a wife ! " 
 
 The galleries joined in the conversation. They said 
 " thee " and " thou " to the members. One day the Eep- 
 resentative Euamps mounted to the tribune. He had 
 one hip very much larger than the other. A spectator, 
 crying out, thus jeered him : " Turn that toward the 
 Eight, since thou hast a cheek à la David. " 
 
 Such were the liberties the people took with the Con- 
 vention. On one occasion, however, during the tumult 
 of the 11th of April, 1793, the President commanded a 
 disorderly person in the tribunes to be arrested. 
 
 One day when the session had for witness the old 
 Buonarotti, Eobespierre takes the floor and speaks for 
 two hours, staring at Danton, sometimes straight in the 
 face, which was serious ; sometimes obliquely, which 
 was worse. He thunders on to the end, however. He 
 closes with an indignant outburst full of menacing 
 words : " The conspirators are known, the corrupters and 
 the corrupted are known ; the traitors are known ; they 
 are in this assembly. They hear us ; we see them, and 
 we do not move our eyes from them. Let them look 
 above their heads, and they will see the sword of the 
 law; let them look into their conscience, and they will 
 see their own infamy. Let them beware ! " And when 
 Eobespierre has finished, Danton, with his face raised 
 toward the ceiling, his eyes half closed, one arm hang- 
 ing loosely down, throws himself back in his seat, and 
 is heard to hum,— 
 
202 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Cadet Koussel fait des discours, 
 Qui ne sont pas longs quand ils sont courts." * 
 
 Imprecations followed one another, — conspirator! 
 assassin ! scoundrel ! factionist ! moderate ! They de- 
 nounced one another to the bust of Brutus that stood 
 there, — apostrophes, insults, challenges; furious glances 
 from one side to the other; fists shaken; pistols allowed 
 to be seen ; poniards half drawn ; terrible blazing forth 
 in the tribune. Certain persons talked as if they were 
 driven back against the guillotine ; heads wavered, 
 frightened and awed. Mountainists, Girondists, Feuil- 
 lantists, Moderates, Terrorists, Jacobins, Cordeliers, 
 eighteen regicide priests, — all these men a mass of 
 vapours driven wildly in every direction. 
 
 1 " Cadet Eoussel doth make his speech 
 
 Quite short when it no length doth reach." 
 
CHAPTEE XI 
 
 SPIEITS which were a prey of the wind. But this 
 was a miracle-working wind. To be a member of 
 the Convention was to be a wave of the ocean. This 
 was true even of the greatest there. The force of impul- 
 sion came from on high. There was a Will in the Con- 
 vention which was that of all, and yet not that of any 
 one person. This Will was an Idea, : — an idea indomi- 
 table and immeasurable, which swept from the summit 
 of heaven into the darkness below. We call this Eevo- 
 lution. When that Idea passed, it beat down one and 
 raised up another; it scattered this man into foam and 
 dashed that one upon the reefs. This Idea knew whither 
 it was going, and drove the whirlpool before it. To 
 ascribe the Eevolution to men is to ascribe the tide to 
 the waves. 
 
 The Eevolution is a work of the Unknown. Call 
 it gcod or bad, according as you yearn toward the future 
 or the past, but leave it to the power which caused it. 
 It seems the joint work of grand events and grand indi- 
 vidualities mingled, but it is in reality the result of 
 events. Events dispense, men suffer; events dictate, 
 men sign. The 14th of July is signed Camille Des- 
 moulins ; the 10th of August is signed Danton ; the 2d 
 of September is signed Marat; the 21st of September is 
 signed Grégoire; the 21st of January is signed Eobes- 
 pierre ; but Desmoulins, Danton, Marat, Grégoire, and 
 Robespierre are mere scribes. 7^e great and mysterious 
 
204 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 writer of these grand pages has a name, — God; and a 
 mask, Destiny. Eobespierre believed in G-od : yea. 
 verily ! 
 
 The Eevolution is a form of the eternal phenomenon 
 which presses upon us from every quarter, and which 
 we call Necessity. Before this mysterious complication 
 of benefits and sufferings arises the Wherefore of his- 
 tory. Because : this answer of him who knows nothing 
 is equally the response of him who knows all. 
 
 In presence of these climacteric catastrophes which 
 devastate and revivify civilization, one hesitates to judge 
 their details. To blame or praise men on account of the 
 result is almost like praising or blaming ciphers on 
 account of the total. That which ought to happen 
 happens ; the blast which ought to blow blows. The 
 Eternal Serenity does not suffer from these north winds. 
 Above revolutions Truth and Justice remain as the starry 
 sky lies above and beyond tempests. 
 
s 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ITCH was the unmeasured and immeasurable Con 
 v -^ vention, — a camp cut off from the human race, 
 attacked by all the powers of darkness at once ; the 
 night-fires of the besieged army of Ideas ; a vast bivouac 
 of minds upon the edge of a precipice. There is nothing 
 in history comparable to this group, at the same time 
 senate and populace, conclave and street-crossing, Areo- 
 pagus and public square, tribunal and the accused. 
 
 The Convention always bent to the wind ; but that 
 wind came from the mouth of the people, and was the 
 breath of God. 
 
 And to-day, after eighty-four years have passed away, 
 always when the Convention presents itself before the 
 reflection of any man, whosoever he may be, — historian 
 or philosopher, — that man pauses and meditates. It 
 would be impossible not to remain thoughtfully atten- 
 tive before this grand procession of shadows. 
 
CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 MARAT IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 
 
 MARAT, in accordance with his declaration to 
 Simonne Evrard, went to the Convention the 
 morning after that interview in the Rue du Paon. There 
 was in the Convention a marquis who was a Maratist, 
 Louis de Montant, the same who afterward presented 
 to the Convention a decimal clock surmounted by the 
 bust of Marat. At the moment Marat entered, Chabot 
 had approached De Montaut. He began : — 
 
 " Ci-devant — " 
 
 Montaut raised his eyes. " Why do you call me ci« 
 devant ? " 
 
 " Because you are so. " 
 
 « 1?" 
 
 " For you were a marquis. * 
 
 ' Never. " 
 
 ■ Bah ! " 
 
 " My father was a soldier ; my grandfather was a 
 weaver. " 
 
 " What song is that you are singing, Montaut ? n 
 
 " I do not call myself Montaut. " 
 
 " What do you call yourself, then ? " 
 
 " Maribon. " 
 
 " In point of fact, " said Chabot, " it is all the same 
 to me. " And he added between his teeth : " No mar- 
 quis on any terms. " 
 
 Marat paused in the corridor to the left and watched 
 Montaut and Chabot. Whenever Marat entered, there 
 
MARAT IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 207 
 
 was a buzz, but afar from him. About him people kept 
 silence. Marat paid no attention thereto. He dis- 
 dained " the croaking of the mud-pool. " In the gloomy 
 obscurity of the lower row of seats, Conpé of the Oise, 
 Prunelle, Villars, a bishop who was afterward a mem- 
 ber of the French Academy, Boutroue, Petit, Plaichard, 
 Bonet, Thibaudeau, and Valdruche pointed him out to 
 one another. 
 
 " See, Marat ! " 
 
 " Then he is not ill ? " 
 
 " Yes, for he is here in a dressing-gown. * 
 
 " In a dressing-gown ! " 
 
 " Zounds, yes ! " 
 
 " He takes liberties enough !" 
 
 " He dares to come like that into the Convention ! " 
 
 " As he came one day crowned with laurels, he may 
 oertainly come in a dressing-gown. " 
 
 " Face of brass and teeth of verdigris. " 
 
 " His dressing-gown looks new. " 
 
 "What is it made of?" 
 
 " Eeps. " 
 
 " Striped. " 
 
 " Look at the lapels. " 
 
 " They are fur. " 
 
 " Tiger-skin. " 
 
 " No ; ermine. " 
 
 " Imitation. " 
 
 " He has stockings on ! " 
 
 " That is odd. " 
 
 * And shoes with buckles ! " 
 
 " Of silver ! " 
 
 " Camboulas's sabots will not pardon that. " 
 
 People in other seats affected not to see Marat. They 
 talked of indifferent matters. Santhonax accosted 
 Dussaulx. 
 
208 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Have you heard, Dussaulx ? n 
 
 * What ? " 
 
 " The ci-devant Count de Brienne ? " 
 
 " Who was in La Force with the ci-devant Duke de 
 Villeroy ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " I knew them both. " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " They were so horribly frightened that they saluted 
 all the red caps of all the turnkeys, and one day they 
 refused to play a game of piquet because somebody of- 
 fered them cards that had kings and queens among them. " 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " They were guillotined yesterday. " 
 
 " The two of them ?" 
 
 " Both. " 
 
 " Indeed ; how had they behaved in prison ? " 
 
 " As cowards. " 
 
 " And how did they show on the scaffold ? " 
 
 " Intrepid. " 
 
 Then Dussaulx ejaculated : " It is easier to die than 
 to live ! " 
 
 Barère was reading a report ; it was in regard to the 
 Vendée. Nine hundred men of Morbihan had started 
 with cannon to assist Nantes. Eedon was menaced by 
 the peasants. Paimbœuf had been attacked. A fleet 
 was cruising about Maindrin to prevent invasions. 
 From Ingrande, as far as Maure, the entire left bank of 
 the Loire was bristling with royalist batteries. Three 
 thousand peasants were masters of Pornic. They cried, 
 " Long live the English ! " A letter from Santerre to the 
 Convention, which Barère was reading, ended with 
 these words : — 
 
 " Seven thousand peasants attacked Vannes. We repulsed 
 them, and they have left in our hands four cannon — ?? 
 
MARAT IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 209 
 
 rt And how many prisoners ? " interrupted a voice. 
 Barère continued : rt Postscript of the letter : — 
 
 "'We have no prisoners, because we no longer make 
 any.'» 1 
 
 Marat, standing motionless, did not listen ; he ap- 
 peared absorbed by a stern preoccupation. He held in 
 his hand a paper, which he crumpled between his fin- 
 gers ; had any one unfolded it, he might have read these 
 lines in Momoro's writing, — probably a response to some 
 question he had been asked by Marat : — 
 
 "No opposition can be offered to the full powers of dele- 
 gated commissioners, above all, those of the Committee of 
 Public Safety. Genissieux in vain said, in the; sitting of May 
 6th, ; Each Commissioner is more than a king; ' it had no 
 effect. Life and death are in their hands. Massade at An- 
 gers; Trul lard at Saint- Amand; Nyon with General Marcé; 
 Parrein with the army of Sables; Millier with the army of 
 Niort : they are all-powerful. The Club of the Jacobins has 
 gone so far as to name Parrein brigadier-general. The cir- 
 cumstances excuse everything. A delegate from the Com- 
 mitte of Public Safety holds in check a commander-in-chief. '[ 
 
 Marat ceased crumpling the paper, put it in his 
 pocket, and walked slowly toward Montaut and Chabot, 
 who continued to converse, and had not seen him enter. 
 
 Chabot was saying : " Maribon, or Montaut, listen to 
 this : I have just come from the Committee of Public 
 Safety. " 
 
 " And what is being done there ? " 
 
 " They are setting a priest to watch a noble- " 
 
 « Ah ! " 
 
 * A noble like yourself — " 
 
 H I am not a noble, " interrupted Montaut. 
 
 1 Moniteur, vol. xix- p. 81. 
 
210 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 rt To be watched by a priest — " 
 
 " Like you. " 
 
 " I am not a priest, " said Chabot. 
 
 They both began to laugh. 
 
 " Make your story explicit, " resumed Montaut. 
 
 " Here it is, then. A priest named Cimourdain is 
 delegated with full powers to a viscount named Gauvain ; 
 this viscount commands the exploring column of the 
 army of the coast. The question will be to keep the 
 nobleman from trickery and the priest from treason. " 
 
 " It is very simple, " replied Montaut. " It is only 
 necessary to bring death into the matter. " 
 
 " I come for that, " said Marat. 
 
 They looked up. 
 
 * Good-morning, Marat, " said Chabot. " You rarely 
 attend our meetings. " 
 
 e My doctor has ordered me baths, " answered Marat. 
 
 ft One should beware of baths, " returned Chabot. 
 " Seneca died in one. " 
 
 Marat smiled. 
 
 " Chabot, there is no Nero here. " 
 
 '- Yes, there is you, " said a rude voice. 
 
 It was Danton who passed and ascended to his seat. 
 
 Marat did not turn round. He thrust his head in 
 between Montaut and Chabot. 
 
 " Listen ; I come about a serious matter. One of us 
 three must propose to-day the draft of a decree to the 
 Convention. " 
 
 ■ " Not I, " said Montaut ; " I am never listened to. 1 
 am a marquis. " 
 
 " And I, " said Chabot — "I am not listened to. I 
 am a Capuchin. " 
 
 " And I," said Marat — " I am not listened to. I am 
 Marat. " 
 
 There was a silence among them. 
 
MARAT IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 2H 
 
 It was not safe to interrogate Marat when lie appeared 
 preoccupied, still Montaut hazarded a question. 
 
 " Marat, what is the decree that you wish passed ? " 
 
 " A decree to punish with death any military chief 
 who allows a rebel prisoner to escape. " 
 
 Chabot interrupted, — 
 
 " The decree exists ; it was passed in April. " 
 
 " Then it is just the same as if it did not exist, " said 
 Marat. " Everywhere, all through Vendée, anybody 
 who chooses helps prisoners to escape, and gives them an 
 asylum with impunity. " 
 
 " Marat, the fact is, the decree has fallen into disuse. " 
 
 " Chabot, it must be put into force anew. " 
 
 " Without doubt. " 
 ^A.nd to do that, the Convention must be addressed. * 
 
 " Marat, the Convention is not necessary ; the Com- 
 mittee of Public Safety will suffice. " 
 
 " The end will be gained, " added Montaut, " if the 
 Committee of Public Safety cause the decree to be pla- 
 carded in all the communes of the Vendée, and make 
 two or three good examples. " 
 
 "Of men in high position," returned Chabot, — " of 
 generals. " 
 
 Marat grumbled : " In fact that will answer. " 
 
 " Marat, " resumed Chabot, " go yourself and say that 
 to the Committee of Public Safety. " 
 
 Marat stared straight into his eyes, which was not 
 pleasant even for Chabot. 
 
 " The Committee of Public Safety, " said he, " sits in 
 Eobespierre's house; I do not go there." 
 
 " I will go myself, " said Montaut. 
 
 " Good ! " said Marat. 
 
 The next morning an order from the Committee of 
 Public Safety was sent in all directions among the 
 towns and villages of Vendée, enjoining the publication 
 
212 NINE li -THREE. 
 
 and strict execution of the decree of death against any 
 person conniving at the escape of brigands and captive 
 insurgents. This decree proved only a first step : the 
 Convention was to go further than that. A few months 
 later, the 11th Brumaire, Year II. (November, 1793), 
 when Laval opened its gates to the Vendean fugitives, 
 the Convention decreed that any city giving asylum to 
 the rebels should be demolished and destroyed. On 
 their side, the princes of Europe, in the manifesto of 
 the Duke of Brunswick, conceived by the emigrants and 
 drawn up by the Marquis de Linnon, intendant of the 
 Duke of Orleans, had declared that every Frenchman 
 taken with arms in his hand should be shot, and that, 
 if a hair of the king's head fell, Paris should be razed 
 to the ground. 
 
 Cruelty against barbarity. 
 
PART III. 
 
 LA VENDÉE. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 LA VENDÉE. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 THE FORESTS. 
 
 THEEE were at that time seven ill-famed forests in 
 Brittany. The Vendean war was a revolt of 
 priests. This revolt had the forests as auxiliaries. 
 These spirits of darkness aid one another. 
 
 The seven Black Forests of Brittany were the forest 
 of Fougères, which stopped the way between Dol and 
 Avranches ; the forest of Prince, which was eight leagues 
 in circumference ; the forest of Paimpol, full of ravines 
 and brooks, almost inaccessible on the side toward 
 Baignon, with an easy retreat upon Con cornet, which 
 was a royalist town ; the forest of Eennes, from whence 
 could be heard the tocsin of the republican parishes, 
 always numerous in the neighbourhood of the cities (it 
 was in this forest that Puysaye lost Focard) ; the forest 
 of Machecoul, which had Charette for its wild beast; 
 the forest of Garnache, which belonged to the Tré- 
 moilles, the Gauvains, and the Eohans ; and the forest 
 of Brocéliande, which belonged to the fairies. 
 
214 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 One gentleman of Brittany bore the title of Lord of 
 the Seven Forests : this was the Viscount de Fontenay, 
 Breton Prince. For the Breton Prince existed distinct 
 from the French Prince. The Eohans were Breton 
 princes. Gamier de Saintes, in his report to the Con- 
 vention of the 15th Mvose, Year IL, thus distinguishes 
 the Prince de Talmont : " This Capet of the brigands, 
 Sovereign of Maine and of Normandy. " 
 
 The record of the Breton forests from 1792 to 1800 
 would form a history of itself, mingling like a legend 
 with the vast undertaking of the Vendée. History has 
 its truth : Legend has hers. Legendary truth is wholly 
 different from historic ; legendary truth is invention 
 that has reality for a result. Still history and legend 
 have the same aim, — that of depicting the external type 
 of humanity. 
 
 La Vendée can only be completely understood by 
 adding legend to history; the latter is needed to de- 
 scribe its entirety, the former the details. We may say, 
 too, that La Vendée is worth the pains. La Vendée was 
 a prodigy. 
 
 This war of the Ignorant, so stupid and so splendid, 
 so abject yet magnificent, was at once the desolation and 
 the pride of France. La Vendée is a wound which is at 
 the same time a glory. 
 
 At certain crises human society has its enigmas, ~ 
 enigmas which resolve themselves into light for sages, 
 but which the ignorant in their darkness translate into 
 violence and barbarism. The philosopher is slow to 
 accuse ; he takes into consideration the agitation caused 
 by these problems, which cannot pass without casting 
 about them shadows dark as those of the storm-cloud. 
 
 If one wish to comprehend Vendée, one must picture 
 to one's self this antagonism: on one side the French 
 Kevolution, on the other the Breton peasant. In face 
 
THE FORESTS. 215 
 
 of these unparalleled events — an immense promise of 
 all benefits at once, a fit of rage for civilization, an ex- 
 cess of maddened progress, an improvement that ex- 
 ceeded measure and comprehension — must be placed 
 this grave, strange, savage man, with an eagle glance 
 and flowing hair; living on milk and chestnuts; his 
 ideas bounded by his thatched roof, his hedge, and his 
 ditch, able to distinguish the sound of each village bell 
 in the neighbourhood ; using water only to drink ; wear- 
 ing a leather jacket covered with silken arabesques, 
 uncultivated but clad embroidered; tattooing his gar- 
 ments as his ancestors the Celts had tattooed their faces ; 
 looking up to a master in his executioner ; speaking a 
 dead language, which was like forcing his thoughts to 
 dwell in a tomb ; driving his bullocks, sharpening his 
 scythe, winnowing his black grain, kneading his buck- 
 wheat biscuit; venerating his plough first, his grand- 
 mother next; believing in the Blessed Virgin and the 
 White Lady ; devoted to the altar, but also to the lofty 
 mysterious stone standing in the midst of the moor; a 
 labourer in the plain, a fisher on the coast, a poacher in 
 the thicket ; loving his kings, his lords, his priests, his 
 very lice ; pensive, often immovable for entire hours 
 upon the great deserted sea-shore, a melancholy listener 
 to the sea. 
 
 Then ask yourself if it would have been possible foi 
 this blind man to welcome that light. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE PEASANTS. 
 
 THE peasant had two points on which he leaned, — 
 the field which nourished him, the wood which 
 concealed him. 
 
 It is difficult to picture to one's self what those Breton 
 forests really were. They were towns. Nothing could 
 be more secret, more silent, and more savage than those 
 inextricable entanglements of thorns and branches ; those 
 vast thickets were the home of immobility and silence ; 
 no solitude could present an appearance more death-like 
 and sepulchral. Yet if it had been possible to fell those 
 trees at one blow, as by a flash of lightning, a swarm of 
 men would have stood revealed in those shades. There 
 were wells, round and narrow, masked by coverings of 
 stones and branches, the interior at first vertical, then 
 horizontal, spreading out underground like funnels, and 
 ending in dark chambers. Cambyses found such in. 
 Egypt, and Westermann found the same in Brittany. 
 There they were found in the desert, here in the forest; 
 the caves of Egypt held dead men, the caves of Brittany 
 were filled with the living. One of the wildest glades 
 of the wood of Misdon, perforated by galleries and cells 
 amid which came and went a mysterious society, was 
 called " the great city. " Another glade, not less de- 
 serted above ground and not less inhabited beneath, was 
 styled " the place royal. " 
 
 This subterranean life had existed in Brittany from 
 time immemorial. From the earliest days man had 
 there hidden, flying from man. Hence those hiding- 
 
THE PEASANTS. 217 
 
 places, like the dens of reptiles, hollowed out below the 
 trees. They dated from the era of the Druids, and cer- 
 tain of those crypts were as ancient as the cromlechs. 
 The larvse of legend and the monsters of history all 
 passed across that shadowy land, — Teutates, Csesar, 
 Hoëi, Neomenes, Geoffrey of England, Alain of the iron 
 glove, Pierre Manclerc ; the French house of Blois, the 
 English house of Montfort; kings and dukes, the nine 
 barons of Brittany, the judges of the Great Days, the 
 Counts of Nantes contesting with the Counts of Eennes ; 
 highwaymen, banditti, Free Lances ; Bene II. , Viscount 
 de Kohan ; the governors for the king ; " the good Duke 
 of Chaulnes, " hanging the peasants under the windows 
 of Madame de Sévigné ; in the fifteenth century the 
 butcheries by the nobles, in the sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries the wars of religion, in the eighteenth 
 century the thirty thousand dogs trained to hunt men. 
 Beneath these pitiless tramplings the inhabitants made 
 up their minds to disappear. Each in turn — the Trog- 
 lodytes to escape the Celts, the Celts to escape the Bo- 
 mans, the Bretons to escape the Normans, the Huguenots 
 to escape the Boman Catholics, the smugglers to escape 
 the excise officers — took refuge first in the forests and 
 then underground, the resource of hunted animals. It is 
 this to which tyranny reduces nations. During two thou- 
 sand years despotism under all its forms — conquest, 
 feudality, fanaticism, taxes — beset this wretched, dis- 
 tracted Brittany : a sort of inexorable battue, which 
 only ceased under one shape to recommence under an- 
 other. Men hid underground. When the French Bepub- 
 lic burst forth, Terror, which is a species of rage, was 
 already latent in human souls, and when the Bepublic 
 burst forth, the dens were ready in the woods. • Brittany 
 revolted, finding itself oppressed by this forced deliver- 
 ance, — a mistake natural to slaves. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONNIVANCE OF MEN AND FORESTS. 
 
 THE gloomy Breton forests took up anew their an- 
 cient rôle, and were the servants and accomplices 
 of this rebellion, as they had been of all others. The 
 subsoil of every forest was a sort of madrepore, pierced 
 and traversed in all directions by a secret highway of 
 mines, cells, and galleries. Each one of these blind 
 cells could shelter five or six men. There are in exist- 
 ence certain strange lists which enable one to understand 
 the powerful organization of that vast peasant rebellion. 
 In Ille-et-Vilaine, in the forest of Pertre, the refuge of 
 the Prince de Talmont, not a breath was heard, not a 
 human trace to be found, yet there were collected six 
 thousand men under Focard. In the forest of Meulac, 
 in Morbihan, not a soul was to be seen, yet it held eight 
 thousand men. Still, these two forests, Pertre and Meu- 
 lac, do not count among the great Breton forests. If 
 one trod there, the explosion was terrible. Those hypo- 
 critical copses, filled with fighters waiting in a sort of 
 underground labyrinth, were like enormous black sponges 
 whence, under the pressure of the gigantic foot of Revo- 
 lution, civil war spurted out. Invisible battalions lay 
 there in wait. These untrackable armies wound along 
 beneath the republican troops ; burst suddenly forth from 
 the earth and sank into it again ; sprang up in number- 
 less force and vanished at will; gifted with a strange 
 ubiquity and power of disappearance, an avalanche at one 
 instant, gone like a cloud of dust at the next ; colossal, 
 
CONNIVANCE OF MEN AND FORESTS. 219 
 
 yet able to become pygmies at will ; giants in battle, 
 dwarfs in ability to conceal themselves, jaguars with the 
 habits of moles. 
 
 There were not only the forests, there were the woods. 
 Just as below cities there are villages, below these for- 
 ests there were woods and underwoods. The forests 
 were united by the labyrinths (everywhere scattered) of 
 the woods. The ancient castles, which were fortresses ; 
 the hamlets, which were camps ; the farms, which were 
 enclosures for ambushes and snares, traversed by ditches 
 and palisaded by trees, — were the meshes of the net in 
 which the republican armies were caught. 
 
 This whole formed what is called the " Bocage. " 
 There was the wood of Misdon, which had a pond in 
 its centre, and which was held by Jean Chouan. There 
 was the wood of Gennes, which belonged to Taillefer. 
 There was the wood of Huisserie, which belonged to 
 Gouge-le-Bruant ; the wood of Charnie, where lurked 
 Courtillé-le-Batard, called Saint-Paul, chief of the camp 
 of the Vache Noire ; the wood of Burgault, which was 
 held by that enigmatical Monsieur Jacques, reserved 
 for a mysterious end in the vault of Juvardeil. There 
 was the wood of Charreau, where Pimousse and Petit- 
 Prince, when attacked by the garrison of Châteauneuf, 
 rushed forward and seized the grenadiers in the repub- 
 lican ranks about the waist and carried them back pris- 
 oners ; the wood of La Heureuserie, the witness of the 
 rout of the military post of Longue-Faye ; the wood of 
 Aulne, whence the route between Eennes and Laval 
 could be overlooked ; the wood of La Gravelle, which a 
 prince of La Trémoille had won at a game of bowls ; the 
 wood of Lorges, in the Cotes-du-JSTord, where Charles de 
 Boishardy reigned after Bernard de Villeneuve ; the 
 wood of Bagnard, near Pontenay, where Lescure offered 
 battle to Chalbos, who accepted the challenge, although 
 
220 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 one against five; the wood of La Durondais, which in 
 old days had been disputed by Alain le Kedru and 
 Hérispoux, the son of Charles the Bald; the wood of 
 Croqueloup, upon the edge of that moor where Coquereau 
 sheared the prisoners ; the wood of Croix-Bataille, which 
 witnessed the Homeric insults of Jambe d'Argent to 
 Morière and of Morière to Jambe d'Argent; the wood of 
 La Saudraie, which we have seen being searched by a 
 Paris regiment. There were many others besides. In 
 several of these forests and woods there were not only 
 subterranean villages grouped about the burrow of the 
 chief, but also actual hamlets of low huts, hidden under 
 the trees, sometimes so numerous that the forest was 
 filled with them. Frequently they were betrayed by the 
 smoke. Two of these hamlets of the wood of Misdon 
 have remained famous, — Lorrière, near Létang, and the 
 group of cabins called the Eue de Bau, on the side 
 toward Saint-Ouen-les-Toits. 
 
 The women lived in the huts, and the men in the 
 cellars. In carrying on the war they utilized the gal- 
 leries of the fairies and the old Celtic mines. Food was 
 carried to the buried men. Some were forgotten, and 
 died of hunger; but these were awkward fellows, who 
 had not known how to open the mouth of their well. 
 Usually the cover, made of moss and branches, was so 
 artistically fashioned that, although impossible on the 
 outside to distinguish from the surrounding turf, it was 
 very easy to open and close on the inside. These hid- 
 ing places were dug with care. The earth taken out of 
 the well was flung into some neighbouring pond. The 
 sides and the bottom were carpeted with ferns and moss. 
 These nooks were called " lodges. " The men were as 
 comfortable there as could be expected, considering that 
 they lacked light, fire, bread, and air. 
 
 It was a difficult matter to unbury themselves and 
 
CONNIVANCE OF MEN AND FORESTS. 221 
 
 come up among the living without great precaution. 
 They might find themselves between the legs of an army 
 on the march. These were formidable woods, snares 
 with a double trap; the Blues dared not enter, the 
 Whites dared not come out. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THEIR LIFE UNDERGROUND. 
 
 ^T^HE men grew weary of their wild-beast lairs. 
 -*■ Sometimes in the night they came forth at any 
 risk, and went to dance upon the neighbouring moor; 
 else they prayed, in order to kill time. " Every day, " 
 says Bourdoiseau, " Jean Chouan made us count our 
 rosaries. " 
 
 It was almost impossible to keep those of the Bas- 
 Maine from going out for the Fête de la Gerbe when the 
 season came. Some of them had ideas peculiar to them- 
 selves. " Denys, " says Tranche Montagne, " disguised 
 himself as a woman, in order to go to the theatre at 
 Laval, then went back into his hole. " Suddenly they 
 would rush forth in search of death, exchanging the 
 dungeon for the sepulchre. Sometimes they raised tne 
 cover of their trench, and listened to hear if there were 
 fighting in the distance ; they followed the combat with 
 their ears. The firing of the republicans was regular ; 
 the firing of the royalists, open and dropping, — this 
 guided them. If the platoon-firing ceased suddenly, it 
 was a sign that the royalists were defeated ; if the irregu- 
 lar firing continued, and retreated toward the horizon, it 
 was a sign that they had the advantage. The Whites 
 always pursued ; the Blues never, because they had the 
 country against them. 
 
 These underground belligerents were kept perfectly 
 informed of what was going on. Nothing could be more 
 
THEIR LIFE UNDERGROUND. 223 
 
 rapid, nothing more mysterious, than their means of 
 communication. They had cut all the bridges, broken 
 up all the wagons ; yet they found means to tell each 
 other everything, to give each other timely warning. 
 Kelays of emissaries were established from forest to 
 forest, from village to village, from farm to farm, from 
 cottage to cottage, from bush to bush. A peasant with 
 a stupid air passed by : he carried dispatches in his hol- 
 low stick. An ancient constituent, Boétidoux, furnished 
 them, to pass from one end of Brittany to the other, 
 with republican passports according to the new form, 
 with blanks for the names, of which this traitor had 
 bundles» It was impossible to discover these emissaries. 
 Says Puysaye : " The secrets confided to more than four 
 hundred thousand individuals were religiously guarded. " 
 It appeared that this quadrilateral — closed on the 
 south by the line of the Sables to Thouars, on the east 
 by the line of Thouars to Saumur and the river of Thoué, 
 on the north by the Loire, and on the west by the ocean 
 — possessed everywhere the same nervous activity, and 
 not a single point of this soil could stir without shaking 
 the whole. In the twinkling of an eye Luçon had in- 
 formation in regard to Noirmoutier, and the camp of 
 La Loué knew what the camp of Croix -Morineau was 
 doing. It seemed as if the very birds of the air carried 
 tidings. The 7th Messidor, Year III. , Hoche wrote : 
 " One might believe that they have telegraphs. " They 
 were in clans, as in Scotland ; each parish had its cap- 
 tain. In that war my father fought, and I can speak 
 advisedly thereof. 
 
CHAPTEK V. 
 
 THEIR LIFE IN WARFARE. 
 
 ni/TANY of them were only armed with pikes. Good 
 -LY-*- fowling-pieces were abundant. No marksmen 
 could be more expert than the poachers of the Bocage and 
 the smugglers of the Loroux. They were strange com- 
 bâtants, terrible and intrepid. 
 
 The decree for the levy of three hundred thousand 
 men had been the signal for the tocsin to sound in six 
 hundred villages. The blaze of the conflagration burst 
 forth in all quarters at the same time. Poitou and An- 
 jou exploded on one day. Let us add that a premoni- 
 tory rumbling had made itself heard on the moor of 
 Kerbader upon the 8th of July, 1792, a month before 
 the 10th of August. Alain Eedeler, to-day forgotten, 
 was the precursor of La Kochejacquelein and Jean 
 Chouan. The royalists forced all able-bodied men to 
 march under pain of death. They requisitioned har- 
 nesses, carts, and provisions. At once Sapinaud had three 
 thousand soldiers, Cathelineau ten thousand, Stofflet 
 twenty thousand, and Charette was master of Noirmou- 
 tier. The Viscount de Scépeaux roused the Haut Anjou ; 
 the Chevalier de Dieuzie, the Entre Vilaine et Loire ; 
 Tristan l'Hermite, the Bas-Maine ; the barber Gaston, the 
 city of Guéménée ; and Abbé Bernier all the rest. 
 
 It needed but little to rouse all those multitudes. In 
 the altar of a priest who had taken the oath to the re- 
 public — a " priest swearer, " as the people said — was 
 
THEIR LIFE IN WARFARE. 225 
 
 placed a great black cat, which sprang suddenly out 
 during Mass. " It is the devil ! " cried the peasants, 
 and a whole canton rose in revolt. A breath of fire 
 issued from the confessionals. In order to attack the 
 Blues and to leap the ravines, they had their poles fif- 
 teen feet in length, called ferte, an arm available for 
 combat and for flight. In the thickest of the frays, 
 when the peasants were attacking the republican squares 
 if they chanced to meet upon the battle-field a cross* or a 
 chapel, all fell upon their knees and said a prayer under 
 the enemy's fire; the rosary counted, such as were still 
 living sprang up again and rushed upon the foe ! Alas, 
 what giants ! They loaded their guns as they ran ; that 
 was their peculiar talent. They were made to believe 
 whatever their leaders chose. The priests showed them 
 other priests whose necks had been reddened by means 
 of a cord, and said to them, * These are the guillotined 
 who have been brought back to life. " They had their 
 spasms of chivalry : they honoured Fesque, a republican 
 standard-bearer, who allowed himself to be sabred with- 
 out losing hold of his flag. The peasants had a vein of 
 mockery : they called the republican and married priests 
 " Des sans-calottes devenus sans-culottes ! " (" The un- 
 petticoated become the unbreeched. ") 
 
 They began by being afraid of the cannon, then they 
 dashed forward with their sticks and took them. They 
 captured first a fine bronze cannon, which they baptized 
 " The Missionary ; " then another which dated from the 
 Koman Catholic wars, upon which were engraved the 
 arms of Eichelieu and a head of the Virgin ; this they 
 named " Marie Jeanne. " When they lost Fontenay they 
 lost Marie Jeanne, about which six hundred peasants 
 fell without flinching; then they retook Fontenay in 
 order to recover Marie Jeanne : they brought it back be- 
 neath a fleur-de-lis embroidered banner, and covered 
 
226 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 with flowers, and forced the women who passed to kiss 
 it. But two cannon were a small store. Stofrlet had 
 taken Marie Jeanne; Cathelineau, jealous of his success, 
 started out of Pin-en-Mange^ assaulted Jallais, and cap- 
 tured a third. Forest attacked Saint-Florent and took 
 a fourth. Two other captains, Chouppes and Saint Pol, 
 did better; they simulated cannon by the trunks of 
 trees, gunners by mannikins, and with this artillery, 
 about which they laughed heartily, made the Blues re- 
 treat to Mareuil. This was their great era. Later, when 
 Chalbos routed La Marsonnière, the peasants left behind 
 them on the dishonoured field of battle thirty-two can- 
 non bearing the arms of England. England at that time 
 paid the French princes, and as Nantiat wrote on the 
 10th of May, 1794, " sent funds to Monseigneur, because 
 Pitt had been told that it was proper so to do. " 
 
 Mellinet, in a report of the 31st of March, said, 
 " Long live the English ! " is the cry of the rebels. The 
 peasants delayed themselves by pillage. These devotees 
 were robbers. Savages have their vices. It is by these 
 that civilization captures them later. Puysaye says : 1 " I 
 several times preserved the burg of Phélan from pillage. " 
 And further on, 2 he recounts how he avoided entering 
 Montfort : " I made a circuit in order to prevent the 
 plundering of the Jacobins' houses." 
 
 They robbed Cholet ; they sacked Challans. After 
 having failed at Granville, they pillaged Ville-Dieu. 
 They styled the " Jacobin herd " those of the country 
 people who had joined the Blues, and exterminated such 
 with more ferocity than other foes. They loved battle 
 like soldiers, and massacre like brigands. To shoot the 
 " clumsy fellows " — that is, the bourgeois — pleased 
 them ; they called that " breaking Lent. " At Fontenay, 
 one of their priests, the Curé Barbotin, struck down an 
 
 i Vol. ii. p. 187. 2 ibid., p. 434. 
 
THEIR LIFE IN WARFARE. 227 
 
 old man by a sabre stroke. At Saint-Germain -sur-Ille, 
 one of their captains, a nobleman, shot the solicitor of 
 the commune and took his watch. At Machecoul, for 
 five weeks they shot republicans at the rate of thirty a 
 day, setting them in a row, which was called " the 
 rosary. " Back of the line was a trench, into which 
 some of the victims fell alive ; they were buried all the 
 same. We have seen a revival of such actions. Jou- 
 bert, the President of the district, had his hands sawed 
 off. They put sharp handcuffs, forged expressly, on the 
 Blues whom they made prisoners. They massacred them 
 in the public places, with the hunting cry, " In at the 
 death ! " 
 
 Charette, who signed " Fraternity, the Chevalier 
 Charette, " and who wore for head-covering a handker- 
 chief knotted about his brows after Marat's fashion, 
 ^urned the city of Pornic, and the inhabitants in their 
 houses. During that time Carrier was horrible. Terror 
 replied to terror. The Breton insurgent had almost the 
 appearance of a Greek rebel, with his short jacket, his 
 gun slung over his shoulder, his leggings, and large 
 breeches similar to the fustanella. The peasant lad re- 
 sembled the klepht. 
 
 Henri de la Eochejacquelein, at the age of one-and- 
 twenty, set out for this war armed with a stick and a 
 pair of pistols. The Vendean army counted a hundred 
 and fifty-four divisions. They undertook regular sieges ; 
 they held Bressuire invested for three days. One Good 
 Friday ten thousand peasants cannonaded the town of 
 Sables with red-hot balls. They succeeded in a single 
 day in destroying fourteen republican cantons, from 
 Montigné to Courbeveilles. On the high wall of Thouars 
 this dialogue was heard between La Eochejacquelein and 
 a peasant lad as they stood below : — 
 
 " Charles Ï " 
 
228 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 • Here I am. " 
 
 " Stand so that I can mount on your shoulders. " 
 
 " Jump up. " 
 
 " Your gun. " 
 
 " Take it. " 
 
 And Eochejacquelein leaped into the town, and the 
 towers which Duguesclin had besieged were taken with- 
 out the aid of ladders. 
 
 They preferred a cartridge to a gold louis. They wept 
 when they lost sight of their village belfry. To run 
 away seemed perfectly natural to them; at such times 
 the leaders would cry : " Throw off your sabots, but keep 
 your guns. " When munitions were wanting, they 
 counted their rosaries and rushed forth to seize the pow- 
 der in the caissons of the republican artillery ; later, 
 D'Elbée demanded powder from the English. If they had 
 wounded men among them, at the approach of the enemy 
 they concealed these in the grain-fields or among the 
 ferns, and went back in search of them when the fight 
 was ended. They had no uniforms. Their garments 
 were torn to bits. Peasants and nobles wrapped them- 
 selves in any rags they could find. Eoger Mouliniers 
 wore a turban and a pelisse taken from the wardrobe of 
 the theatre of La Flèche ; the Chevalier de Beauvilliers 
 wore a barrister's gown, and set a woman's bonnet on his 
 head over a woollen cap. All wore the white belt and 
 a scarf ; different grades were marked by the knots ; 
 Stofflet had a red knot ; La Eochejacquelein had a black 
 isnot ; Wimpfen, who was half a Girondist, and who for 
 that matter never left Normandy, wore the leather jacket 
 of the Carabots of Caen. They had women in their 
 ranks, — Madame de Lescure, who became Madame de 
 la Eochejacquelein; Thérèse de Mollien, the mistress 
 of La Eouarie (she who burned the list of the chiefs of 
 the parishes) ; Madame de la Eochefoucauld (beautiful, 
 
THEIR LIFE IN WARFARE. 229 
 
 young), who, sabre in hand, rallied the peasants at the 
 foot of the great tower of the castle of Puy Eousseau ; 
 and that Antoinette Adams, styled the Chevalier Adams, 
 who was so brave that when captured she was shot 
 standing, out of respect for her courage. 
 
 This epic period was a cruel one. Men- were mad. 
 Madame de Lescure made her horse tread upon the re- 
 publicans stretched on the ground : dead, she averred, 
 — only wounded perhaps. Sometimes the men proved 
 traitors ; the women never. Mademoiselle Fleury, of 
 the Théâtre Français, went from La Eouarie to Marat ; 
 but it was for love. The captains were often as ignorant 
 as the- soldiers. Monsieur de Sapinaud could not spell ; 
 he was at fault in regard to the orthography of the com- 
 monest word. There was enmity among the leaders ; 
 the captains of the Marais cried, " Down with those of 
 the High Country ! " Their cavalry was not numerous, 
 and difficult to form. Puysaye writes : " Many a man 
 who would cheerfully give me his two sons grows luke- 
 warm if I ask for one of his horses. " Poles, pitchforks, 
 reaping-hooks, guns, old and new, poachers' knives, 
 spits, cudgels bound and studded with iron, — these 
 were their arms ; some of them carried slung round them 
 crosses made of dead men's bones. They rushed to an 
 attack with loud cries, springing up suddenly from 
 every quarter, from the woods, the hills, the bushes, the 
 hollows of the roads, — killing, exterminating, destroy- 
 ing ; then were gone. When they marched through 
 a republican town they cut down the liberty pole, set 
 it on fire, and danced in circles about it as it burned. 
 All their habits were nocturnal. The Yendean rule 
 was always to appear unexpectedly. They would march 
 fifteen leagues in silence, not so much as stirring a blade 
 of grass as they went. When evening came, after the 
 chiefs had settled what republican posts should be sur- 
 
230 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 prised on the morrow, the men loaded their guns, mum- 
 bled their prayers, pulled off their sabots, and filed in 
 long columns through the woods, marching barefoot 
 across the heath and moss, without a sound, without a 
 word, without a breath. It was like the march of cats 
 through the darkness. 
 
CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE PLACE PASSES INTO THE MAN. 
 
 THE Vendée in insurrection did not number less than 
 five hundred thousand, counting men, women, and 
 children. A half-million of combatants is the sum total 
 given by Tuffin de la Eouarie. 
 
 The federalists helped them ; the Vendée had tha 
 Gironde for accomplice. La Lozère sent thirty thousand 
 men into the Bocage. Eight departments coalesced, — 
 five in Brittany, three in Normandy. Evreux, which 
 fraternized with Caen, was represented in the rebellion 
 by Chaumont its mayor, and Gardembas a man of note. 
 Buzot, Gorsas, and Barbaroux at Caen, Brissot at Mou- 
 lins, Chassan at Lyons, Rabaut-Saint-Étienne at Nismes, 
 Meillen and Duchâtel in Brittany, — • all these mouths 
 blew the furnace. 
 
 There were two Vendees, — the great, which carried 
 on the war of the forests ; and the little, which waged 
 the war of the thickets. It is that shade which sepa- 
 rates Charette from Jean Chouan. The little Vendée 
 was honest, the great corrupt; the little was much 
 better. Charette was made a marquis, lieutenant- 
 general of the king's armies, and received the great 
 cross of Saint Louis, Jean Chouan remained Jean 
 Chouan. Charette borders on the bandit ; Jean Chouan 
 on the paladin. 
 
 As to the magnanimous chiefs Bonchamps, Lescure, 
 La Eochejacquelein, — they deceived themselves. The 
 
232 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 grand Catholic army was an insane attempt; disastei 
 could not fail to follow it. Let any one imagine a tem- 
 pest of peasants attacking Paris, a coalition of villages 
 besieging the Pantheon, a troop of herdsmen flinging 
 themselves upon a host governed by the light of intel- 
 lect. Le Mans and Savenay chastised this madness. It 
 was impossible for the Vendée to cross the Loire; she 
 could do everything except that leap. Civil war does 
 not conquer. To pass the Khine establishes a Csesar 
 and strengthens a Napoleon ; to cross the Loire killed 
 La Eochejacquelein. The real strength of Vendée was 
 Vendée at home; there she was invulnerable, uncon- 
 querable. The Vendean at home was smuggler, labourer, 
 soldier, shepherd, poacher, sharp-shooter, goatherd, bell- 
 ringer, peasant, spy. assassin, sacristan, wild beast of 
 the wood. 
 
 La Eochejacquelein is only Achilles ; Jean Chouan is 
 Proteus. 
 
 The rebellion of the Vendée failed. Other revolts have 
 succeeded, — that of Switzerland, for example. There 
 is this difference between the mountain insurgent like 
 the Swiss and the forest insurgent like the Vendean, — 
 that almost always the one fights for an ideal, the other 
 for a prejudice. The one soars, the other crawls ; the 
 one combats for humanity, the other for solitude ; the 
 one desires liberty, the other wishes isolation ; the one 
 defends the commune, the other the parish, — ■ " Com- 
 munes ! Communes ! " cried the heroes of Morat ; the 
 one has to deal with precipices, the other with quag- 
 mires; the one is the man of torrents and foaming 
 streams, the other of stagnant puddles where pestilence 
 lurks ; the one has his head in the blue sky, the other 
 in the thicket ; the one is on a summit, the other in a 
 shadow. 
 
 The education of heights and shallows is very differ- 
 
THE SPIRIT OF THE PLACE PASSES INTO THE MAN. 233 
 
 ent. The mountain is a citadel ; the forest is an ambus 
 cade : one inspires audacity, the other teaches trickery. 
 Antiquity placed the gods on heights and the satyrs in 
 copses. The satyr is the savage, half man, half brute. 
 Free countries have Apennines, Alps, Pyrenees, and 
 Olympus. Parnassus is a mountain. Mont Blanc is 
 the colossal auxiliary of William Tell. Below and 
 above those immense struggles of souls against the night 
 which fills the poems of India, the Himalayas may be 
 seen. Greece, Spain, Italy, Helvetia have for their 
 likeness the mountain ; Cimmeria, Germany, Brittany 
 has the wood. The forest is barbarous. 
 
 The configuration of soil decides many of man's ac- 
 tions. The earth is more his accomplice than people 
 believe. In presence of certain savage landscapes one 
 is tempted to exonerate man and criminate creation. 
 One feels a certain hidden provocation on the part of 
 Nature ; the desert is sometimes unhealthy for the 
 conscience, especially for the conscience that is little 
 illuminated. Conscience may be a giant. — then she pro- 
 duces a Socrates, a Christ ; she may be a dwarf, — then 
 she moulds Atreus and Judas. The narrow conscience 
 becomes quickly reptile in its instincts : forests where 
 twilight reigns; the bushes, the thorns, the marshes 
 beneath the branches, — all have a fatal attraction for 
 her; she undergoes the mysterious infiltration of evil 
 persuasions. Optical illusions, unexplained mirages, 
 the terrors of the hour or the scene, throw man into 
 this sort of fright, — half religious, half bestial, which 
 engenders superstition in ordinary times, and brutality 
 at violent epochs. Hallucinations hold the torch which 
 lights the road to murder. The brigand is dizzied by a 
 vertigo. Nature in her immensity has a double mean- 
 ing, which dazzles great minds and blinds savage souls. 
 When man is ignorant, when his desert is peopled with 
 
234 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 visions, the obscurity of solitude adds itself to the obsciu 
 rity of intelligence; hence come depths in the human 
 soul, black and profound as an abyss. Certain rocks, 
 certain ravines, certain thickets, certain wild openings 
 in the trees through which night looks down, push men 
 on to mad and atrocious actions. One might almost 
 say that there are places which are the home of the 
 spirit of evil. How many tragic sights have been 
 watched by the sombre hill between Baignon and Phé- 
 lan! Vast horizons lead the soul on to wide, general 
 ideas; circumscribed horizons engender narrow, one- 
 sided conceptions, which condemn great hearts to be 
 little in point of soul. Jean Chouan was an example of 
 this truth. Broad ideas are hated by partial ideas; this 
 is in fact the struggle of progress. 
 
 Neighbourhood, country, — these two words sum up 
 the whole of the Vendean war : a quarrel of the local 
 idea against the universal; of the peasant against the 
 patriot. 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 LA VENDÉE ENDED BRITTANY. 
 
 KITTANY is an ancient rebel. . Each time she re- 
 volted during two thousand years 'she was in the 
 right ; but the last time she was wrong. Still, at bot- 
 tom (against the revolution as against monarchy, against 
 the acting Eepresentatives as against governing dukes 
 and peers, against the rule of assignats as against the 
 sway of excise officers ; whosoever might be the men 
 that fought, Nicolas Eapin, François de la Noue, Cap- 
 tain Pluviaut, the Lady of La Garnache or Stofflet, 
 Coquereau, and Lechandelier de Pierreville ; under De 
 "Rohan against the king, and under La Eochejacquelein 
 for the king) it was always the same war that Brittany 
 waged, — the war of the Local Spirit against the Cen- 
 tral. Those ancient provinces were ponds ; that stag- 
 nant water could not bear to flow ; the wind which 
 swept across did not revivify, — it irritated them. . 
 Finistère formed the bounds of France : there the 
 space given to man ended, and the march of genera- 
 tions stopped. " Halt ! " the ocean cried to the land, to 
 barbarism and to civilization. Each time that the cen- 
 tre — Paris — gives an impulse, whether that impulse 
 come from royalty or republicanism, whether it be in 
 the interest of despotism or liberty, it is something new, 
 and Brittany bristles up against it. " Leave us in peace ! 
 What is it they want of us ? " The Marais seizes the 
 pitchfork, the Bocage its carbine. All our attempts, 
 our initiative movement in legislation «and in education, 
 
236 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 our encyclopedias, our philosophies, our genius, oui 
 glories, all fail before the Houroux; the tocsin of 
 Bazouges menaces the French Kevolution, the moor of 
 Eaou rises in rebellion against the voice of our towns, 
 and the bell of the Haut-des-Prés declares war against 
 the Tower of the Louvre. 
 
 Terrible blindness I The Vendean insurrection was 
 the result of a fatal misunderstanding. 
 
 A colossal scuffle, a jangling of Titans, an immeasur- 
 able rebellion, destined to leave in history only one 
 word, — the Vendée, — word illustrious yet dark ; com- 
 mitting suicide for the absent, devoted to egotism, pas- 
 sing its time in making to cowardice the offer of a 
 boundless bravery ; without calculation, without strat- 
 egy, without tactics, without plan, without aim, with- 
 out chief, without responsibility ; showing to what 
 extent Will can be impotent ; chivalric and savage ; 
 absurdity at its climax, a building up a barrier of black 
 shadows against the light ; ignorance making a long re- 
 sistance at once idiotic and superb against justice, right, 
 reason, and deliverance ; the terror of eight years, the 
 rendering desolate fourteen departments, the devastation 
 of fields, the destruction of harvests, the burning of 
 villages, the ruin of cities, the pillage of houses, the 
 massacre of women and children, the torch in the 
 thatch, the sword in the heart, the terror of civilization, 
 the hope of Mr. Pitt, — such was this war, the unrea- 
 soning effort of the parricide. 
 
 In short, by proving the necessity of perforating in 
 every direction the old Breton shadows, and piercing 
 this thicket with arrows of light from every quarter at 
 once, the Vendée served Progress. The catastrophes had 
 their uses. 
 
BOOK IL 
 
 THE THREE CHILDREN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PLUSQUAM CIVILIA BELLA. 
 
 THE summer of 1792 had been very rainy ; the sum- 
 mer of 1793 was dry and hot. In consequence of 
 the civil war, there were no roads left, so to speak, in 
 Brittany. Still it was possible to get about, thanks to 
 the beauty of the season. Dry fields make an easy 
 route. 
 
 At the close of a lovely July day, about an hour before 
 sunset, a man on horseback, who came from the direction 
 of Avranches, drew rein before the little inn called the 
 Croix-Branchard, which stood at the entrance of Pontor- 
 son, and which for years past had borne this inscription 
 on its sign : " Good cider on draught. " It had been warm 
 all day, but the wind was beginning now to rise. 
 
 The traveller was enveloped in an ample cloak which 
 covered the back of his horse. He wore a broad hat 
 with a tricoloured cockade, which was a sufficiently 
 bold thing to do in this country of hedges and gunshots, 
 where a cockade was a target. The cloak, fastened 
 about his neck, was thrown back to leave his arms free, 
 and beneath glimpses could be had of a tricoloured sash 
 and two pistols thrust in it, A sabre hung down below 
 the cloak. 
 
238 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 At the sound of the horse's hoofs the door of the inn 
 opened and the landlord appeared, a lantern in his 
 hand. It was the intermediate hour between day and 
 night : still light along the highway, but dark in the 
 house. The host looked at the cockade. 
 
 " Citizen, " said he, " do you stop here ? " 
 
 " No. " 
 
 " Where are you going, then ? " 
 
 " To Dol. " 
 
 " In that case go back to Avranches or remain at 
 Pontorson. " 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because there is fighting at Dol. " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the horseman. 
 
 Then he added, — 
 
 " Give my horse some oats. " 
 
 The host brought the trough, emptied a measure of 
 oats into it, and took the bridle off the horse, which 
 began to snuff and eat. 
 
 The dialogue continued : — 
 
 " Citizen, has that horse been seized ? " 
 
 " No. " 
 
 " It belongs to you ? " 
 
 " Yes. I bought and paid for it. " 
 
 " Where do you come from ? * 
 
 « Paris. " 
 
 ■ Not direct ? " 
 
 ■ No. " 
 
 " I should think not' ! The roads are closed, but 
 the post runs still. " 
 
 " As far as Alençon. I left it there. " 
 
 " Ah ! Very soon there will be no longer any posts in 
 France. There are no more horses. A horse worth 
 three hundred livres costs six hundred, and fodder is 
 beyond all price. I have been postmaster, and now I 
 
FLUSQUAM CIVILIA BELLA. 239 
 
 am keeper of a cookshop. Out of thirteen hundred and 
 thirteen postmasters that there used to be, two hundred 
 have resigned. Citizen, you travelled according to the 
 new tariff?" 
 
 " That of the 1st of May — yes. " 
 
 " Twenty sous a post for a carriage, twelve for a 
 gig, five sous for a van. You bought your horse at 
 Alençon ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " You have ridden all day ? " 
 
 " Since dawn. " 
 
 " And yesterday ? " 
 
 " And the day before. " 
 
 " I can see that. You came by Domfront and 
 Mortain. " 
 
 " And Avranches. " 
 
 " Take my advice, citizen ; rest yourself. You must 
 be tired. Your horse is certainly. " 
 
 w Horses have a right to be tired ; men have not. " 
 
 The host again fixed his eyes on the traveller, whose 
 face was grave, calm, and severe, and framed by grey 
 hair. 
 
 The innkeeper cast a glance along the road, which 
 was deserted as far as the eye could reach, and said, — 
 
 * And you travel alone in this fashion ?" 
 
 " I have an escort. " 
 
 ■ Where is it ? " 
 
 " My sabre and pistols. " 
 
 The innkeeper brought a bucket of water, and while 
 the horse was drinking, studied the traveller, and said 
 mentally : " All the same, he has the look of a priest. " 
 
 The horseman resumed : " You say there is fighting 
 at Do! ? " 
 
 " Yes. That ought to be about beginning. ■ 
 
 "Who is fighting?" 
 
240 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " One ci-devant against another ci-devant n 
 
 u You said— " 
 
 " I say that an ex-noble who is for the Kepublic is 
 fighting against another ex-noble who is for the king. * 
 
 " But there is no longer a king. " 
 
 " There is the little fellow ! The odd part of the 
 business is that these two ci-devants are relations. " 
 
 The horseman listened attentively. The innkeeper 
 continued : — 
 
 " One is young, the other old. It is the grand-nephew 
 who fights the great-uncle. The uncle is a royalist, the 
 nephew a patriot. The uncle commands the Whites, 
 the nephew commands the Blues. Ah, they will show 
 no quarter, I '11 warrant you. It is a war to the death. * 
 
 " Death ? " 
 
 K Yes, citizen. Hold ! would you like to see the corn 
 pliments they fling at each other's heads? Here is a 
 notice the old man finds means to placard everywhere, 
 on all the houses and all the trees, and that he has had 
 stuck up on my very door. " 
 
 The host held up his lantern to a square of paper fas- 
 tened on a panel of the double door, and as the placard 
 was written in large characters, the traveller could read 
 it as he sat on his horse : — 
 
 " The Marquis de Lantenac has the honour of informing his 
 grand-nephew, the Viscount Gauvain, that, if the Marquis 
 has the good fortune to seize his person, he will cause the 
 Viscount to be decently shot." 
 
 " Here, " added the host, " is the reply. " 
 He went forward, and threw the light of the lantern 
 upon a second placard placed on a level with the first upon 
 the other leaf of the door. The traveller read : — 
 
 " Gauvain warns Lantenac that, if he take him, he will 
 h^ve him shot." 
 
PLUSQUAM CIVILIA BELLA. 241 
 
 * Yesterday, " said the host, " the first placard was 
 stuck on my door, and this morning the second. There 
 was no waiting for the answer. " 
 
 The traveller in a half-voice, and as if speaking to 
 himself, uttered these words, which the innkeeper heard 
 without really comprehending, — 
 
 " Yes ; this is more than war in the country ; it is war 
 in families. It is necessary, and it is well. The grand 
 restoration of the people must be bought at this price. " 
 
 And the traveller raised his hand to his hat and 
 saluted the second placard, on which his eyes were still 
 fixed. 
 
 The host continued : — 
 " So, citizen, you understand how the matter lies. In 
 the cities and the large towns we are for the Revolution, 
 in the country they are against it ; that is to say, in the 
 towns people are Frenchmen, and in the villages they 
 are Bretons. It is a war of the townspeople against the 
 peasants. They call us clowns, we call them boors. 
 The nobles and the priests are with them. " 
 
 " Not all, " interrupted the horseman. 
 
 " Certainly not, citizen, since we have here a viscount 
 against a marquis. " 
 
 Then he added to himself : " And I feel sure I am 
 speaking to a priest. " 
 
 The horseman continued : " And which of the two has 
 the best of it ? " 
 
 The viscount so far. But he has to work hard. The 
 old man is a tough one. They belong to the Gauvain 
 family, — nobles of these parts. It is a family with two 
 branches : there is the great branch, whose chief is called 
 the Marquis de Lantenac ; and there is the lesser branch, 
 whose head is called the Viscount Gauvain. To-day the 
 two branches fight each other. One does not see that 
 among trees, but one sees it among men. This Marquis 
 
242 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 de Lantenac is all-powerful in Brittany; the peasants 
 consider him a prince. The very day he landed, eight 
 thousand men joined him; in a week, three hundred 
 parishes had risen. If he had been able to get foothold 
 on the coast, the English would have landed. Luckily 
 this Gauvain was at hand, — the other's grand-nephew : 
 odd chance ! He is the republican commander, and he 
 has checkmated his grand-uncle. And then, as good 
 luck would have it, when this Lantenac arrived, and 
 was massacring a heap of prisoners, he had two women 
 shot, one of whom had three children that had been 
 adopted by a Paris battalion. And that made a terrible 
 battalion; they call themselves the Battalion of the 
 Bonnet Eouge. There are not many of those Parisians 
 left, but they are furious bayonets. They have been 
 incorporated into the division of Commandant Gau- 
 vain; nothing can stand against them. They mean to 
 avenge the women and retake the children, Nobody 
 knows what the old man has done with the little ones : 
 that is what enraged the Parisian grenadiers. Suppose 
 those babies had not been mixed up in the matter, the 
 war would not be what it is. The viscount is a good, 
 brave young man ; but the old fellow is a terrible mar- 
 quis. The peasants call it the war of Saint Michael 
 against Beelzebub. You know, perhaps, that Saint 
 Michael is an angel of the district ; there is a mountain 
 named after him out in the bay ; they say he overcame 
 the demon, and buried him under another mountain 
 near here, which is called Tombelaine. " 
 
 " Yes, " murmured the horseman ; " Tumba Beleni, the 
 tomb of Belenus, — Belus, Bel, Belial, Beelzebub." 
 
 " I see that you are well informed. " And the host 
 again spoke to himself : " He understands Latin ! De- 
 cidedly he is a priest. " Then he resumed : " Well, citi- 
 zen, for the peasants it is that war beginning over again. 
 
PLUSQUAM CIVILIA BELLA, 243 
 
 For them the royalist general is Saint Michael, and 
 Beelzebub is the republican commander. But if there 
 is a devil, it is certainly Lantenac; and if there is an 
 angel, it is Gauvain. You will take nothing, citizen ? " 
 
 " I have my gourd and a bit of bread. But you do 
 not tell me what is passing at Dol ! " 
 
 " This. Gauvain commands the exploring column of 
 the coast. Lantenac 's aim was to rouse a general in- 
 surrection, and sustain Lower Brittany by the aid of 
 Lower Normandy, open the door to Pitt, and give a 
 shove forward to the Vendean army, with twenty thou- 
 sand English, and two hundred thousand peasants. 
 Gauvain cut this plan short : he holds the coast, and he 
 drives Lantenac into the interior and the English into 
 the sea. Lantenac was here, and Gauvain has dislodged 
 him ; has taken from him the Pont-au-Beau, has driven 
 him out of Avranches, chased him. out of Villedieu, and 
 kept him from reaching Granville. He is manoeuvring 
 to shut him up again in the forest of Fougères, and to 
 surround him. Yesterday everything was going well; 
 Gauvain was here with his division. All of a sudden, 
 an alarm ! the old man, who is skilful, made a point ; 
 information comes that he has marched on Dol. If he 
 takes Dol, and establishes a battery on Mount Dol (for 
 he has cannon), then there will be a place on the coast 
 where the English can land, and everything is lost. 
 That is why, as there was not a minute to lose, that 
 Gauvain, who is a man with a head, took counsel with 
 nobody but himself, asked no orders and waited for 
 none, but sounded the signal to saddle, put to his artil- 
 lery, collected his troop, drew his sabre, and while 
 Lantenac throws himself on Dol, Gauvain throws him- 
 self on Lantenac. It is at Dol that these two Breton 
 heads will knock together. There will be a fine shock. 
 They are at it now. " 
 
244 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 ■ How long does it take to get to Dol ? * 
 
 " At least three hours for a troop with cannon ; but 
 they are there now. " 
 
 The traveller listened, and said : " In fact, I think .1 
 hear cannon. " 
 
 The host listened. " Yes, citizen ; and the musketry. 
 They have opened the ball. You would do well to pass 
 the night here. There will be nothing good to catch 
 over there. " 
 
 " I cannot stop. I must keep on my road. " 
 
 " You are wrong. I do not know your business : but 
 the risk is great, and unless it concern what you hold 
 dearest in the world — " 
 
 " In truth, it is that which is concerned, " said the 
 cavalier. 
 
 " Something like your son — " 
 
 " Very nearly that, " said the cavalier. 
 
 The innkeeper raised his head, and said to himself . 
 " Still this citizen gives me the impression of being a 
 priest. " Then, after a little reflection : " All the same, 
 a priest may have children. " 
 
 " Put the bridle back on my horse, " said the traveller. 
 * How much do I < we you ? " He paid the man. 
 
 The host set the trough and the bucket back against 
 the wall, and returned toward the horseman. " Since 
 you are determined to go, listen to my advice. It is 
 clear that you are going to Saint Malo. Well, do not 
 pass by Dol. There are two roads, — the road by Dol, 
 and the road along the sea-shore. There is scarcely any 
 difference in their length. The sea-shore road passes by 
 Saint-Georges-de-Brehaigne, Cherrueix, and Hirèlle- 
 Vivier. You leave Dol to the south and Cancale to the 
 north. Citizen, at the end of the street you will find 
 the branching off of the two routes ; that of Dol is on 
 the left, that of Saint-Georges-de-Brehaigne on the right. 
 
PLUSQUAM CIVILIA BELLA. 245 
 
 Listen well to me : if you go by Dol, you will fall into 
 the middle of the massacre. That is why you must not 
 take to the left, but to the right. " 
 
 " Thanks, " said the traveller. He spurred his horse 
 forward. The obscurity was now complete ; he hurried 
 on into the night. The innkeeper lost sight of him. 
 
 When the traveller reached the end of the street 
 where the two roads branched off, he heard the voice of 
 the innkeeper calling to him from afar, — 
 
 " Take the right ! " 
 
 He took the left. 
 
CHAPTEK II 
 
 DOL. 
 
 DOL, a Spanish city of France in Brittany, as the 
 guide-books style it, is not a town ; it is a street, 
 — a great old Gothic street, bordered all the way on the 
 right and the left by houses with pillars, placed irregu- 
 larly, so that they form nooks and elbows in the high- 
 way, which is nevertheless very wide. The rest of the 
 town is only a network of lanes, attaching themselves to 
 this great diametrical street, and pouring into it like 
 brooks into a river. The city, without gates or walls, 
 open, overlooked by Mount Dol, could not have sus- 
 tained a siege ; but the street might have sustained one. 
 The promontories of houses, which were still to be seen 
 fifty years back, and the two-pillared galleries which 
 bordered the street, made a battle-ground that was very 
 strong and capable of offering great resistance. Each 
 house was a fortress in fact, and it would be necessary 
 to take them one after another. The old market was 
 very nearly in the middle of the street. 
 
 The innkeeper of the Croix-Branchard had spoken 
 truly, — a mad conflict filled Dol at the moment he ut- 
 tered the words. A nocturnal duel between the Whites, 
 that morning arrived, and the Blues, who had come 
 upon them in the evening, burst suddenly over the 
 town. The forces were unequal : the Whites numbered 
 six thousand ; there were only fifteen hundred of the 
 Blues. But there was equality in point of obstinate 
 
dol. 247 
 
 rage ; strange to say, it was the fifteen hundred who had 
 attacked the six thousand. 
 
 On one side a mob, on the other a phalanx. On one 
 side six thousand peasants, with blessed medals on their 
 leather vests, white ribbons on their round hats, Christian 
 devices on their braces, chaplets at their belts, carrying 
 more pitchforks than sabres, carbines without bayonets, 
 dragging cannon with ropes ; badly equipped, ill disci- 
 plined, poorly armed, but frantic. In opposition to 
 them were fifteen hundred soldiers, wearing three- 
 cornered hats, coats with large tails and wide lapels, 
 shoulder-belts crossed, copper-hilted swords, and carry- 
 ing guns with long bayonets. They were trained, 
 skilled ; docile, yet fierce ; obeying like men who would 
 know how to command : volunteers also, shoeless and in 
 rags too, but volunteers for their country. On the side 
 of Monarchy, peasants who were paladins ; for the Revo- 
 lution, barefooted heroes, and each troop possessing a 
 soul in its leader : the royalists having an old man, the 
 republicans a young one. On this side, Lantenac ; on 
 the other, Gauvain. 
 
 The Revolution, side by side with its faces of youth, 
 ful giants like those of Danton, Saint-Just, and Robes- 
 pierre, has faces of ideal youth, like those of Hoche and 
 Marceau. Gauvain was one of these. 
 
 He was thirty years old ; he had a Herculean bust, the 
 solemn eye of a prophet, and the laugh of a child. He 
 did not smoke, he did not drink, he did not swear. He 
 carried a dressing-case through the whole war ; he took 
 care of his nails, his teeth, and his hair, which was 
 dark and luxuriant. During halts he himself shook in 
 the wind his military coat, riddled with bullets and 
 white with dust. Though always rushing headlong 
 into an affray, he had never been wounded. His sin- 
 gularly sweet voice had at command the abrupt imperi- 
 
248 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 ousness needed by a leader. He set the example of 
 
 sleeping on the ground, in the wind, the rain, and the 
 snow, rolled in his cloak and with his noble head pil- 
 lowed on a stone. His was a heroic and innocent soul. 
 The sabre in his hand transfigured him. He had that 
 effeminate air which in battle turns into something for- 
 midable. With all that, a thinker and a philosopher, a 
 youthful sage, — Alcibiades in appearance, Socrates in 
 speech. 
 
 In that immense improvisation of the French Kevolu- 
 tion this young man had become at once a leader. His 
 division, formed by himself, was like a Eoman legion, 
 a kind of complete little army. It was composed of 
 infantry and cavalry ; it had its scouts, its pioneers, its 
 sappers, pontoniers ; and as a Eoman legion had its cata- 
 pults, this one had its cannon. Three pieces, well 
 mounted, rendered the column strong, while leaving it 
 easy to guide. 
 
 Lantenac was also a thorough soldier, — a more con- 
 summate one. He was at the same time wary and hardy. 
 Old heroes have more cold . determination than young 
 ones, because they are far removed from the warmth of 
 life's morning; more audacity, because they are near 
 death. What have they to lose ? So very little. Hence 
 the manœ avres of Lantenac were at once rash and skil- 
 ful. But in the main, and almost always, in this 
 dogged hand-to-hand conflict between the old man and 
 the young, Gauvain gained the advantage. It was 
 rather the work of fortune than anything else. All 
 good luck — even successes which are in themselves ter- 
 rible — go to youth. Victory is somewhat of a woman. 
 
 Lantenac was exasperated against Gauvain, — justly, 
 because Gauvain fought against him; in the second 
 place, because he was of his kindred. What did he 
 mean by turning Jacobin, — this Gauvain, this mis- 
 
DOL. 249 
 
 chievous dog ! his heir (for the marquis had no chil- 
 dren), his grand-nephew, almost his grandson ! " Ah, " 
 said this quasi-grandfather, " if I put my hand on him, 
 I will kill him like a dog ! " 
 
 For that matter, the Eevolution was right to disquiet 
 itself in regard to this Marquis de Lantenac. An earth- 
 quake followed his landing. His name spread through 
 the Vendean insurrection like a train of powder, and 
 Lantenac at once became the centre. In a revolt of that 
 nature, where each is jealous of the other, and each has 
 his thicket or ravine, the arrival of a superior rallies 
 the scattered leaders who have been equals among them- 
 selves. Nearly all the forest captains had joined Lante- 
 nac, and, whether near or far off, they obeyed him. One 
 man alone had departed ; it was the first who had joined 
 him, — Gavard. Wherefore ? Because he had been a man 
 of trust. Gavard had known all the secrets and adopted 
 all the plans of the ancient system of civil war ; Lante- 
 nac appeared to replace and supplant him. One does 
 not inherit from a man of trust ; the shoe of La Eonain 
 did not fit Lantenac. Gavard departed to join Bonchamp. 
 
 Lantenac, as a military man, belonged to the school 
 of Frederick II. ; he understood combining the great 
 war with the little. He would have neither a " con- 
 fused mass " (like the great Catholic and Eoyal army), a 
 crowd destined to be crushed, nor a troop of guerillas 
 scattered among the hedges and copses, — good to harass, 
 impotent to destroy. Guerilla warfare finishes nothing, 
 or finishes ill; it begins by attacking a republic and 
 ends by rifling a diligence. Lantenac did not compre- 
 hend this Breton war as the other chiefs had done, — 
 neither as La Eochejacquelin, who was all for open 
 country campaigns; nor as Jean Chouan, all for the 
 forest. He would have neither Vendée nor Chouan- 
 nerie ; he wanted real warfare : he would make use oi 
 
250 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the peasant, but he meant to depend on the soldier. He 
 wanted bands for strategy and regiments for tactics. 
 He found these village armies admirable for attack, for 
 ambush and surprise, quickly gathered, quickly dis- 
 persed ; but he felt that they lacked solidity, — they were 
 like water in his hand. He wanted to create a solid 
 base in this floating and diffused war; he wanted to join 
 to the savage army of the forests regularly drilled troops 
 that would make a pivot about which he could manœu- 
 vre the peasants. It was a profound and terrible con- 
 ception ; if it had succeeded, the Vendée would have 
 been unconquerable. 
 
 But where to find regular troops ? Where look for 
 soldiers, where seek for regiments, where discover an 
 army ready made? In England. Hence Lantenac's ^de- 
 termined idea, — to land the English. Thus* the con- 
 science of parties compromises with itself. The white 
 cockade hid the red uniform from Lantenac's sight. He 
 had only one thought, — to get possession of some point 
 on the coast, and deliver it up to Pitt. That was why, 
 seeing Dol defenceless, he flung himself upon it ; the 
 taking of the town would give him Mount Dol, and 
 Mount Dol the coast. 
 
 The place was well chosen. The cannon of Mount 
 Dol would sweep the Fresnois on one side and Saint- 
 Brelade on the other ; would keep the cruisers of Can- 
 cale at a distance, and leave the whole beach, from 
 Raz-sur-Couesnon to Saint-Mêloir-des-Oudes, clear for 
 an invasion. For the carrying out of this decisive at- 
 tempt, Lantenac had brought with him only a little 
 over six thousand men, the flower of the bands which 
 he had at his disposal, and all his artillery, — ten six- 
 teen-pound culverins, a demi-culverin, and a four- 
 pounder. His idea was to establish a strong battery on 
 Mount Dol, upon the principle that a thousand shots 
 
DOL. 251 
 
 fired from ten cannon do more execution than fifteen 
 hundred fired with five. Success appeared certain. They 
 were six thousand men. Toward Avranches, they had 
 only Gauvain and his fifteen hundred men to fear, and 
 Léchelle in the direction of Dinan. It was true that 
 Léchelle had twenty-five thousand men, but he was 
 twenty leagues away. So Lantenac felt confidence ; on 
 Léchelle 's side he put the great distance against the 
 great numbers; with Gauvain, the size of the force 
 against their propinquity. Let us add that Léchelle 
 was an idiot, who later on allowed his twenty-five thou- 
 sand men to be exterminated in the landes of the Croix- 
 Bataille, — a blunder which he attoned for by suicide. 
 
 So Lantenac felt perfect security. His entrance into 
 Dol was sudden and stern. The Marquis de Lantenac 
 had a stern reputation; he was known to be without 
 pity. No resistance was attempted. The terrified in- 
 habitants barricaded themselves in their houses. The 
 six thousand Yendeans installed themselves in the town 
 with rustic confusion ; it was almost like a fair-ground, 
 without quartermasters, without allotted camp, bivouack- 
 ing at hazard, cooking in the open air, scattering them- 
 selves among the churches, forsaking their guns for their 
 rosaries. Lanteuac went in haste with some artillery offi- 
 cers to reconnoitre Mount Dol, leaving the command to 
 Gouge-le-Bruant, whom he had appointed field-sergeant. 
 
 This Gouge-le-Bruant has left a vague trace in his- 
 tory. He had two nicknames, Brise-bleu, on account of 
 his massacre of patriots, and Imânus, because he had in 
 him a something that was indescribably horrible. Imâ- 
 nus, derived from imanis, is an old bas -Norman word 
 which expresses superhuman ugliness, something al- 
 most divine in its awfulness, — a demon, a satyr, an 
 ogre. An ancient manuscript says, " With my two eyes 
 I saw Imânus. " The old people of the Bocage no longer 
 
252 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 know to-day who Gouge-le-Bruant was, nor what Brise- 
 bleu signifies; but they know, confusedly, Imânus. 
 Imânus is mingled with the local superstitions; they 
 talk of him still at Trémorel and at Plumaugat, two 
 villages where Gouge-le-Bruant has left the trace of his 
 sinister course. In the Vendée the others were savages ; 
 Gouge-le-Bruant was the barbarian. He was a species 
 of cacique, tattooed with Christian crosses and fleur-de- 
 lis ; he had on his face the hideous, almost supernatural 
 glare of a soul which no other human soul resembled. 
 He was infernally brave in combat ; atrocious afterward. 
 His was a heart full of tortuous intricacies, capable of 
 all forms of devotion, inclined to all madnesses. Did 
 he reason ? Yes ; but as serpents crawl, in a twisted 
 fashion. He started from heroism to reach murder. It 
 was impossible to divine whence his resolves came to 
 him ; they were sometimes grand from their very mon- 
 strosity. He was capable of every possible unexpected 
 horror; his ferocity was epic. Hence his mysterious 
 nickname, Imânus. The Marquis de Lantenac had con- 
 fidence in his cruelty. It was true that Imânus excelled 
 in cruelty, but in strategy and in tactics he was less 
 clever, and perhaps the marquis erred in making him 
 his field-sergeant. However that might be, be left Ima- 
 nus behind him with instructions to replace him and 
 look after everything. Gouge-le-Bruant, a man more 
 of a fighter than a soldier, was fitter to cut the throats 
 of a clan than to guard a town. Still he posted 
 main-guards. 
 
 When evening came, as the Marquis de Lantenac was 
 returning toward Dol, after having decided upon the 
 ground for his battery, he suddenly heard the report of 
 cannon. He looked forward. A red smoke was rising 
 from the principal street. There had been surprise, 
 invasion, assault; they were fighting, in the town. Al- 
 
DOL. 253 
 
 though very difficult to astonish, he was stupefied. He 
 had not been prepared for anything of the sort. Who 
 could it be ? Evidently it was not Gauvain. No man 
 would attack a force that numbered four to his one. 
 Was it Léchelle ? But could he have made such a forced 
 march ? Léchelle was improbable ; Gauvain impossible. 
 Lantenac urged on his horse ; as he rode forward he 
 encountered the flying inhabitants ; he questioned them. 
 They were mad with terror ; they cried, " The Blues ! 
 the Blues ! " When he arrived, the situation was a bad 
 one. This is what had happened 
 
CHAPTEE IIL 
 
 SMALL ARMIES AND GREAT BATTLES. 
 
 A S we have just seen, the peasants, on arriving at 
 /"*■ Dol, dispersed themselves through the town, each 
 man following his own fancy, as happens when troops 
 * obey from friendship, " a favourite expression with the 
 Vendeans, — a species of obedience which makes heroes, 
 but not troopers. They thrust the artillery out of the 
 way along with the baggage, under the arches of the old 
 market-hall. They were weary ; they ate, drank, counted 
 their rosaries, and lay down pell-mell across the princi- 
 pal street, which was encumbered rather than guarded. 
 
 As night came on, the greater portion fell asleep, 
 with their heads on their knapsacks, some having their 
 wives beside them, for the peasant women often followed 
 their husbands, and the robust ones acted as spies. It 
 was a mild July evening ; the constellation glittered in 
 the deep purple of the sky. The entire bivouac, which 
 resembled rather the halt of a caravan than an army en- 
 camped, gave itself up to repose. Suddenly, amid the 
 dull gleams of twilight, such as had not yet closed their 
 eyes saw three pieces of ordnance pointed at the entrance 
 of the street. It was Gauvain's artillery. He had sur- 
 prised the main-guard. He was in the town, and his 
 column held the top of the street. 
 
 A peasant started up, crying, " Who goes there ? * and 
 fired his musket; a cannon-shot replied. Then a furi- 
 
SMALL ARMIES AND GREAT BATTLES. 255 
 
 ous discharge of musketry burst forth. The whole 
 drowsy crowd sprang up with a start. A rude shock, 
 — to fall asleep under the stars and wake under a volley 
 of grape-shot. 
 
 The first moments were terrific. There is nothing so 
 tragic as the aimless swarming of a thunderstricken 
 crowd. They flung themselves on their arms ; they 
 yelled, they ran ; many fell. The assaulted peasants no 
 longer knew what they were about, and blindly shot one 
 another. The townspeople, stunned with fright, rushed 
 in and out of their houses, and wandered frantically 
 amid the hubbub, Families shrieked to one another. A 
 dismal combat ensued, in which women and children were 
 mingled. The bails, as they whistled overhead, streaked 
 the darkness with rays of light. A fusilade poured 
 from every dark corner. There was nothing but smoke 
 and tumult. The entanglement of the baggage-wagons 
 and the cannon-carriages was added to the confusion. 
 The horses became unmanageable ; the wounded were 
 trampled under foot. The groans of the poor wretches, 
 helpless on the ground, filled the air. Horror here, 
 stupefaction there. Soldiers and officers sought for one 
 another. In the midst of all this could be seen crea- 
 tures made indifferent to the awful scene by personal 
 preoccupations. A woman sat nursing her new-born 
 babe, seated on a bit of wall, against which her husband 
 leaned with his leg broken; and he, while his blood 
 was flowing, tranquilly loaded his rifle and fired at ran- 
 dom, straight before him into the darkness. Men lying 
 flat on the ground fired across the spokes of the wagon- 
 wheels. At moments there rose a hideous din of clam- 
 ours, then the great voices of the cannon drowned all. 
 It was awful. It was like a felling of trees ; they 
 dropped one upon another. Gauvain poured out a deadly 
 fire from his ambush, and suffered little loss. 
 
256 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Still the peasants, courageous amid their disorder 
 ended by putting themselves on the defensive ; they 
 retreated into the market, — a vast, obscure redoubt, a 
 forest of stone pillars. There they again made a stand ; 
 anything which resembled a wood gave them confidence. 
 Imanus supplied the absence of Lantenac as best he 
 could. They had cannon, but to the great astonishment 
 of Gauvain they did not make use of it ; that was owing 
 to the fact that the artillery officers had gone with the 
 marquis to reconnoitre Mount Dol, and the peasants did 
 not know how to manage the culverins and demi- 
 culverins. But they riddled with balls the Blues who 
 cannonaded them ; they replied to the grape-shot by 
 volleys of musketry. It was now they who were shel- 
 tered. They had heaped together the drays, the tum- 
 brels, the casks, all the litter of the old market, and 
 improvised a lofty barricade, with openings through 
 which they could pass their carbines. From these holes 
 their fusilade was murderous. The whole was quickly 
 arranged. In a quarter of an hour the market presented 
 an impregnable front. 
 
 This became a serious matter for Gauvain. This mar- 
 ket suddenly transformed into a citadel was unexpected. 
 The peasants were inside it, massed and solid. Gauvain 's 
 surprise had succeeded, but he ran the risk of defeat. 
 He got down from his saddle. He stood attentively 
 studying the darkness, his arms folded, clutching his 
 sword in one hand, erect, in the glare of a torch which 
 lighted his battery. The gleam, falling on his tall fig- 
 ure, made him visible to the men behind the barricade. 
 He became an aim for them, but he did not notice it. 
 The shower of balls sent out from the barricade fell 
 about him as he stood there, lost in thought. But he 
 could oppose cannon to all these carbines, and cannon 
 always ends by getting the advantage. Victory rests 
 
SMALL ARMIES AND GREAT BATTLES. 257 
 
 with him who has the artillery. His battery, well 
 manned, insured him the superiority. 
 
 Suddenly a lightning-flash burst from the shadowy 
 market ; there was a sound like a peal of thunder, and 
 a ball broke through a house above Gauvain 's head. 
 The barricade was replying to the cannon with its own 
 voice. What had happened? Something new had oc- 
 curred. The artillery was no longer confined to one 
 side. A second ball followed the first and buried itself 
 in the wall close to Gauvain. A third knocked his hat 
 off on the ground. These balls were of a heavy calibre. 
 It was a sixteen-pounder that fired. 
 
 * They are aiming at you, commandant, " cried the 
 artillerymen. 
 
 They extinguished the torch. Gauvain, as if in a 
 reverie, picked up his hat. Some one had in fact aimed 
 at Gauvain : it was Lantenac. The marquis had just 
 arrived within the barricade from the opposite side. 
 Imânus had hurried to meet him. 
 
 " Monseigneur, we are surprised ! " 
 
 " By whom ? " 
 
 " I do not know. " 
 
 " Is the route to Dinan free ? n 
 
 « I think so. " 
 
 " We must begin a retreat. " 
 
 " It has commenced. A good many have run away. " 
 
 " We must not run ; we must fall back. Why are you 
 not making use of this artillery ? " 
 
 " The men lost their heads ; besides, the officers were 
 not here. ", 
 
 " I am come. '' 
 
 " Monseigneur, I have sent toward Fougères all I 
 could of the baggage, the women, everything useless. 
 What is to be done with the three little prisoners ? " 
 
 " Ah. those children ! " 
 
258 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " They are our hostages. Have them taken to La 
 Tourgue. " 
 
 This said, the marquis rushed to the barricade. With 
 the arrival of the chief the whole face of affairs changed. 
 The barricade was ill-constructed for artillery ; there was 
 only room for two cannon ; the marquis put in position 
 a couple of sixteen-pounders, for which loop-holes were 
 made. As he leaned over one of the guns, watching the 
 enemy's battery through the opening, he perceived 
 Gauvain. 
 
 " It is he ! " cried the marquis. 
 
 Then he took the swab and rammer himself, loaded 
 the piece, sighted it, and fired. Thrice he aimed at 
 Gauvain and missed. The third time he only succeeded 
 in knocking his hat off. 
 
 " Numbskull ! " muttered Lantenac ; " a little lower, 
 and I should have taken his head. " Suddenly the torch 
 went out, and he had only darkness before him. " So 
 be it ! " said he. Then turning toward the peasant gun- 
 ners, he cried : " Now let them have it ! " 
 
 Gauvain, on his side, was not less in earnest. The 
 seriousness of the situation increased. A new phase of 
 the combat developed itself. The barricade had begun 
 to use cannon. Who could tell if it were not about to 
 pass from the defensive to the offensive ? He had be- 
 fore him, after deducting the killed and fugitives, at 
 least five thousand combatants, and he had left only 
 twelve hundred serviceable men. What would happen 
 to the republicans if the enemy perceived their paucity 
 of numbers ? The rôles were reversed. He had been 
 the assailant, — he would become the assailed. If the 
 barricade were to make a sortie, everything might be 
 lost. What was to be done ? He could no longer think 
 of attacking the barricade in front ; an attempt at main 
 
SMALL ARMIES AND GREAT BATTLES. ' 259 
 
 force would be foolhardy : twelve hundred men cannot 
 dislodge five thousand. To rush upon them was impos- 
 sible ; to wait would be fatal. He must make an end 
 But how ? 
 
 Gauvain belonged to the neighbourhood ; he was ac- 
 quainted with the town; he knew that the old market - 
 house where the Vendeans were intrenched was backed 
 by a labyrinth of narrow and crooked streets. He 
 turned toward his lieutenant, who was that valiant 
 Captain Guéchamp, afterward famous for clearing out 
 the forest of Concise, where Jean Chouan was born, and 
 for preventing the capture of Bourgneuf by holding the 
 dike of La Chaîne against the rebels. 
 
 " Guéchamp, " said he, " I leave you in command. 
 Fire as fast as you can. Eiddle the barricade with 
 cannon-balls. Keep all those fellows over yonder 
 busy. " 
 
 " I understand, " said Guéchamp. 
 
 * Mass the whole column with their guns loaded, and 
 hold them ready to make an onslaught. * He added a 
 few words in Guéchamp 's ear. 
 
 " I hear, " said Guéchamp. 
 
 Gauvain resumed : " Are all our drummers on foot ? * 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " We have nine. Keep two, and give me seven. " 
 
 The seven drummers ranged themselves in silence in 
 front of Gauvain. Then he said : " Battalion of the 
 Bonnet Bouge ! " 
 
 Twelve men, of whom one was a sergeant, stepped 
 out from the main body of the troop. 
 
 " I demand the whole battalion, " said Gauvain. 
 
 " Here it is, " replied the sergeant. 
 
 " You are twelve ! " 
 
 " There are twelve of us left. " 
 
 * It is well, " said Gauvain» 
 
2Q0 . NINETY-THREE. 
 
 This sergeant was the good, rough trooper Radoub t 
 who had adopted, in the name of the battalion, the 
 three children they had encountered in the wood of La 
 Saudraie. It will be remembered that only a demi- 
 battalion had been exterminated at Herbe-en-Pail, and 
 Radoub was fortunate enough not to have been among 
 the number. 
 
 There was a forage-wagon standing near; Gauvain 
 pointed toward it with his finger. " Sergeant, order 
 your men to make some straw ropes and twist them 
 about their guns, so that there will be no noise if they 
 knock together. " 
 
 A minute passed ; the order was silently executed in 
 the darkness. 
 
 " It is done, " said the sergeant. 
 
 " Soldiers, take off your shoes, " commanded Gauvain. 
 
 " We have none, " returned the sergeant. 
 
 They numbered, counting the drummers, nineteen 
 men ; Gauvain made the twentieth. He cried : " Follow 
 me ! Single file ! The drummers next to me, the bat- 
 talion behind them. Sergeant, you will command the 
 battalion. " 
 
 He put himself at the head of the column, and while 
 the firing on both sides continued, these twenty men, 
 gliding along like shadows, plunged into the deserted 
 lanes. The line marched thus for some time, twisting 
 along the fronts of the houses. The whole town seemed 
 dead ; the citizens were hidden in their cellars. Every 
 door was barred; every shutter closed; no light to be 
 seen anywhere. Amid this silence the principal street 
 kept up its din ; the cannonading continued ; the repub- 
 lican battery and the royalist barricade spit forth their 
 volleys with undiminished fury. 
 
 After twenty minutes of this tortuous march, Gau- 
 vain, who kept his way unerringly through the dark- 
 
SMALL ARMIES AND GREAT BATTLES. ' 261 
 
 ness, reached the end of a lane which led into the broad 
 street, but on the other side of the market-house. The 
 position was turned. In this direction there was no 
 intrenchment, according to the eternal imprudence of 
 barricade builders; the market was open, and the en- 
 trance free among the pillars where some baggage- 
 wagons stood ready to depart. Gauvain and his nineteen 
 men had the five thousand Vendeans before them, but 
 their backs instead of their faces. 
 
 Gauvain spoke in a low voice to the sergeant; the 
 soldiers untwisted the straw from their guns ; the twelve 
 grenadiers posted themselves in line behind the angle of 
 the lane, and the seven drummers waited with their 
 drumsticks lifted. The artillery firing was intermittent. 
 Suddenly, in a pause between the discharges, Gauvain 
 waved his sword, and cried in a voice which rang like 
 a trumpet through the silence : " Two hundred men to 
 the right ; two hundred men to the left ; all the rest in 
 the centre ! " 
 
 The twelve muskets fired, and the seven drums beat. 
 
 Gauvain uttered the formidable battle-cry of the 
 Blues : " To your bayonets ! Down upon them ! " 
 
 The effect was prodigious. This whole peasant mass 
 felt itself surprised in the rear, and believed that it had 
 a fresh army at its back. At the same instant, on hear- 
 ing the drums, the column which Guéchamp commanded 
 at the head of the street began to move, sounding the 
 charge in its turn, and flung itself at a run on the barri- 
 cade. The peasants found themselves between two fires. 
 Panic magnifies : a pistol-shot -sounds like the report 
 of a cannon : in moments of terror the imagination 
 heightens every noise ; the barking of a dog sounds like 
 the roar of a lion. Add to this the fact that the peas- 
 ant catches fright as easily as thatch catches fire ; and 
 as quickly as a blazing thatch becomes a conflagration, 
 
262 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 a panic among peasants becomes a rout. An indescriba* 
 bly confused flight ensued. 
 
 In a few instants the market-hall was empty; the 
 terrified rustics broke away in all directions ; the officers 
 were powerless; Imânus uselessly killed two or three 
 fugitives ; nothing was to be heard but the cry, " Save 
 yourselves ! " The-* army poured through the streets of 
 the town like water through the holes of a sieve, and 
 dispersed into the open country with the rapidity of a 
 cloud carried along by a whirlwind. Some fled toward 
 Châteauneuf, some toward Plerguer, others toward 
 Antrain. 
 
 The Marquis de Lantenac watched this stampede. He 
 spiked the guns with his own hands and then retreated, 
 — the last of all, slowly, composedly, saying to himself, 
 " Decidedly, the peasants will not stand. We must 
 have the English. " 
 
CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 " IT IS THE SECOND TIME." 
 
 HPHE victory was complete. Gauvain turned toward 
 J- the men of the Bonnet Rouge battalion, and said : 
 " You are twelve, but you are equal to a thousand. " 
 Praise from a chief was the cross of honour of those 
 times. 
 
 Guéchamp, dispatched beyond the town by Gauvain, 
 pursued the fugitives and captured a great number. 
 Torches were lighted and the town was searched. All 
 who could not escape surrendered. They illuminated 
 the principal street with fire-pots. It was strewn with 
 dead and dying. The root of a combat must always be 
 torn out; a few desperate groups here and there still 
 resisted ; they were surrounded, and threw down their 
 arms. 
 
 Gauvain had remarked, amid the frantic pell-mell of 
 the retreat, an intrepid man, a sort of agile and robust 
 form, who protected the flight of others, but had not 
 himself fled. This peasant had used his gun so ener- 
 getically — the barrel for firing, the butt-end for knock- 
 ing down — that he had broken it ; now he grasped a 
 pistol in one hand and a sabre in the other. No one 
 dared approach him. Suddenly Gauvain saw him reel 
 and support himself against a pillar of the broad street. 
 The man had just been wounded; but he still clutched 
 the sabre and pistol in his fists. Gauvain put his 
 
264 NINETY-TUREE, 
 
 sword under his arm and went up to him. " Surrender ! * 
 said he. 
 
 The man looked steadily at him. The blood ran 
 through his clothing from a wound which he had re 
 ceived, and made a pool at his feet. 
 
 " You are my prisoner, " added Gauvain, The man 
 remained silent. " What is your name ? " 
 
 The man answered, " I am called the Shadow- 
 dancer. " 
 
 " Fou are a brave man, " said Gauvain. And he held 
 out his hand. 
 
 The man cried, " Long live the king ! " Gathering 
 up all his remaining strength, he raised both arms at 
 once, fired his pistol at Gauvain's heart, and dealt a blow 
 at his head with the sabre. 
 
 He did it with the swiftness of a tiger ; but some one 
 else had been still more prompt. This was a man on 
 horseback, who had arrived unobserved a few minutes 
 before. This man, seeing the Vendean raise the sabre 
 and pistol, rushed between him and Gauvain. But for 
 this interposition, Gauvain would have been killed. 
 The horse received the pistol-shot, the man received the 
 sabre-stroke, and both fell. It all happened in the time 
 it would have needed to utter a cry. 
 
 The Vendean sank on his side upon the pavement. 
 The sabre had struck the man full in the face ; he lay 
 senseless on the stones. The horse was killed. 
 
 Gauvain approached. " Who is this man ? " said he. 
 He studied him. The blood from the gash inundated 
 the wounded man, and spread a red mask over his face. 
 It was impossible to distinguish his features, but one 
 could see that his hair was grey. " This man has saved 
 my life, " continued Gauvain. " Does any one here know 
 him ? " 
 
 " Commandant, " said a soldier, " he came into the 
 
"IT IS THE SECOND TIME/' 265 
 
 town a few minutes ago. I saw him enter; he came by 
 the road from Pontorson. " 
 
 The chief surgeon hurried up with his instrument- 
 case. The wounded man was still insensible. The 
 surgeon examined him and said : " A simple gash. It 
 is nothing. It can be sewed up. In eight days he will 
 be on his feet again. It was a beautiful sabre-stroke ! " 
 
 The sufferer wore a cloak, a tricoloured sash, pistols, 
 and a sabre. He was laid on a litter. They undressed 
 him. A bucket of fresh water was brought : the sur- 
 geon washed the cut : the face began to be visible. 
 Gauvain studied it with profound attention. 
 
 " Has he any papers on him ? " he asked. 
 
 The surgeon felt in the stranger's side-pocket and drew 
 out a pocket-book, which he handed to Gauvain. The 
 wounded man, restored by the cold water, began to come 
 to himself. His eyelids moved slightly, 
 
 Gauvain examined the pocket-book ; he found in it a 
 sheet of paper, folded four times ; he opened this and 
 read : — - 
 
 "Committee of Public Safety. The Citizen Cimourdain," 
 
 He uttered a cry : " Cimourdain ! " 
 
 The wounded man opened his eyes at this exclamation. 
 
 Gauvain was astounded. " Cimourdain ! It is you ! 
 This is the second time you have saved my life. * 
 
 Cimourdain looked at him. A gleam of ineffable joy 
 lighted his bleeding face. 
 
 Gauvain fell on his knees beside him, crying, * My 
 master ! " 
 
 " Thy father, " said Cimourdain» 
 
CHAPTEK V. 
 
 THE DROP OF COLD WATER. 
 
 THEY had not met for many years, but their hearts 
 had never been parted ; they recognized each other 
 as if they had separated the evening before. 
 
 An ambulance had been improvised in the town-hall 
 of Dol. Cimourdain was* placed on a bed in a little 
 room next the great common chamber of the other 
 wounded. The surgeon sewed up the cut and put an 
 end to the demonstrations of affection between the two 
 men, judging that Cimourdain ought to be left to sleep. 
 Besides, Gauvain was claimed by the thousand occupa- 
 tions which are the duties and cares of victory. 
 
 Cimourdain remained alone, but he did not sleep : he 
 was consumed by two fevers, — that of his wound and 
 that of his joy. He did not sleep, and still it did not 
 seem to himself that he was awake. Could it be possi- 
 ble that his dream was realized ? Cimourdain had long 
 ceased to believe in luck, yet here it was. He had re- 
 found Gauvain. He had left him a child, he found him 
 a man ; he found him great, formidable, intrepid. He 
 found him triumphant, and triumphing for the people. 
 Gauvain was the real support of the Eevolution in Ven- 
 dée ; and it was he, Cimourdain, who had given this 
 tower of strength to the Eepublic. This victor was his 
 pupil. The light which he saw illuminating this youth- 
 ful face (reserved perhaps for the Eepublican Pantheon) 
 was his own thought, — his. Cimourdain 's. His dis- 
 
THE DROP OF COLD 'WATER. 267 
 
 ciple — the child of his spirit — was from henceforth a 
 hero, and before long would be a glory. It seemed to 
 Cimourdain that he saw the apotheosis of his own soul. 
 He had just seen how Gauvain made war; he was like 
 Chiron, who had watched Achilles light. There was a 
 mysterious analogy between the priest and the centaur, 
 for the priest is only half man. 
 
 All the chances of this adventure, mingled with the 
 sleeplessness caused by his wound, filled Cimourdain 
 with a sort of mysterious intoxication. He saw a glori- 
 ous youthful destiny rising ; and \jhat added to his pro- 
 found joy was the possession of full power over this 
 destiny. Another success like that which he had just 
 witnessed, and Cimourdain would only need to speak a 
 single word to induce the Eepublic to confide an army 
 to Gauvain. Nothing dazzles like the astonishment of 
 complete victory. It was an era when each man had 
 his military dream ; each one wanted to make a general. 
 Danton wished to appoint Westermann ; Marat wished 
 to appoint Eossignol ; Hébert wished to appoint Eonsin , 
 Eobespierre wished to put these all aside. Why not 
 Gauvain, asked Cimourdain of himself ; and he dreamed. 
 All possibilities were before him : he passed from one 
 hypothesis to another ; all obstacles vanished. When a 
 man puts his foot on that ladder, he does not stop , it 
 is an infinite ascent : one starts from earth and one 
 reaches the stars. A great general is only a leader of 
 armies , a great captain is at the same time a leader of 
 ideas, Cimourdain dreamed of Gauvain as a great cap- 
 tain. He seemed to see — for reverie travels swiftly — ■ 
 Gauvain on the ocean, chasing the English ; on the Ehine, 
 chastising the Northern kings ; on the Pyrenees, repuls- 
 ing Spain ; on the Alps, making a signal to Eome to 
 rouse itself. There were two men in Cimourdain, — 
 one tender, the other stern ; both were satisfied, for the 
 
268 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 inexorable was his ideal ; and at the same time that he 
 saw Gauvain noble, he saw him terrible. Cimourdain 
 thought of all that it was necessary to destroy before be« 
 ginning to build up, and said to himself : " Verily, this 
 is no time for tendernesses. Gauvain will be ' up to the 
 mark, ' " an expression of the period. Cimourdain pic- 
 tured Gauvain spurning the shadows with his foot, with 
 a breastplate of light, a meteor-glare on his brow, rising 
 on the grand ideal wings of Justice, Eeason, and Pro- 
 gress, but with a sword in his hand: an angel, — a de- 
 stroyer likewise. 
 
 In the height of this reverie, which was almost an 
 ecstasy, he heard through the half-open door a conversa- 
 tion in the great hall of the ambulance which was next 
 his chamber. He recognized Gauvain 's voice ; through 
 all those years of separation that voice had rung ever in 
 his ear, and the voice of the man had still a tone of the 
 childish voice he had loved. He listened. There was 
 a sound of soldiers' footsteps ; one of the men said : — 
 
 " Commandant, this is the man who fired at you. 
 While nobody was watching, he dragged himself into a 
 cellar. We found him. Here he is. " 
 
 Then Cimourdain heard this dialogue between Gauvain 
 and the prisoner : — 
 
 u You are wounded ? " 
 
 " I am well enough to be shot. " 
 
 " Lay that man on a bed. Dress his wounds ; take 
 care of him ; cure him. " 
 
 " I wish to die. " 
 
 " You must live. You tried to kill me in the king's 
 name ; I show you mercy in the name of the Republic. " 
 
 A shadow passed across Cimourdain 's forehead. He 
 was like a man waking up with a start, and he mur- 
 mured with a sort of sinister dejection: "In truth, he 
 is one of the merciful. " 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A HEALED BREAST; A BLEEDING HEART, 
 
 A CUT heals quickly ; but there was in a certain place 
 a person more seriously wounded than Cimourdain. 
 It was the woman who had been shot, whom the beggar 
 Tellmarch had picked up out of the great lake of blood 
 at the farm of Herbe-en-Pail. 
 
 Michelle Fléchard was even in a more critical situa- 
 tion than Tellmarch had believed. There was a wound 
 in the shoulder-blade corresponding to the wound above 
 the breast; at the same time that the ball broke her 
 collar-bone, another ball traversed her shoulder, but, as 
 the lungs were not touched, she might recover. Tell- 
 march was a " philosopher, " — a peasant phrase which 
 means a little of a doctor, a little of a surgeon, and a 
 little of a sorcerer. He carried the wounded woman to 
 his forest lair, laid her upon his sea-weed bed, and 
 treated her by the aid of those mysterious things called 
 " simples ; " and thanks to him she lived. The collar- 
 bone knitted together, the wounds in the breast and 
 shoulder closed ; after a few weeks she was convales- 
 cent. One morning she was able to walk out of the 
 carnichot, leaning on Tellmarch, and seat herself be- 
 neath the trees in the' sunshine. Tellmarch knew little 
 about her; wounds in the breast demand silence, and 
 during the almost death-like agony which had preceded 
 her recovery she had scarcely spoken a word. When 
 she tried to speak, Tellmarch stopped her ? but she kept 
 
270 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 up an obstinate reverie; he could see in her eyes the 
 sombre going and coming of poignant thoughts. But 
 this morning she was quite strong; she could almost 
 walk alone ; a cure is a paternity, and Tellmarch watched 
 her with delight. The good old man began to smile. 
 He said to her: — 
 
 " We are upon our feet again ; we have no more 
 wounds. " 
 
 " Except in the heart, * said she. She added, près* 
 ently : " Then you have no idea where they are. " 
 
 " Who are ' they ' ? " demanded Tellmarch. 
 
 " My children. " 
 
 This " then " expressed a whole world of thoughts ; it 
 signified : " Since you do not talk to me, since you have 
 been so many days beside me without opening your 
 mouth, since you stop me each time I attempt to break 
 the silence, since you seem to fear that I shall speak, it 
 is because you have nothing to tell me. " Often in her 
 fever, in her wanderings, her delirium, she had called 
 her children, and had seen clearly (for delirium makes 
 its observations) that the old man did not reply to her. 
 
 The truth was, Tellmarch did not know what to say 
 to her. It is not easy to tell a mother that her children 
 are lost. And then, what did he know ? Nothing. He 
 knew that a mother had been shot; that this mother 
 had been found on the ground by himself ; that when he 
 had taken her up she was almost a corpse ; that this 
 quasi-corpse had three children ; and that Lantenac, 
 after having had the mother shot, carried off the little 
 ones. All his information ended there. What had be- 
 come of the children ? Were they even living ? He 
 knew, because he had inquired, that there were two boys 
 and a little gir], barely weaned. Nothing more. He 
 asked himself a host of questions concerning this unfor- 
 tunate group, but could answer none of them. The 
 
A HEALED BREAST, A BLEEDING HEART. 271 
 
 people of the neighbourhood whom he had interrogated 
 contented themselves with shaking their heads. The 
 Marquis de Lantenac was a man of whom they did not 
 willingly talk. They did not willingly talk of De 
 Lantenac, and they did not willingly talk to Tellmarch. 
 Peasants have a species of suspicion peculiar to them- 
 selves. They did not like Tellmarch. Tellmarch the 
 Caimand was a puzzling man. Why was he always 
 studying the sky ? What was he doing and what was * 
 he thinking in his long hours of stillness ? Yes, in- 
 deed, he was odd 3 In this district in full warfare, in 
 full conflagration, in high tumult; where all men had 
 only one business, — devastation ; and one work, — 
 carnage ; where whosoever could burned a house, cut 
 the throats of a family, massacred an outpost, sacked a 
 village ; where nobody thought of anything but laying 
 ambushes for one another, drawing one another into 
 snares, killing one another, — this solitary, absorbed in 
 Nature, as if submerged in the immense peacefulness of 
 its beauties, gathering herbs and plants, occupied solely 
 with the flowers, the birds, and the stars, was evidently 
 a dangerous man. Plainly he was not in possession of 
 his reason ; he did not lie in wait behind thickets ; he 
 did not fire a shot at any one. Hence he created a cer- 
 tain dread about him. " That man is mad, " said the 
 passers-by. 
 
 Tellmarch was more than an isolated man, — he was 
 shunned. People asked him no questions and gave him 
 few answers ; so he ha<J not been able to inform himself 
 as he could have wished. The war had drifted else- 
 where ; the armies had gone to fight farther off; the 
 Marquis de Lantenac had disappeared from the horizon, 
 and in Tellmarch 's state of mind for him to be conscious 
 there was a war it was necessary for it to set its foot oa 
 him. 
 
272 NINETÏ-THREE. 
 
 After that cry, " My children, " Tellmarch ceased tc 
 smile, and the woman went back to her thoughts. 
 What was passing in that soul ? It was as if she looked 
 out from the depths of a gulf. Suddenly she turned 
 toward Tellmarch, and cried anew, almost with an ac- 
 cent of rage : " My children ! " 
 
 Tellmarch drooped his head like one guilty. He was 
 thinking of this Marquis de Lantenac, who certainly 
 *was not thinking of him, and who probably no longer 
 remembered that he existed. He accounted for this to 
 himself, saying, " A lord, when he is in danger, he 
 knows you ; when he is once out of it, he does not know 
 you any longer. " And he asked himself : " But why, 
 then, did I save this lord ? " And he answered his own 
 question : " Because he was a man. " Thereupon he 
 remained thoughtful for some time, then began again 
 mentally : " Am I very sure of that ? " He repeated his 
 bitter words : " If I had known ! " 
 
 This whole adventure overwhelmed him, for in that 
 which he had done he perceived a sort of enigma. He 
 meditated dolorously. A good action might sometimes 
 be evil. He who saves the wolf kills the sheep. He 
 who sets the vulture's wing is responsible for. his talons. 
 He felt himself in truth guilty. The unreasoning anger 
 of this mother was just. Still, to have saved her con- 
 soled him for having saved the marquis. But the 
 children ? 
 
 The mother meditated also. The reflections of these 
 two went on side by side ; and, perhaps, though without 
 speech, met one another amid the shadows of reverie. 
 The woman's eyes, with a night-like gloom in their 
 depths, fixed themselves anew on Tellmarch. " Neverthe- 
 less, that cannot be allowed to pass in this way, " said she 
 
 " Hush ! " returned Tellmarch, laying his finger od 
 his lips. 
 
A HEALED BREAST; A BLEEDING HEART. 273 
 
 She continued : " Yon did wrong to save me, and I am 
 angry with you for it. I would rather be dead, because 
 I am sure I should see them then. I should know where 
 they are. They would not see me, but I should be near 
 them. The dead,— they ought to have power to protect. " 
 
 He took her arm and felt her pulse. " Calm yourself : 
 you are bringing back your fever. " 
 
 Sfie asked him almost harshly, " When can I go away 
 from here ? " 
 
 " Go away ? " 
 
 ■ Yes. Walk. " 
 
 " Never, if you are not reasonable. To-morrow, if 
 you are wise. " 
 
 " What do you call being wise ? n 
 
 " Having confidence in God. " 
 
 " God ! What has he done with my children ? " Her 
 mind seemed wandering. Her voice became very sweet. 
 " You understand, " she said to him, " I cannot rest like 
 this. You have never had any children, but I have. 
 That makes a difference. One cannot judge of a thing 
 when one does not know what it is. You never had 
 any children, had you ? " 
 
 " No, " replied Tellmarch. 
 
 " And I — I had nothing besides them. What am I 
 without my children ? I should like to have somebody 
 explain to me why I have not my children. I feel that 
 things happen, but I do not understand. They killed 
 my husband ; they shot me : all the same, I do .not 
 understand it. " 
 
 "Come," said Tellmarch, "there is the fever taking 
 fou again. Do not talk any more. " 
 
 She looked at him and relapsed into silence. From 
 this day she spoke no more. Tellmarch was obeyed 
 more absolutely than he liked. She spent long hours 
 of stupefaction, crouched at the foot of an old tree. She 
 
274, ' NINETY-THREE. 
 
 dreamed, and held her peace. Silence makes an impene* 
 trable refuge for simple souls that have been down into 
 the innermost depths of suffering. She seemed to re- 
 linquish all effort to understand. To a certain extent 
 despair is unintelligible to the despairing. 
 
 Tellmarch studied her with sympathetic interest. In 
 presence of this anguish the old man had thoughts such 
 as might have come to a woman. " Oh, yes, " he said to 
 himself, " her lips do not speak, but her eyes talk. I 
 know well what is the matter, — what her one idea is. 
 To have been a mother, and to be one no longer ! To 
 have been a nurse, and to be so no more ! She cannot re- 
 sign herself. She thinks about the tiniest child of all, 
 that she was nursing not long ago. She thinks of it; 
 thinks, thinks. In truth, it must be so sweet to feel a 
 little rosy mouth that draws your very soul out of your 
 body, and who, with the life that is yours, makes a life 
 for itself. " He kept silence on his side, comprehending 
 the impotency of speech in face of an absorption like 
 this. The persistence of an all-absorbing idea is terrible. 
 And how to make a mother thus beset hear reason? 
 Maternity is inexplicable; you cannot argue with it. 
 That it is which renders a mother sublime ; she becomes 
 unreasoning ; the maternal instinct is divinely animal. 
 The mother is no longer a woman, she is a wild creature ; 
 her children are her cubs. Hence in the mother there 
 is something at once inferior and superior to -argument. 
 A mother has an unerring instinct. The immense mys- 
 terious Will of creation is within her and guides her. 
 Hers is a blindness superhumanly enlightened. 
 
 Now Tellmarch desired to make this unhappy creature 
 speak ; he did not succeed. On one occasion he said to 
 her: " As ill-luck will have it, I am old, and I cannot 
 walk any longer. At the end of a quarter of an hour 
 my strength is exhausted, and I am obliged to rest : if 
 
A HEALED BREAST; A BLEEDING HEART. 275 
 
 it were not for that I would accompany you. After all, 
 perhaps it is fortunate that I cannot. I should be rather 
 a burden than useful to you. I am tolerated here ; but 
 the Blues are suspicious of me, as being a peasant ; and 
 the peasants suspect me of being a wizard. " 
 
 He waited for her to reply. She did not even raise her 
 eyes. A fixed idea ends in madness or heroism. But of 
 what heroism is a poor peasant woman capable ? None. 
 She can be a mother, and that is all. Each day she 
 buried herself deeper in her reverie. Tellmarch watched 
 her. He tried to give her occupation ; he brought her 
 needles and thread and a thimble ; and at length, to the 
 satisfaction of the poor Caimand, she began some sewing. 
 She dreamed, but she worked, — a sign of health ; her 
 energy was returning little by little. She mended her 
 linen, her garments, her shoes ; but her eyes looked cold 
 and glassy as ever. As she bent over her needle, she 
 sang unearthly melodies in a low voice. She murmured 
 names, — probably the names of children, — but not dis- 
 tinctly enough for Tellmarch to catch them. She would 
 break off abruptly and listen to the birds, as if she 
 thought they might have brought her tidings. She 
 watched the weather. Her lips would move, — she was 
 speaking low to herself. She made a bag and filled it 
 with chestnuts. One morning Tellmarch saw her pre- 
 paring to set forth, her eyes gazing away into the depths 
 of the forest. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " he asked. 
 
 She replied, " I am going to look for them. v 
 
 He did not attempt to detain her. 
 
CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 THE TWO POLES OF THE TRUTH. 
 
 AT the end of a few weeks, which had been filled 
 with the vicissitudes of civil war, the district of 
 Fougères could talk of nothing but the two men who 
 were opposed to each other, and yet were occupied in 
 the same work ; that is, fighting side by side the great 
 revolutionary combat. 
 
 The savage Vendean duel continued, but the Vendée 
 was losing ground. In Ille-et-Vilaine in particular, 
 thanks to the young commander who had at Dol so 
 opportunely replied to the audacity of six thousand 
 royalists by the audacity of fifteen hundred patriots, 
 the insurrection, if not quelled, was at least greatly 
 weakened and circumscribed. Several lucky hits had 
 followed that one, and out of these successes had grown 
 a new position of affairs. Matters had changed their 
 face, but a singular complication had arisen. 
 
 In all this portion of the Vendée the Eepublic had 
 the upper hand, — that was beyond a doubt. But which 
 republic ? In the triumph which was opening out, two 
 forms of republic made themselves felt, — the republic 
 of terror, and the republic of clemency ; the one desirous 
 to conquer by rigour, and the other by mildness. Which 
 would prevail ? These two forms — the conciliating and 
 the implacable — were represented by two men, each of 
 whom possessed his special influence and authority : the 
 one a military commander, the other a civil delegate. 
 Which of them would prevail? 
 
THE TWO POLES OF THE TRUTH. 277 
 
 One of the two, the delegate, had a formidable basis 
 of support; he had arrived bearing the threatening 
 watchword of the Paris 'Commune to the battalions of 
 San terre : " No mercy ; no quarter ! " He had, in order 
 to put everything under his control, the decree of the 
 Convention, ordaining " death to whomsoever should set 
 at liberty and help a captive rebel chief to escape. " He 
 had full powers, emanating from the Committee of Pub- 
 lic Safety, and an injunction commanding obedience to 
 him as delegate, signed Robespierre, Danton, Marat. 
 The other, the soldier, had on his side only this strength, 
 > — pity. He had only his own arm, which chastised 
 the enemy ; and his heart, which pardoned them. A 
 conqueror, he believed that he had the right to spare the 
 conquered. 
 
 Hence arose a conflict, hidden but deep, between these 
 two men. The two stood in different atmospheres ; both 
 combating the rebellion, and each having his own thun- 
 derbolt, — that of the one, victory ; that of the other, 
 terror. 
 
 Throughout all the Bocage nothing was talked of but 
 them ; and what added to the anxiety of those who 
 watched them from every quarter was the fact that these 
 two men so diametrically opposed were at the same time 
 closely united. These two antagonists were friends. 
 Never sympathy loftier and more profound joined two 
 hearts ; the stern had saved the life of th>° clement, and 
 bore on his face the wound received in the effort. These 
 two men were the incarnation, — the one of life, the 
 other of death ; the one was the principle of destruction, 
 the other of peace, and they loved each other. Strange 
 problem ! Imagine Orestes merciful and Pylades piti- 
 less. Picture Arimanes the brother of Ormus ! 
 
 Let us add that the one of the pair who was called 
 * the ferocious " was, at the same time, the most broth- 
 
278 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 erly of men. He dressed the wounded, cared for the 
 sick, passed his days and nights in the ambulance and 
 hospitals, was touched by the sight of barefooted children, 
 had nothing for himself, gave all to the poor. He was 
 present at all the battles ; he marched at the head of the 
 columns and in the thickest of the fight, armed, — for 
 he had in his belt a sabre and two pistols, — yet dis- 
 armed, because no one had ever seen him draw his sabre 
 or touch his pistols. He faced blows, and did not return 
 them. It was said that he had been a priest. 
 
 One of these men was Gauvain ; the other was 
 Cimourdain. There was friendship between the two 
 men, but hatred between the two principles ; this hid- 
 den war could not fail to burst forth. One morning the 
 battle began. 
 
 Cimourdain said to Gauvain : " What have we accom- 
 plished ? " 
 
 Gauvain replied : " You know as well as I. I have 
 dispersed Lantenac's bands. He has only a few men 
 left. Then he is driven back to the forest of Fougères. 
 In eight days he will be surrounded. " 
 
 " And in fifteen days ? " 
 
 " He will be taken. " 
 
 ■ And then ? " 
 
 " You have read my notice ? * 
 
 " Yes. Well ? " 
 
 " He will be shot. " 
 
 " More clemency ! He must be guillotined. * 
 
 " As for me, " said Gauvain, " I am for a military 
 death. " 
 
 " And I, " relied Cimourdain, " for a revolutionary 
 death. " He looked Gauvain in the face, and added : 
 " Why did you set at liberty those nuns of the convent 
 of Saint Marc-le -Blanc ? " 
 
 " I do not make war on women. " answered Gauvain. 
 
THE TWO POLES OF THE TRUTH. 279 
 
 > * Those women hate the people ; and where hate is 
 concerned, one woman outweighs ten men. Why did 
 you refuse to send to the revolutionary tribunal all that 
 herd of old fanatical priests who were taken at Louvigné X " 
 
 " I do not make war on old men. " 
 
 " An old priest is worse than a young one. Kebellion 
 is more dangerous preached by white hairs. Men have 
 faith in wrinkles. No false pity, Gauvain ! The regi- 
 cides are liberators. Keep your eye fixed on the tower 
 of the Temple. * 
 
 " The Temple tower ! I would bring the Dauphin out 
 of it. I do not make war on children. " 
 
 Cimourdain's eyes grew stern. " Gauvain, learn that 
 it is necessary to make war on a woman when she calls 
 herself Marie Antoinette, on an old man when he is 
 named Pius VI. and Pope, and upon a child when he 
 is named Louis Capet " 
 
 " My master, I am not a politician. " 
 
 " Try not to be a dangerous man. Why, at the attack 
 on the post of Cossé, when the rebel Jean Treton, driven 
 back and lost, flung himself alone, sabre in hand, 
 against the whole column, didst thou cry, ' Open the 
 ranks ! Let him pass ' ? " 
 
 * Because one does not set fifteen hundred to kill a 
 single man. " 
 
 " Why, at the Cailleterie d'Astillé, when you saw 
 your soldiers about to kill the Vendean Joseph Bézier, 
 who was wounded and dragging himself along, did you 
 exclaim, ' Go on before ! This is my affair ! ' and then 
 fire your pistol in the air ? " 
 
 " Because one does not kill a man on the ground. " 
 
 " And you were wrong. Both are to-day chiefs of 
 bands. Joseph Be^ier is Mustache, and Jean Treton is 
 Jambe d'Argent. In saving those two men you gave 
 two enemies to the Kepublic. " 
 
Z6i) NINETY-THREE, 
 
 " Certainly I could wish to give her friends, and nofc 
 enemies. " 
 
 " Why, after the victory of Landéan, did you not 
 shoot your three hundred peasant prisoners ? " 
 
 " Because Bonchamp had shown mercy to the repub- 
 lican prisoners, and I wanted it said that the Bepublic 
 showed mercy to the royalist prisoners. " 
 
 " But, then, if you take Lantenac you will pardon 
 him ? " 
 
 " No. * 
 
 " Why ? Since you showed mercy to the three hun- 
 dred peasants ? " 
 
 " The peasants are ignorant men ; Lantenac knows 
 what he does. " 
 
 " But Lantenac is your kinsman. " 
 
 " France is the nearest. " 
 
 " Lantenac is an old man. " 
 
 " Lantenac is a stranger. Lantenac has no age. Lan- 
 tenac summons the English. Lantenac is invasion. 
 Lantenac is the enemy of the country. The duel be- 
 tween him and me can only finish by his death or 
 mine. " 
 
 " Gauvain, remember this vow, " 
 
 " It is sworn. " 
 
 There was silence, and the two looked at each other. 
 
 Then Gauvain resumed : " It will be a bloody date, 
 this year '93 in which we live. " 
 
 " Take care ! " cried Cimourdain. " Terrible duties 
 exist. Do not accuse that which is not accusable. 
 Since when is it that the illness is the fault of the phy- 
 sician ? Yes, the characteristic of this tremendous year 
 is its pitilessness. Why ? Because it is the grand revo- 
 lutionary year. This year in which we live is the in- 
 carnation of the Bevolution. The Bevolution has an 
 enemy, — the old world, — and it is without pity for it; 
 
THE TWO POLES OF THE TRUTH. 281 
 
 ju3t as the surgeon has an enemy, — gangrene, — and is 
 without pity for it. The Eevolution extirpates royalty 
 in the king, aristocracy in the noble, despotism in the 
 soldier, superstition in the priest, barbarism in the 
 judge ; in a word, everything which is tyranny, in all 
 which is the tyrant. The operation is fearful ; the 
 Eevolution performs it with a sure hand. As to the 
 amount of sound flesh which it sacrifices, demand of 
 Boerhaave what he thinks in regard to that. What 
 tumour does not cause a loss of blood in its cutting 
 away ? Does not the extinguishing of a conflagration 
 demand an energy as fierce as that of the fire itself ? 
 These formidable necessities are the very condition of 
 success. A surgeon resembles a butcher ; a healer may 
 have the appearance of an executioner. The Eevolution 
 devotes itself to its fatal work. It mutilates, but it 
 saves. What ! you demand pity for the virus ? You 
 wish it to be merciful to that which is poisonous ? It 
 will not listen. It holds the post, — it will extermi- 
 nate it. It makes a deep wound in civilization, from 
 whence will spring health to the human race. You 
 suffer? Without doubt. How long will it last? The 
 time necessary for the operation. After that you will 
 live. The Eevolution amputates the world. Hence this 
 haemorrhage, — '93. " 
 
 " The surgeon is calm, " said Gauvain, " and the men 
 that I see are violent. " 
 
 " The Eevolution, " replied Cimourdain, " needs savage 
 workmen to aid it! It pushes aside every hand that 
 trembles. It has only faith in the inexorables. Danton 
 is the terrible -, Eobespierre is the inflexible ; Saint- Just 
 is the immovable, Marat is the implacable. Take care, 
 Gauvain ! these names are necessary. They are worth 
 as much as armies to us ; they will terrify Europe. " 
 
 u And perhaps the future also, n said Gauvain. He 
 
282 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 checked himself, and resumed : " For that matter, my 
 master, you err. I accuse no one. According to me, 
 the true point of view of the Eevolution is its irrespon- 
 sibility. Nobody is innocent, nobody is guilty. Louis 
 XVI. is a sheep thrown among lions : he wishes to 
 escape, he tries to flee, he seeks to defend himself ; he 
 would bite if he could. But one is not a lion at will ; 
 his craze to be one passes for crime. This enraged 
 sheep shows his teeth : ' The traitor ! ' cry the* lions ; and 
 they eat him. That done, they fight among themselves. " 
 
 " The sheep is a brute. " 
 
 " And the lions, what are they ? " 
 
 This retort set Cimourdain thinking. He raised his 
 head, and answered : " These lions are consciences. 
 These lions are ideas. These lions are principles, " 
 
 " They produce the reign of Terror. " 
 
 " One day, the Eevolution will be the justification of 
 this Terror. " 
 
 " Beware lest the Terror become the calumny of the 
 Eevolution. " Gauvain continued : " Liberty, Equality, 
 Fraternity, — these are the dogmas of peace and harmony. 
 Why give them an alarming at-pect? What is it we 
 want ? To bring the peoples to a universal republic. 
 Well, do not let us make them afraid. What can in- 
 timidation serve ? The people can no more be attracted 
 by a scarecrow than birds can. One must not do evil to 
 bring about good; one does not overturn the throne in 
 order to leave the gibbet standing. Death to kings, and 
 life to nations ! Strike off the crowns ; spare the heads ! 
 The Eevolution is concord, not fright. Clement ideas 
 are ill served by cruel men. Amnesty is to me the 
 most beautiful word in human language. I will only 
 shed blood in risking my own. Besides, I simply know 
 how to fight ; I am nothing but a soldier. But if I may 
 not pardon, victory is not worth the trouble it costs. 
 
THE TWO POLES OF THE TRUTH. 283 
 
 During battle let us be the enemies of our enemies, and 
 after the victory their brothers. " 
 
 " Take care ! " repeated Cimourdain, for the third 
 time. " Gauvain, you are more to me than a son ; take 
 care ! " Then he added thoughtfully : " In a period like 
 ours, pity may become one of the forms of treason. " 
 
 Any one listening to the talk of these two men might 
 have fancied he heard a dialogue between the sword and 
 the axe. 
 
CHAPTEK VIH 
 
 DOLOROSA. 
 
 IN the mean while the mother was seeking her little 
 ones. She went straight forward. How did she 
 live ? It is impossible to say ; she did not know her- 
 self. She walked day and night, she begged, she ate 
 herbs, she lay on the ground , she slept in the open 
 air, in the thickets, under the stars, sometimes in the 
 rain and wind. She wandered from village to village, 
 from farm to farm, seeking a clew. She stopped on the 
 thresholds of the peasants' cots. Her dress was in rags. 
 Sometimes she was welcomed, sometimes she was driven 
 away ; when she could not get into the houses, she went 
 into the woods. She did not know the district; she 
 was ignorant of everything except Siscoignard and the 
 parish of Aze\ She had no route marked out; she re- 
 traced her steps, travelled roads already gone over, made 
 useless journeys ; sometimes she followed the highway, 
 sometimes a cart-track, as often the paths among the 
 copses. In these aimless wanderings she had worn out 
 her miserable garments ; she had shoes at first, then she 
 walked barefoot, then with her feet bleeding. She crossed 
 the track of warfare, among gun-shots, hearing, nothing, 
 seeing nothing, avoiding nothing, — seeking her chil- 
 dren. Eevolt was everywhere ; there were no more gen- 
 darmes, no more mayors, no authorities of any sort. 
 She had only to deal with chance passers. She spoke 
 to them, she asked, — 
 
DOLOROSA. 285 
 
 " Have you seen three little children anywhere ? * 
 
 Those she addressed would look at her. 
 
 " Two boys and a girl, " she would say. Then she 
 would name them : " Kené-Jean, Gros-Alain, Georgette. 
 You have not seen them ? " 
 
 , She would ramble on thus : " The eldest is four years 
 and a half old ; the little girl is twenty months. " Then 
 would come the cry : " Do you know where they are ? 
 They have been taken from me. " 
 
 The listeners would stare at her, and that was all. 
 
 When she saw that she was not understood, she would 
 say : " It is because they belong to me, — that is why. " 
 
 The people would pass on their way. Then she would 
 stand still, uttering no further word, but digging at her 
 breast with her nails. 
 
 However, one day, a peasant listened to her. The 
 good man set himself to thinking. " Wait, now, " said 
 he. " Three children ? " 
 
 " Yes. "■ 
 
 " Two boys — " 
 
 " And a girl. " 
 
 " You are hunting for them ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 * I have heard talk of a lord who had taken three 
 little children, and had them with him. " 
 
 '' Where is this man ? " she cried. " Where are they ? * 
 
 The peasant replied : " Go to La Tourgue. * 
 
 "Shall I find my children there ? M 
 
 " It may easily be. * 
 
 « You say— » 
 
 " La Tourgue. " 
 
 " What is that, — La Tourgue ? " 
 
 " It is a place. " 
 
 " Is it a village, a castle, a farm I * 
 
 " I never was there. n 
 
286 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 * Is it far ? " 
 
 " It is not near. " 
 
 il In which direction ? " 
 
 " Toward Fougères. " 
 
 " Which way must I go ? " 
 
 * You are at Ventortes, " said the peasant ; " you must 
 leave Ernée to the left and Coxelles to the right ; you 
 will pass by Lorchamps and cross the Leroux. " He 
 pointed his finger to the west. " Always straight before 
 you and toward the sunset. " 
 
 Ere. the peasant had dropped his arm, she was hurry- 
 ing on. 
 
 He cried after her : " But take care. They are fight- 
 ing over there. " 
 
 She did not answer or turn round; on she went 
 straight before her. 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 A PROVINCIAL BASTILE. 
 
 1. La Tourgue. 
 
 FOETY years ago, a traveller who entered the forest 
 of Fougères from the side of Laignelet, and left it 
 toward Parignë, was met on the border of this vast old 
 wood by a sinister spectacle. As he came out of the 
 thickets, La Tourgue rose abruptly before him. Not La 
 Tourgue living, but La Tourgue dead, — La Tourgue 
 cracked, battered, seamed, dismantled. 
 
 The ruin of an edifice is as much its ghost as a phan- 
 tom is that of man. No more lugubrious vision could 
 strike the gaze than that of La Tourgue. What the 
 traveller had before his eyes was a lofty round tower, 
 standing alone at the corner of the wood like a malefac- 
 tor. This tower, rising from a perpendicular rock, was 
 so severe and solid that it looked almost like a bit of 
 Eoman architecture, and the frowning mass gave the 
 idea of strength even amid its ruin. It was Eoman 
 in a way, since it was Eomanic. Begun in the ninth 
 century, it had been finished in the twelfth, after the 
 third Crusade. The peculiar ornaments of the mould- 
 ings told its age. On ascending the height, one per- 
 ceived a breach in the wall ; if one ventured to enter, he 
 found himself within the tower, — it was empty. It 
 resembled somewhat the inside of a stone trumpet set 
 upright on the ground, - — from top to bottom no parti- 
 tions, no ceilings, no floors. There were places where 
 
288 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 arches and chimneys had been torn away; falconet 
 embrasures were seen ; at different heights, rows of 
 granite corbels and a few transverse beams marked where 
 the different stories had been : these beams were covered 
 with the ordure of night-birds. The colossal wall was 
 fifteen feet in thickness at the base and twelve at the 
 summit ; here and there were chinks and holes which 
 had been doors, through which one caught glimpses of 
 staircases in the shadowy interior of the wall. The 
 passer-by who penetrated there at evening heard the cry 
 of the wood-owl, the goat-suckers, and the bats, and 
 saw beneath his feet brambles, stones, reptiles, and 
 above his head, across a black circle which looked like 
 the mouth of an enormous well, he could perceive the 
 stars. 
 
 The neighbourhood kept a tradition that in the upper 
 stories of this tower there were secret doors formed like 
 those in the tombs of the kings of Judah, of great stones 
 turning on pivots, opening by a spring, and forming 
 part of the wall when closed, — an architectural mystery 
 which the Crrsaders had brought from the East along 
 with the pointed arch. When these doors were shut, 
 it was impossible to discover them, so accurately were 
 they fitted into the other stones. At this day such 
 doors may still be seen in those mysterious cities of the 
 Anti-Libanus which escaped the burial of the twelve 
 towns in the time of Tiberius. 
 
 2. The Breach. 
 
 The breach by which one entered the ruin had been 
 the opening of a mine. For a connoisseur, familiar 
 with Errard, Sardi, and Pagan, this mine had been skil- 
 fully planned. The fire-chamber, shaped like a mitre, 
 was proportioned to the strength of the keep it had been 
 
A PROVINCIAL BASTILE. 289 
 
 intended to disembowel ; it must have held at least two 
 hundredweight of powder. The channel was serpentine, 
 which does better service than a straight one. The 
 crumbling of the mine left naked among the broken 
 stones the saucisse which had the requisite diameter, 
 that of a hen's egg. The explosion had left a deep rent 
 in the wall by which the besiegers could enter. 
 
 This tower had evidently sustained at different periods 
 real sieges conducted according to rule. It was scarred 
 with balls, and these balls were not all of the same 
 epoch. Each projectile has its peculiar way of marking 
 a rampart ; and those of every sort had left their traces 
 on this keep, from the stone balls of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury to the iron ones of the eighteenth. The breach 
 gave admittance into what must have been the ground- 
 floor. In the wall of the tower opposite the breach there 
 opened the gateway of a crypt cut in the rock, and 
 stretching among the foundations of the tower under the 
 whole extent of the ground-floor hall. This crypt, three 
 fourths filled up, was cleared out in 1855 under the 
 direction of Monsieur Auguste le Prévost, the antiquary 
 of Bernay. 
 
 3. The Oubliette. 
 
 This crypt was the oubliette. Every keep had one. 
 This crypt, like many penal prisons of that era, had two 
 stories. The upper floor, which was entered by the 
 wicket, was a vaulted ' chamber of considerable size, on 
 a level with the ground-floor hall. ' On the walls could 
 be seen two parallel and vertical furrows, extending 
 from one side to the other, and passing along the vault 
 of the roof, in which they had left deep ruts like old 
 wheel-tracks. It was what they were in fact; these 
 two furrows had been hollowed by two wheels. For- 
 
290 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 merly, in feudal days, victims were torn limb from limb 
 in this chamber by a method less noisy than dragging 
 them at the tails of horses. There had been two wheels, 
 so immense that they touched the walls and an arch. 
 To each of these wheels an arm and a leg of the victim 
 were attached ; then the wheels were turned in the in- 
 verse direction, which crushed the man. It required 
 great force ; hence the furrows which the wheels had 
 worn in the wall as they grazed it. A chamber of this 
 kind may still be seen at Yianden. 
 
 Below this room there was another. That was the 
 real dungeon. It was not entered by a door ; one pene- 
 trated into it by a hole. The victim, stripped naked, 
 was let down by means of a rope placed under his arm- 
 pits into the dungeon, through an opening left in the 
 centre of the flagging of the upper chamber. If he per- 
 sisted in living, food was flung to him through this 
 aperture. A hole of this sort may yet be seen at Bouil- 
 lon. The wind swept up through this opening. 
 
 The lower room, dug out beneath the ground-floor 
 hall, was a well rather than a chamber. It had water 
 at the bottom, and an icy wind filled it. This wind, 
 which killed the prisoner in the depths, preserved the 
 life of the captive in the room above ; it rendered his 
 prison respirable. The captive above, groping about 
 beneath his vault, only got air by this hole. For the 
 rest, whatever entered or fell there could not get out 
 again. It was for the prisoner to be cautious in the 
 darkness. A false step might make the prisoner in the 
 upper room a prisoner in the dungeon below. That was 
 his affair. If he clung to life, this hole was a peril ; if 
 he wished to be rid of it, this hole was his resource. 
 The upper floor was the dungeon ; the lower, the tomb, 
 a superposition which resembled society at that period. 
 It was what our ancestors called a moat-dungeon. The 
 
A PROVINCIAL BASTILE. 291 
 
 thing having disappeared, the name has no longer any 
 significance in our ears. Thanks to the Eevolution, we 
 hear the words pronounced with indifference. 
 
 Outside the tower, above the breach, which forty 
 years since was the only means of ingress, might be 
 seen an opening larger than the other loophole, from 
 which hung an iron grating bent and loosened. 
 
 4. The Bridge- Castle. 
 
 On the opposite side from the breach a stone bridge 
 was connected with the tower, having three arches still 
 in almost perfect preservation. This bridge had sup- 
 ported a building of which some fragments remained. 
 It had evidently been destroyed by fire ; there were left 
 only portions of the framework, between whose black- 
 ened ribs the daylight peeped, as it rose beside the 
 tower like a skeleton beside a phantom. This ruin is to- 
 day completely demolished, — not a trace of it is left. It 
 only needs one day and a single peasant to destroy that 
 which it took many centuries and many kings to build. 
 
 La Tourgue is a rustic abbreviation for La Tour- 
 Gauvain, just as La Jupelle stands for La Jupellière, 
 and Pinson-le-Tort, the nickname of a hunchbacked 
 leader, is put for Pinson-le-Tortu. La Tourgue, which 
 forty years since was a ruin, and which is to-day a 
 shadow, was a fortress in 1793. It was the old bastile 
 of the Gauvains ; toward the west guarding the entrance 
 to the forest of Fougères, — a forest which is itself now 
 hardly a grove. This citadel had been built on one of 
 the great blocks of slate which abound between Mayenne 
 and Dinan, scattered everywhere among the thickets and 
 heaths, like missiles that had been flung in some conflict 
 between Titans. The tower made up the entire fortress ; 
 beneath the tower was the rock, and at the foot of the 
 
292 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 rock one of those water-courses which the month of 
 January turns into a torrent, and which the month of 
 June dries up. 
 
 Thus protected, this fortress was in the Middle A»es 
 almost impregnable. The bridge alone weakened it. 
 The Gothic Gauvains had built without bridge. They 
 got into it by one of those swinging foot-bridges which 
 a blow of an axe sufficed to break away. As long as the 
 Gauvains remained viscounts they contented themselves 
 with this; but when they became marquises and left 
 the cavern for the court, they flung three arches across 
 the torrent, and made themselves accessible on the side 
 of the plain just as they had made themselves accessible 
 to the king. The marquises of the seventeenth century 
 and the marquises of the eighteenth no longer wished to 
 be impregnable. An imitation of Versailles replaced 
 the traditions of their ancestors. 
 
 Facing the tower, on the western side, was a high 
 plateau which ended in two plains ; this plateau almost 
 touched the tower, only separated from it by a very deep 
 ravine, through which ran the water-course, which was 
 a tributary of the Couesnon. The bridge which joined 
 the fortress and the plateau was built up high on piers ; 
 and on these piers was constructed, as at Chenonceaux, 
 an edifice in the Mansard style, more habitable than the 
 tower. But customs were still very rude ; the lords 
 continued to occupy chambers in the keep which were 
 like dungeons. The building on the bridge, which was 
 a sort of small castle, was made into a long corridor, 
 that served as an entrance, and was called the hall of 
 the guards ; above this hall of the guards, which was a 
 kind of entresol, a library was built ; above the library, 
 a granary. Long windows, with small panes in Bohe- 
 mian glass ; pilasters between the windows ; medallions 
 sculptured on the wall ; three stories : below, bartizans 
 
A PROVINCIAL BASTILE. 293 
 
 and muskets ; in the middle, books ; on high, sacks of 
 oats, —the whole at once somewhat savage and very 
 princely. 
 
 The tower rose gloomy and stern at the side. It over- 
 looked this coquettish building with all its lugubrious 
 height. From its platform one could destroy the bridge. 
 
 The two edifices — the one rude, the other elegant — 
 clashed rather than contrasted. The two styles had 
 nothing in keeping with each other. Although it 
 should seem that two semicircles ought to be identical, 
 nothing can be less alike than a Eomanic arch and the 
 classic archivault. That tower, in keeping with the 
 forests, made a stronger neighbour for that bridge, wor- 
 thy of Versailles. Imagine Alain Barte-Torte giving 
 his arm to Louis XIV. The juxtaposition was sinister. 
 These two majesties thus mingled made up a whole 
 which had something inexpressibly menacing in it. 
 
 From a military point of view, the bridge (we must 
 insist upon this) was a traitor to the tower. It embel- 
 lished, but disarmed ; in gaining ornament, the fortress 
 lost strength. The bridge put it on a level with the 
 plateau. Still impregnable on the side toward the 
 forest, it became vulnerable toward the plain, For- 
 merly it commanded the plateau ; now it was commanded 
 thereby. An enemy installed there would speedily be- 
 come master of the bridge. The library and the granary 
 would be for the assailant and against the citadel. A 
 library and a granary resemble each other in the fact 
 that both books and straw are combustible. For an 
 assailant who serves himself by fire, to burn Homer or 
 to burn a bundle of straw, provided it make a flame, is 
 all the same; the French proved this to the Germans 
 by burning the library at Heidelburg, and the Ger- 
 mans proved it to the French by burning the library of 
 Strasburg. This bridge, added to the Tourgue, was, 
 
294 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 therefore, strategically an error ; but in the seventeenth 
 century, under Colbert and Louvois, the Gauvain princes 
 no more considered themselves besiegable than did the 
 princes of Rohan or the princes of La Trémoille. Still, 
 the builders of the bridge had used certain precautions. 
 In the first place they had foreseen the possibility of con- 
 flagration : below the three casements that looked down 
 the stream they had fastened transversely to cramp- 
 irons, which could still be seen half a century back, a 
 strong ladder, whose length equalled the height of the 
 two stories of the bridge, — a height which surpassed 
 that of the three ordinary stories. Secondly, they had 
 guarded against assault, — they had cut off the bridge 
 by means of a low, heavy iron door. This door was 
 arched ; it was locked by a great key. which was hidden 
 in a place known to the master alone, and, once closed, 
 this door could defy a battering-ram and almost brave 
 a cannon-ball. It was necessary to cross the bridge in 
 order to reach this door, and to pass through the door 
 in order to enter the tower. There was no other 
 entrance. 
 
 5. The, Iron Boor, 
 
 The second story of the castle on the bridge was raised 
 by the arches, so that it corresponded with the second 
 story of the tower. It was at this height, for greater 
 security, that the iron door had been placed. The iron 
 door opened toward the library on the bridge side, and 
 toward a grand vaulted hall, with a pillar in the centre, 
 on the side. to the tower. 
 
 This hall, as has already been said, was the second 
 story of the keep. It was circular, like the tower ; a 
 long loop-hole, looking out on the fields, lighted it. 
 The rude wall was naked, and nothing hid the stones, 
 
A PROVINCIAL BASTILE. 295 
 
 which were however symmetrically laid. This hall was 
 reached by a winding staircase built in the wall,- — a 
 very simple thing when walls are fifteen feet in thick- 
 ness. In the Middle Ages a town had to be taken street 
 by street ; a street, house by house ; a house, room by 
 room. A fortress was besieged story by story. In this 
 respect La Tourgue was very skilfully disposed, and 
 was very intractable and difficult. A spiral staircase, 
 at first very steep, led from cas floor to the other. The 
 doors were askew, and were not of the height of a man. 
 To pass through, it was necessary to bow the head ; now, 
 a head bowed was a head cut off, and at each door the 
 besieged awaited the besiegers. 
 
 Below the circular hall with the pillar were two simi- 
 lar chambers, which made the first and the ground floor ; 
 and above were three. Upon these six chambers, placed 
 one upon another, the tower was closed by a lid of stone, 
 which was the platform, and which could only be reached 
 by a narrow watch-tower. The fifteen feet thickness of 
 wall which it had been necessary to pierce in order to 
 place the iron door, and in the middle of which it was 
 set, embedded it in a long arch ; so that the door when 
 closed was, both on the side toward the tower and on 
 that toward the bridge, under a porch six or seven feet 
 deep ; when it was open, these two porches joined and 
 made the entrance-arch. 
 
 In the thickness of the wall of the porch toward the 
 bridge opened the low gate of Saint Gille's screw-stair- 
 way, which led into the corridor of the first story be- 
 neath the library. This offered another difficulty to 
 besiegers. The small castle of the bridge showed, on the 
 side toward the plateau, only a perpendicular wall ; and 
 the bridge was cut there. A draw-bridge put the be- 
 sieged in communication with the plateau ; and this 
 draw-bridge (on account of the height of the plateau, 
 
296 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 never lowered except at an inclined plane) allowed access 
 to the long corridor, called the guard-room. Once mas- 
 ters of this corridor, besiegers, in order to reach the iron 
 door, would have been obliged to carry by main force the 
 winding staircase which led to the second story. 
 
 6; The Library. 
 
 As for the library, it was an oblong room, the width 
 and length of the bridge, with a single door, — the iron 
 one. A false leaf-door hung with green cloth, which it 
 was only necessary to push, masked in the interior the 
 entrance-arch of the tower. The library wall from floor 
 to ceiling was filled with glazed book-cases, in the beau- 
 tiful style of the seventeenth-century cabinet-work. Six 
 great windows, three on either side, one above each 
 arch, lighted this library. Through these windows the 
 interior could be seen from the height of the plateau. 
 In the spaces between these windows stood six marble 
 busts on pedestals of sculptured oak, — Hermolaus, of 
 Byzantium ; Athenseus, the grammarian of Naucratis ; 
 Suidas ; Casaubon ; Clovis, King of France ; and his 
 chancellor, Anachalus, who for that matter was no more 
 chancellor than Clovis was king. 
 
 There were books of various sorts in this library. One 
 has remained famous. It was an old quarto with prints, 
 having for title " Saint Bartholomew, " in great letters ; 
 and for second title, " Gospel according to Saint Bar- 
 tholomew, preceded by a dissertation by Pantœnus, 
 Christian philosopher, as to whether this gospel ought 
 to be considered apocryphal, and whether Saint Bar- 
 tholomew was the same as Nathaniel. " This book, con- 
 sidered a unique copy, was placed on a reading-desk in 
 the middle of the library. In the last century, people 
 came to see it as a curiosity. 
 
A PROVINCIAL BASTILE. 297 
 
 7. The Granary. 
 
 As for the granary, which took, like the library, the 
 oblong form of the bridge, it was simply the space be- 
 neath the woodwork of the roof. It was a great room 
 filled with straw and hay, and lighted by six Mansard 
 windows. There was no ornament except a figure of 
 Saint Bartholomew carved on the door, with this line 
 beneath, — 
 
 " Barnabus sanctus falcem jubet ire per herbam." 
 
 Thus it was a lofty, wide tower of six stories, pierced 
 here and there with loop-holes, having for entrance and 
 egress a single door of iron leading to a bridge-castle 
 closed by a draw-bridge ; behind the tower a forest ; in 
 front a plateau of heath, higher than the bridge, lower 
 than the tower ; beneath the bridge a deep, narrow ra- 
 vine full of brushwood, — a torrent in winter, a brook in 
 spring-time, a stony moat in summer. 
 
 This was the Tower Gauvain, called La Tourgue. 
 
CHAPTEK X. 
 
 THE HOSTAGES. 
 
 TULY passed ; August came. A blast, fierce and he- 
 ** roic, swept over France. Two spectres had just 
 passed beyond the horizon, — Marat with a dagger in his 
 heart, Charlotte Corday headless. Affairs everywhere 
 were waxing formidable. 
 
 As to the Vendée, beaten in grand strategic schemes, 
 she took refuge in little ones, — more redoubtable, we 
 have already said. This war was now an immense fight, ■ 
 scattered about among the woods. The disasters of the 
 large army, called the Catholic and Eoyal, had com- 
 menced. The army from Mayence had been ordered 
 into the Vendée. Eight thousand Vendeans had fallen 
 at Ancenis ; they had been repulsed from Nantes, dis- 
 lodged from Montaigu, expelled from Thouars, chased 
 from Noirmoutier, flung headlong out of Cholet, Mor- 
 tagne, and Saumur; they had evacuated Parthenay, 
 abandoned Clisson, fallen back from Châtillon, lost a 
 flag at Saint-Hilaire ; they had been beaten at Pornic, 
 at the Sables, at Fontenay, at Doué, at the Château 
 d'Eau, at the Ponts-de-Cé ; they were kept in check 
 at Luçon, were retreating from the Chataigneraye, 
 and were routed at the Eoche-sur-Yon. But on the 
 one hand they were menacing Rochelle ; and on the 
 other an English fleet in the Guernsey waters, com- 
 manded by General Craig, and bearing several English 
 regiments and some of the best officers of the French 
 
THE HOSTAGES. 299 
 
 navy, only waited a signal from the Marquis de Lan- 
 tenac to land. This landing might make the royalist 
 revolt again victorious. 
 
 Pitt was in truth a State malefactor. Policy has 
 treasons sure as an assassin's dagger. Pitt stabbed our 
 country and betrayed his own : to dishonour his coun- 
 try was to betray it. Under him and through him 
 England waged a Punic war; she spied, she cheated, 
 she hid. Poacher and forger, she stopped at nothing- 
 she descended to the very minutiae of hatred. She 
 monopolized tallow, which cost five francs a pound. An 
 Englishman was taken at Lille on whom was found a 
 letter from Prigent, Pitt's agent in Vendée, which con- 
 tained these lines : — 
 
 " I beg you to spare no money. We hope that the assas- 
 sinations will be committed with prudence; disguised priests 
 .and women are the persons most fit for this duty. Send 
 sixty thousand francs to Rouen and fifty thousand to Caen." 
 
 This letter was read in the Convention on the first of 
 August by Barère. The cruelties of Parrein, and later 
 the atrocities of Carrier, replied to these perfidies. The 
 republicans of Metz and the republicans of the South 
 were eager to march against the rebels. A decree or- 
 dered the formation of eighty companies of pioneers for 
 burning the copses and thickets of the Bocage. It was 
 an unheard-of crisis. The war only ceased on one foot- 
 ing to begin on another. " No mercy ! No prisoners ! " 
 was the cry of both parties. The history of that time 
 is black with awful shadows. 
 
 During this month of August, La Tourgue was besieged. 
 One evening, just as the stars were rising amid the calm 
 twilight of the dog-days, when not a leaf stirred in the 
 forest, not a blade of grass trembled on the plain, across 
 the stillness of the night swept the sound of a horn 
 
300 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 This horn was blown from the top of the tower. The 
 peal was answered by the voice of a clarion from below. 
 On the summit of the tower stood an armed man ; at the 
 foot, a camp spread out in the shadow. 
 
 In the obscurity about the Tower Gauvain could be 
 distinguished a moving mass of black shapes. It was 
 a bivouac. A few fires began to blaze beneath the trees 
 of the forest and among the heaths of the plateau, prick- 
 ing the darkness here and there with luminous points, 
 as if the earth were studding itself with stars at the 
 same instant as the sky ; but they were the sinister stars 
 of war. On the side toward the plateau the bivouac 
 stretched out to the plains, and on the forest side ex- 
 tended into the thicket. La Tourgue was invested. 
 
 The outstretch of the besiegers' bivouac indicated a 
 numerous force. The camp tightly clasped the fortress, 
 coming close up to the rock on the side toward the 
 tower, and close to the ravine on the bridge side. 
 
 There was a second sound of the horn, followed by 
 another peal from the clarion. This time the horn 
 questioned, and the trumpet replied. It was the de- 
 mand of the tower to the camp : " Can we speak to 
 you ? " The clarion was the answer for the camp : 
 " Yes. " 
 
 At this period the Vendeans, not being considered 
 belligerents by the Convention, and a decree having for- 
 bidden the exchange of flags of truce with " the bri- 
 gands, " the armies supplimented as they could the means 
 of communication which the law of nations authorizes 
 in ordinary war and interdicts in civil strife. Hence 
 on occasion a certain understanding between the peas- 
 ant's horn and the military trumpet. The first call was 
 only to attract attention ; the second put the question, 
 " Will you listen ? " If on this second summons the 
 clarion kept silent, it was a refusal ; if the clarion re- 
 
THE HOSTAGES. 301 
 
 plied, it was a consent. It signified, " Truce for a few 
 moments. " 
 
 The clarion having answered the second appeal, the 
 man on the top of the tower spoke, and these words 
 could be heard : — 
 
 " Men, who listen to me, I am Gouge le-Bruant, sur- 
 named Brise-Bleu because I have exterminated many 
 of yours; surnamed also Imânus, because I mean to 
 kill still more than I have already done. My finger 
 was cut off by a blow from a sabre on the barrel of my 
 gun in the attack at Granville ; at Laval you guillotined 
 my father, my mother, and my sister Jacqueline, aged 
 eighteen. This is who I am. I speak to you in the 
 name of my lord Marquis Gauvain de Lantenac, Vis- 
 count de Fontenay, Breton prince, lord of the Seven 
 Forests, — my master. 
 
 " Learn, first, that Monseigneur the Marquis, before 
 shutting himself in this tower where you hold him 
 blockaded, distributed the command among six chiefs, 
 his lieutenants. He gave to Delière the district be- 
 tween the road to Brest and the road to Ernée ; to 
 Tréton, the district between Roe and Laval ; to Jacquet, 
 called Taillefer, the border of the Haut-Maine ; to 
 Gaulier, named Grand Pierre, Château Gontier; to Le- 
 comte, Craon ; to Dubois Guy, Fougères ; and to De 
 Rochambeau, all of Mayenne. So the taking of this 
 fortress will not end matters for you ; and even if Mon- 
 seigneur the Marquis should die, the Vendée of God and 
 the king will still live. That which I say — know this 
 — is to warn you. Monseigneur is here by my side ; I 
 am the mouth through which his words pass. You 
 who are besieging us, keep silence. This is what it is 
 important for you to hear : — 
 
 " Do not forget that the war you are making against 
 us is without justice. We are men inhabiting our own 
 
302 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 country, and we fight honestly ; we are simple and pure, 
 — beneath the will of God, as -the grass is beneath the 
 dew. It is the Kepublic which has attacked us; she 
 comes to trouble us in our fields ; she has burned our 
 houses, our harvests, and ruined our farms, while our 
 women and children were forced to wander with naked 
 feet among the woods when the winter robin was still 
 singing. You who are down there and who hear me, you 
 have enclosed us in the forest and surrounded us in this 
 tower; you have killed or dispersed those who joined us ; 
 you have cannon ; you have added to your troop the 
 garrisons and posts of Mortain, of Barenton, of Teilleul, 
 of Landivy, of Evran, of Tinteniac, and of Vitré — by 
 which means you are four thousand five hundred sol- 
 diers who attack us ; and we — we are nineteen men 
 who defend ourselves. You have provisions and muni- 
 tions. You have succeeded in mining and blowing up 
 a corner of our rock and a bit of our wall. That has 
 made a gap at the foot of the tower, and this gap is a 
 breach by which you can enter, although it is not open 
 to the sky ; and the tower, still upright and strong, 
 makes an arch above it. Now, you are preparing the 
 assault; and we, — first, Monseigneur the Marquis, who 
 is Prince of Brittany, and secular Prior of the Abbey of 
 Saint Marie de Lantenac, where a daily Mass was estab- 
 lished by Queen Jeanne; and, next to him, the other 
 defenders of the tower, who are the Abbé Turmeau, 
 whose military name is Grand Francœur; my comrade 
 Guinoiseau, who is captain of Camp Vert; my comrade 
 Chante-en-Hiver, who is captain of Camp Avoine ; my 
 comrade Musette, who is captain of Camp Fourmis ; and 
 I, peasant, born in the town of Daon, through which 
 runs the brook Moriandre, — we all, all have one thing 
 to say to you. Men, who are at the bottom of this tower, 
 listen ! 
 
THE HOSTAGES. 303 
 
 " We have in our hands three prisoners, who are three 
 children. These children were adopted by one of your 
 regiments, and they belong to you. We offer to surren- 
 der these three children to you, on one condition ; it 
 is that we shall depart freely. If you refuse, listen well. 
 You can only attack us in one of two ways, — by the 
 breach, on the side of the forest ; or by the bridge, on 
 the side of the plateau. The building on the bridge has 
 three stories; in the lower story, I, Imânus — I who 
 speak to you — have put six hogsheads of tar and a hun- 
 dred fascines of dried heath ; in the top story there is 
 straw ; in the middle story there are books and papers. 
 The iron door which communicates between the bridge 
 and the tower is closed, and Monseigneur carries the 
 key'; I have myself made a hole under the door, and 
 through this hole passes a sulphur slow-match, one end 
 of which is in the tar and the other within reach of my 
 hand, inside the tower. I can fire it when I choose. 
 If you refuse o let us go out, the three children will be 
 placed in the second floor of the bridge, between the 
 story where the sulphur-match touches the tar and the 
 floor where the straw is, and the iron dooi will be shut 
 on them. If you attack by the bridge, it will be you 
 who set the building on fire ; if you attack by the breach 
 it will be we ; if you attack by the breach and the bridge 
 at the same time, the fire will be kindled at the same 
 instant by us both, and, in any case, the three children 
 will perish. 
 
 " Now, accept or refuse. If you accept, we come out. 
 If you refuse, the children die. I have spoken. " 
 
 The man speaking from the top of the tower became 
 silent. A voice from below cried : " We refuse ! w 
 
 This voice was abrupt and severe. Another voice, 
 less harsh, though firm, added : " We give you four-and- 
 twenty hours to surrender at discretion. " There was a 
 
304 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 silence, then the same voice continued : " To-morrow, 
 at this hour, if you have not surrendered, we commence 
 the assault. " 
 
 And the first voice resumed : " And then no quarter ! " 
 To this savage voice another replied from the top of 
 the tower ! Between the two battlements a lofty figure 
 bent forward, and in the starlight the stern face of the 
 Marquis de Lantenac could be distinguished , his som- 
 bre glance shot down into the obscurity and seemed to 
 look for some one . and he cried : " Hold, it is thou, 
 priest ! " 
 
 " Yes, traitor ; it is I, " replied the stern voice from 
 below. 
 
CHAPTEK XL 
 
 TERKIBLE AS THE ANTIQUE. 
 
 '"p^HE implacable voice was, in truth, that of Cimour- 
 -*■ dain ; the younger and less imperative that of 
 Gauvain. 
 
 The Marquis de Lantenac did not deceive himself in 
 fancying that he recognized Cimourdain. As we know, 
 a few weeks in this district, made bloody by civil war, 
 had rendered Cimourdain famous ; there was no notoriety 
 more darkly sinister than his. People said : Marat at 
 Paris, Châlier at Lyons, Cimourdain in Vendée. They 
 stripped the Abbé Cimourdain of all the respect which 
 he had formerly commanded ; that is the consequence 
 of a priest's unfrocking himself. Cimourdain inspired 
 horror. The severe are unfortunate ; those who note 
 their acts condemn them, though perhaps, if their con- 
 sciences could be seen, they would stand absolved. A 
 Lycurgus misunderstood appears a Tiberius. Those two 
 men, the Marquis de Lantenac and the Abbé Cimourdain, 
 were equally poised in the balance of hatred. The 
 maledictions of the royalists against Cimourdain made 
 a counterpoise to the execrations of the republicans 
 against Lantenac. Each of these men was a monster to 
 the opposing camp; so far did this equality go, that 
 while Prieur, of the Marne, was setting a price on the 
 head of Lantenac, Charette at Noirmoutiers set a price 
 on the head of Cimourdain. Let us add, these two 
 men — the marquis and the priest — were up to a cer- 
 
306 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 tain point the same man. The bronze mask of civil war 
 has two profiles, — the one turned toward the past, the 
 other set toward the future ; but both equally tragic. 
 Lantenac was the first of these profiles, Cimourdain the 
 second; only, the bitter sneer of Lantenac was full of 
 shadow and night, and on the fatal brow of Cimourdain 
 shone a gleam from the morning. 
 
 And now the besieged of La Tourgue had a respite. 
 Thanks to the intervention of Gauvain, a sort of truce 
 for twenty-four hours had been agreed upon. 
 
 Imanus had, indeed, been well informed. Through 
 the requisitions of Cimourdain, Gauvain had now four 
 thousand five hundred men under his command, part 
 national guards, part troops of the Line ; with these he 
 had surrounded Lantenac in La Tourgue, and was able 
 to level twelve cannon at the fortress, — a masked bat- 
 tery of six pieces on the edge of the forest toward the 
 tower, and an open battery of six on the plateau, toward 
 the bridge. He had succeeded in springing the mine 
 and making a breach at the foot of the tower. 
 
 Thus, when the twenty-four hours' truce was ended, 
 the attack would begin under these conditions : On the 
 plateau and in the forest were four thousand five hun- 
 dred men. In the tower nineteen ! History might find 
 the names of those besieged nineteen in the list of 
 outlaws. We shall perhaps encounter them. 
 
 As commander of these four thousand five hundred 
 men, which almost made an army, Cimourdain had 
 wished Gauvain to allow himself to be made adjutant- 
 general. Gauvain refused, saying, " When Lantenac is 
 taken, we will see. As yet, I have merited nothing. " 
 Those great commands, with low regimental rank, were, 
 for that matter, a custom among the republicans. 
 Bonaparte was, after this, at the same time colonel of 
 artillery and general-in-chief of the army of Italy. 
 
TERRIBLE AS THE ANTIQUE. 307 
 
 The Tower Gauvain had a strange destiny, — a Gau- 
 vain attacked, a Gauvain defended it. From that fact 
 rose a certain reserve in the attack, but not in the de- 
 fence ; for Lantenac was a man who spared nothing. 
 Moreover, he had always lived at Versailles, and had 
 no personal associations with La Tourgue, which he 
 scarcely knew indeed. He had sought refuge there 
 because he had no other asylum, — that was all ; he 
 would have demolished it without scruple. Gauvain 
 had more respect for the place. 
 
 The weak point of the fortress was the bridge ; but in 
 the library, which was on the bridge, were the family 
 archives. If the assault took place on that side, the 
 burning of the bridge would be inevitable. To burn the 
 archives seemed to Gauvain like attacking his fore- 
 fathers. La Tourgue was the ancestral dwelling of the 
 Gauvains ; in this tower centred all their fiefs of Brit- 
 tany, just as all the fiefs of France centred in the tower 
 of the Louvre. The home associations of Gauvain were 
 there ; he had been born within those walls. The tor- 
 tuous fatalities of life forced him, a man, to attack this 
 venerable pile which had sheltered him when a child. 
 Could he be guilty of the impiety of reducing this dwel- 
 ling to ashes ? Perhaps his very cradle was stored in 
 some corner of the granary above the library. Certain 
 reflections are emotions. Gauvain felt himself moved 
 in the presence of this ancient house of his family. 
 That was why he had spared the bridge. He had con- 
 fined himself to making any sally or escape impossible 
 by this outlet, and had guarded the bridge by a battery, 
 and chosen the opposite side for the attack. Hence the 
 mining and sapping at the foot of the tower. 
 
 Cimourdain had allowed him to take his own way. 
 He reproached himself for it ; his stern spirit revolted 
 against all these Gothic relics, and he no more believed 
 
308 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 in pity for buildings than for men. Sparing a castle 
 was a beginning of clemency. Now, clemency was 
 Gauvain's weak point. Cimourdain, as we have seen, 
 watched him, — drew him back from this, in his eyes, 
 fatal weakness. Still, he himself, though he felt a sort 
 of rage in being forced to admit it to his soul, had not 
 revisited La Tourgue without a secret shock ; he felt 
 himself softened at the sight of that study where were 
 still the first books he had made Gauvain read. He had 
 been the priest of the neighbouring village, Parigné ; 
 he, Cimourdain, had dwelt in the attic of the bridge- 
 castle ; it was in the library that he had held Gauvain 
 between his knees as a child, and taught him to lisp out 
 the alphabet ; it was within those four old walls that he 
 had seen grow this well-beloved pupil, the son of his 
 soul, increase physically and strengthen in mind. This 
 library, this small castle, these walls full of his blessings 
 upon the child, — was he about to overturn and burn 
 them ? He had shown them mercy, — not without re- 
 morse. He had allowed Gauvain to open the siege from 
 the opposite point. La Tourgue had its savage side, the 
 tower, and its civilized side, the library. Cimourdain 
 had allowed Gauvain to batter a breach in the savage 
 side alone. 
 
 In truth, attacked by a Gauvain, defended by a Gau- 
 vain this old dwelling returned in the height of the 
 French Eevolution to feudal customs. Wars between 
 kinsmen make up the history of the Middle Ages : the 
 Eteocles and Polynices are Gothic as well as Grecian, 
 and Hamlet does at Elsinore what Orestes did in Argos. 
 
CHAPTEE Xïl 
 
 POSSIBLE ESCAPE. 
 
 HHHE whole night was consumed in preparations on 
 X the one side and the other. As soon as the 
 sombre parley which we have just heard had ended, 
 Gauvain's first act was to .call his lieutenant. 
 
 Guéchamp, of whom it will be necessary to know some- 
 what, was a man of second-rate, honest, intrepid, medi- 
 ocre ; a better soldier than leader ; rigorously intelligent 
 up to the point where it ceases to be a duty to under- 
 stand ; never softened; inaccessible to corruption of any 
 sort, — whether of venality, which corrupts the con- 
 science ; or of pity, which corrupts justice. He had on 
 soul and heart those two shades, — discipline and the 
 countersign, as a horse has his blinkers on both eyes ; 
 and he walked unflinchingly in the space thus left visible 
 to him. His way was straight, but narrow. A man to 
 be depended on ; rigid in command, exact in obedience. 
 
 Gauvain spoke rapidly to him. " Guéchamp, a 
 ladder." ' 
 
 " Commandant, we have none. " 
 
 " One must be had. " 
 
 "For scaling V 
 
 " No, for escape. w 
 
 Guéchamp reflected an instant, then answered : " 1 
 understand. But for what you want, it must be very 
 high. " 
 
 " At least three stories. " 
 
310 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 tt Yes, Commandant, that is pretty nearly the height. n 
 " It must even go beyond that, for we must be certain 
 of success. " 
 
 " Without doubt. " 
 
 " How does it happen that you have no ladder ? " 
 " Commandant, you did not think best to besiege La 
 Tourgue by the plateau; you contented yourself with 
 blockading it on this side. You wished to attack, not 
 by the bridge, but the tower; so we only busied our- 
 selves with the mine, and the escalade was given up. 
 That is why we have no ladders. " 
 " Have one made immediately. " 
 " A ladder three stories high cannot be improvised. " 
 " Have several short ladders joined together. " 
 " One must have them in order to do that. " 
 ■ Find them. " 
 
 " There are none to be found. All through the coun- 
 try the peasants destroy the ladders, just as they break 
 up the carts and cut the bridges. " 
 
 " It is true ; they try to paralyze the Eepublic. " 
 " They want to manage so that we can neither trans- 
 port baggage, cross a river, nor escalade a wall. " 
 " Still, I must have a ladder. " 
 
 " I just remember, Commandant, at Javené, near 
 Fougères, there is a large carpenter's shop. They might 
 have one there. " 
 
 * There is not a minute to lose. " 
 " When do you want the ladder ? " 
 " To-morrow at this hour, at the latest. " 
 " I will send an express full speed to Javené. He 
 can take a requisition. There is a post of cavalry at 
 Javené which will furnish an escort. The ladder can 
 be here to-morrow before sunset. " 
 
 " It is well ; that will answer, " said Gauvain. " Act 
 quickly; go." 
 
POSSIBLE ESCAPE. 311 
 
 Ten minutes after, Guéchamp came back and said to 
 Gauvain : " Commandant, the express has started for 
 Javené. " 
 
 Gauvain ascended the plateau and remained for a long 
 time with his eyes fixed on the bridge-castle across the 
 ravine. The gable of the building, without other means 
 of access than the low entrance closed by the raising of 
 the draw-bridge, faced the escarpment of the ravine. In 
 order to reach the arches of the bridge from the plateau, 
 it was necessary to descend this escarpment, — a feat 
 possible to accomplish by clinging to the brushwood. 
 But once in the moat, the assailants would be exposed 
 to all the projectiles that might rain from the three 
 stories. 
 
 Gauvain finished by convincing himself that at the 
 point which the siege had reached, the veritable attack 
 ought to be by the breach of the tower. He took every 
 measure to render any escape out of the question ; he 
 increased the strictness of the investment ; drew closer 
 the ranks of his battalions, so that nothing could pass 
 between. Gauvain and Cimourdain divided the invest- 
 ment of the fortress between them. Gauvain reserved 
 the forest side for himself, and gave Cimourdain the 
 side of the plateau. It was agreed that while Gauvain, 
 seconded by Guéchamp, conducted the assault through 
 the mine, Cimourdain should guard the bridge and ra- 
 vine, with every match of the open battery lighted. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 WHAT THE MARQUIS WAS DOING. 
 
 WHILE without every preparation for the attach 
 was going on, within everything was preparing 
 for resistance. 
 
 It is not without a real analogy that a tower is called 
 a " douve ; " and sometimes a tower is breached by a 
 mine, as a cask is bored by an auger. The wall opens 
 like a bunghole. This was what had happened at La 
 Tourgue. The great blast of two or three hundredweight 
 of powder had burst the mighty wall through and 
 through. This breach started from the foot of the tower, 
 traversed the wall in its thickest part, and made a sort 
 of shapeless arch in the ground-floor of the fortress. On 
 the outside the besiegers, in order to render this gap 
 practicable for assault, had enlarged and finished it off 
 by cannon-shots. 
 
 The ground-floor which this breach penetrated was a 
 great round hall, entirely empty, with a central pillar 
 which supported the keystone of the vaulted roof. This 
 chamber, the largest in the whole keep, was not less 
 than forty feet in diameter. Each story of the tower 
 was composed of a similar room, but smaller, with 
 guards to the embrasures of the loop-holes. The ground- 
 floor chamber had neither loop-holes nor air-holes ; there 
 was about as much air and light as in a tomb. The 
 door of the dungeon, made more of iron than wood, was 
 in this ground- floor room. Another door opened upon 
 
WHAT THE MARQUIS WAS DOING. 313 
 
 a staircase which led to the upper chambers. All the 
 staircases were contrived in the interior of the wall. It 
 was into this lower room that the besiegers could arrive 
 by the breach they had made. This hall taken, there 
 would still be the tower to take. It had always been 
 impossible to breathe in that hall for any length of 
 time. Nobody ever passed twenty-four hours there 
 without suffocating. Now, thanks to the breach, one 
 could exist there. That was why the besieged had not 
 closed the breach. Besides, of what service would it 
 have been ? The cannon would have re-opened it. They 
 stuck an iron torch-holder into the wall, and put a torch 
 in it, which lighted the ground -floor. 
 
 Now, how to defend themselves ? To wall up the hole 
 would be easy, but useless. A retirade would be of 
 more service. A retirade is an intrenchment with a 
 re-entering angle, — a sort of rafted barricade, which 
 admits of converging the fire upon the assailants, and 
 while leaving the breach open exteriorly blocks it on 
 the inside. Materials were not lacking. They con- 
 structed a retirade with fissures for the passage of the 
 gun -barrels. The angle was supported by the central 
 pillar ; the wings touched the wall on either side. 
 
 The marquis directed everything- Inspirer, com- 
 mander, guide, and master, — a terrible spirit. Lante- 
 nac belonged to that race of warriors of the eighteenth 
 century, who at eighty years saved cities. He resem- 
 bled that Count d'Alberg who, almost a centenarian, 
 drove the King of Poland from Eiga. " Courage, 
 friends, " said the marquis ; " at the commencement of 
 this century, in 1713, at Bender, Charles XII. , shut up 
 in a house with three hundred Swedes, held his own 
 against twenty thousand Turks. " 
 
 They barricaded the two lower floors, fortified the 
 chambers, battlemented the alcoves, supported the doors 
 
314 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 with joists driven in by blows from a mallet ; and thus 
 formed a sort of buttress. It was necessary to leave free 
 the spiral staircase which joined the different floors, for 
 they must be able to get up and down, and to stop it 
 against the besiegers would have been to close it against 
 themselves. The defence of any place has thus always 
 some weak side. 
 
 The marquis, indefatigable, robust as a young man, set 
 an example, — lifted beams, carried stones, put his hand 1 
 to the work, commanded, aided, fraternized, laughed with 
 this ferocious clan, but remained always the noble still, 
 — haughty, familiar, elegant, savage. He permitted no 
 reply to his orders. He had said : " If the half of you 
 should revolt, I would have them shot by the other 
 half, and defend the place with those that were left * 
 Such things make a leader adored. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 WHAT IMÂNUS WAS DOING. 
 
 WHILE the marquis occupied himself with the 
 breach and the tower, Imânus was busy with the 
 bridge. At the beginning of the siege, the escape- 
 ladder which hung transversely below the windows of 
 the second story had been removed by the marquis's 
 orders, and Imânus had put it in the library. (It was, 
 perhaps, the loss of this ladder which Gauvain wished 
 to supply.) The windows of the lower floor, called the 
 guard-room, were defended by a triple bracing of iron 
 bars, set in the stone, so that neither ingress nor egress 
 was possible by them. The library -windows had no 
 bars, but they were very high. 
 
 Imânus took three men with him, who, like himself, 
 possessed capabilities and resolution that would carry 
 them through anything : these men were Hoisnard, 
 called Branche d'Or, and the two brothers Pique-en- 
 Bois. Imânus, carrying a dark lantern, opened the 
 iron door and carefully visited the three stories of the 
 bridge-castle. Branche d'Or was implacable as Imânus, 
 having had a brother killed by the Eepublicans. Imâ- 
 nus examined the upper room filled with hay and straw, 
 and the ground-floor, where he had several fire -pots 
 added to the tuns of tar ; he placed the heap of fascines 
 so that they touched the casks, and assured himself of 
 the good condition of the sulphur-match, of which one 
 end was in the bridge and the other in the tower. He 
 
316 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 spread over the floor, under the tuns and fascines, a 
 pool of tar, in which he dipped the end of the sulphur- 
 match. Then he brought into the library, between the 
 ground-floor where the tar was and the garret filled with 
 straw, the three cribs in which lay Eené-Jean, Gros- 
 Alain, and Georgette, buried in deep sleep. They car- 
 ried the cradles very gently in order not to awaken the 
 little ones. They were simple village cribs, a sort of 
 low osier-basket, which stood on the floor so that a child 
 could get out unaided. Near each cradle Imânus placed 
 a porringer of soup, with a wooden spoon. The escape- 
 ladder, unhooked from its cramping-irons, had been set 
 on the floor against the wall ; Imânus arranged the three 
 cribs, end to end, in front of the ladder. Then, think- 
 ing - that a current of air might be useful, he opened 
 wide the six windows of the library ; the summer night 
 was warm and starlight. He sent the brothers Pique- 
 en-Bois to open the windows of the upper and lower 
 stories. He had noticed on the eastern façade of the 
 building a great dried old ivy, the colour of tinder, 
 which covered one whole side of the bridge from top to 
 bottom, and framed in the windows of the three stories. 
 He thought this ivy might be left. 
 
 Imânus took a last watchful glance at everything; 
 that done, the four men left the châtelet and returned to 
 the tower. Imânus double-locked the heavy iron door, 
 studied attentively the enormous bolts, and nodded his 
 head in a satisfied way at the sulphur-match which 
 passed through the hole he had drilled, and was now the 
 sole communication between the tower and the bridge. 
 This train or wick started from the round chamber, 
 passed beneath the iron door, entered under the arch, 
 twisted like a snake down the spiral staircase leading to 
 the lower story of the bridge, crept over the floor, and 
 ended in the heap of dried fascines laid on the pool of tar. 
 
WHAT IMÂNUS WAS DOING. 317 
 
 Imânus had calculated that it would take about a quarter 
 of an hour for this wick, when lighted in the interior of 
 the tower, to set fire to the pool of tar under the library. 
 These arrangements all concluded, and every work care- 
 fully inspected, he carried the key of the iron door back 
 to the marquis, who put it in his pocket. 
 
 It was important that every movement of the besiegers 
 should be watched. Imânus, with his cowherd's horn 
 in his belt, posted himself as sentinel on the watch- 
 tower of the platform at the top of the tower. While 
 keeping a constant look-out, one eye on the forest and 
 one on the plateau, he worked at making cartridges, 
 having near him, in the embrasure of the watch-tower 
 window, a powder-horn, a canvas-bag full of good-sized 
 balls, and some old newspapers, which he tore up foi 
 wadding. 
 
 When the sun rose it lighted in the forest eight bat- 
 talions, with sabres at their sides, knapsacks on their 
 backs, and guns with fixed bayonets, ready for the as- 
 sault ; on the plateau, a battery with caissons, car- 
 tridges, and boxes of case-shot; within the fortress, 
 nineteen men loading several guns, muskets, blunder- 
 busses, and pistols, — and three children sleeping iu 
 their cradles. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 THE MASSACEE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE children woke. The little girl was the first to 
 open her eyes. The waking of children is like 
 the unclosing of flowers, — a perfume seems to exhale 
 from those fresh young souls. 
 
 Georgette, twenty months old, the youngest of the 
 three who was still a nursing baby in the month of May, 
 raised her little head, sat up in her cradle, looked at her 
 feet, and began to chatter. A ray of the morning fell 
 across her crib ; it would have been difficult to decide 
 which was the rosiest, — Georgette's foot or Aurora. The 
 other two still slept; the slumber of boys is heavier. 
 Georgette, gay and happy, began to chatter. Eené- Jean's 
 hair was brown, Gros-Alain's was auburn, Georgette's 
 blond. These tints would change later in life. Eené- 
 Jean had the look of an infant Hercules ; he slept lying 
 on his stomach, with his two fists in his eyes. Gros- 
 Alain had thrust his legs outside his little bed. 
 
 All three were in rags. The garments given them by 
 the battalion of the Bonnet Eouge had worn to shreds ; 
 they had not even a shirt between them. The two boys 
 were almost naked ; Georgette was muffled in a rag 
 which had once been a petticoat, but was now little 
 
THE MASSACRE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEW. 319 
 
 more than a jacket. Who had taken care of these chil- 
 dren ? Impossible to say. Not a mother. These sav- 
 age peasant fighters, who dragged them along from forest 
 to forest, had given them their portion of soup. That 
 was all. The little ones lived as they could. They 
 had everybody for master, and nobody for father. But 
 even about the rags of childhood there hangs a halo. 
 These three tiny creatures were lovely. 
 
 Georgette prattled. A bird sings, a child prattles ; 
 but it is the same hymn, — hymn indistinct, inarticu- 
 late, but full of profound meaning. The child, unlike 
 the bird, has the sombre destiny of humanity before it : 
 this thought saddens any man who listens to the joyous 
 song of a child. The most sublime psalm that can be 
 heard on this earth is the lisping of a human soul from 
 the lips of childhood. This confused murmur of thought 
 which is as yet only instinct, holds a strange unreason- 
 ing appeal to eternal justice; perchance it is a protest 
 against life while standing on its threshold, — a protest 
 unconscious, yet heart-rending. This ignorance, smil- 
 ing at infinity, lays upon all creation the burden of the 
 destiny which shall be offered to this feeble, unarmed 
 creature ; if unhappiness comes, it seems like a betrayal 
 of confidence. The babble of an infant is more and less 
 than speech : it is not measured, and yet it is a song ; 
 not syllables, and yet a language, — a murmur that be- 
 gan in heaven, and will not finish on earth; it com- 
 menced before human birth, and will continue in the 
 sphere beyond ! These lispings are the echo of what 
 the child said when he was an angel, and of what he 
 will say when he enters eternity. The cradle has a 
 yesterday, just as the grave has a to-morrow : this 
 morrow and this yesterday join their double mystery in 
 that incomprehensible warbling; and there is no such 
 proof of God, of eternity, and the duality of destiny, 
 
320 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 as in this awe-inspiring shadow flung across that flower- 
 like soul. 
 
 There was nothing saddening in Georgette's prattle ; her 
 whole lovely face was a smile. Her mouth smiled, her 
 eyes smiled, the dimples in her cheeks smiled. There 
 was a serene acceptance of the morning in this smile. 
 The soul has faith in the sunlight. The sky was blue, 
 warm, beautiful. This frail creature, who knew noth- 
 ing, who comprehended nothing, softly cradled in a dream 
 which was not thought, felt herself in safety amidst the 
 loveliness of Nature, — these sturdy trees, this pure 
 verdure, this landscape fair and peaceful, with its noises 
 of birds, brooks, insects, leaves, above which glowed the 
 brightness of the sun. 
 
 After Georgette, Eené-Jean, the eldest, who was past 
 four, awoke. He sat up, jumped in a manly way over 
 the side of his cradle, found out the porringer, consid- 
 ered that quite natural, and so sat down on the floor and 
 began to eat his soup. 
 
 Georgette's prattle had not awakened Gros-Alain, but 
 at the sound of the spoon in the porringer he turned over 
 with a start, and opened his eyes. Gros-Alain was the 
 one three years old. He saw his bowl ; he had only 
 to stretch out his arm and take it. So, without leaving 
 his bed, he followed Eené-Jean 's example, seized the 
 spoon in his little fist, and began to eat, holding the 
 bowl on his knees. 
 
 Georgette did not hear them ; the modulations of her 
 voice seemed measured by the cradling of a dream. Her 
 great eyes, gazing upward, were divine. No matter how 
 dark the ceiling in the vault above a child's head, 
 heaven is reflected in its eyes. 
 
 When Eené-Jean had finished his portion, he scraped 
 the bottom of the bowl with his spoon, sighed, and said 
 with dignity, " I have eaten my soup. " 
 
THE MASSACRE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEW. 321 
 
 This roused Georgette from her reverie. " Thoup ! " 
 said she. Seeing that Bene -Jean had eaten, and that 
 Gros-Alain was eating, she took the porringer which 
 was placed by her cradle, and began to eat in her turn, 
 — not without carrying the spoon to her ear much 
 oftener than to her mouth. From time to time she 
 renounced civilization, and ate with her fingers. 
 
 When Gros-Alain had scraped the bottom of his por- 
 ringer too, he leaped out of bed and joined his brother. 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 OUDDENLY from without, down below, on the side 
 ^ of the forest, came the stern, loud ring of a trum- 
 pet. To this clarion-blast a horn from the top of the 
 tower replied. This time it was the clarion which 
 called, and the horn which made answer. The clarion 
 blew a second summons, and the horn again replied. 
 Then from the edge of the forest rose a voice, distant 
 but clear, which cried thus : — 
 
 " Brigands, a summons ! If at sunset you have not 
 surrendered at discretion, we commence the attack. " 
 
 A voice, which sounded like the roar of a wild ani- 
 mal, responded from the summit of the tower : " Attack ! " 
 
 The voice from below resumed : " A cannon will be 
 fired, as a last warning, half an hour before the as- 
 sault, " 
 
 The voice from on high repeated : " Attack ! " 
 
 These voices did not reach the children, but the trum- 
 pet and the horn rose loud and clear. At the first sound 
 of the clarion, Georgette lifted her head, and stopped 
 eating ; at the sound of the horn, she dropped her spoon 
 into the porringer; at the second blast of the trumpet, 
 she lifted the little forefinger of her right hand, and, 
 raising and depressing it in turn, marked the cadences 
 of the flourish which prolonged the blast. When the 
 trumpet and the horn ceased, she remained with her 
 finger pensively lifted, and murmured, in a half-voice, 
 " Muthic. " We suppose that she wished to say, 
 u Music. " 
 
THE MASSACRE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEW. 323 
 
 The two elders, Kené-Jean and Gros-Alain, had paid 
 no attention to the trumpet and horn ; they were ab- 
 sorbed by something else : a wood-louse was just making 
 a journey across the library floor. 
 
 Gros-Alain perceived it, and cried : " There is a little 
 creature ! " Kené-Jean ran up. Gros-Alain continued : 
 " It stings. " 
 
 " Do not hurt it, " said Kené-Jean. 
 
 And both remained watching the traveller. 
 
 Georgette proceeded to finish her soup ; that done, she 
 looked about for her brothers. Kené-Jean and Gros- 
 Alain were in the recess of one of the windows, gravely 
 stooping over the wood-louse, — their foreheads touch- 
 ing, their curls mingling. They held their breath in 
 wonder, and examined the insect, which had stopped, 
 and did not attempt to move, though not appreciating 
 the admiration it received. 
 
 Georgette seeing that her brothers were watching 
 something, must needs know what it was. It was not 
 an easy matter to reach them ; still, she undertook the 
 journey. The way was full of difficulties. There were 
 things scattered over the floor. There were footstools 
 overturned, heaps of old papers, packing-cases forced 
 open and empty, trunks, rubbish of all sorts, in and out 
 of which it was necessary to sail, — a whole archipelago 
 of reefs ; but Georgette risked it. The first task was to 
 get out of her crib ; then she entered the chain of reefs, 
 twisted herself through the straits, — pushed a footstool 
 aside, crept between two coffers, got over a heap of 
 papers, climbing up one side and rolling down the other, 
 regardless of the exposure to her poor little naked legs, 
 and succeeded in reaching what a sailor would have 
 called an open sea, — that is, a sufficiently wide space oi 
 the floor which was not littered over, and where there 
 were no more perils ; then she bounded forward, traversed 
 
324 NINETY-THEEE. 
 
 this space, which was the whole width of the room, on 
 all fours with the agility of a kitten, and got near to 
 the window. There a fresh and formidable obstacle 
 encountered her : the great ladder lying along the wall 
 reached to this window, the end of it passing a little 
 beyond the corner of the recess ; it formed between 
 Georgette and her brothers a sort of cape, which must 
 be crossed. She stopped and meditated; her internal 
 monologue ended, she came to a decision. She reso- 
 lutely twisted her rosy fingers about one of the rungs, 
 which were vertical, as the ladder lay along its side: 
 she tried to raise herself on her feet, and fell back ; 
 she began again, and fell a second time ; the third 
 effort was successful. Then, standing up, she caught 
 hold of the rounds in succession, and walked the length 
 of the ladder. When she reached the extremity there 
 was nothing more to support her; she tottered, but 
 seizing in her two hands the end of one of the great 
 poles, which held the rungs, she rose again, doubled 
 the promontory, looked at Kené-Jean and Gros-Alain, 
 and began to laugh. 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Aï that instant, Eené-Jean, satisfied with the result 
 of his investigations of the wood-louse, raised his 
 head, and announced, " 'T is a she-creature. " 
 
 Georgette's laughter made Eené-Jean laugh, and Eené- 
 Jean 's laughter made Gros-Alain laugh. Georgette 
 seated herself beside her brothers, the recess forming a 
 sort of little reception chamber; but their guest, the 
 wood-louse had disappeared. He had taken advantage 
 of Georgette's laughter to hide himself in a crack of 
 the floor. 
 
 Other incidents followed the wood-louse's visit. 
 First, a flock of swallows passed. They probably had 
 their nests under the edge of the overhanging roof. 
 They flew close to the window, a little startled by the 
 sight of the children, describing great circles in the air, 
 and uttering their melodious spring song. The sound 
 made the three little ones look up, and the wood-louse 
 was forgotten. 
 
 Georgette pointed her finger toward the swallows, 
 and cried, " Chicks ! " 
 
 Eené-Jean reprimanded her. " Miss, you must not 
 say ' chicks ; ' they are birds. " 
 
 " Birz, " repeated Georgette. 
 
 And all three sat and watched the swallows. 
 
 Then a bee entered. There is nothing so like a souj 
 as a bee. It goes from flower to flower as a soul from 
 star to star, and gathers honey as the soul does light. 
 This visitor made a great noise as it came in ; it buzzed 
 at the top of its voice, seeming to say. " I have come ! I 
 
326 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 have first been to see the roses, now I come to see the 
 children. What is going on here ?" A bee is a house- 
 wife ; its song is a grumble. The children did not take 
 their eyes off the new comer as long as it stayed with 
 them. The bee explored the library, rummaged in the 
 corners, fluttered about with the air of being at home in a 
 hive, and wandered, winged and melodious, from book- 
 case to book-case, examining the titles of the volumes 
 through the glass doors as if it had an intellect. Its 
 exploration finished, it departed. 
 
 " She is going to her own house, " said Eené-Jean. 
 
 " It is a beast, " said Gros-Alain. 
 
 " No, " replied Eené-Jean, " it is a fly. " 
 
 " A f'y, " said Georgette. 
 
 Thereupon Gros-Alain, who had just found on the 
 floor a cord with a knot in one end, took the opposite 
 extremity between his thumb and forefinger, and made 
 a sort of wind-mill of the string, watching its whirls 
 with profound attention. 
 
 On her side, Georgette, having turned into a quadru- 
 ped again, and recommenced her capricious course back 
 and forward across the floor, discovered a venerable 
 tapestry-covered armchair, so eaten by moths that the 
 horse-hair stuck out in several places. She stopped 
 before this seat. She enlarged the holes, and dili- 
 gently pulled out the long hairs. Suddenly she lifted 
 one finger ; that meant, " Listen ! " 
 
 The two brothers turned their heads. A vague, dis- 
 tant noise surged up from without : it was probably the 
 attacking camp executing some strategic manoeuvre in 
 the forest; horses neighed, drums beat, caissons rolled, 
 chains clanked, military calls and responses, — a confu- 
 sion of savage sounds, whose mingling formed a sort of 
 harmony. The children listened in delight. 
 
 " It is the good God who does that," said Eené-Jean. 
 
CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 THE noise ceased. Eené-Jean remained lost in a 
 dream. 
 
 How do ideas vanish and reform themselves in the 
 brains of those little ones? What is the mysterious 
 motive of those memories at once so troubled and so 
 brief ? There was in that sweet, ' pensive little soul a 
 mingling of ideas of the good God, of prayer, of joined 
 hands, the light of a tender smile it had formerly known 
 and knew no longer; and René- Jean murmured, half 
 aloud, " Mamma ! " 
 
 " Mamma ! " repeated Gros -Alain. 
 
 " Mamma ! * cried Georgette. 
 
 Then Eené-Jean began to leap. Seeing this, Gros- 
 Alain leaped too. Gross-Alain repeated every movement 
 and gesture of his brother. Three years copies four 
 years ; but twenty months keeps its independence. 
 
 Georgette remained seated, uttering a word from time 
 to time. Georgette could not yet manage sentences. She 
 was a thinker ; she spoke in apothegms ; she was mono- 
 syllabic. Still, after a little, example proved infectious 
 and she ended by trying to imitate her brothers ; and 
 these three little pairs of naked feet began to dance, to 
 run, to totter amidst the dust of the old polished oak 
 floor, beneath the grave aspects of the marble busts 
 toward which Georgette from time to time cast an un- 
 quiet glance, murmuring " Momommes. " Probably in 
 Georgette's language this signified something which 
 
328 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 looked like a man, but yet was not one, — perhaps the first 
 glimmering of an idea in regard to phantoms. Georgette, 
 oscillating rather than walking, followed her brothers, 
 but her favourite mode of locomotion was on all fours. 
 
 Suddenly Eené-Jean, who had gone near a window, 
 lifted his head, then dropped it, and hastened to hide 
 himself in a corner of the wall made by the projecting 
 window recess. He had just caught sight of a man 
 looking at him. It was a soldier, from the encampment 
 of Blues on the plateau, who profiting by the truce, and 
 perhaps infringing it a little, had ventured to the very 
 edge of the escarpment, whence the interior of the 
 library was visible. Seeing René-Jean hide himself, 
 Gros-Alain hid too; he crouched down beside his 
 brother, and Georgette hurried to hide herself behind 
 them. So they remained, silent, motionless, Georgette 
 pressing her finger against her lips. After a few in- 
 stants, Eené-Jean ventured to thrust out his head ; the 
 soldier was there stiiî. Eené-Jean retreated quickly, 
 and the three little ones dared not even breathe. This 
 suspense lasted for some time. Finally the fear began 
 to bore Georgette ; she gathered courage to look out. 
 The soldier had disappeared. They began again to run 
 about and play. 
 
 Gros-Alain, although the imitator and admirer of 
 Eené-Jean, had a specialty, — that of discoveries. His 
 brother and sister saw him suddenly galloping wildly 
 about, dragging after him a little cart, which he had 
 unearthed behind some box. This doll's wagon had 
 lain forgotten for years among the dust, living amicably 
 in the neighbourhood of the printed works of genius and 
 the busts of sages. It was, perhaps, one of the toys 
 that Gauvain had played with when a child. Gros- 
 Alain had made a whip of his string, and cracked it 
 loudly ; he was very proud. Such are discoverers. The 
 
THE MASSACRE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEW. 329 
 
 child discovers a little wagon; the man, an America : 
 the spirit of adventure is the same. 
 
 But it was necessary to share the godsend. Bené- 
 Jean wished to harness himself to the carriage, and 
 Georgette wished to ride in it. She succeeded in seat- 
 ing herself. Bené-Jean was the horse. Gros-Alain was 
 the coachman. But the coachman did not understand 
 nis business ; the horse began to teach him. Bené-Jean 
 shouted, " Say ' Whoa ! ' " 
 
 " Whoa ! " repeated Gros-Alain. 
 
 The carrage upset. Georgette rolled out. CMlcL 
 angejs can shriek ; Georgette did so. Then she had a 
 vague wish to weep. 
 
 " Miss, " said Bené-Jean, " you are too big. " 
 
 " Me big ! " stammered Georgette. And her size con- 
 soled her for her fall. 
 
 The cornice of entablature outside the windows was 
 very broad ; the dust blowing from the plain of heath 
 had collected there ; the rains had hardened it into soil, 
 the wind had brought seeds ; a blackberry-bush had 
 profited by the shallow bed to grow up there. This 
 bush belpnged to the species called fox blackberry. It 
 was August now, and the bush was covered with berries ; 
 a branch passed in by the window, and hung down 
 nearly to the floor. Gros-Alain, after having discov- 
 ered the cord and the wagon, discovered this bramble. 
 He went up to it. He gathered a berry and ate. 
 
 " I am hungry, " said Bené-Jean. 
 
 Georgette arrived, galloping up on her hands and 
 knees. The three between them stripped the branch, 
 and ate all the berries. They stained their faces and 
 hands with the purple juice till the trio of little seraph s 
 was changed into a knot of little fauns, which would 
 have shocked Dante and charmed Virgil. They shrieked 
 with laughter. From time to time the thorns pricked 
 
330 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 their fingers. There is always a pain attached to every 
 pleasure. Georgette held out her finger to Bené-Jean, 
 on which showed a tiny drop of blood, and pointing to 
 the bush, said, " P'icks. " 
 
 Gros-Alain, who had suffered also, looked suspi- 
 ciously at the branch and said : " It is a beast. " 
 
 " No, " replied Eené-Jean ; " it is a stick. " 
 
 " Then a stick is wicked, " retorted Gros-Alain. 
 
 Again Georgette, though she had a mind to cry, burst 
 out laughing. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN the mean time René-Jean, perhaps jealous of the 
 discoveries made by his younger brother, had con- 
 ceived a grand project. For some minutes past, while 
 busy eating the berries and pricking his fingers, his eyes 
 turned frequently toward the chorister's desk mounted 
 on a pivot and isolated like a monument in the centre 
 of the library. On this desk lay the celebrated volume 
 of " Saint Bartholomew. " It was in truth a magnificent 
 and priceless folio. It had been published at Cologne 
 by the famous publisher of the edition of the Bible of 
 1682, Blœuw, or, in Latin, Cœsius. It was printed, 
 not on Dutch paper, but upon that beautiful Arabian 
 paper so much admired by Edrisi, which was made of 
 silk and cotton and never grew yellow ; the binding was 
 of gilt leather, and the clasps of silver ; the boards were 
 of that parchment which the parchment sellers of Paris 
 took an oath to buy at the Hall Saint Mathurin, * and 
 nowhere else. " The volume was full of engravings on 
 wood and copper, with geographical maps of many coun- 
 tries ; it had on a fly-leaf a protest of the printers, paper- 
 makers, and publishers against the edict of 1635, which 
 set a tax on " leather, fur, cloven-footed animals, sea-fish, 
 and paper ; " and at the back of the frontispiece could be 
 read a dedication to the Gryphes, who were to Lyons 
 what the Elzevirs were to Amsterdam. These combina- 
 tions resulted in a famous copy almost as rare as the 
 " Apostol " at Moscow. 
 
332 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 The book was beautiful ; it was for that reason René- 
 Jean looked at it, too long perhaps. The volume 
 chanced to be open at a great print representing Saint 
 Bartholomew carrying his skin over his arm. He could 
 see this print where he stood. When the berries were 
 all eaten, Eené-Jean watched it with a feverish longing, 
 and Georgette, following the direction of her brother's 
 eyes, perceived the engraving, and said" Pic 'sure. " 
 
 This exclamation seemed to decide René-Jean. Then, 
 to the utter stupefaction of Gros-Alain, an extraordinary 
 thing happened. A great oaken chair stood in one cor- 
 ner of the library ; René- Jean marched toward it, seized 
 and dragged it unaided up to the desk. Then he 
 mounted thereon and laid his two hands on the volume. 
 Arrived at this summit, he felt a necessity for being 
 magnificently generous ; he took hold of the upper end 
 of the " pic 'sure " and tore it carefully down. The tear 
 went diagonally over the saint, but that was not the 
 fault of René- Jean ; it left in the book the left side, one 
 eye, and a bit of the halo of the old apocryphal evange- 
 list. He offered Georgette the other half of the saint 
 and all his skin. Georgette took the saint, and ob- 
 served, " Momommes. " 
 
 " And I ! " cried Gros-Alain. 
 
 The tearing of the first page of a book by children is 
 like the shedding of the first drop of blood by men, — 
 it decides the carnage. René-Jean turned the leaf ; next 
 to the saint came the Commentator Pantœnus. René- 
 Jean bestowed Pantœnus upon Gros-Alain. Meanwhile 
 Georgette tore her large piece into two little morsels, 
 then the two into four, and continued her work till his- 
 tory might have noted that Saint Bartholomew, after 
 having been flayed in Armenia, was torn limb from 
 limb in Brittany. 
 
CHAPTEE VI 
 
 THE quartering completed, Georgette held out heï 
 hand to Bene- Jean, and said, " More I " After 
 the saint and the commentator followed portraits of 
 frowning glossarists. The first in the procession was 
 Gavantus : Eené-Jean tore him out and put Gavantus 
 into Georgette's hand. The whole group of Saint Bar- 
 tholomew's commentators met the same fate in turn. 
 
 There is a sense of superiority in giving. Kené-Jean 
 kept nothing for himself. Gros-Alain and Georgette 
 were watching him, — he was satisfied with that ; the 
 admiration of his public was reward enough. Eené- 
 Jean, inexhaustible in his magnanimity, offered Fabricio 
 Pignatelli to Gros-Alain, and Father Stilting to Geor- 
 gette ; he followed these by the bestowal of Alphonse 
 Tostat on Gros-Alain, and Cornelius a Lapide upon 
 Georgette. Then Gros-Alain received Henry Hammond, 
 and Georgette received Father Eoberti, together with a 
 view of the city of Douai, where that father was born, 
 in 1619. Gros- Alain received the protest of the sta- 
 tioners, and Georgette obtained the dedication to the 
 Gryphes. Then it was the turn of the maps. Eené- 
 Jean proceeded to distribute them. He gave Gros- 
 Alain Ethiopia, and Lycaonia fell to Georgette. This 
 done he tumbled the book upon the floor. 
 
 This was a terrible moment. With mingled ecstasy 
 and fright Gros-Alain and Georgette saw Eené-Jean 
 wrinkle his brows, stiffen his legs, clinch his fists, and 
 
334 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 push the massive folio off the stand. The majestic old 
 tome was fairly a tragic spectacle. Pushed from its 
 resting-place, it hung for an instant on the edge of the 
 desk, — seemed to hesitate, trying to balance itself, — 
 then crashed down, and broken, crumpled, torn, ripped 
 from its binding, its clasps fractured, flattened itself 
 miserably upon the floor. Fortunately it did not fall 
 on the children ; they were only bewildered, not crushed. 
 Victories do not always finish so well. Like all glories 
 it made a great noise, and left a cloud of dust. 
 
 Having flung the book on the ground, René-Jean de- 
 scended from the chair. There was a moment of silence 
 and fright; victory has its terrors. The three children 
 seized one another's hands and stood at a distance, look- 
 ing toward the vast dismantled tome. But after a brief 
 reverie Gros-Alain approached it quickly and gave it a 
 kick. Nothing more was needed. The appetite for 
 destruction grows rapidly. Eené-Jean kicked it, Geor- 
 gette dealt a blow with her little foot which overset her, 
 though she fell in a sitting position, by which she 
 profited to fling herself on Saint Bartholomew. The 
 spell was completely broken. René-Jean pounced upon 
 the saint, Gros-Alain dashed upon him, and joyous, dis- 
 tracted, triumphant, pitiless, tearing the prints, slash- 
 ing the leaves, pulling out the markers, scratching the 
 binding, ungluing the gilded leather, breaking off the 
 nails from the silver corners, ruining the parchment, 
 making mince-meat of the august text, working with 
 feet, hands, nails, teeth, — rosy, laughing, ferocious, the 
 t hree angels of J 3jey demolished the defenceless evange- 
 list. They annihilated Armenia, Judea, Benevento, 
 where rest the relics of the saipJ- ; Nathaniel, who is 
 perhaps the same as Bartholomew ; the Pope Gelasius, 
 who declared the Gospel of Saini Bartholomew (Na- 
 thaniel) apocryphal ; all the portraits, all th** "maps ; and 
 
THE MASSACRE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEW. 335 
 
 the inexorable massacre of the old book absorbed them 
 so entirely that a mouse ran past without their perceiv- 
 ing it. It was an extermination. To tear in pieces 
 history, legend, science, miracles, whether true or false, 
 the Latin of the Church, superstitions, fanaticisms, mys- 
 teries, — to rend a whole religion from top to bottom 
 would be a work for three giants ; but the three children 
 completed it. Hours passed in the labour, but they 
 reached the end ; nothing remained of Saint Bartholomew. 
 
 When they had finished, when the last page was 
 loosened, the last print lying on the ground, when 
 nothing was left of the book but the edges of the text 
 and pictures in the skeleton of the binding, Bene- Jean 
 sprang to his feet, looked at the floor covered with scat- 
 tered leaves, and clapped his hands. Gros-Alain clapped 
 his hands likewise. Georgette took one of the pages in 
 her hand, rose, leaned against the window-sill, which 
 was on a level with her chin, and commenced to tear 
 the great leaf into tiny bits, and scatter them out of the 
 casement. Seeing this, Eené-Jean and Gros-Alain be- 
 gan the same work. They picked up and tore into small 
 bits, picked up again and tore, and flung the pieces out 
 of the window, as Georgette had done, page by page. 
 Eent by these little desperate fingers, the entire ancient 
 volume almost flew down the wind. 
 
 Georgette thoughtfully watched these swarms of little 
 white papers dispersed by the breeze, and said : " Butter- 
 f'ies!" 
 
 So the massacre ended with these tiny ghosts vanish 
 ing in the blue of heaven! 
 
CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 THUS was Saint Bartholomew for the second time 
 made a martyr, — he who had been the first time 
 sacrificed in the year of our Lord 49. 
 
 Then the evening came on ; the heat increased ; there 
 was sleep in the air. Georgette's eyes began to close: 
 René- Jean went to his crib, pulled outkthe straw sack 
 which served instead of a mattress, dragged it to the 
 window, stretched himself thereon, and said, " Let us 
 go to bed. " Gros-Alain laid his head against Bené- 
 Jean, Georgette placed hers on Gros- Alain, and the three 
 malefactors fell asleep. 
 
 The warm breeze entered by the open windows, the 
 perfume of wild flowers from the ravines and hills min- 
 gled with the breath of evening. Nature was calm and 
 pitiful ; everything beamed, was at peace, full of love ; 
 the sun gave its caress, which is light, to all creation ; 
 everywhere could be heard and felt that harmony which 
 is thrown off from the infinite sweetness of inanimate 
 things. There is a motherhood in the infinite, — she 
 perfects her grandeur by her goodness ; creation is a 
 miracle in full bloom. It seemed as if one could feel 
 some invisible Being take those mysterious precautions 
 which in the formidable conflict of opposing elements of 
 life protect the weak against the strong; at the same 
 time there was beauty everywhere, — the splendour 
 equalled the gentleness. The landscape that seemed 
 asleep had those lovely hazy effects which the changings 
 
THE MASSACRE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEW, 337 
 
 of light and shadow produce on the fields and rivers, 
 the mists mounted toward the clouds like reveries 
 changing into dreams ; the birds circled noisily about 
 La Tourgue ; the swalluws looksc! in through the win- 
 dows, as if they wished to be certain that the children 
 slept well. 
 
 They were prettily grouped upon one another, motion- 
 less, half-naked, posed like little Cupids ; they were 
 adorable and pure ; the united ages of the three did not 
 make nine years. * They were dreaming dreams of para- 
 dise, which were reflected on their lips in vague smiles. 
 Perchance God whispered in their ears. They were of 
 those whom all human languages call the weak and 
 blessed ; they were made majestic by innocence. All 
 was silence about them, as if the breath from their tender 
 bosoms was the care of the universe, and listened to by 
 the whole creation ; the leaves did not rustle, the grass 
 did not stir. It seemed as if the vast starry world held 
 its breath for fear of disturbing these three humble an- 
 gelic sleepers, and nothing could have been so sublime 
 as that reverent respect of Nature in presence of this 
 littleness. 
 
 The sun was near its setting ; it almost touched the 
 horizon. Suddenly, across this profound peace burst a 
 lightning-like glare, which came from the forest ; then 
 a savage noise. A cannon had just been fired. The 
 echoes seized upon this thundering, and repeated it with 
 an infernal din; the prolonged growling from hill to 
 hill was terrible. It woke Georgette. She raised her 
 head slightly, lifted her little finger, and said : " Boom ! " 
 The noise died away ; the silence swept back ; Georgette 
 laid her head on Gros-Alain, and fell asleep once more. 
 
BOOK VL 
 
 THE MOTHEE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 DEATH PASSES. 
 
 WHEN" this evening came, the mother whom we 
 saw wandering almost at random had walked 
 the whole day. This was indeed the history of all her 
 days, — to go straight before her without stopping. For 
 her slumbers of exhaustion, given in to in any corner 
 that chanced to be nearest, were no more rest than the 
 morsels she ate here and there (as the birds pick up 
 crumbs) were nourishment. She ate and slept just what 
 was absolutely necessary to keep her from falling down 
 dead. She had passed the previous night in an empty 
 barn ; civil wars leave many such. She had found in a 
 bare field four walls, an open door, a little straw be- 
 neath the ruins of a roof; and she had slept on the 
 straw under the rafters, feeling the rats slip about be- 
 neath, and watching the stars rise through the gaping 
 wreck above. She slept for several hours ; then she 
 woke in the middle of the night and set out again in 
 order to get over as much road as possible before the 
 great heat of the day should set in. For any one who 
 travels on foot in the summer, midnight is more fitting 
 than noon. 
 
DEATH PASSES. 339 
 
 She had followed to the best of her ability the brief 
 itinerary the peasant of Yautortes had marked out for 
 her: she had gone as straight as possible toward the 
 west. Had there been any one near, he might have 
 heard her ceaselessly murmur, half aloud, " La Tourgue. " 
 Except the names of her children, this word was all she 
 knew. As she walked, she dreamed. She thought of 
 the adventures with which she had met; she thought 
 of all she had suffered, all which she had accepted, — 
 of the meetings, the indignities, the terms offered; the 
 bargains proposed and submitted to, — now for a shelter, 
 now for a morsel of bread, sometimes simply to obtain 
 from some one information as to her route. A wretched 
 woman is more unfortunate than a wretched man, for 
 she may be a prey to lust. Frightful wandering march ! 
 But nothing mattered to her, provided she could discover 
 her children. 
 
 Her first encounter this day had been a village. The 
 dawn was beginning to break ; everything was still 
 tinged with the gloom of night. A few doors were al- 
 ready half open in the principal streets, and curious 
 faces looked out of the windows ; the inhabitants were 
 agitated like a disturbed bee-hive : this arose from a 
 noise of wheels and chains which had been heard. On 
 the church square a frightened group with their heads 
 raised, watched something descend a high hill along the 
 road toward the village. It was a four-wheeled wagon 
 drawn by five horses, harnessed with chains. On this 
 wagon could be distinguished a heap like a pile of long 
 joists, in the middle of which lay some shapeless object, 
 covered with a large canvas resembling a pall. Ten 
 horsemen rode in front of the wagon, and ten others be- 
 hind; these men wore three-cornered hats, and above 
 their shoulders rose what seemed to be the points of 
 naked sabres. This whole cortege, advancing slowly 
 
340 NINETY-THKEE. 
 
 showed black and distinct against the horizon , the 
 wagon looked black, the harness looked black, the horse- 
 men looked black. Behind them gleamed the pallor of 
 the morning. They entered the village and moved 
 toward the square. Daylight had come on while the 
 wagon was going down the hill, and the cortege could 
 be distinctly seen ; it was like watching a procession of 
 shadows, for not a man in the party uttered a word. 
 The horsemen were gendarmes ; they did in truth carry 
 drawn sabres. The cover was black. 
 
 The wretched wandering mother entered the village 
 from the opposite side, and approached the mob of peas- 
 ants at the moment the gendarmes and the wagon reached 
 the square. Among the crowd, voices whispered ques- 
 tions and replies : — 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " The guillotine. " 
 
 " Whence does it come ? " 
 
 " From Fougères. " 
 
 " Where is it going ? " 
 
 " I do not know. They say to a castle in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Parigné. " 
 
 " Parigné. " 
 
 " Let it go where it likes, provided it does not stop 
 here. " 
 
 This great cart, with its lading hidden by a sort of 
 shroud ; this team, these gendarmes, the noise of the 
 chains, the silence of the men, the grey dawn, — all 
 made up a whole that was spectral. The group trav- 
 ersed the square and passed out of the village. The 
 hamlet lay in a hollow between two hills : at the end 
 of a quarter of an hour, the peasants, who had stood 
 still as if petrified, saw the lugubrious procession reap- 
 pear on the summit of the western hill ; the heavy 
 wheels jolted along the ruts, the chains clanked in the 
 
DEATH PASSES. 341 
 
 morning wind, the sabres shone in the rising sun, — 
 then the road turned off, and the cortege disappeared. 
 
 It was the very moment when Georgette woke in the 
 library by the side of her still sleeping brothers, and 
 wished her rosy feet £ood -morning. 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 DEATH SPEAKS. 
 
 HHHE mother watched this mysterious procession, but 
 -*- neither comprehended nor sought to understand; 
 her eyes were busy with another visiou, — her children, 
 lost amidst the darkness. She went out of the village 
 also, a little after the cortege which had filed past, and 
 followed the same route at some distance behind the 
 second squad of gendarmes. Suddenly the word " guil- 
 lotine" recurred to her. " Guillotine! " she said to her- 
 self. This rude peasant, Michelle Fléchard, did not 
 know what that was, but instinct warned her. She 
 shivered without being able to tell wherefore ; it seemed 
 horrible to her to walk behind this thing and she turned 
 to the left, quitted the high-road, and passed into a 
 wood, which was the forest of Fougères. After wander- 
 ing for some time, she perceived a belfry and some roofs ; 
 it was one of the villages scattered along the edge of the 
 forest. She went toward it ; she was hungry. It was 
 one of the villages in which the republicans had estab- 
 lished military posts. She passed on to the square in 
 front of the mayoralty. 
 
 In this village there was also fright and anxiety. A 
 crowd pressed up to the flight of steps. On the top step 
 stood a man, escorted by soldiers ; he held in his hand 
 a great open placard ; at his right was stationed a drum- 
 mer, at his left a bill-sticker, carrying a paste-pot and 
 brush. Upon the balcony over the door appeared the 
 
DEATH SPEAKS. 343 
 
 mayor, wearing a tricoloured scarf over his peasant 
 dress. The man with the placard was a public crier. 
 He wore his shoulder-belt, with a small wallet hanging 
 from it, — a sign that he was going from village to vil- 
 lage, and had something to publish throughout the dis- 
 trict. At the moment Michelle Fléchard approached, 
 he had unfolded the placard, and was beginning to read. 
 He read in a loud voice : — 
 
 " THE FRENCH EEPUBLIG : ONE. AND INDIVISIBLE. " 
 
 The drum beat. There was a sort of movement among 
 the assembly. A few took off their caps ; others pulled 
 their hats closer over their heads. At that time and in 
 that country one could almost recognize the political 
 opinions of a man by his head-gear : hats were roval- 
 ist ; caps republican. The confused murmur of voices 
 ceased ; everybody listened ; the crier read : — ■ 
 
 " In virtue of the orders we have received, and the author- 
 ity delegated to us by the Committee of Public Safety — " 
 
 The drum beat the second time. The crier con- 
 tinued : — 
 
 " And in execution of the decree of the National Conven- 
 tion, which puts beyond the law all rebels taken with arms in 
 their hands, and which ordains capital punishment to whom- 
 soever shall give them shelter or help them to escape — " 
 
 A peasant asked, in a low voice of his neighbour: 
 "What is that, — capital punishment?" 
 His neighbour replied : " I do not know. " 
 The crier fluttered the placard : — 
 
 " In accordance with Article 17th of the law of April 30, 
 which gives full power to delegates and sub-delegates against 
 rebels, we declare outlaws — ?; 
 
 He made a pause, and resumed : — 
 
344 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " The individuals known under the names and surnames 
 which follow — " 
 
 The whole assemblage listened intently. The crier's 
 voice sounded like thunder. He read : — 
 
 " Lantenac, brigand — " 
 
 " That is Monseigneur, " murmured a peasant And 
 through the whole crowd went the whisper : " It is 
 Monseigneur. n Tho crier resumed : — 
 
 Lantenac, ci-devant marquis, brigand. Imânus, brig- 
 
 a 
 and 
 
 Two peasants glanced sideways at each other. 
 " That is Gouge-le-Bruant. " 
 
 * Yes ; it is Brise-Bleu. " 
 
 The crier continued to read the list : - — 
 
 11 Grand Francœur, brigand — " 
 
 The assembly murmured,— 
 " He is a priest. M 
 " Yes ; the Abbé Turmeau. " 
 
 " Yes ; he is curé somewhere in the neighbourhood o\ 
 the wood of Chapelle. " 
 
 " And brigand, " said a man in a cap. 
 The crier read : — 
 
 " Boisnouveau, brigand. The two brothers, Pique-en-Bois 
 brigands, Houzard, brigand — " 
 
 " That is Monsieur de Quelen, " said a peasant 
 
 " Panier, brigand — " 
 
 " That is Monsieur Sepher. 5;( 
 " Place Nette, brigand — " 
 
 * That is Monsieur Jamois. * 
 
DEATH SPEAKS. 345 
 
 The crier continued his reading without noticing these 
 commentaries : — 
 
 * < Guinoiseau, brigand. Chatenay, styled Robi, brigand — n 
 
 A peasant whispered : " Guinoiseau is the same as Le 
 Blond ; Chatenay is from Saint Ouen. " 
 
 " Hoisnard, brigand — " pursued the crier. 
 
 Among the crowd could be heard, — 
 " He is from Ruillé. " 
 " Yes ; it is Branche d'Or. " 
 
 " His brother was killed in the attack on Fontorson. " 
 " Yes ; Hoisnard Malonnière. " 
 " A fine young chap of nineteen. " 
 " Attention ! " said the crier. " Listen to the last of 
 the list : — 
 
 " Belle Vigue, brigand. La Musette, brigand. Sabre- 
 tout, brigand. Brin d'Amour — " 
 
 A îad nudged -the elbow of a young girl. The girl 
 smiled. 
 
 The crier continued :- — 
 
 ' ' Chante-en-Hiver, brigand. Le Chat, brigand — " 
 
 A peasant said, " That is Moulard. " 
 
 u Tabouze, brigand — ,? 
 
 Another peasant said : " That is Gauffre. " 
 " There are two of the Gauffres, " added a woman. 
 " Both good fellows, " grumbled a lad. 
 The crier shook the placard, and the drum beat. The 
 crier resumed his reading : — 
 
 "The above-named, in whatsoever place taken, and theiï 
 identity established, shall be immediately put to death." 
 
316 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 There was a movement among the crowd. The crier 
 
 went on : — - 
 
 " Any one affording them shelter or aiding their escape, 
 will be brought before a court-martial and put to death. 
 Signed — " 
 
 The silence grew profound. 
 
 "The Delegate of the Committee of Public Safety, 
 
 " ClMOURDAIN." 
 
 " A priest, " said a peasant 
 
 " The former curé of Parigné, " said another. 
 
 A townsman added, " Turmeau and Cimourdain — 
 A Blue priest and a White. " 
 
 " Both black, " said another townsman. 
 
 The mayor, who was on the balcony lifted his hat s 
 and cried : " Long live the Eepublic ! " 
 
 A roll of the drum announced that the crier had not 
 finished. 
 
 He was making a sign with his hand. " Attention ! " 
 said he. " Listen to the last four lines of the Govern- 
 ment proclamation. They are signed by the Chief of 
 the exploring column of the North Coasts, Commandant 
 Gauvain. " 
 
 " Listen ! " exclaimed the voices of the crowd. And 
 the crier read : — 
 
 " Under pain of death — " 
 
 All were silent. 
 
 "It is forbidden, in pursuance of the above order, to give 
 aid or succour to the nineteen rebels above named, at this 
 time shut up and surrounded in La Tourgue." 
 
 " What ? " cried a voice. It was the voice of a 
 woman ; of the mother. 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 MUTTEKINGS AMONG THE PEASANTS. 
 
 MICHELLE FLÉCHAED had mingled with the 
 crowd. She had listened to nothing, but one 
 hears certain things without listening. She caught the 
 words " La Tourgue. " She raised her head. " What ? " 
 she repeated " La Tourgue ! " 
 
 People stared at her. She appeared out of her mind. 
 She was in rags. Voices murmured, " She looks like a 
 brigand. " A peasant woman, who carried a basket of 
 buckwheat biscuits, drew near, and said to her in a low 
 voice : " Hold your tongue ! " 
 
 Michelle Fléchard gazed stupidly at the woman. 
 Again she understood nothing. The name La Tourgue 
 had passed through her mind like a flash of lightning 
 and the darkness closed anew behind it. Had she not a 
 right to ask information ? What had she done that they 
 should stare at her in this way ? 
 
 But the drum had beat for the last time ; the bill- 
 sticker posted up the placard ; the mayor retired into 
 the house ; the crier set out for some other village, and 
 the mob dispersed. A group remained before the pla- 
 card ; Michelle Fléchard joined this knot of people. 
 They were commenting on the names of the men de- 
 clared outlaws. There were peasants and townsmen 
 among them ; that is to say, Whites and Blues. 
 
 A peasant said : " After all, they have not caught 
 everybody. Nineteen are only nineteen. They have 
 
348 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 not got Kiou, they have not got Benjamin Moulins, nor 
 Goupil of the parish of Andouillé. " 
 
 " Nor Lorieul of Monjean, " said another. 
 
 Others added, — 
 
 " Nor Brice Denys. " 
 
 " Nor François Dudouet. * 
 
 " Yes, him of Laval. " 
 
 " Nor Huet of Launey Yilliers. " 
 
 " Nor Grégis. " 
 
 "Nor Pilon." 
 
 • Nor Filleul. " 
 
 " Nor Ménicent. " 
 
 " Nor Guéharrée. n 
 
 " Nor the three brothers Logerais. n 
 
 " Nor Monsieur Lechandelier de Pierreville. " 
 
 " Idiots ! " said a stern-faced, white-haired old man. 
 " They have all if they have Lantenac. " 
 
 " They have not got him yet, " murmured one of the 
 young men. 
 
 The old man added : " Lantenac taken, the soul is 
 taken. Lantenac dead, La Vendée is slain. " 
 
 " Who, then, is this Lantenac ? " asked a townsman. 
 
 A townsman replied : " He is a ci-devant. " 
 
 Another added : " He is one of those who shoot 
 women. " 
 
 Michelle Fléchard heard and said : " It is true. " 
 
 They turned toward her. 
 
 She went on : " For he shot me. " 
 
 It was a strange speech ; it was like hearing a living 
 woman declare herself dead. People began to look at 
 her a little suspiciously. She was indeed a startling 
 object ; trembling at everything, scared, quakiag, show- 
 ing a sort of wild-animal trouble, so frightened that she 
 was frightful. There is always something terrible in 
 the feebleness of a despairing woman ; she is a creature 
 
MUTTERINGS AMONG THE PEASANTS. 349 
 
 who has reached the furthest limits of destiny. But 
 peasants have not a habit of noticing details. One of 
 them muttered, " She might easily be a spy. " 
 
 " Hold your tongue and get away from here, " the 
 good woman who had already spoken to her said in a 
 low tone. Michelle Fléchard replied : " I am doing no 
 harm. I am looking for my children. " 
 
 The good woman glanced at those who were staring at 
 Michelle, touched her forehead with one finger and 
 winked, saying : " She is a simpleton. " Then she took 
 her aside and gave her a biscuit. Michelle Fléchard, 
 without thanking her, began to eat greedily. 
 
 " Yes, " said the peasants, " she eats like an animal ; 
 she is an idiot. " So the tail of the mob dwindled away. 
 They all went away, one after another. 
 
 When Michelle Fléchard had devoured her biscuit, 
 she said to the peasant woman : " Good ! I have eaten. 
 ISTow where is La Tourgue ? " 
 
 " It is taking her again ! " cried the peasant. 
 
 " I must go to La Tourgue ! Show me the way to La 
 Tourgue ! " 
 
 "Never!" exclaimed the peasant. "Do you want to 
 get yourself killed, eh ? Besides, I don't know. Oh, 
 see here ! You are really crazy ! Listen, poor woman,, 
 you look tired. Will you come to my house and rest 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " I never rest, " said the mother. 
 
 " And her feet are torn to pieces ! " murmured the 
 peasant. 
 
 Michelle Fléchard resumed: "Don't I tell you that 
 they have stolen my children ? — a little girl and two 
 boys. I come from the carnichot in the forest. You 
 can ask Tellmarch the Caimand about me, and the man 
 I met in the field down yonder. It was the Caimand 
 who cured me ; it seems I had something broken. A1Î 
 
350 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 that is what happened to me. Then there is Sergeant 
 Eadoub besides, — you can ask him, he will tell thee. 
 Why, he was the one we met in the wood. Three, — I 
 tell you three children! even the oldest one's name, 
 — Eené-Jean. I can prove all that. The other's name 
 is Gros -Alain, and the little girl's is Georgette. My 
 husband is dead, — they killed him ; he was the farmer 
 at Siscoignard. You look like a good woman, — show 
 me the road ! I am not crazy ; I am a mother ! I have 
 lost my children; I am trying to find them, — that is 
 all. I don't know exactly which way I have come. I 
 slept last night in a barn on the straw. La Tourgue, 
 that is where I am going. I am not a thief. You must 
 see that I am telling the truth ; you ought to help me 
 find my children. I do not belong to the neighbour- 
 hood. I was shot, but I do not know where. " 
 
 The peasant shook her head, and said : " Listen, trav- 
 eller. In times of revolution you mustn't say things 
 that cannot be understood ; you may get yourself taken 
 up in that way. " 
 
 " But La Tourgue ! " cried the mother. " Madame, 
 for the love of the Child Jesus and the Blessed Virgin 
 up in Paradise, I beg you, madame, I entreat you, I 
 conjure you, tell me which way I must go to get to La 
 Tourgue ! " 
 
 The peasant woman went into a passion. " I do not 
 know ! And if I knew I would not tell ! It is a bad 
 place. People do not go there. " 
 
 " But I am going, " said the mother. And she set 
 forth again. 
 
 The woman watched her depart, muttering, " Still, 
 she must have something to eat. " She ran after 
 Michelle Fléchard and put a roll of black bread in her 
 hand : " There is for your supper. " 
 
 Michelle Fléchard took the buckwheat bread, did not 
 
MUTTERINGS AMONG THE PEASANTS. 351 
 
 answer, did not turn her head, but walked on. She 
 went out of the village. As she reached the last houses 
 she met three ragged, barefooted little children. She 
 approached them, and said : " These are two girls and 
 a boy. " Noticing that they looked at the bread, she 
 gave it to them. The children took the bread, then 
 grew frightened. She plunged into the forest. 
 
CHAPTER I¥. 
 
 A MISTAKE. 
 
 (~\N the same morning, before the dawn appeared, 
 ^-^ this happened amidst the obscurity of the forest, 
 along the crossroad which goes from Javené to Lécousse. 
 . All the roads of the Breage are between high banks , 
 but of all the routes, that leading from Javené to 
 Parigné by the way of Lécousse is the most deeply em- 
 bedded. Besides that, it is winding; it is a ravine 
 rather than a road. This road comes from Vitré, and 
 had the honour of jolting Madame de Sévigné's carriage. 
 It is, as it were, walled in to the right and left by 
 hedges. There could be no better place for an ambush. 
 
 On this morning, an hour before Michelle Fléchard 
 from another point of the forest reached the first village 
 where she had seen the sepulchral apparition of the 
 wagon escorted by gendarmes, a crowd of men filled 
 the copses where the Javené road crosses the bridge over 
 the Couesnon. The branches hid them. These men were 
 peasants, all wearing jackets of skins, which the kings 
 of Brittany wore in the sixth century and the peasants 
 in the eighteenth. The men were armed, — some with 
 guns, others with axes. Those who carried axes had 
 just prepared in an open space a sort of pyre of dried 
 fagots and billets, which only remained to be set on 
 fire ; those who had guns were stationed at the two sides 
 of the road in watchful positions. Anybody who could 
 have looked through the leaves would have seen every- 
 
A MISTAKE. 353 
 
 where fingers on triggers, and guns aimed toward the 
 openings left by the interlacing branches. These men 
 were on the watch. All the guns converged toward the 
 road, which the first gleams of day had begun to whiten. 
 In this twilight low voices held converse: — ■ 
 
 " Are you sure of that ? " 
 
 " Well, they say so. " 
 
 " She is about to pass ? " 
 
 " They say she is in the neighbourhood. " 
 
 " She must not go out. " 
 
 " She must be burned. " 
 
 " We are three villages who have come out for that. 5> 
 
 " Yes ; but the escort ? " 
 
 " The escort will be killed. " 
 
 " But will she pass by this road ? * 
 
 " They say so'. " 
 
 " Then she comes from Vitré ?" 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " But somebody said she was coming from Fougères. " 
 
 " Whether she comes from Fougères or Vitré, she 
 comes from the devil. " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " And must go back to him. " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " So she is going to Parigné ? " 
 
 " It appears so. * 
 
 " She will not go. " 
 
 " No. " 
 
 "No, no, no!" 
 
 " Attention. " 
 
 " It became prudent now to be silent, for the day was 
 breaking. Suddenly these ambushed men held their 
 breath; they caught a sound of wheels and horses' feet. 
 They peered through the branches, and could perceive 
 indistinctly a long wagon, an escort on horseback, and 
 
354 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 something on the wagon, coming toward them along the 
 high-banked road. 
 
 " There she is, " said one, who appeared to be the 
 leader. 
 
 " Yes, " said one of the scouts ; u with the escort. " 
 
 " How many men ? " 
 
 " Twelve. " 
 
 " We were told they were twenty. " 
 
 " Twelve or twenty, we must kill the whole. " 
 
 " Wait till they get within sure aim. " 
 
 A little later, the wagon and its escort appeared at a 
 turn in the road. " Long live the king ! " cried the 
 chief peasant. A hundred guns were fired at the same 
 instant. 
 
 When the smoke scattered, the escort was scattered 
 also. Seven horsemen had fallen ; five had fled. The 
 peasants rushed up to the wagon. 
 
 " Hold ! " cried the chief ; " it is not the guillotine ! 
 It is a ladder. " 
 
 A long ladder was, in fact, all the wagon carried. 
 The two horses had fallen wounded; the driver had 
 been killed, but not intentionally. 
 
 " All the same, " said the chief ; " a ladder with an 
 escort looks suspicious. It was going toward Parigné. 
 It was for the escalade of La Tourgue, very sure. " 
 
 " Let us burn the ladder ! " cried the peasants. 
 
 And they burned the ladder. As for the funereal 
 wagon for which they had been waiting, it was pursuing 
 another road, and was already two leagues off, in the 
 village where Michelle Fléchard saw it pass at sunrise. 
 
. CHAPTER V. 
 
 VOX IN DESERTO. 
 
 WHEN Michelle Fléchard left the three children 
 to whom she had given her bread, she took her 
 way at random through the wood. Since nobody would 
 point out the road, she must find it out for herself. 
 Now and then she sat down, then rose, then reseated 
 herself again. She was borne down by that terrible 
 fatigue which first attacks the muscles, then passes into 
 the bones, — weariness like that of a slave. She was a 
 slave in truth, — the slave of her lost children. She 
 must find them ; each instant that elapsed might be to 
 their hurt. Whoso has a duty like this woman's has no 
 rights ; it is forbidden even to stop to take breath. But 
 she was very tired. In the extreme of exhaustion which 
 she had reached, another step became a question, — Can 
 one make it ? She had walked all the day, encountering 
 no other village, not even a house. She took first the 
 right path, then a wrong one, ending by losing herself 
 amidst leafy labyrinths, resembling one another pre- 
 cisely. Was she approaching her goal ? Was she near- 
 ing the term of her Passion ? She was in the Via 
 Dolorosa, and felt the overwhelming of the last station. 
 Was she about to fall in the road, and die there ? There 
 came a moment when to advance farther seemed impos- 
 sible to her. The sun was declining, the forest growing 
 dark ; the paths were hidden beneath the grass, and she 
 was helpless. She had nothing left but God. She be- 
 gan to call; no voice answered. 
 
356 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 She looked about; she perceived an opening in the 
 branches, turned in that direction, and found herself 
 suddenly on the edge of the wood. She had before her 
 a valley, narrow as a trench, at the bottom of which a 
 clear streamlet ran along over the stones. She discov- 
 ered then she was burning with thirst; she went down 
 to the stream, knelt by it, and drank. She took advan- 
 tage of her kneeling position to say her prayers. 
 
 When she rose she tried to decide upon a course. She 
 crossed the brook. Beyond the little valley stretched, 
 as far as the eye could reach, a plateau covered with 
 short underbrush, which, starting from the brook, as- 
 cended in an inclined plain, and filled the whole hori- 
 zon. The forest had been a solitude ; this plain was a 
 desert. . Behind every bush of the forest she might meet 
 some one ; on the plateau, as far as she could see, noth- 
 ing met her gaze. A few birds, which seemed fright- 
 ened, were flying away over the heath. Then, in the 
 midst of this awful abandonment, feeling her knees give 
 way under her, and, as if gone suddenly mad, the dis- 
 tracted mother flung forth this strange cry into the 
 silence : " Is there any one here ? " 
 
 She waited for an answer. It came. A low, deep 
 voice burst forth ; it proceeded from the verge of the 
 horizon, was borne forward from echo to echo ; it was 
 either a peal of thunder or a cannon, and it seemed as 
 if the voice replied to the mother's question, and that 
 it said, " Yes. " Then the silence closed in 'anew. 
 
 The mother rose, animated with fresh life. There 
 was some one ; it seemed to her as if she had now some 
 person with whom she could speak. She had just drank 
 and prayed ; her strength came back ; she began to as- 
 cend the plateau in the direction whence she had heard 
 that vast and far-off voice. Suddenly she saw a lofty 
 tower start up on the extreme edge of the horizon. Ifc 
 
VOX IN DESERTO. 357 
 
 was the only object visible amidst the savage landscape ; 
 a ray from the setting sun crimsoned its summit. It 
 was more than a league away. Behind the tower spread 
 a great sweep of scattered verdure lost in the mist : it 
 was the forest of Fougères. This tower appeared to her 
 to be the point whence came the thundering which had 
 sounded like a summons in her ear. Was it that which 
 had given the answer to her cry ? 
 
 Michelle Fléchard reached the top of the plateau ; 
 she had nothing but the plain before her. She walked 
 toward the tower. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
NINETY-THREE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 Vol. IL 
 
 BOOK IV. — (Continued.) 
 
 Chaptrr Page 
 
 VI. The Situation 4 1 
 
 VIL Preliminaries » 5 
 
 VIII. The Word and the Roar 10 
 
 IX. Titans against Giants 15 
 
 X. Radoub 20 
 
 XI. Desperate . . . . , 28 
 
 XII. Deliverance 32 
 
 XIII. The Executioner 35 
 
 XIV. Imanus also Escapes 38 
 
 XV. Never put a Watch and a Key in the same 
 
 Pocket 41 
 
 BOOK V. — In Demons Dbtjs. 
 
 I. Eound, but Lost . 45 
 
 II. Prom the Door of Stone to the Iron Door . . 54 
 III- Where we see the Children wake that we saw 
 
 go asleep . 57 
 
 BOOK VI. — After the Victory the Combat begins. 
 
 I. Lantenac taken 63 
 
 II. Gauvain's Self-Questioning . 66 
 
 III. The Commandant's Mantle SO 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK VII. — Feudality and Kevolution. 
 Chapter Pagb 
 
 I. The Ancestor 83 
 
 II. The Court-Martial » 92 
 
 III. The Votes 96 
 
 IV. After Cimourdain the Judge comes Cimourdain 
 
 the Master 102 
 
 V. The Dungeon .■ ■ ■' t 104 
 
 VI. When the Sun rose • . • 114 
 
 BUG-JARGAL 1 
 
 CLAUDE GUEUX 1 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 Vol. II. 
 
 Page 
 "A CLAMOUR ROSE! ' MERCY ! MERCY !'" 121 
 
 BUG JARGAL. 
 
 Pierrot carrying off Marie 63 
 
 " Who can tell if the bullets of the enemy may not 
 
 have spared his head for his country's guillotine ? " 211 
 
 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 Claude Gueux addressing his Companions 11 
 
NINETY-THREE 
 
 BOOK IV. (Continued.) 
 
 CHAPTEE VL 
 
 THE SITUATION. 
 
 THE moment had come. The inexorable held the 
 pitiless. Cimourdain had Lantenac in his hand. 
 
 The old royalist rebel was taken in his form ; it was 
 evident that he could not escape, and Cimourdain meant 
 that the marquis should be beheaded here, — upon his 
 own territory, his own lands, — on this very spot, in 
 sight of his ancestral dwelling-place, that the feudal 
 stronghold might see the head of the feudal lord fall, 
 and the example thus be made memorable. It was with 
 this intention that he had sent to Fougères for the guil- 
 lotine, which we lately saw upon its road. To kill Lan- 
 'tenac 'was to slay the Vendée ; to slay the Vendée was 
 to save France. Cimourdain did not hesitate. The 
 conscience of this man was quiet; he was urged to 
 ferocity by a sense of duty. 
 
 The marquis appeared lost; as far as that went, 
 Cimourdain was tranquil. But there was a considera- 
 tion which troubled him. The struggle must inevitably 
 be a terrible one. Gauvain would direct it, and perhaps 
 would wish to take part. This young chief was a sol- 
 
 TOL. XVIII. — I 
 
2 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 dier at heart ; he was just the man to fling himself into 
 the thick of this pugilistic combat. If he should be 
 killed, — Gauvain, his child ! the unique affection he 
 possessed on earth ! So far fortune had protected the 
 youth ; but fortune might grow weary. Cimourdain 
 trembled. His strange destiny had placed him here be- 
 tween these two Gauvains, — for one of whom he wished 
 death, for the other life. 
 
 The cannon-shot which had roused Georgette in her 
 cradle and summoned the mother in the depths of her 
 solitude had done more than that. Either by accident, 
 or owing to the intention of the man who fired the piece, 
 the ball, although only meant as a warning, had struck 
 the guard of iron bars which protected the great loop- 
 hole of the first ^oor of the tower, broken it and half 
 wrenched it away. The besieged had not had time to 
 repair this damage. 
 
 The besieged had been boastful, but they had very 
 little ammunition. Their situation, indeed, was much 
 more critical than the besiegers supposed. If they had 
 had powder enough they would have blown up La 
 Tourgue when th^y and the enemy should be together 
 within it; this had been their dream. But their re- 
 serves W9re exhausted ; they had not more than thirty 
 charges left for each man. They had plenty of guns, 
 blunderbusses, and pistols, but few cartridges. They 
 had loaded all the weapons in order to keep up a steady 
 fire; but how long could this steady firing last? They 
 must lavishly exhaust the resources which they required 
 to husband. That was the difficulty. Fortunately 
 (sinister fortune) the struggle would be mostly man to 
 man ; sabre and poniard would be more needed than fire- 
 arms. The conflict would be rather a duel with knives 
 than a battle with guns. This was the hope of the 
 besieged. 
 
THE SITUATION. 3 
 
 The interior of the tower seemed impregnable. In 
 the lower hall, which the mine had breached, the re- 
 tirade so skilfully constructed guarded the entrance. 
 Behind the retirade was a long table covered with loaded 
 weapons, blunderbusses, carbines, and muskets ; sabres, 
 axes, and poniards. Since they had no powder to blow 
 up the tower, the crypt of the oubliettes could not be 
 utilized ; therefore the marquis had closed the door of 
 the dungeon. Above the ground-floor hall was the 
 round chamber which could only be reached by the 
 narrow, winding staircase. This chamber (in which 
 there also set a table covered with loaded weapons ready 
 to the hand) was lighted by the great loop-hole, the 
 grating of which had just been broken by the cannon- 
 ball. From this chamber the spiral staircase ascended 
 to the circular room on the second floor, in which was 
 the iron door communicating with the bridge-castle. 
 This chamber was called indifferently the " room with 
 the iron door, " or the " mirror-room, " from numerous 
 small looking-glasses hung to rusty old nails on the 
 naked stones of the wall, — a fantastic mingling of ele- 
 gance and savage desolation. Since the apartments on 
 the upper floor could not be successfully defended, this 
 mirror-room became what Manesson Mallet, the law- 
 giver in regard to fortified places, calls " the last post 
 where the besieged can capitulate. " The struggle, as 
 we have already said, would be to keep the assailants 
 from reaching this room. This second-floor round cham- 
 ber was lighted by loop-holes ; still, a torch burned 
 there. This torch, in an iron holder like the one in the 
 hall below, had been kindled by Imanus, and the end 
 of the sulphur-match placed near it. Terrible careful- 
 ness ! At the end of the ground-floor hall was a board 
 placed upon trestles, which held food, like the arrange- 
 ment in a Homeric cavern; great dishes of rice, fur- 
 
4 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 mety of black grain, hashed veal, hotchpotch, biscuits, 
 stewed fruit, and jugs of cider. Whoever wished could 
 eat and drink. 
 
 The cannon-shot set them all on the watch. Not more 
 than a half hour of quiet remained to them. From the 
 top of the tower Imânus watched the approach of the 
 besiegers. 
 
 Lantenac had ordered his men not to fire as the 
 assailants came forward. He said : " They are four 
 thousand five hundred. To kill outside is useless. 
 When they try to enter, we are as strong as they. " 
 Then he laughed, and added : " Equality, Fraternity. " 
 
 It had been agreed that Imânus should sound a warn- 
 ing on his horn when the enemy began to advance. The 
 little troop, posted behind the retirade or on the stairs, 
 waited with one hand on their muskets, the other on 
 their rosaries. 
 
 This was what the situation had resolved itself into : 
 For the assailants a breach to mount, a barricade to 
 force, three rooms (one above the other) to take in suc- 
 cession by main strength, two winding staircases to be 
 carried step by step under a storm of bullets. For the 
 besieged — to die ! 
 
CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 PEELIMINAKIES. 
 
 GAUVAIN on his side arranged the order of attack. 
 He gave * his last instructions to Cimourdain, 
 whose part in the action, it will be remembered, was to 
 guard the plateau, and to Guéchamp, who was to wait 
 with the main body of the army in the forest camp. It 
 was understood that neither the masked battery of the 
 wood nor the open battery of the plateau would fire un- 
 less there should be a sortie or an attempt at escape on 
 the part of the besieged. Gauvain had reserved for him- 
 self the command of the storming column. It was 
 that which troubled Cimourdain. 
 
 The sun had just set. A tower in an open country 
 resembles a ship in open sea. It must be attacked in 
 the same manner : it is a boarding rather than an as- 
 sault. No cannon; nothing useless attempted. What 
 would be the good of cannonading walls fifteen feet 
 thick ? A port-hole ; men forcing it on the one side, 
 men guarding it on the other ; axes, knives, pistols, 
 fists, and teeth, — that is the undertaking. 
 
 Gauvain felt that there was no other way of carrying 
 La Tourgue. Nothing can be more murderous than a 
 conflict so close that the combatants look into one an- 
 other's eyes. He had lived in this tower when a child, 
 and knew its formidable recesses by heart. He medi- 
 tated profoundly. 
 
 A few paces from him his lieutenant, Guéchamp, 
 stood with a spy-glass in his hand, examining the hori- 
 
6 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 zon in the direction of Parigné. Suddenly he cried 
 " Ah ! at last ! " 
 
 This exclamation aroused Gauvain from his reverie, 
 ■ What is it, Guéchamp ? " 
 
 " Commandant, the ladder is coming. " 
 
 " The escape-ladder ? " 
 
 ■ Yes. " 
 
 " How ? It has not yet got here ? " 
 
 " No, Commandant And I was troubled. The ex- 
 press that I sent to Javené came back. " 
 
 " I know it. " 
 
 " He told me that he had found at the carpenter's 
 shop in Javené a ladder of the requisite dimensions ; he 
 took it ; he had it put on a cart ; he demanded an escort 
 of twelve horsemen, and he saw them set out from 
 Parigné, — the cart, the escort, and the ladder. Then 
 he rode back full speed, and made his report; and he 
 added that the horses being good and the departure hav- 
 ing taken place about two o'clock in the morning the 
 wagon would be here before sunset. " 
 
 " I know all that. Well ? " 
 
 " Well, Commandant, the sun has just set, and the 
 wagon which brings the ladder has not yet arrived. " 
 
 " Is it possible ? Still, we must commence the attack. 
 The hour has come. If we were to wait, the besieged 
 would think we hesitated. " 
 
 " Commandant, the attack can commence. '" 
 
 " But the escape-ladder is necessary. " 
 
 " Without doubt. " 
 
 " But we have not got it. " 
 
 " We have it. " 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Tt was that which made me say, ' Ah ! at last ! * The 
 itfagon did not arrive ; I took my telescope, and exam- 
 ined the route from Parigné to La Tourgue, and, Com- 
 
PRELIMINARIES. 7 
 
 mandant, I am satisfied. The wagon and the escort are 
 coming down yonder ; they are descending a hill. You 
 can see them. " 
 
 Gauvain took the glass and looked. " Yes ; there it 
 is. There is not light enough to distinguish very 
 clearly. But 'I can see the escort, — it is certainly that. 
 Only the escort appears to me more numerous than you 
 said, Guéchamp. " 
 
 " And to me also. " 
 
 " They are about a quarter of a league off. " 
 
 " Commandant, the escape-ladder will be here in a 
 quarter of an hour. " 
 
 " We can attack. " 
 
 It was indeed a wagon which they saw approaching, 
 but not the one they believed. As Gauvain turned he 
 saw Sergeant Eadoub standing behind him, upright, his 
 eyes downcast, in the attitude of military salute. 
 
 " What is it, Sergeant Eadoub ? " 
 
 " Citizen commandant, we, the men of the Battal- 
 ion of the Bonnet Eouge, have a favour to ask of 
 you. • 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " To have us killed. " 
 
 * Ah ! " said Gauvain. 
 
 " Will you have that kindness ? " 
 
 * But — that is according to circumstances, " said 
 Gauvain. 
 
 " Listen, Commandant. Since the affair of Pol, you 
 are careful of us. We are still twelve. " 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " That humiliates us. " 
 
 " You are the reserve. " 
 
 " We would rather be the advance-guard. " 
 
 " But I need you to decide success at the close of the 
 engagement. I keep you back for that. 
 
8 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Too much. " 
 
 " No. You are in the column. You march. * 
 
 a In the rear. Paris has a right to march in front * 
 
 * I will think of it, Sergeant Eadoub. " 
 
 " Think of it to-day, my commandant. There is an 
 opportunity. There are going to be hard blows to give 
 or to take. It will be lively. La Tourgue will burn 
 the fingers of those that touch her. We demand the 
 favour of being in the party. " The sergeant paused, 
 twisted his moustache, and added, in an altered voice : 
 " Besides, look you, my commandant, our little ones are 
 in this tower. Our children are there, — the children of 
 the battalion, — our three children. That abominable 
 beast called Brise-Bleu and Imânus, this Gouge-le- 
 Bruant, this Bouge-le-Gruant, this Fouge-le-Truant, 
 this thunder-clap of the devil, threatens our children. 
 Our children, — our pets, Commandant. If all the earth- 
 quakes should mix in the business, we cannot have any 
 misfortune happen to them. Do you hear that — author- 
 ity ? We will have none of it. A little while ago I took 
 advantage of the truce, and mounted the plateau, and 
 looked at them through a window ; yes, they are cer- 
 tainly there, — you can see them from the edge of the 
 ravine. I did see them, and they were afraid of me, 
 the darlings. Commandant, if a single hair of their 
 little cherub pates should fall, I swear by the thousand 
 names of everything sacred, — I, Sergeant Eadoub, — 
 that I will have revenge out of somebody. And that is 
 what all the battalion say : either we want the babies 
 saved, or we want to be all killed. It is our right : yes 
 •— all killed. And now, salute and respect. " 
 
 Gauvain held out his hand to Eadoub, and said : 
 K You are brave men. You shall have a place in the 
 attacking column. I will divide you into two parties. 
 I will put six of you in the vanguard to make sure that 
 
PRELIMINARIES. 9 
 
 the troops advance, and six in the rear-guard to make 
 sure that nobody retreats. " 
 
 a Shall I command the twelve, as usual ? " 
 
 " Certainly. " 
 
 " Then, my commandant, thanks. For I am of the 
 vanguard. " 
 
 Eadoub made another military salute, and went back 
 to his company. 
 
 Gauvain drew out his watch, spoke a few words in 
 Guéchamp's ear, and the storming column began to 
 form. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE WORD AND THE ROAR. 
 
 NOW, Cimourdain, who had not yet gone to his post 
 on the plateau, approached a trumpeter. " Sound 
 your trumpet ! " said he. 
 
 The clarion sounded ; the horn replied. Again the 
 trumpet and the horn exchanged a blast. 
 
 " What does that mean ? " Gauvain asked Guéchamp. 
 " What is it Cimourdain wants ? " 
 
 Cimourdain advanced toward the tower, holding a 
 white handkerchief in his hand. He spoke in a loud 
 voice : " Men who are in the tower, do you know me ? " 
 
 A voice — the voice of Imânus — replied from the 
 summit : " Yes. " 
 
 The following dialogue between the two voices reached 
 the ears of those about : — 
 
 " I am the Envoy of the Republic. " 
 
 " You are the late Curé of Parigné. " 
 
 " I am the delegate of the Committee of Public 
 Safety. " 
 
 " You are a priest. " 
 
 " I am the representative of the law. M 
 
 " You are a renegade. " 
 
 " I am the commissioner of the Revolution. * 
 
 u You are an apostate. " 
 
 " I am Cimourdain. " 
 
THE WORD AND THE ROAR. 11 
 
 " You are the demon. " 
 
 "Do you know me ? " 
 
 " We hate you. " 
 
 " Would you be content if you had me in your power ? " 
 
 " We are here eighteen, who would give our heads to 
 have yours. " 
 
 " Very well ; I come to deliver myself up to you. " 
 
 From the top of the tower rang a burst of savage 
 laughter, and this cry : " Come ! " 
 
 The camp waited in the breathless silence of 
 expectancy. 
 
 Cimourdain resumed : " On one condition. " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Listen. " 
 
 " Speak. » 
 
 " You hate me ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " And I love you. I am your brother. " 
 
 The voice from the top of the tower replied : " Yes, 
 Cain. " 
 
 Cimourdain went on in a singular tone, at once loud 
 and sweet : " Insult me ; but listen. I come here un- 
 der a flag of truce. Yes, you are my brothers. You 
 are poor mistaken creatures. I am your friend. I am 
 the light, and I speak to ignorance. Light is always 
 brotherhood. Besides, have we not all the same mother, 
 — our country ? Well, listen to me : you will know 
 hereafter, or your children will know, or your children's 
 children will know, that what is done in this moment 
 is brought about by the law above, and that the Revo- 
 lution is the work of God. While awaiting the time 
 when all consciences, even yours, shall understand this ; 
 when all fanaticisms, even yours, shall vanish, — while 
 waiting for this great light to spread, will no one have 
 pity on your darkness ? I come to you. I offer you my 
 
12 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 head. I do more, — I hold out my hand to you. 1 
 demand of you the favour to destroy me in order to save 
 yourselves. I have unlimited authority, and that which 
 I say I can do. This is a supreme instant. I make a 
 last effort. Yes, he who speaks to you is a citizen and 
 in this citizen — yes — there is a priest. The citizen 
 defies you, but the priest implores you. Listen to me. 
 Many among you have wives and children. I am de- 
 fending your children and your wives, — defending them 
 against yourselves. Oh, my brothers — " 
 
 " Go on ! Preach ! " sneered Imânus. 
 
 " My brothers, do not let the terrible horn sound, 
 Throats are to be cut. Many among us who are here 
 before you will not see to-morrow's sun; yes, many of 
 us will perish, and you — you are all going to die. 
 Show mercy to yourselves. Why shed all this blood, 
 when it is useless ? Why kill so many men, when it 
 would suffice to kill two ? " 
 
 " Two ? " repeated Imânus. 
 
 " Yes. Two. " 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " Lantenac and myself. " Cimourdain spoke more 
 loudly. " Two men are too many. Lantenac for us ; I 
 for you. This is what I propose to you, and you will 
 all have your lives safe. Give us Lantenac, and take 
 me. Lantenac will be guillotined, and you shall do 
 what you choose with me. " 
 
 " Priest, " howled Imânus, " if we had thee we would 
 roast thee at a slow fire ! " 
 
 " I consent, " said Cimourdain. He went on : " You, 
 the condemned who are in this tower, you can all in an 
 hour be living and free. I bring you safety. Do you 
 accept ? " 
 
 Imânus burst forth : " You are not only a villain, you 
 are a madman. Ah, why do you come here to disturb 
 
THE WORD AND THE ROAR. 13 
 
 us ? "Who begged you to come and speak to us ? We 
 give up Monseigneur ? What is it you want ? " 
 
 " His head. And I offer — " 
 
 " Your skin. Oh, we would flay you like a dog, Curé 
 Cimourdain ! Well, no ; your skin is not worth his 
 head. Get away with you ! " 
 
 " The massacre will be horrible. For the last time 
 — reflect." 
 
 Night had come on during this strange colloquy, which 
 could be heard without and within the tower. The 
 Marquis de Lantenac kept silence, and allowed events 
 to take their course. Leaders possess such sinister 
 egotism ; it is one of the rights of responsibility. 
 
 Imanus sent his voice beyond Cimourdain ; he shouted : 
 " Men, who attack us, we have submitted our proposi- 
 tions to you : they are settled ; we have nothing to 
 change in them. Accept them, else woe to all ! Do 
 you consent ? We will give you up the three children, 
 and you will allow liberty and life to us all! " 
 
 " To all, yes, " replied Cimourdain, " except one. " 
 
 " And that ? " 
 
 " Lantenac. n 
 
 " Monseigneur ! Give up Monseigneur ? Never ! " 
 
 " We can only treat with you on that condition. " 
 
 • Then begin. " 
 
 Silence fell. Imânus descended after having sounded 
 the signal on his horn ; the marquis took his sword in 
 his hand ; the nineteen besieged grouped themselves in 
 silence behind the retirade of the lower hall and sank 
 upon their knees. They could hear the measured tread 
 of the column as it advanced toward the tower in the 
 gloom. The sound came nearer; suddenly they heard 
 it close to them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then 
 all, kneeling, aimed their guns and blunderbusses across 
 the openings of the barricade, and one ot them — GranCi 
 
14 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Francœur, who was the priest Turmeau — raised him- 
 self, with a naked sabre in his right hand and a crucifix 
 in his left, saying, in a solemn voice, — ■ 
 
 " In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the 
 Holy Ghost!" 
 
 All fired at the same time, and the battle began. 
 
CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. 
 
 THE encounter was frightful. This hand-to-hand 
 contest went beyond the power of fancy in its 
 awfulness. To find anything similar, it would be ne- 
 cessary to go back to the great duels of iEschylus or th» 
 ancient feudal butcheries ; to " those attacks with short 
 arms " which lasted down to the seventeenth century, 
 when men penetrated into fortified places by concealed 
 breaches, tragic assaults, where, says the old sergeant 
 of the province of Alentejo, " when the mines had done 
 their work, the besiegers advanced bearing planks cov- 
 ered with sheets of tin, and, armed with round shields 
 and furnished with grenades, they forced those who 
 held the intrenchments or retirades to abandon them; 
 and thus become masters, they vigorously drove in the 
 besieged. " 
 
 The place of attack was terrible ; it was what in mili- 
 tary language is called " a covered breach, " — that is to 
 say, a crevice traversing the wall through and through, 
 and not an extended fracture open to the sky. The 
 powder had acted like an auger. The effect of the ex- 
 plosion had been so violent that the tower was cracked 
 for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine. 
 But this was only a crack ; the practicable rent which 
 served as a breach, and which gave admittance into the 
 lower hall, resembled a thrust from a lance which 
 pierces, rather than a blow from an axe which gashes. 
 
16 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 It was a puncture in the flank of the tower ; a long cut, 
 something like the mouth of a well ; a passage, twisting 
 and mounting like an intestine along the wall fifteen 
 feet in thickness; a misshapen cylinder, encumbered 
 with obstacles, traps, stones broken by the explosion, 
 where any one entering struck his head against the 
 granite rock, his feet against the rubbish, while the 
 darkness blinded him. 
 
 The assailants saw before them this black gap, the 
 mouth of a gulf, which had for upper and lower jaws 
 all the stones of the jagged wall: a shark's mouth has 
 not more teeth than had this frightful opening. It was 
 necessary to enter this gap and to get out of it. Within 
 was the wall ; without rose the retirade, — without ; 
 that is to say, in the hall of the ground-floor. 
 
 The encounters of sappers in covered galleries when 
 the countermine succeeds in cutting the mine, the 
 butcheries in the gun -decks of vessels boarded in a naval 
 engagement, alone have this ferocity. To fight in the 
 bottom of a grave, — it is the supreme degree of horror ; 
 it is frightful for men to meet in the death-struggle in 
 such narrow bounds. At the instant when the first 
 rush of besiegers entered, the whole retirade blazed 
 with lightnings ; it was like a thunder-bolt bursting 
 under-ground. The thunder of the assailants replied 
 to that of the ambuscade ; the detonations answered one 
 another. Gauvain's voice was heard shouting, " Drive 
 them back! " Then Lantenac's cry, " Hold firm against 
 the enemy! " Then Imânus's yell, " Here, you men of 
 the Main ! " Then the clash of sabr.es against sabres, 
 and echo after echo of terrible discharges that killed 
 right and left. The torch fastened against the wall 
 dimly lighted the horrible scene. It was impossible 
 clearly to distinguish anything ; the combatants strug- 
 gled amidst a lurid night; whoever entered was sud- 
 
TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. 17 
 
 denly struck deaf and blind, — deafened by the noise, 
 blinded by the smoke. The combatants trod upon the 
 corpses ; they lacerated the wounds of the injured men 
 lying helpless amidst the rubbish, stamped recklessly 
 upon limbs already broken ; the sufferers uttered awful 
 groans ; the dying fastened their teeth in the feet of 
 their unconscious tormentors. Then for an instant would 
 come a silence more dreadful than the tumult : the foes 
 collared each other; the hissing sound of their breath 
 could be heard ; the gnashing of teeth, death-groans, 
 curses, — then the thunder would recommence. A 
 stream of blood flowed out from the tower through the 
 breach and spread away across the darkness, and formed 
 smoking pools upon the grass. One might have said 
 that the tower had been wounded, and that the giantess 
 was bleeding. 
 
 Strange thing ! scarcely a sound of the struggle could 
 be heard without. The night was very black,, and a sort 
 of funereal calm reigned in plain and forest about the 
 beleaguered fortress. Hell was within, the sepulchre 
 without. This shock of men exterminating one another 
 amidst the darkness, these musket-volleys, these clam- 
 ours, these shouts of rage, — all that din expired beneath 
 that mass of walls and arches; air was lacking, and 
 suffocation added itself to the carnage. Scarcely a 
 sound reached those outside the tower. The little chil- 
 dren slept. 
 
 The desperate strife grew madder. The retirade held 
 firm. Nothing more difficult than to force a barricade 
 with a re-entering angle. If the besieged had numbers 
 against them, they had at least the position in theii 
 favour. The storming-column lost many men. Stretched 
 in a long line outside the tower, it forced its way slowly 
 in through the opening of the breach like a snake twist- 
 ing itself into its den. 
 
 TOL. XVIII. — 2 
 
18 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Gauvain, with the natural imprudence of a youthful 
 leader, was in the hall in the thickest of the mêlée, with 
 the bullets flying in every direction about his head. 
 Besides the imprudence of his age, he had the assurance 
 of a man who has never been wounded. As he turned 
 about to give an order, the glare of a volley of musketry 
 lighted up a face close beside him. " Cimourdain ! " he 
 cried. " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 It was indeed Cimourdain. He replied : " I have come 
 to be near you. " 
 
 " But you will be killed ! " 
 
 " Very well : you — what are you doing, then ? " 
 
 " I am necessary here ; you are not. " 
 
 " Since you are here, I must be here too. " 
 
 " No, my master ! " 
 
 " Yes, my child I " 
 
 And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. 
 
 The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the hall. 
 Although the retirade was not yet carried, numbers 
 would evidently conquer at last. The assailants were 
 sheltered, and the assailed under cover; ten besiegers 
 fell to one among the besieged, but the besiegers were 
 constantly renewed, the assailants increased, and the 
 assailed grew less. The nineteen besieged were all be- 
 hind the retirade, because the attack was made there. 
 They had dead and wounded among them; not more 
 than fifteen could fight now. One of the most furious, 
 Chante-en-Hiver, had been horribly mutilated. He was 
 a stubby, woolly-haired Breton, little and active ; he 
 had an eye shot out, and his jaw broken. He could 
 walk still ; he dragged himself up the spiral staircase, 
 and reached the chamber of the first floor, hoping to be 
 able to say a prayer there and die. He backed himself 
 against the wall near the loop-hole in order to breathe 
 a little fresh air. 
 
TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. 19 
 
 Beneath, in front of the barricade, the butchery be- 
 came more and more horrible. In a pause between the 
 answering discharges, Cimourdain raised his voice : 
 " Besieged ! " cried he. " Why let any more blood flow ? 
 You are beaten. Surrender ! Think ! we are four thou- 
 sand five hundred men against nineteen, — that is to 
 say, more than two hundred against one. Surrender ! " 
 
 " Let us stop these babblings, " retorted the Marquis 
 de Lantenac ; and twenty balls answered Cimourdain. 
 
 The retirade did not reach to the arched roof; this 
 space permitted the besieged to fire upon the barricade, 
 but it also gave the besiegers an opportunity to scale it. 
 
 " Assault the retirade ! " cried Gauvain. " Is there 
 any man willing to scale the retirade ? " 
 
 "II" said Sergeant Eadoub. 
 
CHAPTEK X. 
 
 KADOUB. 
 
 THEN a sort of stupor seized the assailants. Eadoub 
 had entered the breach at the head of the column, 
 and of those men of the Parisian battalion of which he 
 made the sixth, four had already fallen. After he had 
 uttered that shout, " I ! " he was seen to recoil instead 
 of advance. Stooping, bending forward, almost creeping 
 between the legs of the combatants, he regained the 
 opening of the breach and rushed out. Was it a flight ? 
 A man like this to fly ! What did it mean ? 
 
 When he was outside, Kadoub, still blinded by the 
 smoke, rubbed his eyes as if to clear them from the 
 horror of the cavernous night he had just left, and 
 studied the wall of the tower by the starlight. He 
 nodded his head, as if to say, " I was not mistaken. " 
 
 Eadoub had noticed that the deep crack made by the 
 explosion of the mine extended above the breach to the 
 loop-hole of the upper story, whose iron grating had 
 been shattered, and by a ball. The net-work of broken 
 bars hung loosely down, so that a man could enter. A 
 man could enter, but could he climb up ? By the crev- 
 ice it might have been possible for a cat to mount. That 
 was what Eadoub was. He belonged to the race which 
 Pindar calls " the agile athletes. " One may be an old 
 soldier and a young man. Eadoub, who had belonged 
 fco the French guards, was not yet forty; he was a nim 
 ble Hercules. 
 
RADOUB. 21 
 
 Kadoub threw his musket on the ground, tooii off' his 
 shoulder-belts, laid aside his coat and jacket, guarding 
 his two pistols, which he thrust in his trousers' -belt, 
 and his naked sabre, which he held between his teeth ; 
 the butt-ends of the pistols protruded above his belt. 
 Thus lightened of everything useless, and followed in 
 the obscurity by the eyes of all such of the attacking 
 column as had not yet entered the breach, he began to 
 climb the stones of the cracked wall as if they had been 
 the steps of a staircase. Having no shoes was an ad- 
 vantage ; nothing can cling like a naked foot. He 
 twisted his toes into the holes of the stones ; he hoisted 
 himself with his fists, and bore his weight on his knees. 
 The ascent was a hazardous one ; it was somewhat like 
 climbing along the teeth of a gigantic saw. " Luckily, " 
 thought he, " there is nobody in the chamber of the first 
 story, else I should not be allowed to climb up like 
 this. " 
 
 Eadoub had not more than forty feet left to mount. 
 He was somewhat encumbered by the projecting butt- 
 ends of his pistols ; and, as he climbed, the crevice nar- 
 rowed, rendering the ascent more and more difficult, so 
 that the danger of falling increased as he went on. At 
 last he reached the frame of the loop-hole and pushed 
 aside the twisted and broken grating so that he had 
 space enough to pass through. He raised himself for 
 a last powerful effort, rested his knee on the cornice of 
 the ledge, seized with one hand a bar of the grating 
 at the left, with the other a bar at the right, lifted half 
 his body in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole, 
 and, sabre between his teeth, hung thus suspended by 
 his two fists over the abyss. It only needed one spring 
 more to land him in the chamber of the first floor. 
 
 But a face appeared in a loop-bole. Radoub saw a fright- 
 ful spectacle rise suddenly before him in the gloom, — an 
 
22 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 eye torn out, a jaw fractured, a bloody mask. Thia 
 mask, which had only one eye left, was watching him. 
 This mask had two hands ; these two hands thrust them- 
 selves out of the darkness of this loop-hole and clutched 
 at Eadoub ; one of them seized the two pistols in his belt, 
 the other snatched the sword from between his teeth. 
 Radoub was disarmed. His knee slipped upon the in- 
 clined plane of the cornice ; his two fists, cramped about 
 the bars of the grating, barely sufficed to support him ; 
 and beneath was a sheer descent of forty feet. 
 
 This mask and these hands belonged to Chante-en- 
 Hiver. Suffocated by the smoke which rose from the 
 room below, Chante-en-Hiver had succeeded in entering 
 the embrasure of the loop-hole : the air from without 
 had revived him ; the freshness of the night had con- 
 gealed the blood, and his strength had in a measure 
 come back. Suddenly he perceived the torso of Radoub 
 rise in front of the embrasure. Radoub, having his 
 hands twisted about the bars, had no choice but to let 
 himself fall or allow himself to be disarmed ; so Chante- 
 en-Hiver, with a horrible tranquillity, had taken the 
 two pistols out of his belt and the sabre from between 
 his teeth. 
 
 Then commenced an unheard-of duel, — a duel be- 
 tween the disarmed and the wounded. Evidently the 
 dying man had the victory in his own hands. A single 
 shot would suffice to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf 
 beneath his feet. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-Hiver 
 held both pistols in the same hand, so that he could not 
 fire either, and was forced to make use of the sabre. He 
 struck Radoub a blow on the shoulder with the point. 
 The sabre-stroke wounded Radoub, but saved his life. 
 The soldier was unarmed, but in full possession of his 
 strength. Regardless of his wound, which indeed was 
 only a flesh-cut, he swung hk body vigorously forward, 
 
RADOUB 23 
 
 loosed his hold of the bars, and bounded through the 
 loop-hole. There he found himself face to face with 
 Chante-en-Hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him 
 and was clutching a pistol in either hand. Chante-en- 
 Hiver had Eadoub close to the muzzle as he took aim 
 upon his knees, but his enfeebled arm trembled, and he 
 did not fire at once. 
 
 Eadoub took advantage of this respite to burst out 
 laughing. " I say, ugly face ! " cried he, " do you sup- 
 pose you frighten me with your bloody bullock's jaws? 
 Thunder and Mars, how they have shattered your 
 features ! " 
 
 Chante-en-Hiver took aim. 
 
 Eadoub continued : " It is not polite to mention it, but 
 the grape-shot has dotted your mug very neatly. Bel- 
 lona has disturbed your physiognomy, my lad. Come, 
 come ; spit out your little pistol-shot, my good fellow ! * 
 
 Chante-en-Hiver fired; the ball passed so close to 
 Eadoub 's head that it carried away part of his ear. His 
 foe raised the second pistol in his other hand. 
 
 Eadoub did not give him time to take aim. " It is 
 enough to lose one ear ! " cried he. " You have wounded 
 me twice. It is my turn now. " 
 
 He flung himself on Chante-en-Hiver, knocked aside 
 his arm with such force that the pistol went off and the 
 ball whizzed against the ceiling. He seized his enemy's 
 broken jaw in both hands and twisted it about. Chante- 
 en-Hiver uttered a howl of pain and fainted. Eadoub 
 stepped across his body and left him lying in the em- 
 brasure of the loop-hole. 
 
 "Now that I have announced my ultimatum, don't 
 you stir again, " said he. " Lie there, you ugly crawling 
 snake ! You may fancy that I am not going to amuse 
 myself by massacring you. Crawl about on the ground 
 at your ease, — under foot is the place for you. Die,—- 
 
24 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 you can't get rid of that! In a little while you will 
 learn what nonsense your priest has talked to you. Away 
 with you into the great mystery, peasant ! " And he 
 hurried forward into the room. " One cannot see an 
 inch before one's nose," grumbled he. 
 
 Chante-en-Hiver began to writhe convulsively upon 
 the floor, and utter fresh moans of agony. 
 
 Eadoub turned back. " Hold your tongue ! Do me 
 the favour to be silent, citizen, without knowing it. I 
 cannot trouble myself further with you ; I should scorn 
 to make an end of you. Just let me have quiet. " 
 
 Then he thrust his hands into his hair as he stood 
 watching Chante-en-Hiver. " But here, what am I to do 
 now ? It is all very fine, but I am disarmed. I had two 
 shots to fire, and you have robbed me of them, animal ! 
 and with all that, a smoke that would blind a dog ! " 
 
 Then his hand touched his wounded ear. " Aïe ! " he 
 said. 
 
 Then he went on : * You have gained a great deal by 
 confiscating one of my ears ! However, I would rather 
 have one less of them than anything else : an ear is only 
 an ornament. You have scratched my shoulder, too; 
 but that is nothing. Expire, villager ! I forgive you. * 
 
 He listened. The din from the lower room was fear- 
 ful. The combat had grown more furious than ever. 
 " Things are going well down there, " he muttered. 
 " How they howl ' Live the king ! ' One must admit 
 that they die bravely. " 
 
 His foot struck against the sabre. He picked it up, 
 and said to Chante-en-Hiver, who no longer stirred, and 
 who might indeed be dead : " See here, man of the 
 woods, I will take my sabre ; you have left me that, any 
 way. But I needed my pistols. The devil fly away 
 with you, savage! Oh, there, what am I to do? I am 
 no good whatever here. " 
 
KADOUB. 25 
 
 He advanced into the hall trying to guide his steps in 
 the gloom. Suddenly, in the shadow behind the cen- 
 tral pillar, he perceived a long table upon which some- 
 thing gleamed faintly. He felt the objects. They were 
 blunderbusses, carbines, pistols, a whole row of fire- 
 arms laid out in order to his hand ; it was the reserve of 
 weapons the besieged had provided in this chamber, 
 which would be their second place of stand, a whole 
 arsenal 
 
 " A sideboard ! " cried Radoub ; and he clutched them 
 right and left, dizzy with joy. Thus armed, he became 
 formidable. 
 
 He could see back of the table the door of the stair- 
 case, which communicated with the rooms above and 
 below, standing wide open. Radoub seized two pistols, 
 and fired them at random through the doorway , then he 
 snatched a blunderbuss, and fired that, — then a blun- 
 derbuss loaded with buckshot, and discharged it. The 
 blunderbuss, vomiting forth its fifteen balls, sounded 
 like a volley of grape-shot. He got his breath back, 
 and shouted down the staircase, in a voice of thunder, 
 " Long live Paris ! " Then seizing a second blunderbuss, 
 still bigger than the first, he aimed it toward the stair- 
 case and waited. 
 
 The confusion in the lower hall was indescribable. 
 This unexpected attack from behind paralyzed the be- 
 sieged with astonishment. Two balls from Radoub 's 
 triple fire had taken effect: one had killed the elder of 
 the brothers Pique-en-Bois ; the other had killed De 
 Quélen, nicknamed Houzard. 
 
 " They are on the floor above ! " cried the marquis. 
 
 At this cry the men abandoned the retirade, — a flock 
 of birds could not have fled more quickly , they plunged 
 madly toward the staircase. 
 
 The marquis encouraged the flight. " Quick, quick ! " 
 
26 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 he exclaimed. " There is most courage now in escape. 
 Let us all get up to the second floor. We will begin 
 again there. " He left the retirade the last. This brave 
 act saved his life. 
 
 Badoub, ambushed at the top of the stairs, watched 
 the retreat, finger on trigger. The first who appeared at 
 the turn of the spiral steps received the discharge of his 
 gun full in their faces, and fell. Had the marquis been 
 among them, he would have been killed. Before 
 Badoub had time to seize another weapon, the others 
 passed him, — the marquis behind all the rest, and mov- 
 ing more slowly. 
 
 Believing the first-floor chambers filled with the be- 
 siegers, the men did not pause there, but rushed on and 
 gained the room above, which was the hall of the mir- 
 rors. There was the iron door ; there was the sulphur- 
 match ; it was there they must capitulate or die. 
 
 Gauvain had been as much astounded as the besieged 
 by the detonations from the staircase, and was unable to 
 understand how aid could have reached him in that 
 quarter ; but he took advantage without waiting to com- 
 prehend. He leaped over the retirade, followed by his 
 men, and pursued the fugitives up to the first floor. 
 There he found Badoub. 
 
 The sergeant saluted, and said : " One minute, my 
 commandant. I did that. I remembered Dol ; I fol- 
 lowed your plan : I took the enemy between two fires. " 
 
 " A good scholar, " answered Gauvain, with a smile. 
 
 After one has been a certain length of time in the 
 darkness, the eyes become accustomed to the obscurity 
 like those of a night-bird. Gauvain perceived that 
 Badoub was covered with blood. " But you are wounded, 
 comrade ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Never mind that, my commandant ! What differ- 
 ence does it make, — an ear more or less ? I got a sabre- 
 
RADOUB. 27 
 
 thrust, too, but it is nothing. One always cuts one's 
 self a little in breaking a window; it is only losing a 
 little blood. " 
 
 The besiegers made a halt in the first-floor chamber, 
 which had been conquered by Kadoub. A lantern was 
 brought. Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain. They held a 
 council. It was time to reflect, indeed. The besiegers 
 were not in the secrets of their foes : they were unaware 
 of the lack of munitions ; they did not know that the 
 defenders of the tower were short of powder, that the 
 second floor must be the last post where a stand could 
 be made ; the assailants could not tell but the staircase 
 might be mined. One thing was certain, — the enemy 
 could not escape. Those who had not been killed were 
 as safe as if under lock and key. Lantenac was in the 
 trap. 
 
 Certain of this, the besiegers could afford to give 
 themselves time to choose the best means of bringing 
 about the end. Numbers among them had been killed 
 already. The thing now was to spare the men as much 
 as possible in this last assault. The risk of this final 
 attack would be great. The first fire would without doubt 
 be a hot one. The combat was interrupted. The besieg- 
 ers, masters of the ground and first floors, waited the 
 orders of the commander-in-chief to renew the conflict. 
 Gauvain and Cimourdain were holding counsel. 
 
 Radoub assisted in silence at their deliberation. At 
 length he timidly hazarded another military salute. 
 * Commandant ! " 
 
 " What is it, Eadoub ? " 
 
 " Have I a right to a little recompense ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Ask what you like. " 
 
 " I ask permission to mount the first. M 
 
 It was impossible to refuse him ; indeed, he would 
 have done it without permission. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 DESPERATE. 
 
 WHILE this consultation i;ook place on the first 
 floor, the besieged were barricading the second. 
 Success is a fury ; defeat is a madness. The encounter 
 between the foes would be frenzied. To be close on 
 victory intoxicates. The men below were inspired by 
 hope, which would be the most powerful of human in- 
 centives if despair did not exist. Despair was above, 
 — a calm, cold sinister despair. 
 
 When the besieged reached the hall of refuge, beyond 
 which they had no resource, no hope, their first care had 
 been to bar the entrance. To lock the door was useless ; 
 it was necessary to block the staircase. In a position 
 like theirs, an obstacle across which they could see, and 
 over which they could fight, was worth more than a 
 closed door. The torch which Imanus had planted in 
 the wall near the sulphur-match lighted the room. 
 There was in the chamber one of those great, heavy oak 
 chests which were used to hold clothes and linen before 
 the invention of chests of drawers. They dragged this 
 chest out, and stood it on end in the door-way of the 
 staircase. It fitted solidly and closed the entrance, 
 leaving open at the top a narrow space by which a man 
 could pass ; but it was scarcely probable that the assail- 
 ants would run the risk of being killed one after another 
 by any attempt to pass the barrier in single file. 
 
DESPERATE. 29 
 
 This obstruction of the entrance afforded the besieged 
 a respite. They numbered their company. Out of the 
 nineteen only seven remained, of whom Imânus made 
 one. With the exception of Imânus and the marquis, 
 they were all wounded. The five wounded men (active 
 still, for in the heat of combat any wound less than 
 mortal leaves a man able to move about) were Chatenay 
 (called Kobi), Guinoiseau, Hoisnard (Branche d'Or), Brin 
 d'Amour, and Grand Francœur. All the others were 
 dead. They had no munitions left ; the cartridge-boxes 
 were almost empty : they counted the cartridges. How 
 many shots were there left for the seven to fire ? Four! 
 They had reached the pass where nothing remained but 
 to fall. They had retreated to the precipice ; it yawned 
 black and terrible; they stood upon the very edge. 
 Still, the attack was about to recommence, — slowly, and 
 all the more surely on that account. They could hear 
 the butt-end of the muskets sound along the staircase 
 step by step, as the besiegers advanced. No means of 
 escape. By the library ? On the plateau bristled six 
 cannon with every match lighted. By the upper cham- 
 bers ? To what end ? They gaze on the platform : the 
 only resource when that was reached would be to fling 
 themselves from the top of the tower. 
 
 The seven survivors of this Homeric band found them- 
 selves inexorably enclosed and held fast by that thick 
 wall which at once protected and betrayed them. They 
 were not yet taken, but they were already prisoners. 
 
 The marquis spoke : " My friends, all is finished. " 
 Then after a silence, he added : " Grand Francœur, be- 
 come açain the Abbé Turmeau. " 
 
 All knelt, rosary in hand. The measured stroke of 
 the muskets sounded nearer. Grand Francœur covered 
 with blood from a wound which had grazed Ms skull 
 and torn away his leather cap, raised the crucifix in his 
 
30 NINETY-THKEE. 
 
 right hand. The marquis, a sceptic at bottom, bent 
 his knee to the ground. 
 
 " Let each one confess his faults aloud, " said Grand 
 Francœur. " Monseigneur, speak. " 
 
 The marquis answered, " I have killed. " 
 
 " I have killed, " said Hoisnard. 
 
 " I have killed, " said Guinoiseau. 
 
 " I have killed," said Brin d'Amour. 
 
 " I have killed, " said Chatenay. 
 
 " I have killed, " said Imânus. 
 
 And Grand Francœur replied : " In the name of the 
 most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls de- 
 part in peace ! " 
 
 " Amen, " replied all the voices. 
 
 The marquis raised himself. " Now let us die, * he 
 said. 
 
 " And kill, " added Imânus. 
 
 The blows from the butt-end of the besiegers' muskets 
 began to shake the chest which barred the door. 
 
 " Think of God, " said the priest ; " earth no longer 
 exists for you. " 
 
 " It is true, " replied the marquis ; " we are in the 
 tomb. " 
 
 All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The 
 marquis and the priest were alone standing. The 
 priest prayed, keeping his eyes cast down ; the peasants 
 prayed; the marquis reflected. The coffer echoed dis- 
 mally, as if under the stroke of hammers. 
 
 At this instant a rapid, strong voice sounded sud- 
 denly behind them, exclaiming : * Did I not tell you 
 so, monseigneur ? " 
 
 All turned their heads in stupefied wonder. A gap had 
 just opened in the wall. A stone, perfectly fitted into 
 the others, but not cemented, and having a pivot above 
 and a pivot below, had just revolved like a turnstile, 
 
DESPERATE. 31 
 
 leaving the wall open. The stone having revolved on 
 its axis, the opening was double, and offered two means 
 of exit, — one to the right and one to the left; narrow, 
 but leaving space enough to allow a man to pass. Be- 
 yond this door, so unexpectedly opened, could be seen 
 the first steps of a spiral staircase. A face appeared in 
 the opening. The marquis recognized Halmalo. 
 
CHAPTEK XTL 
 
 DELIVERANCE. 
 
 * TS it you, Halmalo ? " 
 
 X- " It is I, monseigneur. You see there are stones 
 that turn ; they really exist ; you can get out of here. 
 I am just in time ; but come quickly. In ten minutes 
 vou will be in the heart of the forest. " 
 
 " God is great, " said the priest. 
 
 " Save yourself, monseigneur ! " cried the men in 
 concert. 
 
 " All of you go first, " said the marquis. 
 
 " You must go first, monseigneur, " returned the Abbé 
 Turmeau. " I go the last. " 
 
 And the marquis added, in a severe tone : " No strug- 
 gle of generosity ; we have no time to be magnanimous. 
 You are wounded; I order you to live and to fly. 
 Quick! Take advantage of this outlet. Thanks, Halmalo." 
 
 " Marquis, must we separate ? " asked the Abbé 
 Turmeau. 
 
 " Below, without doubt. We can only escape one by 
 one." 
 
 " Does Monseigneur assign us a rendezvous ? " 
 
 " Yes ; a glade in the foi est, — La Pierre Gauvaine. 
 Do you know the place ? " 
 
 " We all know it. " 
 
 " I shall be there to-morrow at noon. Let all those 
 who can walk meet me at that time. " 
 
 " Every man will be there. " 
 
 * And we will begin the war anew, " said the marquis, 
 
DELIVERANCE. 33 
 
 As Halmalo pushed against the turning-stone, he 
 found that it did not stir. The aperture could not be 
 closed again. 
 
 " Monseigneur, " he said, " we must hasten. The stone 
 will not move. I was able to open the passage, but 1 
 cannot shut it. " 
 
 The stone, in fact, had become deadened, as it were, 
 on its hinges from long disuse. It was impossible to 
 make it revolve back into its place. 
 
 " Monseigneur, " resumed Halmalo, " I had hoped to 
 close the passage, so that the Blues, when they got in 
 and found no one, would think you must have flown off 
 in the smoke. But the stone will not budge. The 
 enemy will see the outlet open, and can follow. At 
 least, do not let us lose a second. Quick ! everybody 
 make for the staircase ! " 
 
 Imânus laid his hand on Halmalo's shoulder. " Com- 
 rade, how much time will it take to get from here to the 
 forest and to safety ? " 
 
 " Is there any one seriously wounded ? " asked 
 Halmalo. 
 
 They answered, " Nobody. " 
 
 " In that case a quarter of an hour will be enough. " 
 
 " Go, " said Imânus ; " if the enemy can be kept out 
 of here for a quarter of an hour — " 
 
 " They may follow ; they cannot overtake us. " 
 
 " But, " said the marquis, " they will be here in five 
 minutes ; that old chest cannot hold out against them 
 any longer. A few blows from their muskets will end 
 the business. A quarter of an hour! Who can keep 
 them back for a quarter of an hour ? " 
 
 " I, " said Imânus. 
 
 "You, Gouge-le-Bruant?" 
 
 " I, monseigneur. Listen. Five out of six of you 
 are wounded. I have not a scratch. " 
 
 TOI* 3CVWI. — S 
 
34 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Nor I, * said the marquis. 
 
 " You are the chief, monseigneur. I am a soldier. 
 Chief and soldier are two. " 
 
 " I know we have each a different duty. " 
 
 * No, monseigneur, we have, you and I, the same 
 duty ; it is to save you. " 
 
 Imânus turned toward his companions. " Comrades, 
 the thing necessary to be done is to hold the enemy in 
 check and retard the pursuit as long as possible. Listen. 
 I am in possession of my full strength ; I have not lost 
 a drop of blood; not being wounded, I can hold out 
 longer than any of the others. Fly, all of you ! Leave 
 me your weapons ; I will make good use of them. I 
 take it on myself to stop the enemy for a good half hour. 
 How many loaded pistols are there ? " 
 
 " Four. " 
 
 " Lay them on the floor. " His command was obeyed. 
 " It is well. I stay here. They will find somebody to 
 talk with. Now, quick ! get away. " 
 
 Life and death hung in the balance ; there was no 
 time for thanks, — scarcely time for those nearest to 
 grasp his hand. 
 
 " We shall meet soon, " the marquis said to him. 
 
 " No, monseigneur ; I hope not, — not soon ; for I am 
 going to die. " 
 
 They got through the opening one after another and 
 passed down the stairs, the wounded going first. While 
 the men were escaping, the marquis took a pencil out of 
 a note-book which he carried in his pocket and wrote a 
 few words on the stone, which, remaining motionless, 
 left the passage gaping open. 
 
 " Come, monseigneur, they are all gone but you, " 
 said Halmalo. And the sailor began to descend the 
 stairs. The marquis followed. 
 
 Imânus remained alone. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE EXECUTIONER. 
 
 THE four pistols had been laid on the flags, for the 
 chamber had no flooring. Imânus grasped a 
 pistol in either hand. He moved obliquely toward the 
 entrance to the staircase which the chest obstructed and 
 masked. 
 
 The assailants evidently feared some surprise, — one 
 of those final explosions which involve conqueror and 
 conquered in the same catastrophe. This last attack 
 was as slow and prudent as the first had been impetuous. 
 They had not been able to push the chest backward 
 into the chamber, — perhaps would not have done it if 
 they could. They had broken the bottom with blows 
 from their muskets, and pierced the top with bayonet 
 holes ; by these holes they were trying to see into the 
 hall before entering. The light from the lanterns with 
 which they had illuminated the staircase shone through 
 these chinks. 
 
 Imânus perceived an eye regarding him through one 
 of the holes. He aimed his pistol quickly at the place, 
 and pulled the trigger. To his joy, a horrible cry fol- 
 lowed the report. The ball had entered the eye and 
 passed through the brain of the soldier, who fell back- 
 ward down the stairs. 
 
 The assailants had broken two large holes in the 
 cover; Imânus thrust his pistol through one of these 
 and fired at random into the mass of besiegers. The 
 
36 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 ball must have rebounded, for he heard several cries, as 
 if three or four were killed or wounded ; then there was 
 a great trampling and tumult as the men fell back. 
 Imânus threw down the two pistols which he had just 
 fired, and, taking the two which still remained, peered 
 out through the holes in the chest. He was able to see 
 what execution his shots had done. 
 
 The assailants had descended the stairs. The twist- 
 ing of the spiral staircase only allowed him to look 
 down three or four steps ; the men he had shot lay 
 writhing there in the death agony. Imânus waited. " It 
 is so much time gained, " thought he. Then he saw a man 
 flat on his stomach creeping up the stairs ; at the same 
 instant the head of another soldier appeared lower down 
 from behind the pillar about which the spiral wound. 
 Imânus aimed at this head and fired. A cry followed, 
 the soldier fell; and Imânus, while watching, threw 
 away the empty pistol, and changed the loaded one from 
 his left hand to his right. As he did so he felt a horri • 
 ble pain, and, in his turn, uttered a yell of agony. A 
 sabre had traversed his bowels. A fist (the fist of the 
 man who had crept up the stairs) had just been thrust 
 through the second hole in the bottom of the chest, and 
 this fist had plunged a sabre into Imânus 's body. The 
 wound was frightful ; the abdomen was pierced through 
 and through. 
 
 Imânus did not fall. He set his teeth together and 
 muttered, " Good ! " Then he dragged himself, totter- 
 ing along, and retreated to the iron door, at the side of 
 which the torch was still burning. He laid his pistol 
 on the stones and seized the torch, and while with his 
 left hand he held together the terrible wound through 
 which his intestines protruded, with the right he low- 
 ered the torch till it touched the sulphur-match. It 
 caught fire instantaneously ; the wick blazed. 
 
THE EXECUTIONER. 37 
 
 Imânus dropped the torch ; it lay on the ground still 
 burning. He seized his pistol anew, dropped forward 
 upon the flags, and with what breath he had left blew 
 the wick. The flame ran along it, passed beneath the 
 iron door, and reached the bridge-castle. Then seeing 
 that his execrable exploit had succeeded, — prouder, per- 
 haps, of this crime than of the courage he had before 
 shown, — this man, who had just proved himself a hero, 
 only to sink into an assassin, smiled as he stretched 
 himself out to die, and muttered : " They will remember 
 me. I take vengeance on their little ones for the fate of 
 our little one. — the king shut up in the Temple ? " 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 IMANUS ALSO ESCAPES. 
 
 AT this moment there was a great noise ; the chest 
 was hurled violently back into the hall, and gave 
 passage to a man who rushed forward, sabre in hand, 
 crying, — 
 
 " It is I — Eadoub ! What are you going to do ? It 
 bores me to wait. I have risked it. Anyway I have 
 just disembowelled one. Now I attack the whole of you. 
 Whether the rest follow me or don't follow me, here I 
 am. How many are there of you ? " 
 
 It was indeed Eadoub, and he was alone ! 
 
 After the massacre Imanus had caused upon the stairs, 
 Gauvain, fearing some secret mine, had drawn back his 
 men and consulted with Cimourdain. Eadoub, stand- 
 ing sabre in hand upon the threshold, sent his voice 
 anew into the obscurity of the chamber across which 
 the nearly extinguished torch cast a faint gleam, and 
 repeated his question, " I am one. How many are 
 you?" 
 
 There was no answer. He stepped forward. One of 
 those sudden jets of light which an expiring fire some- 
 times sends out, and which seem like its dying throes, 
 burst from the torch and illuminated the entire cham- 
 ber. Eadoub caught sight of himself in one of the mir- 
 rors hanging against the wall, — approached it, and 
 examined his bleeding face and wounded ear. " Horri- 
 ble mutilation !" said he. 
 
IMÂNUS ALSO ESCAPES. 39 
 
 Then he turned about, and, to his utter stupefaction, 
 perceived that the hall was empty. " Nobody here ! " 
 he exclaimed. " Not a creature ! " 
 
 Then he saw the revolving stone, and the staircase be- 
 yond the opening. " Ah ! I understand ! The key to 
 the fields. Come up, all of you ! " he shouted. " Com- 
 rades, come up ! They have run away ! They have filed 
 off, dissolved, evaporated, cut their lucky ! This old 
 jug of a tower has a crack in it. There is the hole they 
 got out by, the beggars ! How is anybody to get the 
 better of Pitt and Coburg while they are able to play 
 such comedies as this ? The very devil himself came to 
 their rescue. There is nobody here ! " 
 
 The report of a pistol cut his words short : a ball 
 grazed his elbow and flattened itself against the wall. 
 
 " Aha ! " said he. " So there is somebody left. Who 
 was good enough to show me that little politeness ? " 
 
 " I, " answered a voice. 
 
 Eadoub looked about, and caught sight of Imânus in 
 the gloom. " Ah ! " cried he. " I have got one at all 
 events. The others have escaped, but you will not, I 
 promise you. " 
 
 " Do you believe it ? " retorted Imânus. 
 
 Eadoub made a step forward and paused. " Hey, you, 
 lying on the ground there ! Who are you ? " 
 
 " I am a man who laughs at you who are standing up. * 
 
 rt What is it you are holding in your right hand ? " 
 
 • A pistol. " 
 
 u And in your left hand ? " 
 
 " My entrails. " 
 
 " You are my prisoner. " 
 
 ■ I defy you ! " 
 
 Imânus bowed his head over the burning wick, spent 
 his last breath in stirring the flame, and expired. 
 
 A few seconds after, Gauvain and Cimourdain, fol- 
 
£0 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 lowed by the whole troop of soldiers, were in the hall 
 They all saw the opening. They searched the corners 
 of the room and explored the staircase ; it had a passage 
 at the bottom which led to the ravine. The besieged 
 had escaped. They raised Xmânus, — he was dead. 
 Gauvain, lantern in hand, examined the stone which 
 had afforded an outlet to the fugitives : he had heard of 
 the turning-stone, but he too had always disbelieved 
 the legend. As he looked he saw some lines written in 
 pencil on the massive block; he held the lantern closei, 
 and read these words : — 
 
 " Au revoir, Viscount 
 " Lantenac. " 
 
 Guéchamp was standing by his commandant. Pur- 
 suit was utterly useless ; the fugitives had the whole 
 country to aid them, — thickets, ravines, copses, the in- 
 habitants. Doubtless they were already far away. There 
 would be no possibility of discovering them ; they had 
 the entire forest of Fougères, with its countless hiding- 
 places, for a refuge. What was to be done ? The whole 
 struggle must begin anew. Gauvain and Guéchamp ex- 
 changed conjectures and expressions of disappointment. 
 
 Gimourdain listened gravely, but did not utter a word. 
 
 a And the ladder, Guéchamp ? " said Gauvain. 
 
 " Commandant, it has not come. " 
 
 " But we saw a wagon escorted by gendarmes. " 
 
 Guéchamp only replied : " It did not bring the 
 ladder. " 
 
 " What did it bring, then ? " 
 
 " The guillotine, " said Gimourdain. 
 
CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 FEVER PUT A WATCH AND A KEY IN THS 
 SAME POCKET. 
 
 THE Marquis de Lantenac was not so far away as 
 they believed. But he was none the less in 
 safety, and completely out of their reach. He had fol- 
 lowed Halmalo. 
 
 The staircase by which they descended in the wake of 
 the other fugitives ended in a narrow vaulted passage 
 close to the ravine and the arches of the bridge. This pas- 
 sage opened upon a deep natural fissure, which led into 
 the ravine on one side and into the forest on the other. 
 The windings of the path were completely hidden among 
 the thickets ; it would have been impossible to discover 
 a man concealed there. A fugitive, once arrived at this 
 point, had only to twist away like a snake. The open- 
 ing from the staircase into the secret passage was so 
 completely obstructed by brambles that the builders of 
 the passage had not thought it necessary to close the 
 way in any other manner. 
 
 The marquis had only to go forward now. He was 
 not placed in any difficulty by lack of a disguise. He 
 had not thrown aside his peasant's dress since coming 
 to Brittany, thinking it more in character. 
 
 When Halmalo and the marquis passed out of the pas- 
 sage into the cleft, the five other men — Guinoiseau, 
 Hoisnard (Branche d'Or), Brin d'Amour, Chatenay, and 
 the Abbé Turmeau — were no longer there. 
 
42 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " They did not take much time to get away, ,: said 
 Halmalo. 
 
 " Follow their example. " returned the marquis. 
 
 " Must I leave, monseigneur ? " 
 
 " Without doubt. I have already told you so. Each 
 must escape alone to be safe. One man passes where 
 two cannot. We should attract attention if we were 
 together. You would lose my life and I yours. " 
 
 " Does Monseigneur know the district ? " 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " Monseigneur still gives the rendezvous for the Pierre 
 Gauvain ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, — at noon. " 
 
 " I shall be there. We shall all be there. " Then 
 Halmalo burst out : "Ah, monseigneur ! When I think 
 that we were together in the open sea, that we were 
 alone, that I wanted to kill you, that you were my mas- 
 ter, that you could have told me so, and that you did 
 not speak ! What a man you are ! " 
 
 The marquis replied : " England ! There is no other 
 resource. In fifteen days the English must be in 
 France. " 
 
 * I have much to tell Monseigneur. I obeyed his 
 orders. " 
 
 " We will talk of all that to-morrow. " 
 
 " Farewell till to-morrow, monseigneur. " 
 
 " By-the-way, are you hungry ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I am, monseigneur. I was in such a hurry 
 to get here that I am not sure whether I have eaten 
 to-day. " 
 
 The marquis took a cake of chocolate from his pocket, 
 broke it in half, gave one piece to Halmalo, and began 
 to eat the other himself. 
 
 " Monseigneur, " said Halmalo, " at your right is the 
 ravine ; at your left, the forest. " 
 
WATCH AND KEY IN THE SAME POCKET. 43 
 
 " Very good. Leave me. Go your own way. " 
 
 Halmalo obeyed. He hurried off through the dark- 
 ness. For a few instants the marquis could hear the 
 crackling of the underbrush, then all was still. By that 
 time it would have been impossible to track Halmalo. 
 This forest of the Bocage was the fugitive's auxiliary. 
 He did not flee, — he vanished. It was this facility for 
 disappearance which made our armies hesitate before 
 this ever-retreating Vendée, so formidable as it fled. 
 
 The marquis remained motionless. He was a man 
 who forced himself to feel nothing ; but he could not 
 restrain his emotion on breathing this free air, after 
 having been so long stifled in blood and carnage. To 
 feel himself completely at liberty after having seemed 
 so utterly lost ; after having seen the grave so close, to 
 be swept so suddenly beyond its reach ; to come out of 
 death back into life, — it was a shock even to a man like 
 Lantenac. Familiar as he was with danger, in spite of 
 all the vicissitudes he had passed through he could not 
 at first steady his soul under this. He acknowledged to 
 himself that he was content. But he quickly subdued 
 this emotion, which was more like joy than any feeling 
 he had known for years. He drew out his watch and 
 struck the hour. What time was it? 
 
 To his great astonishment, the marquis found that it 
 was only ten o'clock. When one has just passed through 
 some terrible convulsion of existence in which every 
 hope and life itself were at stake, one is always as- 
 tounded to find that those awful minutes were no longer 
 than ordinary ones. The warning cannon had been fired 
 a little before sunset, and La Tourgue attacked by the 
 storming-party half an hour later, between seven and 
 eight o'clock, — just as night was falling. The colossal 
 combat, begun at eight o'clock, had ended at ten. This 
 whole épopée had only taken a hundred and twenty 
 
44 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 minutes to enact. Sometimes catastrophes sweep on with 
 the rapidity of lightning, — the climax is overwhelm- 
 ing from its suddenness. On reflection, the astonishing 
 thing was that the struggle could have lasted so long. 
 A resistance for two hours of so small a number against 
 so large a force was extraordinary ; and certainly it had 
 not been short or quickly finished, this battle of nine- 
 teen against four thousand. 
 
 But it was time he should be gone. Halmalo must 
 be far away, and the marquis judged that it would not 
 be necessary to wait there longer. He put his watch 
 back into his waistcoat, but not into the same pocket ; 
 for he discovered that the key of the iron door given him 
 by Imânus was there, and the crystal might be broken 
 against the key. Then he moved toward the forest in 
 his turn. As he turned to the left, it seemed to him that 
 a faint gleam of light penetrated the darkness where he 
 stood. He walked back, and across the underbrush, 
 clearly outlined against a red background and become 
 visible in their tiniest outlines, he perceived a great 
 glare in the ravine ; only a few paces separated him from 
 it. He hurried forward, — then stopped, remembering 
 what folly it was to expose himself in that light. 
 Whatever might have happened, after all it did not 
 concern him. Again he set out in the direction Hal- 
 malo had indicated, and walked a little way toward the 
 forest. 
 
 Suddenly, deep as he was hidden among the brambles, 
 he heard a terrible cry echo over his head. This cry 
 seemed to proceed from the very edge of the plateau 
 which stretched above the ravine. The marquis raised 
 his eyes and stood still. 
 
BOOK V. 
 
 IN D^MONE DEUS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 FOUND, BUT LOST. 
 
 AT the moment Michelle Fléchard caught sight of 
 the tower, she was more than a league away. She, 
 who could scarcely take a step, did not hesitate before 
 these miles which must be traversed. The woman was 
 weak, but the mother found strength. She walked on. 
 
 The sun set ; the twilight came, then the night. Ah 
 ways pressing on, Michelle heard a bell afar off, hidden 
 by the darkness, strike eight o'clock, then nine. The 
 peal probably came from the belfry of Parigné. From 
 time to time she paused to listen to strange sounds like 
 the deadened echo of blows, which might perhaps be 
 the wind in the distance. She walked straight on, 
 breaking the furze and the sharp heath-stems beneath 
 her bleeding feet. She was guided by a faint light 
 which shone from the distant tower, defining its outlines 
 against the night, and giving a mysterious glow to the 
 tower amidst the surrounding gloom. This light be- 
 came more distinct when the noise sounded louder, then 
 faded suddenly. 
 
 The vast plateau across which Michelle Fléchard jour- 
 neyed was covered with grass and heath ; not a house, 
 
 (\ 
 
46 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 not a tree appeared. It rose gradually, and, as far as 
 the eye could reach, stretched in a straight hard line 
 against the sombre horizon where a few stars gleamed. 
 She had always the tower before her eyes ; the sight 
 kept her strength from failing. She saw the massive 
 pile grow slowly as she walked on. 
 
 We have just said the smothered reports and the pale 
 gleams of light starting from the tower were intermittent ; 
 they stopped, then began anew, offering an enigma full 
 of agony to the wretched mother. Suddenly they ceased ; 
 noise and gleams of light both died. There was a moment 
 of complete silence, — an ominous tranquillity. 
 
 It was just at this moment that Michelle Fléchard 
 reached the edge of the plateau. She saw at her feet a 
 ravine, whose bottom was lost in the wan indistinctness 
 of the night ; also at a little distance, on the top of the 
 plateau, an entanglement of wheels, metal, and harness, 
 which was a battery ; and before her, confusedly lighted 
 by the matches of the cannon, an enormous edifice that 
 seemed built of shadows blacker than the shadows which 
 surrounded it. This mass of buildings was composed of 
 a bridge whose arches were embedded in the ravine, and 
 of a sort of castle which rose upon the bridge ; both 
 bridge and castle were supported against a lofty circular 
 shadow, — the tower toward which this mother had 
 journeyed from so far. She could see lights come and 
 go in the loop-holes of the tower, and from the noise 
 which surged up she divined that it was filled with a 
 crowd of men ; indeed, now and then their gigantic 
 shadows were flung out on the night. Near the battery 
 was a camp, whose outposts she might have perceived 
 through the gloom and the underbrush, but she had as 
 yet noticed nothing. She went close to the edge of the 
 plateau, so near the bridge that it seemed to her she 
 could almost touch it with her hand. The depth of the 
 
FOUND, BUT LOST. 47 
 
 ravine alone kept her from reaching it. She could make 
 out in the gloom the three stories of the bridge-castle. 
 
 How long she stood there Michelle Fléchard could not 
 have told, for her mind, absorbed in her mute contem- 
 plation of this gaping ravine and this shadowy edifice, 
 took no note of time. What was this building ? What 
 was going on within ? Was it La Tourgue ? A strange 
 dizziness seized her ; in her confusion she could not tell 
 if this were the goal she had been seeking on the start- 
 ing-point of a terrible journey. She asked herself why 
 she was there. She looked ; she listened. 
 
 Suddenly a great blackness shut out every object. A 
 cloud of smoke swept up between Michelle and the pile 
 she was watching ; a sharp report forced her to close her 
 eyes. Scarcely had she done so, when a great light red- 
 dened the lids. She opened them again. It was no 
 longer the night she had before her ; it was the day, — ■ 
 but a fearful day ' the day born of fire ! She was watch- 
 ing the beginning of a conflagration. From black the 
 smoke had become scarlet, filled with a mighty flame, 
 which appeared and disappeared, writhing and twisting 
 in serpentine coils. The flame burst out like a tongue 
 from something which resembled blazing jaws ; it was 
 the embrasure of a window filled with fire. This win- 
 dow, covered by iron bars, already reddening in the heat, 
 was a casement in the lower story of the bridge-castle. 
 Nothing of the edifice was visible except this window. 
 The smoke covered even the plateau, leaving only the 
 mouth of the ravine black against the vermilion flames. 
 
 Michelle Fléchard stared in dumb wonder. It was 
 like a dream ; she could no longer tell where reality 
 ended, and the confused fancies of her poor troubled 
 brain began. Ought she to fly ? Should she remain 1 
 There was nothing real enough for any definite decision 
 to steady her mind. A wind swept up and burst thô 
 
48 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 curtain of smoke ; in the opening the frowning bastile 
 rose suddenly in view. — donjon, bridge, châtelet, — 
 dazzling in the terrible gilding of conflagration which 
 framed it from top to bottom. 
 
 The appalling illumination showed Michelle Fléchard 
 every detail of the ancient keep. The lowest story of 
 the castle built on the bridge was burning. Above rose 
 the other two stories, still untouched, but as it were 
 supported on a corbel of flames. From the edge of the 
 plateau where Michelle Fléchard stood, she could catch 
 broken glimpses of the interior between the clouds of 
 smoke and fire. The windows were all open. Through 
 the great casements of the second story she could make 
 out the cupboards stretched along the walls, which 
 looked to her full of books, and by one of the windows 
 could see a little group lying on the floor, in the 
 shadow, indistinct and massed together like birds in a 
 nest, which at times she fancied she saw move. She 
 looked fixedly in this direction. What was that little 
 group lying there in the shadow ? Sometimes it flashed 
 across her mind that those were living forms ; but she 
 had fever ; she had eaten nothing since morning ; she had 
 walked without intermission ; she was utterly exhausted. 
 She felt herself giving way to a sort of hallucination, 
 which she had still reason enough to struggle against. 
 Still, her eyes fixed themselves ever more steadily upon 
 that one point ; she could not look away from that little 
 heap upon the floor, — a mass of inanimate objects, 
 doubtless, that had been left in that room below which 
 the flames roared and billowed. 
 
 Suddenly the fire, as if animated by a will and pur- 
 pose, flung downward a jet of flame toward the great 
 dead ivy which covered the facade whereat Michelle 
 Fléchard was gazing. It seemed as if the fire had just 
 discovered this outwork of dried branches; a spark 
 
FOUND, BUT LOST. 49 
 
 darted greedily upon it, and a line of flame spread up. 
 ward from twig to twig with frightful rapidity. In the 
 twinkling of an eye it reached the second story. As 
 they rose, the flames illuminated the chamber of the 
 first floor, and the awful glare threw out in bold relief 
 the three little creatures lying asleep upon the floor. A 
 lovely, statuesque group of legs and arms interlaced, 
 closed eyes, and angelic, smiling faces. 
 
 The mother recognized her children! She uttered a 
 terrible cry. That cry of indescribable agony is only 
 given to mothers. . No sound is at once so savage and so 
 touching. When a woman utters it, you seem to hear 
 the yell of a sea-wolf; when the sea-wolf cries thus, 
 you seem to hear the voice of a woman. This cry of 
 Michelle Fléchard was a howl. Hecuba howled, says 
 Homer. 
 
 It was this cry which reached the Marquis de Lan- 
 tenac. When he heard it he stood still. The marquis 
 was between the outlet of the passage through which he 
 had been guided by Halmalo and the ravine. Across 
 the brambles which enclosed him he saw the bridge in 
 flames, and La Tourgue red with the reflection. Look- 
 ing upward through the opening which the branches left 
 above his head, he perceived close to the edge of the 
 plateau on the opposite side of the gulf, in front of the 
 burning castle, in the full light of the conflagration, 
 the haggard, anguish-stricken face of a woman bending 
 over the depth. It was this woman who had uttered 
 that cry. 
 
 The face was no longer that of Michelle Fléchard ; it 
 was a Gorgon's. She was appalling in her agony; the 
 peasant woman was transformed into one of the Eumen- 
 ides ; this unknown villager, vulgar, ignorant, unreason- 
 ing, had risen suddenly to the epic grandeur of despair. 
 Great sufferings swell the soul to gigantic proportions, 
 
 VOL. XVIII. — 4 
 
50 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 This was no longer a simple mother, — all maternity's 
 voice cried out through hers : whatever sums up and be- 
 comes a type of humanity grows superhuman. There 
 she towered on the edge of that ravine, in front of that 
 conflagration, in presence of that crime, like a power 
 from beyond the grave ; she moaned like a wild beast, 
 but her attitude was that of a goddess ; the mouth, 
 which uttered imprecations, was set in a flaming mask. 
 Nothing could have been more regal than her eyes shoot- 
 ing lightnings through her tears. Her look blasted the 
 conflagration. 
 
 The marquis listened. The mother's voice flung its 
 echoes down upon his head, — inarticulate, heart-rend- 
 ing ; sobs rather than words : — 
 
 " Ah, my God, my children ! Those are my children Î 
 Help ! Fire ! fire ! fire ! you brigands ! Is there no 
 one here ? My children are burning up ! Georgette ! 
 My babies ! Gros- Alain ! Eené-Jean ! What does it 
 mean ? Who put my children there ? They are asleep. 
 Oh, I am mad ! It is impossible ! Help, help ! " 
 
 A great bustle and movement was apparent in La 
 Tourgue and upon the plateau. The whole camp rushed 
 out to the fire which had just burst forth. The besiegers, 
 after meeting the grape-shot, had now to deal with the 
 conflagration. Gauvain, Cimourdain, and Guéchamp 
 were giving orders. What was to be done ? Only a few 
 buckets of water could be drained from the half-dried 
 brook of the ravine. The consternation increased. The 
 whole edge of the plateau was covered with men whose 
 troubled faces watched the progress of the flames. 
 What they saw was terrible : they gazed, and could do 
 nothing. 
 
 The flames had spread along the ivy and reached the 
 topmost story, leaping greedily upon the straw with 
 which it was filled. The entire granary was burning 
 
FOUND, BUT LOST. 51 
 
 now. The flames wreathed and danced as if in fiendish 
 joy. A cruel breeze fanned the pyre. One could fancy 
 the evil spirit of Imânus urging on the fire, and rejoi- 
 cing in the destruction which had been his last earthly 
 crime. The library, though between the two burning 
 stories, was not yet on fire ; the height of its ceiling and 
 the thickness of the walls retarded the fatal moment; 
 but it was fast approaching. The flames from below 
 licked the stones ; the flames from above whirled down 
 to caress them with the awful embrace of death : be- 
 neath, a cave of lava ; above, an arch of embers. If the 
 floor fell first, the children would be flung into the lava 
 stream; if the ceiling gave way, they would be buried 
 beneath burning coals. 
 
 The little ones slept still ; across the sheets of flame 
 and smoke which now hid, now exposed the casements, 
 the children were visible in that fiery grotto, within 
 that meteoric glare, peaceful, lovely, motionless, like 
 three confident cherubs slumbering in a hell. A tiger 
 might have wept to see those angels in that furnace, 
 those cradles in that tomb. 
 
 And the mother was wringing her hands : " Fire ! I 
 say, fire ! Are they all deaf, that nobody comes ? They 
 are burning my children ! Come, come, you men that I 
 see yonder ! Oh, the days and days that I have hunted, 
 — and this is where I find them ! Fire ! Help ! Three 
 angels, — to think of three angels burning there ! What 
 have they done, the innocents ? They shot me ; they are 
 burning my little ones ! Who is it does such things ? 
 Help ! save my children ! Do you not hear me ? A 
 dog, — one would have pity on a dog ! My children ! 
 my children ! They are asleep. Georgette, — I see 
 her face ! Kené- Jean, Gros- Alain, — those are their 
 names : you may know I am their mother. Oh, it is 
 horrible Î I have travelled days and nights ! Why, this 
 
52 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 very morning I talked of them with a woman ! Help, 
 help ! Where are those monsters ? Horror, horror ! The 
 eldest not five years old, the youngest not two. I can 
 see their little bare legs. They are asleep, Holy Virgin ! 
 Heaven gave them to me, and devils snatch them away. 
 To think how far I have journeyed ! My children, that 
 I nourished with my milk ! I, who thought myself 
 wretched because I could not find them, — have pity on 
 me ! I want my children ; I must have my children ! 
 And there they are in the fire ! See, how my poor feet 
 bleed ! Help ! It is not possible, if there are men on 
 the earth, that my little ones will be left to die like 
 this. Help! Murder! Oh, such a thing was never 
 seen ! assassins ! What is that dreadful house there ? 
 They stole my children from me in order to kill them. 
 God of mercy, give me my children ! They shall not 
 die! Help! help! help! Oh, I shall curse Heaven 
 itself, if they die like that ! " 
 
 While the mother's awful supplications rang out, 
 other' voices rose upon the plateau and in the ravine. 
 
 "A ladder!" 
 
 " There is no ladder ! " 
 
 "Water!" 
 
 " There is no water ! " 
 
 " Up yonder, in the tower, on the second story, there 
 is a door. " 
 
 " It is iron. • 
 
 " Break it in ! ■ 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 And the mother, redoubling her agonized appeals: 
 " Fire ! Help ! Hurry, I say, if you will not kill me ! 
 My children, my children ! Oh, the horrible fire 1 Take 
 them out of it, or throw me in ! " 
 
 In the interval between these clamours the trium- 
 phant crackling of the flames could be heard. 
 
FOUND, BUT LOST. 53 
 
 The marquis put his hand in his pocket and touched 
 the key of the iron door. Then, stooping again be- 
 neath the vault through which he had escaped, he 
 turned back into the passage from whence he had just 
 emerged. 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 FROM THE DOOR OF STONE TO THE IRON DOOR. 
 
 A WHOLE army distracted by the impossibility of 
 giving aid ; four thousand men unable to succour 
 three children, — such was the situation. Not even a 
 ladder to be had ; that sent from Javené had not arrived. 
 The flaming space widened like a crater that opens. To 
 attempt the staying of the fire by means of the half- 
 dried brook would have been mad folly, — like flinging 
 a glass of water on a volcano. 
 
 Cimourdain, Guéchamp, and Radoub had descended 
 into the ravine ; Gauvain remounted to the room in the 
 second story of the tower, where were the stone that 
 turned, the secret passage, and the iron door leading 
 into the library. It was there that the sulphur-match 
 had been lighted by Imanus ; from these the conflagra- 
 tion had started. Gauvain took with him twenty sap- 
 pers. There was no possible resource except to break 
 open the iron door ; its fastenings were terribly secure. 
 They began by blows with axes. The axes broke. A 
 sapper said : " Steel snaps like glass against that iron. " 
 The door was made of double sheets of wrought -iron, 
 bolted together; each sheet three fingers in thickness. 
 They took iron bars and tried to shake the door beneath 
 their blows ; the bars broke * like matches I " said one 
 of the sappers. 
 
FROM THE DOOR OF STONE TO THE IRON DOOR. 55 
 
 Gauvain murmured gloomily : " Nothing but a ball 
 eould open that door. If we could only get a cannon 
 up here ! " 
 
 " But how to do it ? " answered the sapper. 
 
 There was a moment of consternation. Those power- 
 less arms ceased their efforts. Mute, conquered, dis- 
 mayed, these men stood staring at the immovable door. 
 A red reflection crept from beneath it ; behind, the con- 
 flagration was each instant increasing. The frightful 
 corpse of Imânus lay on the floor, — a demoniac victor. 
 Only a few moments more and the whole bridge-castle 
 might fall in. What could be done ? There was not a 
 hope left. 
 
 Gauvain, with his eyes fixed on the turning-stone and 
 the secret passage, cried furiously : " It was by that the 
 Marquis de Lantenac escaped. " 
 
 " And returns, " said a voice. 
 
 The face of a white'-haired man appeared in the stone 
 frame of the secret opening. It was the marquis ! 
 Many years had passed since Gauvain had seen that 
 face so near. He recoiled. The rest all stood petrified 
 with astonishment. 
 
 The marquis held a large key in his hand; he cast a 
 haughty glance upon the sappers standing before him, 
 walked straight to the iron door, bent beneath the arch, 
 and put the key in the lock. The iron creaked, the 
 door opened, revealing a gulf of flame ; the marquis en- 
 tered it. He entered with a firm step, his head erect. 
 The lookers-on followed him with their eyes. The mar- 
 quis had scarcely moved half a dozen paces down the 
 blazing hall when the floor, undermined by the fire, gave 
 way beneath his feet and opened a precipice between 
 him and the door. He did not even turn his head, — he 
 walked steadily on. He disappeared in the smoke. 
 Nothing more could be seen. 
 
56 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Had the marquis been able to advance farther ? Had 
 a new gulf of fire opened beneath his feet ? Had he only 
 succeeded in destroying himself ? They could not tell. 
 They had before them only a wall of smoke and flame, 
 The marquis was beyond that, living or dead. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHEKE WE SEE THE CHILDREN WAKE THAT WE SAW 
 GO ASLEEP. 
 
 'T^HE little ones opened their eyes at last. The con 
 -*- flagration had not yet entered the library, but it 
 cast a rosy glow across the ceiling. The children had 
 never seen an aurora like that ; they watched it. Geor- 
 gette was in ecstasies. 
 
 The conflagration unfurled all its splendours ; the 
 black hydra and the scarlet dragon appeared amidst the 
 wreathing smoke in awful darkness and gorgeous ver- 
 milion. Long streaks of flame shot far out and illumi- 
 nated the shadows, like opposing comets pursuing one 
 another. Fire is recklessly prodigal with its treasures-; 
 its furnaces are filled with gems which it flings to the 
 winds ; it is not for nothing that charcoal is identical 
 with the diamond. Fissures had opened in the wall of 
 the upper story, through which the embers poured like 
 cascades of jewels ; the heaps of straw and oats burning 
 in the granary began to stream out of the windows in 
 an avalanche of golden rain, the oats turning to ame- 
 thysts and the straw to carbuncles. 
 
 " Pretty ! " said Georgette. 
 
 They all three raised themselves. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the mother. " They have wakened ! M 
 
 René- Jean got up, then Gros-Alain, and Georgette 
 followed. René-Jean stretched his arms toward the 
 window and said, " I am warm. " 
 
58 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " Me warm, cooed Georgette. 
 
 The mother shrieked : " My children î René ! Alain ! 
 Georgette ! " 
 
 The little ones looked about. They strove to com- 
 prehend. When men are frightened, children are only 
 curious. He who is easily astonished is difficult to 
 alarm ; ignorance is intrepidity. Children have so little 
 claim to purgatory that if they saw it they would 
 admire. 
 
 The mother repeated : " René ! Alain ! Georgette ! " 
 
 René- Jean turned his head; that voice roused him 
 from his reverie. Children have short memories, but 
 their recollections are swift ; the whole past is yester- 
 day to them. René-Jean saw his mother; found that 
 perfectly natural ; and feeling a vague want of support 
 in the midst of those strange surroundings, he called 
 " Mamma ! " 
 
 " Mamma ! " said Gros-Alain. 
 
 "M'ma!" said Georgette. And she held out her 
 little arms. 
 
 " My children ! " shrieked the mother. 
 
 All three went close to the window-ledge ; fortunately 
 the fire was not on that side. 
 
 "I am too warm," said René- Jean. He .added, "It 
 burns. " Then his eyes sought the mother. " Come 
 here, mamma ! " he cried. 
 
 " Turn, m'ma," repeated Georgette. 
 
 The mother, with her hair streaming about her face, 
 her garments torn, her feet and hands bleeding, let 
 herself roll from bush to bush down into the ravine 
 Cimourdain and Guéchamp were there, as powerless as 
 Gauvain was above. The soldiers, desperate at being 
 able to do nothing, swarmed about. The heat was in 
 supportable, but nobody felt it. They looked at th 
 bridge, the height of the arches, the different stories of 
 
CHILDREN WAKE THAT WE SAW GO ASLEEP. 59 
 
 the castle, — the inaccessible windows. Help to be of 
 any avail must come at once. Three stories to climb ; 
 no way of doing it ! 
 
 Radoub, wounded, with a sabre-cut on his shoulder 
 and one ear torn off, rushed forward dripping with sweat 
 and blood. He saw Michelle Fléehard. " Hold ! " cried 
 he. " The woman that was shot ! So you have come to 
 life again ? " 
 
 " My children ! " groaned the mother. 
 
 u You are right, " answered Radoub ; " we have no time 
 to occupy ourselves about ghosts. " He attempted to 
 climb the bridge, but in vain ; he dug his nails in be- 
 tween the stones and clung there for a few seconds, but 
 the layers were as smoothly joined as if the wall had 
 been new; Radoub fell back. 
 
 The conflagration swept on, each instant growing more 
 terrible. They could see the heads of the three children 
 framed in the red light of the window. In his frenzy 
 Radoub shook his clinched hand at the sky, and shouted, 
 " Is there no mercy yonder ? " 
 
 The mother, on her knees, clung to one of the piers, 
 crying, " Mercy, mercy ! " 
 
 The hollow sound of cracking timbers rose above the 
 roar of the flames. The panes of glass in the book-cases 
 of the library cracked and fell with a crash. It was 
 evident that the timber- work had given way. Human 
 strength could do nothing. Another moment and the 
 whole would fall. The soldiers only waited for the final 
 catastrophe. They could hear the little voices repeat, 
 " Mamma ! mamma ! " The whole crowd was paralyzed 
 with horror! 
 
 Suddenly, at the casement near that where the chil- 
 dren stood, a tall form appeared against the crimson 
 background of the flames. Every head was raised, every 
 eye fixed. A man was above there, — a man in the 
 
60 NINETY-THKEE. 
 
 library, in the furnace ! The face showed black against 
 the flames, but they could see the white hair; they rec- 
 ognized the Marquis de Lantenac. He disappeared, then 
 appeared again. The indomitable old man stood in the 
 window shoving out an enormous ladder. It was the 
 escape-ladder deposited in the library ; he had seen it 
 lying upon the floor and dragged it to the window. 
 He held it by one end ; with the marvellous agility of 
 an athlete he slipped it out of the casement, and slid 
 it along the wall d@wn into the ravine. 
 
 Eadoub folded his arms about the ladder as it de- 
 scended within his reach, crying, " Long live the 
 Eepublic!" 
 
 The marquis shouted, " Long live the King ! " 
 
 Eadoub muttered : " You may cry what you like, and 
 talk nonsense if you please, you are an angel of mercy 
 all the same. " 
 
 The ladder was settled in place, and communication 
 established between the burning floor and the ground. 
 Twenty men rushed up, Eadoub at their head, and in 
 the twinkling of an eye they were hanging to the rungs 
 from the top to the bottom, making a human ladder. 
 He had his face turned toward the conflagration. The 
 little army scattered among the heath and along the 
 sides of the ravine pressed forward, overcome by con- 
 tending emotions, upon the plateau, into the ravine, out 
 on the platform of the tower. 
 
 The marquis disappeared again, then reappeared bear- 
 ing a child in his arms. There was a tremendous clap- 
 ping of hands. The marquis had seized the first little 
 one that he found within reach. It was Gros-AIaiu. 
 
 Gros-Alain cried, " I am afraid. " 
 
 The marquis gave the boy to Eadoub ; Eadoub passed 
 him on to the soldier behind, who passed him to an- 
 other; and just as Gros-Alain, greatly frightened and 
 
CHILDREN WAKE THAT WE SAW GO ASLEEP. 61 
 
 sobbing loudly, was given from hand to hand to the 
 bottom of the ladder, the marquis, who had been absent 
 for a moment, returned to the window with Eené-Jean» 
 who struggled and wept and beat Eadoub with his little 
 fists as the marquis passed him on to the sergeant. 
 
 The marquis went back into the chamber that was 
 now filled with flames. Georgette was there alone. He 
 went up to her. She smiled. This man of granite felt 
 his eyelids grow moist. He asked, " What is your 
 name ? " 
 
 " Orgette, " said she. 
 
 He took her in his arms : she was still smiling, and 
 at the instant he handed her to Eadoub, that conscience, 
 so lofty and yet so darkened, was dazzled by the beauty 
 of innocence : the old man kissed the child. 
 
 " It is the little girl ! " said the soldiers ; and Geor- 
 gette in her turn descended from arm to arm till she 
 reached the ground, amidst cries of exultation. They 
 clapped their hands ; they leaped ; the old grenadiers 
 sobbed, and she smiled at them. 
 
 The mother stood at the foot of the ladder breathless, 
 mad, intoxicated by this change, — flung, without tran- 
 sition, from hell into paradise. Excess of joy lacerates 
 the heart in its own way. She extended her arms ; she 
 received first Gros-Alain, then Eené-Jean, then Geor- 
 gette. She covered them with frantic kisses, then burst 
 into a wild laugh and fainted. 
 
 A great cry rose : " They are all saved. * 
 
 All were indeed saved, except the old man. But no 
 one thought of him, — not even he himself, perhaps. 
 He remained for a few instants leaning against the win- 
 dow-ledge lost in a reverie, as if he wished to leave the 
 gulf of flames time to make a decision. Then, without 
 the least haste, slowly indeed and proudly, he stepped 
 over the window-sill, and erect, upright, his shoulders 
 
62 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 against the rungs, having the coDfiagration at his back, 
 the depth before him, he began to descend the ladder in 
 silence, with the majesty of a phantom. 
 
 The men who were on the ladder sprang off; every 
 witness shuddered. About this man thus descending 
 from that height there was a sacred horror as about a 
 vision ; but he plunged calmly into the darkness before 
 him. They recoiled ; he drew nearer them. The mar- 
 ble pallor of his face showed no emotion ; his haughty 
 eyes were calm and cold. At each step he made toward 
 those men whose wondering eyes gazed upon him out of 
 the darkness, he seemed to tower higher; the ladder 
 shook and echoed under his firm tread . one might have 
 thought him the statue of the " Commendatore " descend- 
 ing anew into his sepulchre. 
 
 As the marquis reached the bottom, and his foot left 
 the last rung and planted itself on the ground, a hand 
 seized his shoulder. He turned about. 
 
 " I arrest you, " said Cimourdain. 
 
 " I approve of what you do, " said Lantenec. 
 
BOOK VI 
 
 AFTER THE VICTORY THE COMBAT BEGINS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LANTENAC TAKEN. 
 
 *T*HE marquis had indeed descended into the tomb. 
 
 **■ He was led away. 
 
 The crypt dungeon of the ground-floor of La Tourgue 
 was immediately opened under Cimourdain's lynx-eyed 
 superintendence. A lamp was placed within, a jug of 
 water and a loaf of soldier's bread ; a bundle of straw 
 was flung on the ground, and in less than a quarter of 
 an hour from the instant when the priest's hand seized 
 Lantenac the door of the dungeon closed upon him. 
 This done, Cimourdain went to find Gauvain; at that 
 instant eleven o'clock sounded from the distant church- 
 clock of Parigné. 
 
 Cimourdain said to his former pupil : " I am going to 
 convoke a court-martial ; you will not be there. You 
 are a Gauvain, and Lantenac is a Gauvain. You are too 
 near a kinsman to be his judge; I blame Egalité for 
 having voted upon Capet's sentence. The court-martial 
 will be composed of three judges, — an officer, Captain 
 Guéchamp ; a non-commissioned officer, Sergeant Radoub ; 
 and myself. I shall preside. Nothing of all this con- 
 cerns you any longer. We will conform to the decree 
 of the Convention ; we will confine ourselves to proving 
 
64 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the identity of the ci-devant Marquis de Lantenae. To- 
 morrow the court-martial ; day after to-morrow the guil- 
 lotine. The Vendée is dead. " 
 
 Gauvain did not answer a word, and Cimourdain, pre- 
 occupied by the final task which remained for him to 
 fulfil, left the young man alone. Cimourdain had to 
 decide upon the hour, and choose the place. He had — 
 like Lequinio at Granville, like Tallien at Bordeaux, 
 like Châlier at Lyons, like Saint-Just at Strasbourg — 
 the habit of assisting personally at executions ; it was 
 considered a good example for the judge to come and 
 see the headsman do his work, —a custom borrowed by 
 the Terror of '93 from the parliaments of France and 
 the Inquisition of Spain. 
 
 Gauvain also was preoccupied. A cold wind moaned 
 up from the. forest. Gauvain left Guéchamp to give the 
 necessary orders, went to his tent in the meadow which 
 stretched along the edge of the wood at the foot of La 
 Tourgue, took his hooded cloak and enveloped himself 
 therein. This cloak was bordered with the simple 
 galoon which, according to the republican custom 
 (chary of ornament), designated the commander-in-chief. 
 He began to walk about in this bloody field where the 
 attack had begun. He was alone there. The fire still 
 continued, but no one any longer paid attention to it. 
 Radoub was beside the children and their mother, al- 
 most as maternal as she. The bridge-castle was nearly 
 consumed ; the sappers hastened the destruction. The 
 soldiers were digging trenches in order to bury the dead ; 
 the wounded were being cared for ; the retirade had been 
 demolished ; the chambers and stairs disencumbered of 
 the dead ; the soldiers were cleansing the scene of car- 
 nage, sweeping away the terrible rubbish of the victory, 
 — with true military rapidity setting everything in 
 order after the battle. 
 
LANTENAC TAKEN. 65 
 
 Gauvain saw nothing of all this. So profound was 
 his reverie that he scarcely cast a glance toward the 
 guard about the tower, doubled by the orders of Cimour- 
 dain. He could distinguish the breach through the ob- 
 scurity, perhaps two hundred feet away from the corner 
 of the held where he had taken refuge. He could see 
 the black opening. It was there the attack had begun 
 three hours before; it was by this dark gap that he 
 (Gauvain) had penetrated into the tower ; there was the 
 ground-floor where the retirade had stood ; it was on 
 that same floor that the door of the marquis's prison 
 opened. The guard at the breach watched this dun- 
 geon. While his eyes were absently fixed upon the 
 heath, in his ear rang confusedly, like the echo of a 
 knell, these words : " To-morrow the court-martial ; day 
 after to-morrow, the guillotine. " 
 
 The conflagration, which had been isolated, and upon 
 which the sappers had thrown all the water that could 
 be procured, did not die away without resistance ; it 
 still cast out intermittent flames. At moments the 
 cracking of the ceilings could be heard, and the crash 
 one upon another of the different stories as they fell in 
 a common ruin ; then a whirlwind of sparks would fly 
 through the air, as if a gigantic torch had been shaken ; 
 a glare like lightning illuminated the farthest verge of 
 the horizon, and the shadow of La Tourgue, growing 
 suddenly colossal, spread out to the edge of the forest. 
 
 Gauvain walked slowly to and fro amidst the gloom 
 in front of the breach. At intervals he clasped his two 
 hands at the back of his head, covered with his soldier's 
 hood. He was thinking. 
 
 vol. aroo. — 6 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 GAUVAIN'S SELF-QUESTIONING. 
 
 FTIS reverie was fathomless. A seemingly impossi- 
 ■*■ ■*■ ble change had taken place. The Marquis de 
 Lantenac had been transfigured. 
 
 Gauvain had been a witness of this transfiguration. 
 He would never have believed that such a state of affairs 
 would arrive from any complication of events, whatever 
 they might be. Never would he have imagined, even 
 in a dream, that anything similar would be possible. 
 The unexpected — that inexplicable power which plays 
 with man at will — had seized Gauvain, and held him 
 fast. He had before him the impossible become a real- 
 ity, visible, palpable, inevitable, inexorable. What did 
 he think of it — he, Gauvain? There was no chance of 
 evasion ; the decision must be made. A question was 
 put to him ; he could not avoid it. Put by whom ? By 
 events. And not alone by events ; for when events, 
 which are mutable, address a question to our souls, 
 Justice, which is unchangeable, summons us to reply. 
 Above the cloud which casts its shadow upon us is the 
 star that sends toward us its light. We can no more 
 escape from the light than from the shadow. 
 
 Gauvain was undergoing an interrogatory. He had 
 been arraigned before a judge : before a terrible judge, 
 — his conscience. Gauvain felt every power of his soul 
 vacillate. His resolutions the most solid, his promises 
 the most piously uttered, his decisions the most irrevo- 
 
GAUVAIN'S SELF-QUESTIONING. 67 
 
 cable, all tottered in this terrible overwhelming of his 
 will. There are moral earthquakes. The more he re- 
 fleeted upon that which he had lately seen, the more 
 confused he became. Gauvain, republican, believed 
 himself, and was, just. A higher justice had revealed 
 itself. Above the justice of revolutions is that of hu- 
 manity. What had happened could not be eluded ; the 
 case was grave ; Gauvain made part of it ; he could not 
 withdraw himself ; and although Cimourdain had said 
 " It concerns you no further, " he felt within his sou] 
 the pang which a tree may feel when torn upward from 
 its roots. 
 
 Every man has a basis; a disturbance of this base 
 causes a profound trouble ; it was what Gauvain now 
 felt. He pressed his head between his two hands, 
 searching for the truth. To state clearly a situation 
 like his is not easy ; nothing could be more painful. 
 He had before him the formidable ciphers which he 
 must sum up into a total; to judge a human destiny by 
 mathematical rules. His head whirled. He tried ; he 
 endeavoured to consider the matter; he forced himself 
 to collect his ideas, to discipline the resistance which 
 he felt within himself, and to recapitulate the facts. 
 He set them all before his mind. 
 
 To whom has it not arrived to make such a report, 
 and to interrogate himself in some supreme circum- 
 stances upon the route which must be followed, — 
 whether to advance or retreat? 
 
 Gauvain had just been witness of a miracle. Before 
 the earthly combat had fairly ended, there came a celes- 
 tial struggle, — the conflict of good against evil. A 
 'heart of adamant had been conquered. Given the man 
 with all that he had of evil within him, violence, error, 
 blindness, unwholesome obstinacy, pride, egotism, — 
 Gauvain had just witnessed a miracle: the victory oJ 
 
08 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 humanity over the man. Humanity had conquered the 
 inhuman. And by what means ; in what manner ? 
 How had it been able to overthrow that colossus of 
 wrath and hatred ? What arms had it employed ; what 
 implement of war? The cradle! 
 
 Gauvain had been dazzled. In the midst of social 
 war, in the very blaze of all hatreds and all vengeances, 
 at the darkest and most furious moment of the tumult, 
 at the hour when crime gave all its fires, and hate all its 
 blackness, — at that instant of conflict, when every sen- 
 timent becomes a projectile ; when the mêlée is so fierce 
 that one no longer knows what is justice, honesty, or 
 truth, — suddenly the Unknown (mysterious warner of 
 souls) sent the grand rays of eternal truth resplendent 
 across human light and darkness. Above that sombre 
 duel between the false and the relatively true, there, in 
 the depths, the face of truth itself abruptly appeared. 
 Suddenly the force of the feeble had interposed. He 
 had seen three poor creatures, almost new born, unreason- 
 ing, abandoned, orphans, alone, lisping, smiling ; having 
 against them civil war, retaliation, the horrible logic of 
 reprisals, murder, carnage, fratricide, rage, hatred, all 
 the Gordons, — he had seen them triumph against those 
 powers. He had seen the defeat and extinction of a 
 horrible conflagration that had been charged to commit 
 a crime; he had seen atrocious premeditations discon. 
 certed and brought to naught ; he had seen ancient feu- 
 dal ferocity, inexorable disdain, professed experiences 
 of the necessities of war, reasons of State, all the arro- 
 gant resolves of a savage old age, vanish before the clear 
 gaze of those who had not yet lived. And this was 
 natural ; for he who has not yet lived has dore no evil : 
 he is justice, truth, purity ; and the highest angels of 
 heaven hover about those souls of little children. 
 
 A useful spectacle, a counsel, a lesson. The mad* 
 
GAUVAIN'S SELF-QUESTIONING. 69 
 
 dened, merciless combatants, in face of all the projects, 
 all the outrages of war, fanaticism, assassination, re- 
 venge kindling the fagots, death coming torch in hand, 
 had suddenly seen all-powerful Innocence raise itself 
 above this enormous legion of crimes. And Innocence 
 had conquered. One could say : No, civil war does not 
 exist ; barbarism does not exist ; hatred does not exist ; 
 crime does not exist ; darkness does not exist. To scat- 
 ter these spectres it only needed that divine aurora, -^ 
 innocence. Never in any conflict had Satan and God 
 been more plainly visible. 
 
 This conflict had a human conscience for its arena. 
 The conscience of Lantenac. Now the battle began 
 again — more desperate, more decisive still perhaps — 
 in another conscience, — the conscience of Gauvain. 
 
 What a battle-ground is the soul of man ! We are 
 given up to those gods, those monsters, those giants, - — 
 our thoughts. Often these terrible belligerents trample 
 our very souls down in their mad conflict. 
 
 Gauvain meditated. The Marquis de Lantenac, sur- 
 rounded, doomed, condemned, outlawed; shut in like 
 the wild beast in the circus, held like a nail in the pin- 
 cers, enclosed in his refuge become his prison, bound on 
 every side by a wall of iron and fire, — had succeeded in 
 stealing away. He had performed a miracle in escap- 
 ing; he had accomplished that masterpiece, — the most 
 difficult of all in such a war, — flight. He had again 
 taken possession of the forest, to intrench himself there- 
 in; of the district, to fight there; of the shadow, to 
 disappear within it. He had once more become the 
 formidable, the dangerous wanderer, the captain of the 
 invincibles the chief of the underground forces, the mas- 
 ter of the woods. Gauvain had the victory, but Lante- 
 nac had his liberty. Henceforth Lantenac had security 
 before him, limitless freedom, an inexhaustible choice 
 
70 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 of asylums. He was indiscernible, unapproachable, in- 
 accessible. The lion had been taken in the snare, and 
 had broken through. 
 
 Well, he had re-entered it. The Marquis de Lantenac 
 had voluntarily, spontaneously, by his own free act, left 
 the forest, the shadow, security, liberty, to return U 
 that horrible peril : intrepid when Gauvain saw him the 
 first time plunge into the conflagration at the risk of 
 being ingulfed therein ; intrepid a second time, when 
 he descended that ladder which delivered him to his 
 enemies, — a ladder of escape to others, of perdition to 
 him. And why had he thus acted ? To save three 
 children. And now what was it they were about to do 
 to this man ? Guillotine him. Had these three chil- 
 dren been his own ? No. Of his family ? No. Of his 
 rank ? No. For three little beggars — chance children, 
 foundlings, unknown, ragged, barefooted — this noble, 
 this prince, this old man, free, safe, triumphant (for 
 evasion is a triumph), had risked all, compromised all, 
 lost all; and at the same time he restored the babes, 
 had proudly brought his own head, — and this head, 
 hitherto terrible, but now august, he offered to his foes. 
 And what were they about to do ? Accept the sacrifice. 
 
 The Marquis de Lantenac had had the choice between 
 the life of others and his own : in this superb option he 
 had chosen death. And it was to be granted him ; he 
 was to be killed. What a reward for heroism ! Ee- 
 spond to a generous act by a barbarous one ! What a 
 degrading of the Eevolution, what a belittling of the 
 Eepublic ! As this man of prejudice and servitude, 
 suddanly transformed, returned into the circle of hu- 
 manity, the men who strove for deliverance and freedom 
 elected to cling to the horrors of civil war, to the rou- 
 tine of blood, to fratricide ! The divine law of forgive- 
 ess, abnegation, redemption, sacrifice, existed for the 
 
GAUVAIN'S SELF-QUESTIONING. 71 
 
 combatants of error, and did not exist for the soldiers 
 of truth ! What ! Not to make a struggle in magna- 
 nimity : resign themselves to this defeat ? They, the 
 stronger, to show themselves the weaker; they, victo- 
 rious, to become assassins, and cause it to be said that 
 there were those on the side of monarchy who saved 
 children, and those on the side of the Eepublic whc 
 slew old men ? 
 
 The world would see this great soldier, this powerful 
 octogenarian, this disarmed warrior, — stolen rather 
 than captured, seized in the performance of a good ac- 
 tion ; seized by his own permission, with the sweat of a 
 noble devotion still upon his brow, — mount the steps of 
 the scaffold as he would mount to the grandeur of an 
 apotheosis ! And they would put beneath the knife that 
 head about which w^ould circle, as suppliants, the souls 
 of the three little angels he had saved ! And before this 
 punishment — infamous for the butchers — a smile 
 would be seen on the face of that man, and the blush of 
 shame on the face of the Eepublic ! And this would be 
 accomplished in the presence of Gauvain, the chief. 
 And he who might hinder this would abstain. He 
 would rest content under that haughty absolution, " This 
 concerns thee no longer. " And he was not even to say 
 to himself that in such a case abdication of authority 
 was complicity! He was not to perceive that of two 
 men engaged in an action so hideous, he who permits 
 the thing is worse than the man who does the work, be- 
 cause he is the coward! 
 
 But this death, — had he, Gauvain, not promised it ? 
 Had not he, the merciful, declared that Lantenac should 
 have no mercy ; that he would himself deliver Lantenac 
 to Cimourdain ? That head, — he owed it. Well, he 
 would pay the debt; so be it. But was it, indeed, the 
 same head. 
 
72 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Hitherto Gauvain had seen in Lantenac only the bar- 
 foarous warrior, the fanatic of royalty and feudalism, the 
 slaughterer of prisoners, an assassin whom war had let 
 loose, a man of blood. That man he had not feared ; he 
 had proscribed that proscriber : the implacable would 
 have found him inexorable. Nothing more simple : the 
 road was marked out and terribly plain to follow ; every- 
 thing foreseen : those who killed must be killed ; the 
 path of horror was clear and straight. Unexpectedly 
 that straight line had been broken ; a sudden turn in 
 the way revealed a new horizon ; a metamorphosis had 
 taken place. An unknown Lantenac entered upon the 
 scene. A hero sprang up from the monster : more than 
 a hero, — a man; more than a soul, — a heart. It was no 
 longer a murderer that Gauvain had before him, but a 
 saviour. Gauvain was flung to the earth by a flood of 
 celestial radiance. Lantenac had struck him with the 
 thunder-bolt of generosity. 
 
 And Lantenac transfigured could not transfigure Gau- 
 vain ! What ! Was this stroke of light to produce no 
 counter-stroke ? Was the man of the Past to push on 
 in front, and the man of the Future to fall back ? Was 
 the man of barbarism and superstition suddenly to 
 unfold angel pinions, and soar aloft to watch the man 
 of the ideal crawl beneath him in the mire and the 
 night ? Gauvain to lie wallowing in the blood-stained 
 rut of the past, while Lantenac rose to a new existence 
 in the sublime future ? 
 
 Another thing still. Their family! This blood 
 which he was about to spill, — for to let it be spilled 
 was to spill it himself, — was not this his blood, his, 
 Gauvain 's ? His grandfather was dead, but his grand- 
 uncle lived, and this grand-uncle was the Marquis de 
 Lantenac. Would not that ancestor who had gone to 
 the grave rise to prevent his brother from being forced 
 
GAUVAIN'S SELF-QUESTIONING. 73 
 
 into it ? Would he not command his grandson hence- 
 forth to respect that crown of white hairs, become pure 
 as his own angelic halo ? Did not a spectre loom with 
 indignant eyes between him, Gauvain, and Lantenac ? 
 Was, then, the aim of the Revolution to denaturalize 
 man ? Had she been born to break the ties of family 
 and to stifle the instincts of humanity ? Far from it. 
 It was to affirm these glorious realities, not to deny 
 them, that '89 had risen. To overturn the bastiles was 
 to deliver humanity; to abolish feudality was to found 
 families. The author being the point from whence 
 authority sets out, and authority being included in the 
 author, there can be no other authority than paternity : 
 hence the legitimacy of the queen-bee who creates her 
 people, and who, being mother, is queen ; hence the 
 absurdity of the king-man, who not being father, cannot 
 be master. Hence the suppression of the king ; hence 
 the Republic that comes from all this ! Family, hu- 
 manity, revolution. Revolution is the accession of the 
 peoples ; and, at the bottom, the People is Man. The 
 thing to decide was, whether when Lantenac returned into 
 humanity, Gauvain should return to his family. The 
 thing to decide was, whether the uncle and nephew 
 should meet again in a higher light, or whether the 
 nephew's recoil should reply to the uncle's progress. 
 The question in this pathetic debate between Gauvain 
 and his conscience had resolved itself into this ; and 
 the answer seemed to come of itself, — he must save 
 Lantenac. 
 
 Yes ; but France ? Here the dizzying problem sud- 
 denly changed its face. What ! France at bay ? France 
 betrayed, flung open, dismantled ? Having no longer a 
 moat- Germany would cross the Rhine; no longer a 
 wall, Italy would leap the Alps, and Spain the Pyre- 
 nees. There would remain to France that great abyss, 
 
74 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 the ocean. She had for her the gulf; she could back 
 herself against it, and, giantess, supported by the entire 
 sea, could combat the whole earth, — a position, after 
 all, impregnable. Yet no ; this position would fail her. 
 The ocean no longer belonged to her. In this ocean 
 was England. True, England was at a loss how to 
 traverse it. Well, a man would fling her a bridge ; a 
 man would extend his hand to her ; a man would go to 
 Pitt, to Craig, to CornwaLlis, to Dundas, to the piraies, 
 and say, " Come ! " A man would cry, " England, seize 
 Erance ! " And this man was the Marquis de Lantenac. 
 This man was now held fast. After three months of 
 chase, of pursuit, of frenzy, he had at last been taken. 
 The hand of the Eevolution had just closed upon the 
 accursed one ; the clinched fist of '93 had seized this 
 royalist murderer by the throat. Through that mys- 
 terious premeditation from on high which mixes itself 
 in human affairs, it was in the dungeon belonging to 
 his family that this parricide awaited his punishment. 
 The feudal lord was in the feudal oubliette. The stones 
 of his own castle rose against him and shut him in, and 
 he who had sought to betray his country had been be- 
 trayed by his own dwelling. God had visibly arranged 
 all this ; the hour had sounded ; the Eevolution had 
 Imken prisoner this public enemy ; he could no longer 
 fight, he could no longer struggle, he could no longer 
 harm. In this Vendée, which owned so many arms, 
 his was the sole brain ; with his extinction, civil war 
 would be extinct. He was held fast, — tragic and fortu- 
 nate conclusion ! After so many massacres, so much 
 carnage, he was a captive, this man who had slain so 
 pitilessly ; and it was his turn to die. 
 
 And if some one should be found to save him! 
 Cimourdain, that is to say, '93, held Lantenac, that is 
 to say, Monarchy ; and could any one be found to snatch 
 
GAUVAIN'S SELF-QUESTIONING. 75 
 
 its prey from that hand of bronze ? Lantenac, the man 
 in whom concentrated that sheaf of scourges called the 
 Past, — the Marquis de Lantenac, — was in the tomb ; 
 the heavy eternal door had closed upon him ; would 
 some one come from without to draw back the bolt? 
 This social malefactor was dead, and with him died re- 
 volt, fratricidal contest, bestial war; and would any 
 one be found to resuscitate him ? Oh, how that death's- 
 head would laugh ! That spectre would say, " It is well : 
 I live again, — the idiots ! " How he would once more 
 set himself at his hideous work. How joyously and 
 implacably this Lantenac would plunge anew into the 
 gulf of war and hatred, and on the morrow would be 
 seen again houses burning, prisoners massacred, the 
 wounded slain, women shot! 
 
 And, after all, did not Gauvain exaggerate this action 
 which had fascinated him ? Three children were lost ; 
 Lantenac saved them. But who had flung them into 
 that peril ? Was it not Lantenac ? Who had set those 
 three cradles in the heart of the conflagration ? Was it 
 not Imânus ? Who was Imânus? The lieutenant of 
 the marquis. The one responsible is the chief. Hence 
 the incendiary and the assassin was Lantenac. What 
 had he done so admirable ? He had not persisted, — that 
 was all. After having conceived the crime, he had re- 
 coiled before it. He had become horrified at himself. 
 That mother's cry had wakened in him those remains of 
 human mercy which exist in all souls, even the most 
 hardened ; at this cry he had returned upon his steps. 
 Out of the night where he had buried himself, he has- 
 tened toward the day ; after having brought about the 
 crime, he caused its defeat. His whole merit consisted 
 in this, — not to have been a monster to the end. 
 
 And in return for so little, to restore him all. To 
 give him freedom, the fields, the plains, air, day ; restore 
 
76 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 to him the forest, which he would employ to shelter his 
 bandits ; restore him liberty, which he would use to 
 bring about slavery ; restore life, which he would de- 
 vote to death. As for trying to come to an understand- 
 ing with him ; attempting to treat with that arrogant 
 soul ; propose his deliverance under certain conditions ; 
 demand if he would consent, were his life spared, hence- 
 forth to abstain from all hostilities and all revolt, — 
 what an error such an offer would be Î what an advan- 
 tage it would give him ! against what scorn would the 
 proposer wound himself ! how he would freeze the ques- 
 tioner by his response, " Keep such shame for yourself: 
 kill me ! " 
 
 There was, in short, nothing to do with this man but 
 to slay or set him free. He was ever ready to soar or to 
 sacrifice himself ; his strange soul held at once the eagle 
 and the abyss. To slay him, — what a pang ! To set 
 him free, — what a responsibility ! Lan tenac saved, all 
 was to begin anew with the Vendée, — like a struggle 
 with a hydra whose heads had not been severed. In the 
 twinkling of an eye, with the rapidity of a meteor, the 
 flame extinguished by this man's disappearance would 
 blaze up again. Lantenac would never stop to rest 
 until he had carried out that execrable plan, — to fling, 
 like the cover of a tomb, Monarchy upon the Eepublic, 
 and England upon France. To save Lantenac was to 
 sacrifice France. Life to Lantenac was death to a host of 
 innocent beings, — men, women, children, caught anew 
 in that domestic war ; it was the landing of the English, 
 the recoil of the Eevolution ; it was the sacking of the 
 villages, the rending of the people, the mangling of 
 Brittany ; it was flinging the prey back into the tiger's 
 claw. And Gauvain, in the midst of uncertain gleams 
 and rays of introverted light, beheld, vaguely sketched 
 across his reverie, this problem rise, — the setting the 
 tiger at liberty. 
 
GAUVAIN'S SELF-QUESTIONING 77 
 
 And then the question reappeared under its first 
 aspect, the stone of Sisyphus, which is nothing other 
 than the combat of man with himself, fell back. Was 
 Lantenac that tiger? Perhaps he had been; but was 
 he still ? 
 
 G-auvain was dizzy beneath the whirl and conflict in 
 his soul; his thoughts turned and circled upon them- 
 selves with serpentine swiftness. After the closest ex- 
 amination, could any one deny Lantenac 's devotion; his 
 stoical self-abnegation, his superb disinterestedness ? 
 What ! to attest his humanity in the presence of the 
 open jaws of civil war ! What ! in this contest of in- 
 ferior truths, to bring the highest truth of all! What! 
 to prove that above royalties above revolutions above 
 earthly questions, is the grand tenderness of the human 
 soul, — the recognition of the protection due to the fee- 
 ble from the strong, the safety due to those who are 
 perishing from those who are saved, the paternity due 
 to all little children from all old men ! To prove these 
 magnificent truths by the gift of his head ! to be a 
 general, and renounce strategy, battle, revenge ! What ! 
 to be a royalist, and to take a balance and put in one 
 scale the King of France, a monarchy of fifteen cen- 
 turies, old laws to re-establish, ancient society to re- 
 store, and in the other three little unknown peasants. 
 and to find the king, the throne, the sceptre, and fifteen 
 centuries of monarchy too light to weigh against these 
 three innocent creatures ! What ! was all that nothing ? 
 What! could he who had done this remain a tiger! 
 Ought he to be treated like a wild beast ? No, no, no ! 
 The man who had just illuminated the abyss of civil 
 war by the light of a divine action was not a monster. 
 The sword-bearer was metamorphosed into the angel of 
 day. The infernal Satan had again become the celestial. 
 Lucifer, Lantenac had atoned for all his barbarities 
 
78 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 by one act of sacrifice; in losing himself materially 
 he had saved himself morally ; he had become inno- 
 cent again, he had signed his own pardon. Does not 
 the right of self-forgiveness exist ? Henceforth he was 
 venerable. 
 
 Lantenac had just shown himself almost superhuman ; 
 it was now Gauvain 's turn. Gauvain was called upon 
 to answer him. The struggle of good and evil passions 
 made the world a chaos at this epoch : Lantenac, domi- 
 nating the chaos, had just brought humanity out of it ; 
 it now remained for Gauvain to bring forth their family 
 therefrom. 
 
 What was he about to do? Was Gauvain about to 
 betray the trust Providence had shown in him ? No ; 
 and he murmured within himself, " Let us save Lan- 
 tenac. " And a voice answered, " It is well. Go on ; 
 aid the English ; desert ; pass over to the enemy. Save 
 Lantenac and betray France ! " And Gauvain shud- 
 dered. " Thy solution is no solution, O dreamer ! " 
 Gauvain saw the Sphinx smile bitterly in the 
 shadow. 
 
 This situation was a sort of formidable meeting- 
 ground where hostile truths confronted one another, and 
 where the three highest ideas of man — humanity, fam- 
 ily, country — looked in one another's faces. Each of 
 these voices took up the word in its turn, and each 
 uttered truth. Each in its turn seemed to find the point 
 where wisdom and justice met, and said, " Do this ! " 
 Was that the thing he ought to do ? Yes : no. Season- 
 ing said one thing, and feeling another : the two coun- 
 sels were in direct opposition. Eeasoning is only reason ; 
 feeling is often conscience. The one comes from man 
 himself, the other from a higher source; hence it is that 
 feeling has less clearness and more power. Still, what 
 force stern reason possesses ! 
 
GAUVAIN S SELF-QUKS'IÏONING. 79 
 
 Gauvain hesitated. Maddening perplexity! Two 
 abysses opened before him. Should he let the marquis 
 perish ? Should he save him ? He must plunge into 
 one depth or the other. Toward which of the two gulfs 
 did Duty point? 
 
CHAPTER III . 
 
 THE COMMANDANT'S MANTLE. 
 
 JT was» after all, with Duty that these victors had ta 
 deal. Duty raised herself, — stern to Ciniourdain's 
 eyes ; terrible to those of Gauvain. Simple before the 
 one; complex, diverse, tortuous, before the other. 
 
 Midnight sounded; then one o'clock. Without being 
 conscious of it, Gauvain had gradually approached the 
 entrance to the breach. The expiring conflagration only 
 flung out intermittent gleams ; the plateau on the other 
 side of the tower caught the reflection and became visi- 
 ble for an instant, then disappeared from view as the 
 smoke swept over the flames. This glare, reviving in 
 jets and cut by sudden shadows, disproportioned objects, 
 and made the sentinels look like phantoms. Lost in 
 his reverie, Gauvain mechanically watched the strife 
 between the flame and smoke. These appearances and 
 disappearances of the light before his eyes had a strange, 
 subtle analogy with the revealing and concealment of 
 truth in his soul. 
 
 Suddenly, between two clouds of smoke, a long streak 
 of flame, shot out from the dying brazier, illuminated 
 vividly the summit of the plateau, and brought out the 
 skeleton of a wagon against the vermilion background. 
 Gauvain stared at this wagon. It was surrounded by 
 horsemen wearing gendarmes' hats; it seemed to him 
 the wagon which he had looked at through Guéchamp's 
 glass several hours before, when the sun was setting 
 
THE COMMANDANT'S MANTLE. 81 
 
 and the wagon away off on the verge of the horizon. 
 Some men were mounted on the cart and appeared to be 
 unloading it; that which they took off seemed to be 
 heavy, and now and then gave out the sound of clank- 
 ing iron. It would have been difficult to tell what it 
 was; it looked like beams for a frame-work. Two of 
 the men lifted between them and set upon the ground a 
 box, which, as well as he could judge by the shape, 
 contained a triangular object. 
 
 The flame sank ; all was again buried in darkness. 
 Gauvain stood with fixed eyes lost in thought upon that 
 which the darkness hid. Lanterns were lighted, men 
 came and went on the plateau ; but the forms of those 
 moving about were confused, and, moreover, Gauvain 
 was below and on the other side of the ravine, and there- 
 fore could see little of what was passing. Voices spoke, 
 but he could not catch the words. Now and then came 
 a sound like the shock of timbers striking together. He 
 could hear also a strange metallic creaking, like the 
 sharpening of a scythe. 
 
 Two o'clock struck. Slowly, and like one who strove 
 to retreat and yet was forced by some invisible power to 
 advance, Gauvain approached the breach. As he came 
 near, the sentinel recognized in the shadow the cloak 
 and braided hood of the commandant, and presented 
 arms. Gauvain entered the hall of the ground -floor, 
 which had been transformed into a guard-room. A 
 lantern hung from the roof ; it cast just light enough so 
 that one could cross the hall without treading upon the 
 soldiers who lay, most of them asleep, upon the straw. 
 There they lay ; they had been fighting a few hours be- 
 fore ; the grape-shot, partially swept away, scattered its 
 grains of iron and lead over the floor and troubled then 
 repose somewhat, but they were weary, and so slept 
 This hall had been the battle-ground, the scene of fren« 
 
 VOL. XVIII» — 6 
 
82 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 zied attack ; there men had groaned, howled, ground 
 their teeth, struck out blindly in their death-agony, and 
 expired. Many of these sleepers' companions had fallen 
 dead upon this floor, where they now lay down in their 
 weariness; the straw which served them for a pillow 
 had drunk the blood of their comrades. Now all was 
 ended; the blood had ceased to flow, the sabres were 
 dried; the dead were dead; these sleepers slumbered 
 peacefully. Such is war. And then, perhaps to morrow, 
 the slumber of all will be the same. 
 
 At Gauvain 's entrance a few of the men rose, -— 
 among others, the officer in command. Gauvain pointed 
 to the door of the dungeon. " Open it, " he said to the 
 officer. The bolts were drawn back ; the door opened. 
 Gauvain entered the dungeon. The door closed behind 
 him. 
 
BOOK YIL 
 
 FEUDALITY AND REVOLUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE ANCESTOR. 
 
 A LAMP was placed on the flags of the crypt at the 
 side of the air-hole in the oubliette. There could 
 also be seen on the stones a jug of water, a loaf of army 
 bread, and a truss of straw. The crypt being cut out in 
 the rock, the prisoner who had conceived the idea of 
 setting fire to the straw would have done it to his own 
 hurt, — no risk of conflagration to the prison, certainty 
 of suffocation to the prisoner. 
 
 At the instant the door turned on its hinges the mar- 
 quis was walking to and fro in his dungeon, — ■ that 
 mechanical pacing natural to wild animals in a cage. 
 At the noise of the opening and shutting of the door he 
 raised his head, and the lamp which set on the floor be- 
 tween Gauvain and the marquis struck full upon the 
 faces of both men. They looked at each other, and 
 something in the glance of either kept the two 
 motionless. 
 
 At length the marquis burst out laughing, and ex- 
 claimed : " Good-evening, sir. It is a long time since 
 I have had the pleasure of meeting you. You do me 
 the favour of paying rne a visit; I thank you. I ask 
 
84 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 nothing better than to converse a little; I was begin- 
 ning to bore myself. ¥our friends lose a great deal of 
 time ; proofs of identity, court-martials, — all those 
 ceremonies take a long while ; I could go much quicker 
 at need. Here I am in my house ; take the trouble to 
 enter. Well, what do you say of all that is happening ? 
 Original, is it not ? Once on a time there was a king 
 and a queen : the king was the king ; the queen was — ■ 
 France. They cut the king's head off, and married the 
 queen to Kobespierre; this gentleman and that lady 
 have a daughter named Guillotine, with whom it ap- 
 pears I am to make acquaintance to-morrow morning. 
 I shall be delighted — as I am to see you. Did you 
 come about that ? Have you risen in rank ? Shall you 
 be the headsman ? If it is a simple visit of friendship, 
 I am touched. Perhaps, Viscount, you no longer know 
 what a nobleman is ; well, you see one, — it is I. Look 
 at the specimen. It is an odd race.; it believes in God, 
 it believes in tradition, it believes in family, it believes 
 in its ancestors, it believes in the example of its father, 
 — in fidelity, loyalty, duty toward its prince, respect 
 to ancient laws, virtue, justice ; and it would shoot you 
 with pleasure. Have the goodness to sit down, I pray 
 you, — on the stones, it must be, it is true, for I have 
 no armchair in my salon ; but he who lives in the mire 
 can sit on the ground. I do not say that to offend you, 
 for what we call the ' mire ' you call the ' nation. ' I 
 fancy that you do not insist I shall shout ' Liberty, 
 Equality, Fraternity ' ? This is an ancient chamber of 
 my house : formerly the lords imprisoned clowns here ; 
 now clowns imprison the lords. These stupidities are 
 called a Eevolution. It appears that my head is to be 
 cut off in thirty-six hours. I see nothing inconvenient 
 in that ; still, if my captors had been polite, they would 
 have sent me my snuff-box : it is up in the chamber of 
 
THE ANCESTOR. 85 
 
 the mirrors, where you used to play when you were a 
 child, where I used to dance you on my knees. Sir, let 
 me tell you one thing : You call yourself Gauvain, and, 
 strange to say, you have noble blood in your veins, — 
 yes, by Heaven ! the same that runs in mine ; yet the 
 blood that made me a man of honour makes you a rascal. 
 Such are personal idiosyncrasies ! You will tell me it is 
 not your fault that you are a rascal ; nor is it mine that 
 I am a gentleman. Zounds ! one is a malefactor without 
 knowing it : it comes from the air one breathes. In 
 times like these of ours one is not responsible for what 
 one does ; the Eevolution is guilty for the whole world, 
 and all your great criminals are great innocents. What 
 blockheads ! To begin with yourself. Permit me to 
 admire you. Yes, I admire a youth like you, who, a 
 man of quality, well placed in the State, having noble 
 blood to shed in a noble cause, Viscount of this Tower- 
 Gauvain, Prince of Brittany, able to be duke by right, 
 and peer of France by heritage, — which is about all a 
 man of good sense could desire here below, — amuses 
 himself, being what he is, to be what you are ; playing 
 his part so well that he produces upon his enemies the 
 effect of a villain, and on his friends of an idiot. By 
 the way, give my compliments to the Abbé Cimourdain. " 
 The marquis spoke perfectly at his ease, quietly, 
 emphasizing nothing, in his polite society voice, his 
 eyes clear and tranquil, his hand in his waistcoat- 
 pocket. He broke off, drew a long breath, and re- 
 sumed : " I do not conceal from you that I have done 
 what I could to kill you. Such as you see me, I have 
 myself, in person, three times aimed a cannon at you. 
 A discourteous proceeding, — I admit it ; but it would 
 be giving rise to a bad example to suppose that in war 
 your enemy tries to make himself agreeable to you. 
 For we are in war, monsieur my nephew ; everything is 
 
86 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 put to fire and sword. Into the bargain, it is true that 
 they have killed the king. A pretty century ! " 
 
 He checked himself again, and again resumed: 
 " When one thinks that none of these things would 
 have happened if Voltaire had been hanged and Kous- 
 seau sent to the galleys ! Ah, those men of mind, — ■ 
 what scourges ! But there, what is it you reproach that 
 monarchy with ? It is true that' the Abbé Pucelle was 
 sent to his Abbey of Portigny with as much time as he 
 pleased for the journey ; and as for your Monsieur 
 Titon, who had been, begging your pardon, a terrible 
 debauchee, and had gone the rounds of the loose women 
 before hunting after the miracles of the Deacon Paris, 
 he was transferred from the Castle of Vincennes to the 
 Castle of Ham in Picardy, which is, I confess, a suffi- 
 ciently ugly place. There are wrongs for you ! I recol- 
 lect : I cried out also in my day ; I was as stupid as 
 you. " 
 
 The marquis felt in his pocket as if seeking his snuff- 
 box, then continued : " But not so wicked. We talked 
 just for talk's sake. There was also the mutiny of de- 
 mands and petitions ; and then up came those gentle- 
 men the philosophers, and their writings were burned 
 instead of the authors. The Court cabals mixed them- 
 selves in the matter ; there were all those stupid fellows. 
 Turgot, Quesnay, Malesherbes, the physiocratists, and 
 so forth, — and the quarrel began. The whole came from 
 the scribblers and the rhymesters. The Encyclopedia ; 
 Diderot, D'Alembert, ■ — ah, the wicked scoundrels ! To 
 think of a well-born man like the King of Prussia join- 
 ing them! I would have suppressed all those paper- 
 scratchers. Ah, we were justiciaries, our family ; you 
 may see there on the wall the marks of the quartering- 
 wheel. We did not jest. No, no; no scribblers! 
 While there are Arouets, there will be Marats ; as long 
 
THE ANCESTOR. 87 
 
 as there are fellows who scribble, there will be scoun- 
 drels who assassinate ; as long as there is ink, there will 
 be black stains; as long as men's claws hold a goose's 
 feather, frivolous stupidities will engender atrocious 
 ones. Books cause crimes. The word ' chimera ' has 
 two meanings, — it signifies dream, and it signifies 
 monster. How dearly one pays for idle trash ! What 
 is that you sing to us about your rights ? The rights 
 of man ! rights of the people ! — is that empty enough, 
 stupid enough, visionary enough, sufficiently void of 
 sense ? When I say Havoise, the sister of Conan II. , 
 brought the county of Brittany to Hoel Count of Nantes 
 and Cornouailles, who left the throne to Alain Fergant 
 the uncle of Bertha, who espoused Alain-le-noir Lord 
 of Koche-sur-Yon, and bore him Conan the Little, grand- 
 father of Guy, or Gauvain de Thouars, our ancestor, — I 
 state a thing that is clear, and there is a right. But 
 your scoundrels, your rascals, your wretches, what do 
 they call their rights ? Deicide and regicide ! Is it not 
 hideous ? Oh, the clowns ! I am sorry for you, sir, 
 but you belong to this proud Brittany blood ; you and I 
 had Gauvain de Thouars for our ancestor; we had for 
 another that great Duke of Montbazon who was peer of 
 France and honoured with the Grand Collar of the 
 Orders, who attacked the suburb of Tours, and was 
 wounded at the Battle of Arques, and died Grand 
 Huntsman of France, in his house of Couzières in Tou- 
 raine, aged eighty-six. I could tell you still further of 
 the Duke de Laudunois, son of the Lady of Garnache ; 
 of Claude de Lorraine, Duke de Chevreuse and of Henri 
 de Lenoncourt, and of Françoise de Laval-Boisdauphin, 
 — but to what purpose ? Monsieur has the honour of 
 being an idiot, and considers himself the equal of my 
 groom. Learn this : I was an old man while you were 
 still a brat ; I remain as much vour superior as I was 
 
88 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 then. As you grew up you found means to belittle 
 yourself. Since we ceased to see each other each has 
 gone his own way : I followed honesty, you went in the 
 opposite direction. Ah, I do not know how all that 
 will finish those gentlemen, your friends, are full-blown 
 wretches ! Verily, it is fine, I grant you, a marvellous 
 step gained in the cause of progress, — to have sup- 
 pressed in the army the punishment of the pint of water 
 inflicted on the drunken soldier for three consecutive 
 days ; to have the Maximum, the Convention, the 
 Bishop Gobel, Monsieur Chaumette, and Monsieur 
 Hébert ; to have exterminated the Past in one mass from 
 the Bastille to the peerage ! They replace the saints by 
 vegetables ! So be it, citizens ! you are masters ; reign, 
 take your ease, do what you like, stop at nothing ! All 
 this does not hinder the fact that religion is religion, 
 that royalty fills fifteen hundred years of our history, 
 and that the old French nobility are loftier than you, 
 even with their heads off. As for your cavilling over the 
 historic rights of royal races, we shrug our shoulders at 
 that. Chilperic, in reality, was only a monk named 
 Daniel; it was Eainfroi who invented Chilperic, in 
 order to annoy Charles Martel : we know those things 
 just as well as yov do. The question does not lie there ; 
 the question is this : To be a great kingdom, to be the 
 ancient France, to be a country perfectly ordered, wherein 
 were to be considered, first, the sacred person of its 
 monarchs, absolute lords of the State ; then the princes ; 
 then the officers of the crown for the armies on land and 
 sea, for the artillery, for the direction and superinten- 
 dence of the finances ; after that the officers of justice, 
 great and small, those for the management of taxes and 
 general receipts ; and, lastly, the police of the kingdom 
 in its three orders. All this was fine and nobly regu- 
 lated ; you have destroyed it. You have destroyed the 
 
THE ANCESTOR. 89 
 
 provinces, like the lamentably ignorant creatures you 
 are, without even suspecting what the provinces really 
 were. The genius of France held the genius of the en- 
 tire continent; each province of France represented a 
 virtue of Europe : the frankness of Germany was in 
 Picardy ; the generosity of Sweden, in Champagne ; the 
 industry of Holland, in Burgundy ; the activity of 
 Poland, in Languedoc; the gravity of Spain, in Gas- 
 cony ; the wisdom of Italy, in Provence ; the subtlety of 
 Greece, in Normandy ; the fidelity of Switzerland, in 
 Dauphiny. You knew nothing of all that; you have 
 broken, shattered, ruined, demolished ; you have shown 
 yourselves simply idiotic brutes. Ah, you will no 
 longer have nobles ? Well, you shall have none ! Get 
 your mourning ready : you shall have no more paladins, 
 no more heroes ; say good-night to the ancient gran- 
 deurs ; find me a D'Assas at present!. You are all of 
 you afraid for your skins. You will have no more the 
 chivalry of Fontenoy, who saluted before killing one 
 another; you will have no more combatants like those 
 in silk stockings at the siege of Lérida ; you will have 
 no more plumes floating past like meteors : you are a 
 people finished, come to an end. You will suffer the 
 outrage of invasion. If Alaric II. could return, he 
 would no longer find himself confronted by Clovis ; if 
 Abderaman could come back, he would no longer 
 find himself face to face with Charles Martel; if the 
 Saxons, they would no longer find Pepin before them. 
 You will have no more Agnadel, Eocroy, Lens, Staffarde, 
 Neerwinden, Steinkirke, La Marsaille, Eancoux, Law- 
 feld, Mahon ; you will have no Marignan, with Francis 
 I. ; you will have no Bouvines, with Philip Augustus 
 taking prisoner with one hand Eenaud Count of Bou- 
 logne, and with the other, Ferrand Count of Flanders ; 
 you will have Agincourt, but you vv ill have no more the 
 
90 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Sieur de Bacqueville, grand bearer of the oriflammei 
 enveloping himself in his banner to die. Go on, go on ; 
 do your work ! Be the new men ! become dwarfs ! " 
 
 The marquis was silent for an instant, then began 
 again : " But leave us great. Kill the kings, kill the 
 nobles, kill the priests ; tear down, ruin, massacre ; 
 trample under foot, crush ancient laws beneath your 
 heels ; overthrow the throne ; stamp upon the altar of 
 God, dash it in pieces, dance above it ! On with you 
 to the end ! You are traitors and cowards, incapable of 
 devotion or sacrifice. I have spoken ; now have me 
 guillotined, monsieur the viscount. I have the honour 
 to be your very humble servant. " 
 
 Then he added : " Ah, I do not hesitate to set the 
 truth plainly before you. What difference can it make 
 to me ? I am dead. " 
 
 " You are free, " said Gauvain. He unfastened his 
 commandant's cloak, advanced toward the marquis, threw 
 it about his shoulders, and drew the hood close down 
 over his eyes. The two men were of the same height. 
 
 " Well, what are you doing ? " the marquis asked. 
 
 Gauvain raised his voice, and cried : " Lieutenant, 
 open to me. " 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 Gauvain exclaimed : " Close the door carefully behind 
 me ! " And he pushed the stupefied marquis across the 
 threshold. 
 
 The hall turned into a guard-room was lighted, it 
 will be remembered, by a horn lantern, whose faint 
 rays only broke the shadows here and there. Such of 
 the soldiers as were not asleep saw dimly a man of lofty 
 stature, wrapped in the mantle and hood of the com- 
 mander-in-chief, pass through the midst of them and 
 move toward the entrance. They made a military sa- 
 lute, and the man passed on. 
 
THE ANCESTOR. 91 
 
 The marquis slowly traversed the guard-room, the 
 breach (not without hitting his head more than once), 
 and went out. The sentinel, believing that he saw Gau- 
 vain, presented arms. When he was outside, having the 
 grass of the fields under his feet, within two hundred 
 paces of the forest, and before him space, night, liberty, 
 life, — he paused, and stood motionless for an instant 
 like a man who has allowed himself to be pushed on ; 
 who has yielded to surprise, and who, having taken ad- 
 vantage of an open door, asks himself if he has done well 
 or ill, hesitates to go farther, and gives audience to a last 
 reflection. After a few seconds' deep reverie he raised 
 his right hand, snapped his thumb and middle finger, 
 and said, " My faith ! " And he hurried on 
 
 The door of the dungeon had closed again. Gauvain 
 was within. 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE COURT-MAETIAL. 
 
 AT that period all courts -martial were very nearly 
 discretionary. Dumas had offered in the Assem- 
 bly a rough plan of military legislation, improved later 
 by Talot in the Council of the Five Hundred ; but the 
 definitive code of war-councils was only drawn up un- 
 der the Empire. Let us add in parenthesis, that from 
 the Empire dates the law imposed on military tribunals 
 to begin receiving the votes by the lowest grade. Under 
 the Eevolution this law did not exist. In 1793 the 
 president of a military tribunal was almost the tribunal 
 in himself. He chose the members, classed the order 
 of grades, regulated the manner of voting, — was at once 
 master and judge. 
 
 Cimourdain had selected for the hall of the court- 
 martial that very room on the ground-floor where the 
 retirade had been erected, and where the guard was now 
 established. He wished to shorten everything, — the 
 road from the prison to the tribunal, and the passage 
 from the tribunal to the scaffold. 
 
 In conformity with his orders the court began its sit- 
 ting at midday, with no other show of state than this : 
 three straw-bottomed chairs, a pine table, two lighted 
 candles, a stool in front of the table. The chairs were 
 for the judges, and the stool for the accused. At either 
 end of the table also stood a stool, — one for the com- 
 
THE COURT-MARTIAL. 93 
 
 missioner auditor, who was a quartermaster; the other 
 for the registrar, who was a corporal. On the table were 
 a stick of red sealing-wax, a brass seal of the Eepublic, 
 two ink-stands, some sheets of white paper, and two 
 printed placards spread open, — the first containing the 
 declaration of outlawry ; the second, the decree of the 
 CoDvention. The tricoloured flag hung on the back of the 
 middle chair : in that period of rude simplicity decora- 
 tions were quickly arranged, and it needed little time 
 to change a guard-room into a court of justice. The 
 middle chair, intended for the president, stood in face 
 of the prison door. The soldiers made up the audience. 
 Two gendarmes stood on guard by the stool. 
 
 Cimourdain was seated in the centre chair, having at 
 his right Captain Guéchamp, first judge ; and at his left 
 Sergeant Radoub, second judge. Cimourdain wore a hat 
 with a tricoloured cockade, his sabre at his side, and 
 his» two pistols in his belt ; his scar, of a vivid red, 
 added to his savage appearance. Radoub 's wound had 
 been only partially stanched ; he had a handkerchief 
 knotted about his head, upon which a bloodstain slowly 
 widened. 
 
 At midday the court had not yet opened its proceed- 
 ings. A messenger, whose horse could be heard stamp- 
 ing outside, stood , near the table of the tribunal. 
 Cimourdain was writing, — writing these lines : — 
 
 " Citizen Members of the Committee of Public 
 Safety, — Lantenac is taken. He will be executed to- 
 morrow." 
 
 He dated and signed the dispatch ; folded, sealed, and 
 handed it to the messenger, who departed. This done, 
 Cimourdain called in a loud voice : " Open the dungeon ! " 
 
 The two gendarmes drew back the bolts, opened the 
 door of the dungeon, and entered. 
 
94 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Cimourdain lifted his head, folded his arms, fixed his 
 eyes on the door and cried : " Bring out the prisoner ! " 
 
 A man appeared between the two gendarmes, standing 
 beneath the arch of the door-way. It was Gauvain. 
 
 Cimourdain started. " Gauvain ! " he exclaimed. Then 
 he added, " I demand the prisoner. " 
 
 " It is I, " said Gauvain. 
 
 « Thou ? " 
 
 « T » 
 
 " And Lantenac ? " 
 " He is free. " 
 
 ■ Free ? " 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " Escaped ? * 
 
 " Escaped. " 
 
 Cimourdain trembled as he stammered : " In truth the 
 castle belongs to him ; he knows all its outlets. The 
 dungeon may communicate with some secret opening. 
 I ought to have remembered that he would find means 
 to escape ; he would not need any person's aid for that. " 
 
 " He was aided, " said Gauvain. 
 
 " To escape ? " 
 
 " To escape. " 
 
 "Who aided him?* 
 
 « T » 
 
 ■ Thou ? " 
 " I. " 
 
 " Thou art dreaming ! " 
 
 " I went into the dungeon ; I was alone with the pris- 
 oner. I took off my cloak ; I put it about his shoulders ; 
 I drew the hood down over his face ; he went out in my 
 stead, and I remained in his. Here I am ! " 
 
 " Thou didst not do it!" 
 
 " I did it. " 
 
 " It is impossible ! " 
 
THE COURT-MARTIAL. 95 
 
 * It is true. 
 
 " Bring me Lantenac ! " 
 
 " He is no longer here. The soldiers, seeing the com- 
 mandant's mantle, took him for me, and allowed him to 
 pass. It was still night. " 
 
 " Thou art mad ! " 
 
 " I tell you what was done. " 
 
 A silence followed. Cimourdain stammered : " Then 
 thou hast merited — " 
 
 " Death, " said Gauvain. 
 
 Cimourdain was pale as a corpse. He sat motionless 
 as a man who had just been struck by lightning. He 
 no longer seemed to breathe. A great drop of sweat 
 stood out on his forehead. He forced his voice into 
 firmness, and said : " Gendarmes, seat the accused. " 
 
 Gauvain placed himself on the stool. 
 
 Cimourdain added : " Gendarmes, draw your sabres. * 
 His voice had got back its ordinary tone. " Accused, " 
 said he, " you will stand up. " He no longer said "thee * 
 and " thou " to Gauvain. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE VOTES. 
 
 GAUVAIN rose. 
 " What is your name ? " demanded Cimourdain. 
 
 The answer came unhesitatingly : " Gauvain." 
 
 Cimourdain continued the interrogatory : " Who are 
 you?" 
 
 "I am Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary 
 Column of the Cotes-du-Nord." 
 
 "Are you a relative or a connection of the man who 
 has escaped?" 
 
 " I am his grand-nephew ? " 
 
 "You are acquainted with the decree of the 
 Convention ? " 
 
 " I see the placard lying on your table." 
 
 " What have you to say in regard to this decree ? " 
 
 " That I countersigned it ; that I ordered its carrying 
 out ; that it was I who had this placard written, at the 
 bottom of which is my name." 
 
 " Choose a defender." 
 
 " I will defend myself." 
 
 " You can speak." 
 
 Cimourdain had become again impassible. But his 
 impassibility resembled the sternness of a rock rather 
 than the calmness of a man. 
 
 Gauvain remained silent for a moment, as if collecting 
 his thoughts. 
 
 Cimourdain spoke again: "What have you to say in 
 your defence 2" 
 
THE VOTES. 97 
 
 Gauvain slowly raised his head, but without fixing 
 his eyes upon either of the judges, and replied : " This : 
 One thing prevented my seeing another ; a good action 
 seen too near hid from me a hundred criminal deeds. 
 On one side an old man ; on the other, three children, — 
 all these put themselves between me and duty. I forgot 
 the burned villages, the ravaged fields, the butchered 
 prisoners, the slaughtered wounded, the women shot ; 1 
 forgot France betrayed to England. I set at liberty the 
 murderer of our country ; I am guilty. In speaking 
 thus, I seem to speak against myself ; it is a mistake, 
 — I speak in my own behalf. When the guilty ac- 
 knowledges his fault, he saves the only thing worth the 
 trouble of saving, — honour. " 
 
 " Is that, " returned Cimourdain, " all you have to say 
 in your own defence ? " 
 
 " I add, that being the chief I owed an example ; and 
 that you in your turn, being judges, owe one " 
 
 " What example do you demand ? " 
 
 " My death. " 
 
 " You find that just ? " 
 
 " And necessary. " 
 
 " Be seated. " 
 
 The quartermaster, who was auditor-commissioner, 
 rose and read, first, the decree of outlawry against the 
 ci-devant Marquis de Lantenac ; secondly, the decree of 
 the Convention ordaining capital punishment against 
 whosoever should aid the escape of a rebel prisoner. He 
 closed with the lines printed at the bottom of the 
 placard, forbidding " to give aid or succour to the be- 
 low named rebel, under penalty of death; signed 
 " Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Column, — 
 Gauvain. " These notices read, the auditor-commis- 
 sioner sat down again. 
 
 Cimourdain folded his arms and said : " Accused, pa^ 
 vol. xvnj, — 7 
 
98 ' NINETY-THREE. 
 
 attention. Public, listen, look, and be silent. Yon 
 have before you the law. The votes will now be taken. 
 The sentence will be given according to the major- 
 ity. Each judge will announce his decision aloud, 
 in presence of the accused, justice having nothing to 
 conceal. " 
 
 Cimourdain continued: "The first judge will give 
 his vote. Speak, Captain Guéchamp. " 
 
 Captain Guéchamp seemed to see neither Cimourdain 
 nor Gauvain. His downcast lids concealed his eyes, 
 which remained fixed upon the placard of the decree as 
 if they were staring at a gulf. He said : " The law is 
 immutable. A judge is more and less than a man : he is 
 less than a man because he has no heart; he is more 
 than a man because he holds the sword of justice. In 
 the four hundred and fourteenth year of Eome, Manlius 
 put his son to death for the crime of having conquered 
 without his orders; violated discipline demanded an 
 example. Here it is the law which has been violated, 
 and the law is still higher than discipline. Through 
 an emotion of pity, the country is again endangered. 
 Pity may wear the proportions of a crime. Comman- 
 dant Gauvain has helped the rebel Lantenac to escape. 
 Gauvain is guilty. I vote — death. " 
 
 " Write, registrar, " said Cimourdain. 
 
 The clerk wrote, " Captain Guéchamp : death. " 
 
 Gauvain 's voice rang out, clear and firm. " Gué- 
 champ, " said he, " you have voted well, and I thank 
 you. " 
 
 Cimourdain resumed : " It is the turn of the second 
 judge. Speak, Sergeant Radoub. " 
 
 Radoub rose, turned toward Gauvain, and made the 
 accused a military salute. Then he exclaimed : " If that 
 is the way it goes, then guillotine me , for I give here, 
 before God. mv most sacred word of honour that I would 
 
THE VOTES. 99 
 
 ike to have done, first, what the old man did, and, after 
 that, what my commandant did. When I saw that old 
 fellow, eighty years of age, jump into the fire to pull 
 three brats out of it, I said ' Old fellow, you are a brave 
 man ! ' And when I hear that my commandant has 
 saved that old man from your beast of a guillotine, I 
 say, * My commandant, you ought to be my general, and 
 you are a true man ; and, as for me, thunder ! I would 
 give you the Cross of Saint Louis if there were still 
 crosses, or saints, or Louises. ' Oh, there ! are we going 
 to turn idiots at present? If it was for these things 
 that we gained the Battle of Jemmapes, the Battle of 
 Valmy, the Battle of Fleurus, and the Battle of Wattig- 
 nies, then you had better say so. What ! here is Com- 
 mandant Gauvain, who for these four months past has 
 been driving those asses of royalists to the beat of the 
 drum, and saving the Bepublic by his sword ; who did a 
 thing at Dol which needed a world of brains to do, — 
 and when you have a man like that, you try to get rid of 
 him ! Instead of electing him your general, you want to 
 cut off his head ! I say it is enough to make a fellow 
 throw himself off the Pont Neuf head foremost ! You, 
 yourself, Citizen Gauvain, my commandant, if you were 
 my corporal instead of being my superior, I would tell 
 you that you talked a heap of infernal nonsense just now. 
 The old man did a fine thing in saving the children ; 
 you did a fine thing in saving the old man ; and if we 
 are going to guillotine people for good actions, why, then, 
 get away with you all to the devil, for I don't know 
 any longer what the question is about! There 's nothing 
 to hold fast to ! It is not true, is it, all this ? I pinch 
 myself to see if I am awake! I can't understand. So 
 the old man ought to have let the babies burn alive, and 
 my commandant ought to have let the old man's head 
 be cut off! See here! guillotine me! I would as lief 
 
100 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 have it done as not. Just suppose : if the children had 
 been killed, the battalion of the Bonnet Eouge would 
 have been dishonoured ! Is that what was wished for ? 
 Why, then, let us eat one another up and be done ! I 
 understand politics as well as any of you : I belonged to 
 the Club of the Section of Pikes. Zounds, we are com- 
 ing to the end ! I sum up the matter according to my 
 way of looking at it. I don't like things to be done 
 which are so puzzling you don't know any longer where 
 you stand. What the devil is it we get ourselves killed 
 for ? In order that somebody may kill our chief ! None 
 of that, Lisette ! I want my chief ; I will have my 
 chief; I love him better to-day than I did yesterday. 
 Send him to the guillotine ? Why, you make me laugh ! 
 Now, we are not going to have anything of that sort. I 
 have listened. People may say what they please. In 
 the first place it is not possible ! " 
 
 And Eadoub sat down again. His wound had re- 
 opened. A thin stream of blood exuded from under the 
 kerchief, and ran along his neck from the place where 
 his ear had been. 
 
 Cimourdain turned toward the sergeant. " You vote 
 for the acquittal of the accused ? " 
 
 " I vote, " said Eadoub, " that he be made general. " 
 " I ask if you vote for his acquittal. " 
 " I vote for his being made head of the Eepublic. 9 
 " Sergeant Eadoub, do you vote that Commandant 
 Gauvain be acquitted, — yes or no ? " 
 
 " I vote that my head be cut off in place of his. " 
 " Acquittal, " said Cimourdain. " Write it, registrar. " 
 The clerk wrote, " Sergeant Eadoub : acquittal. " 
 Then the clerk said : " One voice for death. One voice 
 for acquittal. A tie. " 
 
 It was Cimourdain 's turn to vote. He rose. He took 
 off his hat and laid it on the table. He was no longer 
 
THE VOTES. 101 
 
 pale or livid. His face was the colour of clay. Had all 
 the spectators been corpses lying there in their winding- 
 sheets, the silence could not have been more profound. 
 
 Cimourdain said, in a solemn, slow, firm voice: 
 * Accused, the case has been heard. In the name of the 
 Eepublic, the court-martial, by a majority of two; 
 voices — " 
 
 He broke off; there was an instant of terrible sus- 
 pense. Did he hesitate before pronouncing the sen- 
 tence of death ? Did he hesitate before granting life ? 
 Every listener held his breath. 
 
 Cimourdain continued : " Condemns you to death. " 
 
 His face expressed the torture of an awful triumph. 
 Jacob, when he forced the angel, whom he had over- 
 thrown in the darkness, to bless him, must have worn 
 that fearful smile. It was only a gleam — it passed ; 
 Cimourdain was marble again. He seated himself, put 
 on his hat, and added : " Gauvain, you will be executed 
 to-morrow at sunrise. " 
 
 Gauvain rose, saluted, and said : " I thank the court. " 
 
 " Lead away the condemned, " said Cimourdain. He 
 made a sign : the door of the dungeon re-opened ; Gau- 
 vain entered ; the door closed. The two gendarmes stood 
 sentinel, — one on either side of the arch, sabre in hand. 
 
 Sergeant Eadoub fell senseless upon the ground, and 
 was carried away. 
 
CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 AFTER CTMOURDAIN THE JUDGE COMES CTMOURDAm 
 THE MASTER. 
 
 A CAMP is a wasp's nest, — in revolutionary times 
 above all. The civic sting which is in the sol- 
 dier moves quickly, and does not hesitate to prick the 
 chief after having chased away the enemy. 
 
 The valiant troop which had taken La Tourgue was 
 filled with diverse commotions, — at first against Com- 
 mandant Gauvain when it learned that Lantenac had 
 escaped. As G-auvain issued from the dungeon which 
 had been believed to hold the marquis, the news spread 
 as if by electricity, and in an instant the whole army 
 was informed. A murmur burst forth ; it was : * They 
 are trying Gauvain ; but it is a sham. Trust ci-devants 
 and priests ! We have just seen a viscount save a mar- 
 quis, and now we are going to see a priest absolve a 
 noble Î " 
 
 When the news of Gauvain 's condemnation came, 
 there was a second murmur : " It is horrible ! Our chief, 
 our brave chief, our young commander, — a hero ! He 
 may be a viscount, — very well ; so much the more merit 
 in his being a Eepublican. What, he, the liberator of 
 Pontorson, of Villedieu, of Pont-au-Beau; the conqueror 
 of Dol and La Tourgue, — he who makes us invincible; 
 he, the sword of the Eepublic in Vendée ; the man who 
 for five months has held the Chouans at bay, and re- 
 paired all the blunders of Léchelle and the others ! — • 
 
AFTER THE JUDGE COMES TEE MASTER. 103 
 
 this Cimourdain to dare to condemn him to death Î For 
 what ? Because he saved an old man who had saved 
 three children ! A priest kill a soldier ! " 
 
 Thus muttered the victorious and discontented camp. 
 A stern rage surrounded Cimourdain. Four thousand 
 men against one, — that should seem a power ; it is not. 
 These four thousand men were a crowd ; Cimourdain 
 was a will. It was known that Cimourdain 's frown 
 came easily, and nothing more was needed to hold the 
 army in respect. In those stern days it was sufficient 
 for a man to have behind him the shadow of the Com- 
 mittee of Public Safety to make that man formidable ; 
 to make imprecation die into a whisper, and the whisper 
 into silence. 
 
 Before, as after the murmurs, Cimourdain remained 
 the arbiter of Gauvain's fate as he did of the fate of all. 
 They knew there was nothing to ask of him, that he 
 would only obey his conscience, — ■ a superhuman voice 
 audible to his ear alone. Everything depended upon 
 him. That which he had done as martial judge, he could 
 undo as civil delegate. He only could show mercy. 
 He possessed unlimited power : by a sign he could set 
 Gauvain at liberty. He was master of life and death; 
 he commanded the guillotine. In this tragic moment 
 he was the man supreme. They could only wait. 
 
 Night came. 
 
CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE DUNGEON. 
 
 THE hall of justice had become again a guard-room ; 
 the guard was doubled as upon the previous even- 
 ing ; two sentinels stood on duty before the closed door 
 of the prison. 
 
 Toward midnight, a man who held a lantern in his 
 hand traversed the hall, made himself known to the 
 sentries, and ordered the dungeon open. It was Cimour- 
 dain. He entered and the door remained ajar behind 
 him. The dungeon was dark and silent. Cimourdain 
 moved forward a step in the gloom, set the lantern on 
 the ground, and stood still. He could hear amidst 
 the shadows the measured breath of a sleeping man. 
 Cimourdain listened thoughtfully to this peaceful sound. 
 
 Gauvain lay on a bundle of straw at the farther end 
 of the dungeon. It was his breathing which caught the 
 new comer's ear. He was sleeping profoundly. 
 
 Cimourdain advanced as noiselessly as possible, moved 
 close, and looked down upon Gauvain. The glance of a 
 mother watching her nursling's slumber could not have 
 been more tender or fuller of love. Even Cimourdain's 
 will could not control that glance. He pressed his 
 clinched hands against his eyes with the gesture one 
 sometimes sees in children, and remained for a moment 
 motionless. Then he knelt, softly raised Gauvain 's 
 hand, and pressed it to his lips. 
 
THE DUNGEON. 105 
 
 Gauvain stirred. He opened his eyes, full of the 
 wonder of sudden waking. He recognized Cimourdain 
 in the dim light which the lantern cast about the cave. 
 " Ah, " said he, " it is you, my master. " And he added : 
 " I dreamed that Death was kissing my hand. " 
 
 Cimourdain started as one does sometimes under the 
 sudden rush of a flood of thoughts. Sometimes the tide 
 is so high and so stormy that it seems as if it would 
 drown the soul. Not an echo from the overcharged 
 depths of Cimourdain' s heart found vent in words. He 
 could only say, " Gauvain ! " 
 
 And the two gazed at each other, — Cimourdain with 
 his eyes full of those flames which burn up tears ; Gau- 
 vain with his sweetest smile. 
 
 Gauvain raised himself on his elbow and said : " That 
 scar I see on your face is the sabre-cut you received for 
 me. Yesterday, too, you were in the thick of that 
 mêlée, at my side, and on my account. If Providence 
 had not placed you near my cradle, where should I be 
 to-day ? In utter darkness. If I have any true concep- 
 tion of duty, it is from you that it comes to me. I was 
 born with my hands bound, — prejudices are ligatures : 
 you loosened those bonds ; you gave my growth liberty, 
 and of that which was already only a mummy you made 
 anew a child. Into what would have been an abortion you 
 put a conscience. Without you I should have grown up 
 a dwarf. I exist by you. I was only a lord, you made me 
 a citizen ; I was only a citizen, you have made me a mind. 
 You have made me, as a man, fit for this earthly life ; 
 you have educated my soul for the celestial existence ; 
 you have given me human reality,' the key of truth, and, 
 to go beyond that, the key of light. O my master! I 
 thank you. It is you who have created me. " 
 
 Cimourdain seated himself on the straw beside Gau- 
 vain, and said : " I have come to sup with thee. n 
 
106 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 Gauvain broke the black bread and handed it to him. 
 Cimourdain took a morsel ; then Gauvain offered the jug 
 of water. 
 
 " Drink first, " said Cimourdain. 
 
 Gauvain drank, and passed the jug to his companion, 
 who drank after him. Gauvain had only swallowed a 
 mouthful. Cimourdain drank great draughts. During 
 this supper, Gauvain ate, and Cimourdain drank, — a 
 sign of the calmness of the one, and of the fever which 
 consumed the other. A serenity so strange that it was ter- 
 rible reigned in this dungeon. The two men conversed. 
 
 Gauvain said : " Grand events are sketching them- 
 selves. What the Eevolution does at this moment is 
 mysterious. Behind the visible work stands the invisi- 
 ble ; one conceals the other, the visible work is savage, 
 the invisible sublime. In this instant I perceive all 
 very clearly. It is strange and beautiful. It has been 
 necessary to make use of the materials of the Past. 
 Hence this marvellous '93. Beneath a scaffolding of 
 barbarism a temple of civilization is building. " 
 
 " Yes, " replied Cimourdain. " From this provisional 
 will rise the definitive, The definitive — that is to say, 
 right and duty — are parallel : taxes proportional and pro- 
 gressive ; military service obligatory ; a levelling without 
 deviation : and above the whole, making part of all, that 
 straight line, the law, — the Eepublic of the absolute. " 
 
 " I prefer, " said Gauvain, " the ideal Eepublic. " He 
 paused for an instant, then continued : " my master ! 
 in all which you have just said, where do you place de- 
 votion, sacrifice, abnegation, the sweet interlacing of 
 kindnesses, love ? To set all in equilibrium, it is well ; 
 to put all in harmony, it is better. Above the Balance 
 is the Lyre. Your Eepublic*weighs, measures, regulates 
 man ; mine lifts him into the open sky. It is the differ- 
 ence between a theorem and an eagle. " 
 
THE DUNGEON. 107 
 
 * You lose yourself in the clouds. * 
 
 " And you in calculation. " 
 
 " Harmony is full of dreams. " 
 
 " There are such, too, in algebra. n 
 
 " I would have man made by the rules of Euclid. " 
 
 " And I, " said Gauvain, " would like him better as 
 pictured by Homer. " 
 
 Cimourdain's severe smile remained fixed upon Gau- 
 vain, as if to hold that soul steady : " Poesy ! Mistrust 
 poets. " 
 
 " Yes, I know that saying. Mistrust the zephyrs, 
 mistrust the sunshine, mistrust the sweet odours of 
 spring, mistrust the flowers, mistrust the stars I " 
 
 " None of these things can feed man. " 
 
 " How do you know ? Thought is nourishment. To 
 think is to eat. " 
 
 " No abstractions ! The Republic is the law of two 
 and two make four. When I have given to each the 
 share which belongs to him — " 
 
 " It still remains to give the share which does not be- 
 long to him. " 
 
 " What do you understand by that ? " 
 
 " I understand the immense reciprocal concession, 
 which each owes to all, and which all owe to each, and 
 which is the whole of social life. " 
 
 " Beyond the strict law there is nothing, " 
 
 " There is everything. " 
 
 " I only see justice. " 
 
 « And I, — I look higher.» 
 
 " What can there be above justice ? " 
 
 " Equity. " 
 
 At certain instants they paused as if lightning flashes 
 suddenly chilled them. 
 
 Cimourdain resumed : " Particularize ; I defy you. n 
 
 K So be it. You wish military service made obliga- 
 
108 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 tory. Against whom. Against other men. I, — Ï would 
 have no military service ; I want peace. You wish the 
 wretched succoured ; I wish an end put to suffering. You 
 want proportional taxes; I wish no tax whatever. I 
 wish the general expense reduced to its most simple 
 expression, and paid by the social surplus. " 
 
 " What do you understand by that ? " 
 
 " This : First, suppose parasitisms, — the parasitisms 
 of the priest, the judge, the soldier. After that, turn 
 your riches to account. You fling manure into the 
 sewer ; cast it into the furrow. Three parts of the soil 
 are waste land : clear up France ; suppress useless pas- 
 ture-grounds ; divide the communal lands ; let each man 
 have a farm and each farm a man. You will increase a 
 hundred-fold the social product. At this moment France 
 only gives her peasants meat four days in the year ; well 
 cultivated, she would nourish three hundred millions of 
 men — all Europe. Utilize Nature, that immense aux- 
 iliary so disdained ; make every wind toil for you, every 
 water-fall, every magnetic effluence. The globe has a 
 subterranean net-work of veins ; there is in this net- 
 work a prodigious circulation of water, oil, fire. Pierce 
 those veins : make this water feed your fountains, this 
 oil your lamps, this fire your hearths. Reflect upon the 
 movements of the waves, their flux and reflux, the ebb 
 and flow of the tides. What is the ocean ? An enor- 
 mous power allowed to waste. How stupid is earth 
 not to make use of the sea I " 
 
 " There you are in the full tide of dreams. " 
 
 " That is to say, of full reality. " 
 
 Gauvain added : " And woman, what will you do with 
 her ? " 
 
 Cimourdain replied : " Leave her where she is, — the 
 servant of man. " 
 
 * Yes. On one condition. * 
 
THE DUNGEON. 109 
 
 "What?" 
 
 * That man shall be the servant of woman. n 
 
 * Can you think of it ? " cried Cimourdain. " Man a 
 servant? Never! Man is master. I admit only one 
 royalty, —that of the. fireside. Man in his house is 
 king ! " 
 
 " Yes. On one condition. " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That woman shall be queen there. * 
 
 - That is to say, you wish for man and woman — * 
 
 "Equality." 
 
 " Equality ! Can you dream of it ? The two creatures 
 are different. " 
 
 " I said equality; I did not say identity. " 
 
 There was another pause, like a sort of truce between 
 two spirits flinging lightnings. 
 
 Cimourdain broke the silence : " And the offspring, 
 to whom do you consign them ? " 
 
 " First to the father who engenders ; then to the mother 
 who gives birth ; then to the master who rears ; then to 
 the city that civilizes ; then to the country which is the 
 mother supreme; then to humanity, who is the great 
 ancestor. " 
 
 " You do not speak of God ? * 
 
 " Each of those degrees — father, mother, master, city, 
 country, humanity — is one of the rungs in the ladder 
 which leads to God. " 
 
 Cimourdain was silent. 
 
 Gauvain continued : " When one is at the top of the 
 ladder, one has reached God. Heaven opens, — one has 
 only to enter. * 
 
 Cimourdain made a gesture like a man calling another 
 back : " Gauvain, return to earth. We wish to realize 
 the possible. " 
 
 ■ Do not commence by rendering it impossible, " 
 
110 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 " The possible always realizes itself. n 
 
 " Not always. If one treats Utopia harshly, one slays 
 it. Nothing is more defenceless than the egg. " 
 
 " Still, it is necessary to seize Utopia, to put the yoke 
 of the real upon it, to frame it in the actual. The ab- 
 stract idea must transform itself into the concrete : what 
 it loses in beauty, it will gain in usefulness ; it is les- 
 sened, but made better. Eight must enter into law, 
 and when right makes itself law, it becomes absolute. 
 That is what I call the possible. " 
 
 " The possible is more than that. " 
 
 " Ah, there you are in dream-land again Î * 
 
 " The possible is a mysterious bird, always soaring 
 above man's head." 
 
 " It must be caught. " 
 
 " Living. " Gauvain continued : " This is my thought : 
 Constant progression. If God had meant man to retro- 
 grade, he would have placed an eye in the back of his 
 head. Let us look always toward the dawn, the blos- 
 soming, the birth. That which falls encourages that which 
 mounts ; the cracking of the old tree is an appeal to 
 the new. Each century must do its work : to-day civic, 
 to-morrow human ; to-day the question of right, to- 
 morrow the question of salary. Salary and right, — the 
 same word at bottom. Man does not live to be paid 
 nothing. In giving life, God contracts a debt. Eight 
 is the payment inborn ; payment is right acquired. " 
 
 Gauvain spoke with the earnestness of a prophet. 
 Cimourdain listened. Their rôles were changed; now it 
 seemed the pupil who was master. 
 
 Cimourdain murmured : " You go rapidly. " 
 
 " Perhaps because I am a little pressed for time, " said 
 Gauvain, smiling. And he added, " my master ! 
 behold the difference between our two Utopias ! You 
 wish the garrison obligatory, I the school. You dream 
 
THE DUNGEON. Ill 
 
 of man the soldier ; I dream of man the citizen. You 
 want him terrible ; I want him a thinker. You found 
 a Republic upon swords ; I found — " 
 
 He interrupted himself : " I would found a Eepublic 
 of intellects. " 
 
 Cimourdain bent his eyes on the pavement of the dun- 
 geon, and said : " And while waiting for it, what would 
 you have ? " 
 
 u That which is. " 
 
 u Then you absolve the present moment ? * 
 
 * Yes. " 
 
 " Wherefore ? " 
 
 " Because it is a tempest. A tempest knows always 
 what it does. For one oak uprooted, how many forests 
 purified ! Civilization had the plague : this great wind 
 cures it. Perhaps it is not so careful as it ought to be ; 
 but could it do otherwise than it does ? It is charged 
 with a difficult task. Before the horror of miasma, I 
 comprehend the fury of the blast. " 
 
 Gauvain continued : " Moreover, why should I fear the 
 tempest if I have my compass ? How can events affect 
 me if I have my conscience ? " And he added, in a low, 
 solemn voice : " There is a power that must always be 
 allowed to guide. " 
 
 " What ? " demanded Cimourdain. 
 
 Gauvain raised his finger above his head. Cimour- 
 dain's eyes followed the direction of that uplifted finger, 
 and it seemed to him that across the dungeon vault he 
 beheld the starlit sky. Both were silent again. 
 
 Cimourdain spoke first : u Society is greater than Na- 
 ture. I tell you, this is no longer possibility — it is a 
 dream. " 
 
 " It is the goal. Otherwise of what use is society ? 
 Remain in Nature ; be savages. Otaheite is a paradise, 
 — only the inhabitants of that paradise do not think. 
 
112 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 An intelligent hell would be preferable to an imbruted 
 heaven. But, no, — no hell ; let us be a human society, 
 Greater than Nature ? Yes. If you add nothing to Na- 
 ture, why go beyond her ? Content yourself with work, 
 like the ant ; with honey, like the bee, — remain the 
 working drudge instead of the queen intelligence. If 
 you add to Nature, you necessarily become greater than 
 she : to add is to augment ; to augment is to grow. So- 
 ciety is Nature sublimated. I want all that is lacking 
 to bee-hives, all that is lacking to ant-hills, — monu- 
 ments, arts, poesy, heroes, genius. To bear eternal 
 burdens is not the destiny of man. No, no, no! no 
 more pariahs, no more slaves, no more convicts, no more 
 damned ! I desire that each of the attributes of man 
 should be a symbol of civilization and a patron of pro- 
 gress ; I would place liberty before the spirit, equality 
 before the heart, fraternity before the soul. No more 
 yokes ! Man was made not to drag chains, but to soar 
 on wings. No more of man reptile 1 I wish the trans- 
 figuration of the larva into the winged creature ; I wish 
 the worm of the earth to turn into a living flower and 
 fly away. I wish — " 
 
 He broke off. His eyes blazed. His lips moved. He 
 ceased to speak. 
 
 The door had remained open. Sounds from without 
 penetrated into the dungeon. The distant peal of trum- 
 pets could be heard, probably the reveille; then the 
 butt-end of muskets striking the ground as the sentinels 
 were relieved; then, quite near the tower, as well as 
 one could judge, a noise like the moving of planks and 
 beams, followed by muffled, intermittent echoes like the 
 strokes of a hammer. 
 
 Cimourdain grew pale as he listened. Gauvain heard 
 nothing. His reverie became more and more profound. 
 He seemed no longer to breathe, so lost was he in the 
 
THE DUNGEON. 113 
 
 vision that snone upon his soul. Now and then he 
 started slightly. The morning which illuminated his 
 eyes waxed grander. 
 
 Some time passed thus. Then Cimourdain asked : 
 " Of what are you thinking ? " 
 
 " Of the future, " replied Gauvain. 
 
 He sank back into his meditation. Cimourdain rose 
 from the bed of straw where the two were sitting. 
 Gauvain did not perceive it. Keeping his eyes fixed 
 upon the dreamer, Cimourdain moved slowly backward 
 toward the door and went out. The dungeon closed 
 again. 
 
 VOL XVIII 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHEN THE SUN ROSE. 
 
 DAY broke along the horizon, — and with the day an 
 object, strange, motionless, mysterious, which the 
 birds of heaven did not recognize, appeared upon the 
 plateau of La Tourgue and towered above the forest of 
 Fougères. It had been placed there in the night; it 
 seemed to have sprung up rather than to have been built. 
 It lifted high against the horizon a profile of straight, 
 hard lines, looking lik. a Hebrew letter, or one of those 
 Egyptian hieroglyphics which made part of the alphabet 
 of the ancient enigma. 
 
 At tho first glance the idea which this object roused 
 was its lack of keeping with the surroundings. It stood 
 amidst the blossoming heath. One asked one's self for 
 what purpose it could be useful ? Then the beholder 
 felt a chill creep over him as he gazed. It was a sort of 
 trestle, having four posts for feet; at one end of the 
 trestle two tall joists upright and straight, and fastened 
 together at the top by a cross-beam, raised and held 
 suspended some triangular object which showed black 
 against the blue sky of morning. At the other end of 
 the staging was a ladder. Between the joists, and 
 directly beneath the triangle, could be seen a sort of 
 panel composed of two movable sections, which, fitting 
 into each other, left a round hole about the size of a 
 man's neck. The upper section of this panel slid in a 
 groove, so that it could be hoisted or lowered at will ; 
 
WHEN THE SUN HOSE. 115 
 
 for the time, the two crescents, which formed the circle 
 when closed, were drawn apart. At the foot of the two 
 posts supporting the triangle was a plank turning on 
 hinges, looking like a see-saw. By the side of this 
 plank was a long basket ; and between the two beams, 
 in front and at the extremity of the trestle, was a square 
 basket. The monster was painted red. The whole 
 was made of wood except the triangle, — that was iron. 
 One would have known the thing must have been con- 
 structed by man, it was so ugly and evil looking ; at the 
 same time it was so formidable that it might have been 
 reared there by evil genii. This shapeless thing was 
 the guillotine. 
 
 In front of it, a few paces off, another monster rose 
 out of the ravine : La Tourgue, — a monster of stone 
 rising up to hold companionship with the monster 
 of wood. For when man has touched wood or stone 
 they no longer remain inanimate matter ; something of 
 man's spirit seems to enter into them. An edifice is a 
 dogma ; a machine, an idea. La Tourgue was that terri-, 
 ble offspring of the Past called the Bastille in Paris, the 
 Tower of London in England, the Spielberg in Germany, 
 the Escurial in Spain, the Kremlin in Moscow, the Cas- 
 tle of Saint Angelo in Komç. 
 
 In La Tourgue were condensed fifteen hundred 
 years (the Middle Age), vassalage, servitude, feudality; 
 in the guillotine one year, — '93; and these twelve 
 months made a counterpoise to those fifteen centuries. 
 La Tourgue was Monarchy ; the guillotine was Eevolu- 
 tion, — tragic confrontation! On one side the debtor, 
 on the other the creditor. On one side the inextricable 
 Gothic complication of serf, lord, slave, master, plebeian, 
 nobility, the complex code ramifying into customs, 
 judge and priest in coalition, shackles innumerable, 
 fiscal impositions, excise laws, mortmain, taxes, ex- 
 
116 " NINETY-THREE. 
 
 emptions, prerogatives, prejudices, fanaticisms, the royal 
 privilege of bankruptcy, the sceptre, the throne, the 
 regal will, the divine right; on the other, this simple 
 thing, — a knife. On one side the noose ; on the other, 
 the axe. 
 
 La Tourgue had long stood alone in the midst of this 
 wilderness. There she had frowned with her machico- 
 lated casements, from whence had streamed boiling oil, 
 blazing pitch, and melted lead ; her oubliettes paved 
 with human skeletons, her torture-chamber, — the whole 
 hideous tragedy with which she was filled. Eearing 
 her funereal front above the forest, she had passed fifteen 
 centuries of savage tranquillity amidst its shadows ; she 
 had been the one power in this land, the one object of 
 respect and fear ; she had reigned supreme, she had been 
 the realization of barbarism ; and suddenly she saw rise 
 before her and against her, something (more than some- 
 thing) as terrible as herself, — the guillotine. 
 
 Inanimate objects sometimes appear endowed with 
 a strange power of sight. A statue notices, a tower 
 watches, the face of an edifice contemplates. La Tourgue 
 seemed to be studying the guillotine. She seemed to 
 question herself concerning it. What was that object ? 
 It looked as if it had sprung out of the earth. It was 
 from there, in truth, that it had risen. The sinister 
 tree had germinated in the fatal ground. Out of the soil 
 watered by so much of human sweat, so many tears, so 
 much blood ; out of the earth in which had been dug so 
 many trenches, so many graves, so many caverns, so many 
 ambuscades — out of this earth wherein had rolled the 
 countless victims of countless tyrannies — out of this 
 earth spread above so many abysses wherein had been 
 buried so many crimes (terrible germs) had sprung in a 
 destined day this unknown, this avenger, this ferocious 
 sword-bearer, and '93 had said to the Old World, " Be- 
 
WHEN THE SUN ROSE. 117 
 
 hold me ! " And the guillotine had the right to say to 
 the donjon tower, " I am thy daughter. " 
 
 And, at the same time, the tower — for those fatal 
 objects possess a strange vitality — felt herself slain by 
 this newly risen force. 
 
 Before this formidable apparition La Tourgue seemed 
 to shudder. One might have said that she was afraid. 
 The monstrous mass of granite was majestic, but infa- 
 mous ; that plank with its black triangle was worse. 
 The all-powerful fallen trembled before the all-power- 
 ful risen. Criminal history was studying judicial his- 
 tory. The violence of by-gone days was comparing itself 
 with the violence of the present; the ancient fortress, 
 the ancient prison, the ancient seigneury where tortured 
 victims had shrieked out their lives , that construction 
 of war and murder, now useless, defenceless, violated, 
 dismantled, uncrowned, a heap of stones with no more 
 than a heap of ashes, hideous yet magnificent, dying, 
 dizzy with the awful memories of all those by-gone cen- 
 turies, watched the terrible living Present sweep up. 
 Yesterday trembled before to-day , antique ferocity ac- 
 knowledged and bowed its head before this fresh horror. 
 The power which was sinking into nothingness opened 
 eyes of fright upon this new-born terror; the phantom 
 stared at the spectre. 
 
 Nature is pitiless ; she never withdraws her flowers, 
 her music, her fragrance, and her sunlight from before 
 human cruelty or suffering. She overwhelms man by 
 the contrast between divine beauty and social hideous- 
 ness. She spares him nothing of her loveliness, neither 
 wing of butterfly nor song of bird. In the midst of 
 murder, vengeance, barbarism, he must feel himself 
 watched by holy things ; he cannot escape the immense 
 reproach of universal nature and the implacable serenity 
 of the sky. The deformity of human laws is forced to 
 
118 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 exhibit itself naked amidst the dazzling rays of eternal 
 beauty. Man breaks and destroys ; man lays waste ; 
 man kills; but the summer remains summer; the lily 
 remains the lily ; the star remains the star. 
 
 Never had a morning dawned fresher and more glori- 
 ous than this. A soft breeze stirred the heath, a warm 
 haze rose amidst the branches ; the forest of Fougères 
 permeated by the breath of hidden brooks, smoked in 
 the dawn like a vast censer filled with perfumes ; the 
 blue of the firmament, the whiteness of the clouds, the 
 transparency of the streams, the verdure, that harmoni- 
 ous gradation of colour from aqua-marine to emerald, the 
 groups of friendly trees, the mats of grass, the peaceful 
 fields, all breathed that purity which is Nature's eternal 
 counsel to man. In the midst of all this rose the horri- 
 ble front of human shamelessness ; in the midst of all 
 this appeared the fortress and the scaffold, war and pun- 
 ishment, — the incarnations of the bloody age and the 
 bloody moment; the owl of the night of the Past and 
 the bat of the cloud-darkened dawn of the Future. And 
 blossoming, odour-giving creation, loving and charming, 
 and the grand sky golden with morning spread about 
 La Tourgue and the guillotine, and seemed to say to 
 man, " Behold my work and yours. " 
 
 Such are the terrible reproaches of the sunlight ! 
 
 This spectacle had its spectators. The four thousand 
 men of the little expeditionary army were drawn up 
 in battle order upon the plateau. They surrounded the 
 guillotine on three sides in such a manner as to form 
 about it the shape of a letter E ; the battery placed in 
 the centre of the largest line made the notch of the E. 
 The red monster was enclosed by these three battle fronts ; 
 a sort of wall of soldiers spread out on two sides to the 
 edge of the plateau ; the fourth side, left open, was the 
 ravine, which seemed to frown at La Tourgue. These 
 
WHEN THE SUN ROSE. 119 
 
 arrangements made a long square, in the centre of which 
 stood the scaffold. 
 
 Gradually, as the sun mounted higher, the shadow ol 
 the guillotine grew shorter on the turf. The gunners 
 were at their pieces ; the matches lighted. A faint blue 
 smoke rose from the ravine, the last breath of the expir- 
 ing conflagration. This cloud encircled without veiling 
 La Tourgue, whose lofty platform overlooked the whole 
 horizon. There was only the width of the ravine be- 
 tween the platform and the guillotine. The one could 
 have parleyed with the other. 
 
 The table of the tribunal and the chair shadowed by 
 the tricoloured flags had been set upon the platform. 
 The sun rose higher behind La Tourgue, bringing out 
 the black mass of the fortress clear and defined, and re- 
 vealing upon its summit the figure of a man in the chair 
 beneath the banners, sitting motionless, his arms crossed 
 upon his breast. It was Cimourdain. He wore, as on 
 the previous day, his civil delegate's dress; on his head 
 was the hat with the tricoloured cockade ; his sabre at 
 his side ; his pistols in his belt. He sat silent. 
 
 The whole crowd was mute. The soldiers stood with 
 downcast eyes, musket in hand, — stood so close that 
 their shoulders touched ; but no one spoke. They were 
 meditating confusedly upon this war, — the numberless 
 combats, the hedge-fusilades so bravely confronted ; the 
 hosts of peasants driven back by their might ; the cita- 
 dels taken, the battles won, the victories gained ; and it 
 seemed to them as if all that glory had turned now to 
 their shame. A sombre expectation contracted every 
 heart. They could see the executioner come and go upon 
 the platform of the guillotine. The increasing splen- 
 dour of the morning filled the sky with its majesty. 
 
 Suddenly the sound of muffled drums broke the still- 
 ness. The furereal tones swept nearer. The ranks 
 
120 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 opened — a cortege entered the square and moved toward 
 the scaffold. First, the drummers with their crape- 
 wreathed drums ; then a company of grenadiers with 
 reversed arms ; then a platoon of gendarmes with drawn 
 sabres ; then the condemned, — Gauvain. He walked 
 forward with a free, firm step. He had no fetters on 
 hands or feet. He was in an undress uniform, and wore 
 his sword. Behind him marched another platoon of 
 gendarmes. 
 
 Gauvain 's face was still lighted by that pensive joy 
 which had illuminated it at the moment when he said 
 to Cimourdain, " I am thinking of the Future. " Noth- 
 ing could be more touching and sublime than that smile. 
 When he reached the fatal square, his first glance was 
 directed toward the summit of the tower. He disdained 
 the guillotine. He knew that Cimourdain would make 
 it an imperative duty to assist at the execution. His 
 eyes sought the platform ; he saw him there. 
 
 Cimourdain was ghastly and cold. Those standing 
 near him could not catch even the sound of his breath- 
 ing. Not a tremor shook his frame when he saw 
 Gauvain. 
 
 Gauvain moved toward the scaffold. As he walked 
 on, he looked at Cimourdain, and Cimourdain looked at 
 him. It seemed as if Cimourdain rested his very soul 
 upon that clear glance. Gauvain reached the foot of the 
 scaffold. He ascended it. The officer who commanded 
 the grenadiers followed him. He unfastened his sword, 
 and handed it to the officer; he undid his cravat, and 
 gave it to the executioner. He looked like a vision. 
 Never had he been so handsome. His brown curls 
 rloated in the wind : at the time it was not the custom 
 to cut off the hair of those about to be executed. His 
 white neck reminded one of a woman; his heroic and 
 sovereign glance made one think of an archangel. He 
 
A CLAMOUR ROSE ' ' MERCY ! MERCY !' 
 
WHEN THE SUN ROSE. 12] 
 
 stood there on the scaffold lost in thought. That place 
 of punishment was a height too. Gauvain stood upon 
 it, erect, proud, tranquil. The sunlight streamed about 
 him till he seemed to stand in the midst of a halo. But 
 he must be bound. The executioner advanced, cord in 
 hand. 
 
 At this moment, when the soldiers saw their young 
 leader so close to the knife, they could restrain them- 
 selves no longer , the hearts of those stern warriors gave 
 way, A mighty sound swelled up, — the united sob of a 
 whole army. A clamour rose : " Mercy ! mercy ! " Some 
 fell upon their knees ; others flung away their guns and 
 stretched their arms toward the platform where Cimour- 
 dain was seated. One grenadier pointed to the guillo- 
 tine, and cried, " A substitute ! A substitute ! Take 
 me ! " All repeated frantically, " Mercy ! mercy ! " Had 
 a troop of lions heard, they must have been softened or 
 terrified , the tears of soldiers are terrible. 
 
 The executioner hesitated, no longer knowing what 
 to do 
 
 Then a voice, quick and low, but so stern that it was 
 audible to every ear, spoke from the top of the tower : 
 " Fulfil the law ! 
 
 All recognized that inexorable tone. Cimourdain had 
 spoken. The army shuddered. 
 
 The executioner hesitated no longer. He approached, 
 holding out the cord. 
 
 " Wait ! " said Gauvain. He turned toward Cimour- 
 dain, made a gesture of farewell with his right hand, 
 which was still free, then allowed himself to be bound. 
 
 When he was tied, he said to the executioner : " Par- 
 don. One instant more. " And he cried : " Long live the 
 Kepublic ! " 
 
 He was laid upon the plank. That noble head was 
 held by the infamous yoke. The executioner gently 
 
122 NINETY-THREE. 
 
 parted His hair aside, then touched the spring. The 
 triangle began to move, — slowly at first, then rapidly; a 
 terrible blow was heard — 
 
 At the same instant another report sounded. A pistol 
 shot had answered the blow of the axe. Cimourdain had 
 seized one of the pistols from his belt, and as Gauvain's 
 head rolled into the basket, Cimourdain sank back 
 pierced to the heart by a bullet his own hand had fired, 
 A stream of blood burst from his mouth ; he fell dead. 
 
 And those two souls, united still in that tragic death, 
 soared away together, the shadow of the one mingled with 
 the radiance of the other. 
 
 THE END 
 
BUG-JARGAI* 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 PEOLOGUE. 
 
 WHEN" it came to the turn of Captain Leopold 
 d'Auverney, he gazed around him with surprise, 
 and hurriedly assured his comrades that he did not 
 remember any incident in his life that was worthy of 
 repetition. 
 
 "But, Captain d'Auverney," objected Lieutenant 
 Henri, " you have — at least report says so — travelled 
 much, and seen a good deal of the world ; have you not 
 been to the Antilles, to Africa, and to Italy ? and above 
 all, you have been in Spain. But see, here is your lame 
 dog come back again ! " 
 
 D'Auverney started, let fall the cigar that he was 
 smoking, and turned quickly to the tent door, at which 
 an enormous dog appeared, limping towards him. 
 
 In another instant the dog was licking his feet, wagging 
 his tail, whining, and gambolling as well as he was able ; 
 and by every means testifying his delight at finding his 
 master; and at last, as if he felt that he had done all 
 that could be required of a dog, he curled himself up 
 peaceably before his master's seat. 
 
 Captain d'Auverney was much moved, but he strove 
 to conceal his feelings, and mechanically caressed the 
 dog with one hand, while with the other he played 
 with the chin-strap of his shako, murmuring from time 
 
4 BUG-JAllGAL, 
 
 to time, " So here you are once again, Rask, here you 
 are ! " Then, as if suddenly recollecting himself, he ex- 
 claimed aloud, " But who has brought him back ? " 
 
 " By your leave, Captain — " 
 
 For the last few seconds Sergeant Thaddeus had been 
 standing at the door of the tent, the curtain of which 
 he was holding back with his left hand, while his right 
 was thrust into the bosom of his great -coat. Tears were 
 in his eyes as he contemplated the meeting of the 
 dog and his master, and at last, unable to keep si- 
 lence any longer, he risked the words, " By your leave, 
 Captain. " 
 
 D'Auverney raised his eyes. 
 
 " Why, it is you, Thaddeus^? and how the deuce have 
 you been able — eh ? Poor dog, poor Eask ! I thought 
 that you were in the English camp. Where did you 
 find him, Sergeant ? " 
 
 " Thanks be to Heaven, Captain, you see me as happy 
 as your little nephew used to be when you let him off 
 his Latin lesson. " 
 
 a But tell me, where did you find him? " 
 
 " I did not find him, Captain ; I went to look for 
 him." 
 
 Captain d'Auverney rose, and offered his hand to the 
 sergeant, but the latter still kept his in the bosom of 
 his coat. 
 
 " Well, you see, it was — at least, Captain, since poor 
 Rask was lost, I noticed that you were like a man beside 
 himself; so when I baw that he did not come to me in 
 the evening, according to his custom, for his share of 
 my ration bread, — which made old Thaddeus weep like 
 a child ; I, who before that had only wept twice in my 
 life, the first time when — yes, the day when — " and 
 the sergeant cast a sad look upon his captain. K Well, 
 thf^ second was when that scamp Balthazar, the corporal 
 
BUG-JARGAL. Ô 
 
 of the Seventh half brigade, persuaded me to peel a bunch 
 of onions. " 
 
 " It seems to me, Thaddeus, " cried Henri, with a 
 laugh, " that you avoid telling us what was the first 
 occasion upon which you shed tears. " 
 
 " It was doubtless, old comrade, * said the captain 
 kindly, as he patted Kask's head, " when you answered 
 the roll-call as Tour d'Auvergne, the first grenadier of 
 France. " 
 
 " No, no, Captain ; if Sergeant Thaddeus wept, it was 
 when he gave the order to fire on Bug-Jargal, otherwise 
 called Pierrot. " 
 
 A cloud gathered on the countenance of D'Auverney, 
 then he again endeavoured to clasp the sergeant's hand ; 
 but in spite of the honour that was attempted to be 
 conferred on him, the old man still kept his hand hid- 
 den under his coat. 
 
 "Yes, Captain," continued Thaddeus, drawing , back a 
 step or two, while D'Auverney fixed his eyes upon him 
 with a strange and sorrowful expression, — " yes, I wept 
 for him that day, and he well deserved it. He was 
 black, it is true, but gunpowder is black also; and — 
 and — " 
 
 The good sergeant would fain have followed out his 
 strange comparison, for there was evidently something 
 in the idea that pleased him ; but he utterly failed to 
 put his thoughts into words, and after having attacked 
 his idea on every side, as a general would a fortified 
 place, and failed, he raised the siege, and without notic- 
 ing the smiles of his officers, he continued : — 
 
 " Tell me, Captain, do you recollect how that poor 
 negro arrived all out of breath, at the moment when 'his 
 ten comrades were waiting on the spot ? We had had to 
 tie them though. It was I who commanded the party ; 
 and with his own hands ^e untied them, and took their 
 
6 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 place, although they did all that they could to dissuade 
 him; but he was inflexible. Ah, what a man he was; 
 you might as well have tried to move Gibraltar ! And 
 then, Captain, he drew himself up as if he were going to 
 enter a ball-room, and this dog, who knew well enough 
 what was coming, flew at my throat — " 
 
 " Generally, Thaddeus, at this point of your story 
 you pat Eask, " interrupted the captain ; " see how he 
 looks at you. " 
 
 " You are right, sir, " replied Thaddeus, with an air 
 of embarrassment ; " he does look at me, poor fellow ; but 
 the old woman Malajuda told me it was unlucky to pat 
 a dog with the left hand, and — " 
 
 " And why not with your right, pray ? " asked 
 D'Auverney, for the first time noticing the sergeant's 
 pallor, and the hand reposing in his bosom. 
 
 The sergeant's discomfort appeared to increase. " By 
 your leave, Captain, it is because — well, you have got 
 a lame dog, and now there is a chance of your having a 
 one-handed sergeant. " 
 
 " A one-handed sergeant 1 What do you mean? Let 
 me see your arm. One hand ! Great heavens ! " 
 
 D'Auverney trembled, as the sergeant slowly with- 
 drew his hand from his bosom, and showed it enveloped 
 in a blood-stained handkerchief. 
 
 "This is terrible," exclaimed D'Auverney, carefully 
 undoing the bandage. " But tell me, old comrade, how 
 this happened. " 
 
 " As for that, the thing is simple enough. I told you 
 how I had noticed your grief since those confounded 
 English had taken away your dog, — poor Eask, Bug's 
 dog. I made up my mind to-day to bring him back, 
 even if it cost me my life, so that you might eat a good 
 supper. After having told Mathelet, your bât man, to 
 get out and brush your full-dress uniform, as we are to 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 7 
 
 go into action to-morrow, I crept quietly out of camp, 
 armed only with my sabre, and crouched und.r tne 
 hedges until I neared the English camp. I had not 
 passed the first trench when I saw a whole crowd of red 
 soldiers. I crept on quietly to see what they were do- 
 ing, and in the midst oi them I perceived Eask tied to 
 a tree ; while two of the milords, stripped to here, were 
 knocking each other about with their fists, until their 
 bones sounded like the big drum of the regiment. They 
 were fighting for your dog. But when Eask caught 
 sight of me, he gave such a bound that the rope broke, 
 and in the twinkling of an eye the rogue was after me. 
 I did not stop to explain, but off I ran, with all the 
 English at my heels. A regular hail of balls whistled 
 past my ears. Eask barked, but they could not hear 
 him for their shouts of ' French dog ! French dog Î ' just 
 as if Eask was not of the pure St. Domingo breed. In 
 spite of all I crushed through the thicket, and had 
 almost got clean away when two red coats confronted 
 me, My sabre accounted for one, and would have rid 
 me of the other had his pistol not unluckily had a bul- 
 let in it. My right arm suffered ; but ' French dog ' 
 leapt at his throat, as if he were an old acquaintance. 
 Down fell the Englishman, for the embrace was so tight 
 that he was strangled in a moment, — and here we both 
 are. My only regret is that I did not get my wound in 
 to-morrow's battle." 
 
 " Thaddeus, Thaddeus ! " exclaimed the captain in 
 tones of reproach ; " were you mad enough to expose 
 your life thus for a dog? " 
 
 * It was not for a dog, it was for Rask. " 
 
 D'Auverney's face softened as Thaddeus added : * Foi 
 Rask, for Bug's dog. " 
 
 K Enough, enough, old comrade Î * cried the captain, 
 
8 BUG-JAKGAL. 
 
 dashing his hand across his eyes ; " come, lean on me, 
 and I will lead you to the hospital. " 
 
 Thaddeus essayed to decline the honour, but in vain ; 
 and as they left the tent the dog got up and followed 
 them. 
 
 This little drama had excited the curiosity of the 
 spectators to the highest degree. Captain Leopold 
 d'Auverney was one of those men who, in whatever 
 position the chances of nature and society may place 
 them, always inspire a mingled feeling of interest and 
 respect. At the first glimpse there was nothing strik- 
 ing in him, — his manner was reserved, and his look 
 cold. The tropical sun, though it had browned his 
 cheek, had not imparted to him that vivacity of speech 
 and gesture which among the Creoles is united to an 
 easy carelessness of demeanour, in itself full of charm. 
 
 D'Auverney spoke little, listened less, but showed 
 himself ready to act at any moment Always the first 
 in the saddle, and the last to return to camp, he seemed 
 to seek a refuge from his thoughts in bodily fatigue. 
 These thoughts, which had marked his brow with many 
 a premature wrinkle, were not of the kind that you can 
 get rid of by confiding them to a friend ; nor could they 
 be discussed in idle conversation. Leopold d'Auverney, 
 whose body the hardships of war could not subdue, 
 seemed to experience a sense of insurmountable fatigue 
 in what is termed the conflict of the feelings. He 
 avoided argument as much as he sought warfare. If at 
 any time he allowed himself to be drawn into a discus- 
 sion, he would utter a few words full of common-sense 
 and reason, and then at the moment of triumph over his 
 antagonist he would stop short, and muttering " What 
 good is it ? w would saunter off to the commanding offi- 
 cer to glean what information he could regarding the 
 enemy's movements. His comrades forgave his cold 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 9 
 
 reserved, and silent habits, because upon every occasion 
 they had found him kind, gentle, and benevolent. He 
 had saved many a life at the risk of his own, and they 
 well knew that though his mouth was rarely opened, 
 yet his purse was never closed when a comrade had need 
 of his assistance. 
 
 D'Auverney was young; many would have guessed 
 him at thirty years of age, but they would have been 
 wrong, for he was some years under it. Although he 
 had for a long period fought in the ranks of the Repub- 
 lican army, yet all were in ignorance of his former life. 
 The only one to whom he seemed ever to open his heart 
 was Sergeant Thaddeus, who had joined the regiment 
 with him, and would at times speak vaguely of sad 
 events in his early life, It was known that D'Auverney 
 had undergone great misfortunes in America; that he 
 had been married ir. St. Domingo, and that his wife and 
 all his family had perished in those terrible massacres 
 which had marked the Republican invasion of that mag- 
 nificent colony. At the time of which we write, misfor- 
 tunes of this kind were so general that any one could 
 sympathize with, and feel pity for, such sufferers. 
 
 D'Auverney, therefore, was pitied less for his mis- 
 fortunes than for the manner in which they had been 
 brought about. Beneath his icy mask of indifference 
 the traces of the incurably wounded spirit could be at 
 times perceived. When he went into action his calm- 
 ness returned, and in the fight he behaved as if he 
 sought for the rank of general ; while after victory he 
 was as gentle and unassuming as if the position of a 
 private soldier would have satisfied his ambition. His 
 comrades, seeing him thus despise honour and promo- 
 tion, could not understand what it was that lighted up 
 his countenance with a ray of hop when the action 
 commenced, and they did not for a moment divine that 
 
10 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 the prize D ' Auverney was striving to gain was simply — ■ 
 death. 
 
 The Eepresentatives of the People, in one of their 
 missions to the army, had appointed him a Chief of 
 Brigade on the field of battle ; but he had declined the 
 honour upon learning that it would remove him from 
 his old comrade Sergeant Thaddeus. Some days after- 
 wards, having returned from a dangerous expedition safe 
 and sound, contrary to the general expectation and his 
 own hopes, he was heard to regret the rank that he had 
 refused. "For," said he, "since the enemy's guns 
 always spare me, perhaps the guillotine, which ever 
 strikes down those it has raised, would in time have 
 claimed me. " 
 
 Such was the character of the man upon whom 
 the conversation turned as soon as he had left the 
 tent. 
 
 " I would wager, " cried Lieutenant Henri, wiping a 
 splash of mud off his boot which the dog had left as he 
 passed him, — "1 would wager that the captain would 
 not exchange the broken paw of his dog for the ten bas- 
 kets of Madeira that we- caught a glimpse of in the gen- 
 eral's wagon. " 
 
 " Bah ! " cried Paschal the aide-de-camp, " that would 
 be a bad bargain : the baskets are empty by now, and 
 thirty empty bottles would be a poor price for a dog's paw ; 
 why, you might make a good bell-handle out of it. " 
 
 They all laughed at the grave manner in which Pas- 
 chal pronounced these words, with the exception of a 
 young officer of Hussars named Alfred, who remarked, — 
 
 " I do not see any subject for chaff in this matter, 
 gentlemen. This sergeant and dog, who are always at 
 D 'Auverney 's heels ever since I have known him, seem 
 to me more the objects of sympathy than raillery, and 
 interest me greatly. " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 11 
 
 Paschal, annoyed that his wit had missed fire, inter- 
 rupted him : " It certainly is a most sentimental scene , 
 a lost dog found, and a broken arm — " 
 
 " Captain Paschal, " said Henri, throwing an empty 
 bottle outside the tent, " you are wrong ; this Bug, 
 otherwise called Pierrot, excites my curiosity greatly. " 
 
 At this moment D'Auverney returned, and sat down 
 without uttering a word. His manner was still sad, but 
 his. face was more calm ; he seemed not to have heard 
 what was said. Pask, who had followed him, lay down 
 at his feet, but kept a watchful eye on his master's 
 comrades. 
 
 " Pass your glass, Captain D'Auverney, and taste 
 this. " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, " replied the captain, evidently im- 
 agining that he was answering a question, " the wound 
 is not dangerous; there is no bone broken. " 
 
 The respect which all felt for D'Auverney prevented 
 a burst of laughter at this reply. 
 
 " Since your mind is at rest regarding Thaddeus's 
 wound, " said Henri, " and, as you may remember, we 
 entered into an agreement to pass away the hours of 
 bivouac by relating to one another our adventures, will 
 you carry out your promise by telling us the history of 
 your lame dog, and of Bug, — otherwise called Pierrot, 
 that regular Gibraltar of a man? " 
 
 To this request, which was put in a semi -jocular tone, 
 D'Auverney at last yielded. 
 
 " I will do what you ask, gentlemen," said he; " but 
 you must only expect a very simple tale, in which I 
 play an extremely second-rate part. If the affection 
 that exists between Thaddeus, Eask, and myself leads 
 you to expect anything very wonderful, I fear that 
 you will be greatly disappointed. However, I will 
 begin. " 
 
12 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 For a moment D'Auverney relapsed into thought, as 
 though he wished to recall past events which had long 
 since been replaced in his memory by the acts of his 
 later years ; but at last, in a low voice and with fre- 
 quent pauses, he began his tale. 
 
CHAPTEE I 
 
 I WAS born in France, but at an early age I was sent 
 to St. Domingo, to the care of an uncle, to whose 
 daughter it had been arranged between our parents that 
 I was to be married. My uncle was one of the wealthi- 
 est colonists, and possessed a magnificent house and 
 extensive plantations in the Plains of Acul, near Fort 
 Galifet. The position of the estate, which no doubt 
 you wonder at my describing so minutely, was one of 
 the causes of all our disasters, and the eventual total 
 ruin of our whole family. 
 
 Eight hundred negro slaves cultivated the enormous 
 domains of my uncle. Sad as the position of a slave is, 
 my uncle's hardness of heart added much to the unhap- 
 piness of those who had the misfortune to be his prop- 
 erty. My uncle was one of the happily small number 
 of planters from whom despotic power had taken away 
 the gentler feelings of humanity. He was accustomed 
 to see his most trifling command unhesitatingly obeyed, 
 and the slightest delay on the part of his slaves in car- 
 rying it out was punished with the harshest severity ; 
 while the intercession either of my cousin or of myself 
 too often merely led to an increase of the punishment, 
 and we were only too often obliged to rest satisfied by 
 secretly assuaging the injuries which we were powerless 
 to prevent. 
 
 Among the multitude of his slaves, one only had 
 found favour in my uncle's sight; this was a half-caste 
 Spanish dwarf, who had been given him by Lord Effing- 
 
14 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 ham, the Governor of Jamaica. My uncle, who had foi 
 many, years resided in Brazil, and had adopted the luxu- 
 rious habits of the Portuguese, loved to surround him 
 self with an establishment that was in keeping with his 
 wealth. In order that nothing should be wanting, he 
 had made the slave presented to him by Lord Effingham 
 his fool, in imitation of the feudal lords who had jesters 
 attached to their households. I must say that the slave 
 amply fulfilled all the required conditions. 
 
 Habibrah, for that was the half-caste's name, was one 
 of those strangely formed, or rather deformed, beings 
 who would be looked upon as monsters if their very 
 hideousness did not cause a laugh. This ill-featured 
 dwarf was short and fat, and moved with wondrous ac- 
 tivity upon a pair of slender limbs, which, when he sat 
 down, bent under him like the legs of a spider. His 
 enormous head, covered with a mass of red curly wool, 
 was stuck between his shoulders, while his ears were so 
 large that Habibrah 's comrades were in the habit of 
 saying that he used them to wipe his eyes when he 
 wept. On his face there was always a grin, which was 
 continually changing its character, and which caused 
 his ugliness to be of an ever-varying description. My 
 uncle was fond of him, because of his extreme hideous- 
 ness and his inextinguishable gayety. Habibrah was 
 his only favourite, and led a life of ease, while the other 
 slaves were overwhelmed with work. The sole duties 
 of the jester were to carry a large fan, made of the 
 feathers of the bird of paradise, to keep away the sand- 
 flies and the mosquitoes from his master. At meal- 
 times he sat upon a reed mat at his master's feet, who 
 fed him with tit-bits from his own plate. Habibrah ap- 
 peared to appreciate all these acts of kindness, and at 
 the slightest sign from my uncle he would run to him 
 with the agility of a monkey and the docility of a dog. 
 
BUG-JAEGAL. 15 
 
 I had imbibed a prejudice against my uncle's favour- 
 ite slave. There was something crawling in his ser- 
 vility ; for though outdoor slavery does not dishonour, 
 domestic service too often debases. I felt a sentiment 
 of pity for those slaves who toiled in the scorching sun, 
 with scarcely a vestige of clothing to hide their chains ; 
 but I despised this idle serf, with his garments orna- 
 mented with gold lace and adorned with bells. Besides 
 the dwarf never made use of his influence with his mas- 
 ter to ameliorate the condition of his fellow-sufferers; 
 on the contrary, I heard him once, when he thought 
 that he and his master were alone, urge him to increase 
 his severity towards his ill-fated comrades. The other 
 slaves, however, did not appear to look upon him with 
 any feelings of anger or rancour, but treated him with a 
 timid kind of respect; and when, dressed in all the 
 splendour of laced garments and a tall pointed cap orna- 
 mented with bells, and quaint symbols traced upon it 
 in red ink, he walked past their huts, I have heard 
 them murmur in accents of awe, " He is an obi n 
 (sorcerer). 
 
 These details, to which I now draw your attention, 
 occupied my mind but little then. I had given myself 
 up entirely to the emotion of a pure love, in which 
 nothing else could mingle, — a love which was returned 
 me with passion by the girl to whom I was betrothed, 
 — and I gave little heed to anything that was not Marie. 
 Accustomed from youth to look upon her as the future 
 companion of my life, there was a curious mixture of 
 the love of a brother for a sister, mingled with the pas- 
 sionate adoration of a betrothed lover. 
 
 Few men have spent their earlier years more happily 
 than I have done, or have felt their souls expand into 
 life in the midst of a delicious climate and all the luxu- 
 ries which wealth could procure, with perfect happiness 
 
16 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 in the present and the brightest hopes for the future. 
 No man, as I said before, could have spent his earlier 
 years more happily — 
 
 [D'Auverney paused for a moment, as if these thoughts 
 of by-gone happiness had stifled his voice, and then 
 added :] 
 
 And no one could have passed his later ones in more 
 profound misery and affliction. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 IN the midst of these blind illusions and hopes, my 
 twentieth birthday approached. It was now the 
 month of August, 1791, and my uncle had decided that 
 this should be the date of my marriage with Marie. 
 You can well understand that the thoughts of happiness, 
 now so near, absorbed all my faculties, and how little 
 notice I took of the political crisis which was then felt 
 throughout the colony. I will not, therefore, speak of 
 the Count de Pernier, or of M. de Blanchelande, nor of 
 the tragical death of the unfortunate Colonel de Mar- 
 chiste ; nor will I attempt to describe the jealousies of 
 the Provincial House of Assembly of the North, and the 
 Colonial Assembly (which afterwards called itself the 
 General Assembly, declaring that the word " Colonial " 
 had a ring of slavery in it). For my own part, I sided 
 with neither ; but if I did espouse any cause, it was in 
 favour of Cap, near which town my home was situate, 
 in opposition to Port au Prince. 
 
 Only once did I mix myself up in the question of the 
 day. It was on the occasion of the disastrous decree of 
 the 15th of May, 1791, by which the National Assem- 
 bly of France admitted free men of colour to enjoy the 
 same political privileges as the whites. At a ball given 
 by the Governor of Cap, many of the younger colonists 
 spoke in impassioned terms of this law, which levelled 
 so cruel a blow at the instincts of supremacy assumed 
 by the whites, with perhaps too little foundation. I 
 
18 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 had, as yet, taken no part in the conversation, when 1 
 saw approaching the group a wealtny planter, whose 
 doubtful descent caused him to be received merely upon 
 sufferance by the white society. I stepped in front of 
 him, and in a haughty voice I exclaimed, " Pass on, 
 sir ! pass on ! or you may hear words which would cer- 
 tainly be disagreeable to those with mixed blood in their 
 veins. " He was so enraged at this insinuation that 
 he challenged me. We fought, and each was slightly 
 wounded. I confess that I was in the wrong to have thus 
 provoked him, and it is probable that I should not have 
 done so on a mere question of colour; but I had for some 
 time past noticed that he had had the audacity to pay 
 certain attentions to my cousin, and had danced with 
 her the very night upon which I had insulted him. 
 
 However, as time went on, and the date so ardently 
 desired approached, I was a perfect stranger to the state 
 of political ferment in which those around me lived ; 
 and I never perceived the frightful cloud which already 
 almost obscured the horizon, and which promised a 
 storm that would sweep all before it. No one at that 
 time thought seriously of a revolt among the slaves, — 
 a class too much despised to be feared ; but between the 
 whites and the free mulattoes there was sufficient hatred 
 to cause an outbreak at any moment, which might entail 
 the most disastrous consequences. 
 
 During the first days of August a strange incident 
 occurred, which threw a slight shade of uneasiness oveï 
 the sunshine of my happiness. 
 
CHAPTEE IIL 
 
 ON the banks of a little river which flowed through 
 my uncle's estate was a small rustic pavilion in 
 the midst of a clump of trees. Marie was in the habit 
 of coming here every day to enjoy the sea breeze, which 
 blows regularly in St. Domingo, even during the hottest 
 months of the year, from sunrise until evening. Each 
 morning it was my pleasant task to adorn this charming 
 retreat with the sweetest flowers that I could gather. 
 
 One morning Marie came running to me in a great 
 state of alarm. Upon entering her leafy retreat she 
 had perceived, with surprise and terror, all the flowers 
 which I had arranged in the morning thrown upon the 
 ground and trampled under foot, and a bunch of wild 
 marigolds, freshly gathered, placed upon her accustomed 
 seat. She had hardly recovered from her terror, when, 
 in the adjoining coppice, she heard the sound of a guitar, 
 and a voice, which was not mine, commenced singing a 
 Spanish song ; but in her excitement she had been un- 
 able to catch the meaning of the words, though she could 
 hear her own name frequently repeated. Then she had 
 taken to flight, and had come to me full of this strange 
 and surprising event. 
 
 This recital filled me with jealousy and indignation. 
 My first suspicions pointed to the mulatto with whom 
 I had fought ; but even in the midst of my perplexity I 
 resolved to do nothing rashly. I soothed Marie's fears 
 as best I could, and promised to watch over her without 
 
20 BUG^JARGAL. 
 
 ceasing, until the marriage tie would give me the right 
 of never leaving her. 
 
 Believing that the intruder whose insolence had so 
 alarmed Marie would not content himself with what he 
 had already done, I concealed myself that very evening 
 near the portion of the house in which my betrothed 's 
 chamber was situated. 
 
 Hidden among the tall stalks of the sugar-cane, and 
 armed with a dagger, I waited; and I did not wait in 
 vain. Towards the middle of the night my attention 
 was suddenly attracted by the notes of a guitar under 
 the very window of the room in which Marie reposed. 
 Furious with rage, with my dagger clutched firmly in 
 my hand, I rushed in the direction of the sound, crush- 
 ing beneath my feet the brittle stalks of the sugar-canes. 
 All of a sudden I felt myself seized and thrown upon 
 my back with what appeared to be superhuman force ; 
 my dagger was wrenched from my grasp, and I saw its 
 point shining above me ; at the same moment I could 
 perceive a pair of eyes and a double row of white teeth 
 gleaming through the darkness, while a voice, in accents 
 of concentrated rage, muttered, " Te tengo, te tengo I " 
 .(I have you, I have you). 
 
 More astonished than frightened, I struggled vainly 
 with my formidable antagonist, and already the point 
 of the dagger had pierced my clothes, when Marie, 
 whom the sound of the guitar and the noise of the strug- 
 gle had aroused, appeared suddenly at her window. She 
 recognized my voice, saw the gleam of the knife, and 
 uttered a cry of terror and affright. This cry seemed to 
 paralyze the hand of my opponent. He stopped as if 
 petrified; but still, as though undecided, he kept the 
 point of the dagger pressed upon my chest. Then he sud- 
 denly exclaimed in French, " No, I cannot ; she would 
 weep too much, " and, casting away the weapon, rose to 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 21 
 
 his feet, and in an instant disappeared in the canes ; and 
 before I could rise, bruised and shaken from the strug- 
 gle, no sound and no sign remained of the presence or 
 the flight of my adversary. 
 
 It was some time before I could recover my scattered 
 faculties. I was more furious than ever with my un- 
 known rival, and was overcome with a feeling of shame 
 at being indebted to him for my life. " After all, how- 
 ever, " I thought, " it is to Marie that I owe it ; for it 
 was the sound of her voice that caused him to drop his 
 dagger. " 
 
 And yet I could not hide from myself that there was 
 something noble in the sentiment which had caused my 
 unknown rival to spare me. But who could he be ? 
 One supposition after another rose in my mind, all to 
 be discarded in turn. It could not be the mulatto plan- 
 ter to whom my suspicions had first been directed. He 
 was not endowed with such muscular power ; nor was it 
 his voice. The man with whom I had struggled was 
 naked to the waist ; slaves alone went about half -clothed 
 in this manner. But this could not be a slave ; the feel- 
 ing which had caused him to throw away the dagger 
 would not have been found in the bosom of a slave, — 
 and besides, my whole soul revolted at the idea of hav- 
 ing a slave for a rival. What was to be done ? I deter* 
 mined to wait and watch. 
 
CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 MAEIE had awakened her old nurse, whom she 
 looked upon almost in the light of the mother 
 who had died in giving her birth, and with them I re- 
 mained for the rest of the night, and in the morning 
 informed my uncle of the mysterious occurrence. His 
 surprise was extreme, but, like me, his pride would not 
 permit him to believe that a slave would venture to 
 raise 'his eyes to his daughter. The nurse received the 
 strictest orders from my uncle never to leave Marie 
 alone for a moment ; but as the sittings of the Provincial 
 Assembly, the threatening aspect of the affairs of the 
 colony, and the superintendence of the plantation al- 
 lowed him but little leisure, he authorized me to accom- 
 pany his daughter whenever she left the house, until 
 the celebration of our nuptials ; and at the same time, 
 presuming that the daring lover must be lurking in the 
 neighbourhood, he ordered the boundaries of the plan- 
 tation to be more strictly guarded than ever. 
 
 After all these precautions had been taken, I deter- 
 mined to put the matter to further proof. I returned to 
 the summer-house by the river, and repairing the de- 
 struction of the evening before, I placed a quantity of 
 fresh flowers in their accustomed place. When the 
 time arrived at which Marie usually sought the sweet 
 shades of this sequestered spot, I loaded my rifle and 
 proposed to escort her thither. The old nurse followed 
 a few steps behind. 
 
 Marie, to whom I had said nothing about my having 
 set the place to rights, entered the summer-house the 
 
BUG-JAKGAL. 23 
 
 first. " See, Leopold, " said she, " my nest is in the 
 same condition in which I left it yesterday ; here are 
 your flowers thrown about in disorder and trampled 
 to pieces, and there is that odious bouquet which does 
 not appear at all faded since yesterday ; indeed, it looks 
 as if it had been freshly gathered. " 
 
 I was speechless with rage and surprise. There was 
 my morning's work utterly ruined, and the wild flowers, 
 at whose freshness Marie was so much astonished, had 
 insolently usurped the place of the roses that I had 
 strewn all over the place. 
 
 " Calm yourself, " said Marie, who noticed my agita- 
 tion ; " this insolent intruder will come here no more ; 
 let us put all thoughts of him on one side, as I do this 
 nasty bunc^i of flowers. " 
 
 I did not care to undeceive her, and to tell her that 
 he had returned ; yet I was pleased to see the air of 
 innocent indignation with which she crushed the flowers 
 under her foot. Hoping that the day Tould again come 
 when I should meet my mysterious ri\*J face to face, I 
 made her sit down between her nurse and myself. 
 
 Scarcely had we done so when Marie put her finger on 
 my lips : a sound, deadened by the breeze and the rip- 
 pling of the stream, had struck upon her ear. I listened ; 
 it was the notes of a guitar, the same melody that had 
 filled me with fury on the preceding evening. I made 
 a movement to start from my seat, but a gesture of 
 Marie's detained me. 
 
 " Leopold, " whispered she, " restrain yourself ; he is 
 going to sing, and we shall learn who he is. " 
 
 As she spoke, a few more notes were struck on the 
 guitar, and then from the depths of the wood came the 
 plaintive melody of a Spanish song, every word of which 
 has remained deeply engraved on my memo*v : — 
 
24 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 Why dost thou fear me and fly me J 
 Say, has my music no charms ? 
 
 Do you not know that I love you ? 
 Why, then, these causeless alarms! 
 Maria ! 
 
 When I perceive your slight figure 
 Glide through the cocoanut grove, 
 
 Sometimes I think 't is a spirit 
 Come to reply to my love. 
 
 Maria ! 
 
 Sweeter your voice to mine ears 
 Than the birds' song in the sky 
 
 That, from the kingdom I 've lost, 
 Over the wide ocean fly. 
 
 Maria 1 
 
 Far away, once I was king, 
 Noble and powerful and free ; 
 
 All I would gladly give up 
 For a word, for a gesture from thee ? 
 Maria I 
 
 Tall and upright as a palm, 
 
 Sweet in your young lover's eyes 
 
 As the soft shade of the tree 
 Mirrored in cool water lies. 
 
 Maria ! 
 
 But know you not that the storm 
 Comes and uproots the fair tree ? 
 
 Jealousy comes like that storm, 
 Bringing destruction to thee, 
 
 Maria ! 
 
 Tremble, Hispaniola's daughter, 
 Lest all should fade and decay ; 
 
 And vainly you look for the arm 
 To bear you in safety away. 
 
 Maria I 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 25 
 
 Why, then, repulse my fond love ? 
 
 Black I am, while you are white ; 
 "Night and the day, when united, 
 
 Bring forth the beautiful light. 
 Mariai 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A PROLONGED quavering note upon the guitar, like 
 a sob, concluded the song. 
 
 I was beside myself with rage. King ! black ! slave ! 
 A thousand incoherent ideas were awakened by this 
 extraordinary and mysterious song. A maddening de- 
 sire to finish for once and all with this unknown beino\ 
 who dared to mingle the name of Marie with songs of 
 love and menace, took possession of me. I grasped my 
 rifle convulsively and rushed from the summer-house. 
 Marie stretched out her arms to detain me, but I was 
 already in the thicket from which the voice appeared to 
 have come. I searched the little wood thoroughly, I 
 beat the bushes with the barrel of my rifle, I crept be- 
 hind the trunks of the large trees, and walked through 
 the high grass. 
 
 Nothing, nothing, always nothing! This fruitless 
 search added fuel to the fire of my anger. Was this 
 insolent rival always to escape from me like a super- 
 natural being ? Was I never to be able to find out who 
 he was, or to meet him? At this moment the tinkling 
 of bells roused me from my revery. I turned sharply 
 round, the dwarf Habibrah was at my side. 
 
 " Good-day, master, " said he, with a sidelong glance 
 full of triumphant malice at the anxiety which was im- 
 printed on my face. 
 
 " Tell me, " exclaimed I, roughly, " have you seen any 
 one about here ? " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 27 
 
 " No one except yourself, senor mio, " answered he, 
 calmly. 
 
 " Did you hear no voice ? " continued I. 
 
 The slave remained silent, as though seeking for an 
 evasive reply. 
 
 My passion burst forth. " Quick, quick ! " I ex- 
 claimed. " Answer me quickly, wretch ! did you hear 
 a voice ? n 
 
 He fixed his eyes boldly upon mine ; they were small 
 and round, and gleamed like those of a wild cat. 
 
 " What do you mean by a voice, master ? There are 
 voices everywhere, — the voice of the birds, the voice of 
 the stream, the voice of the wind in the trees — " 
 
 I shook him roughly. " Miserable buffoon ! " I cried, 
 " cease your quibbling, or you shall hear another voice 
 from the barrel of my rifle. Answer at once ; did you 
 hear a man singing a Spanish song ? " 
 
 " Yes, senor, " answered he, calmly. " Listen, and I 
 will tell you all about it. I was walking on the out- 
 skirts of the wood listening to what the silver bells of 
 my gorra [cap] were telling me, when the wind brought 
 to my ears some Spanish words, — the first language 
 that I heard when my age could have been counted by 
 months, and my mother carried me slung at her back in 
 a hammock of red and yellow wool. I love the lan- 
 guage ; it recalls to me the time when I was little with- 
 out being a dwarf, — a little child, and not a buffoon ; 
 and so I listened to the song. " 
 
 " Is that all you have to say ? " cried I, impatiently. 
 
 " Yes, handsome master ; but if you like I can tell 
 you who the man was who sang. " 
 
 I felt inclined to clasp him in my arms. " Oh, 
 speak ! " I exclaimed ; " speak ! Here is my purse, and 
 ten others fuller than that shall be yours if you will tell 
 me his name. " 
 
28 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 He took the purse, opened it, and smiled. " Ten 
 purses fuller than this, " murmured he ; " that will make 
 a fine heap of good gold coins. But do not be impatient, 
 young master, I am going to tell you all. Do you re- 
 member the last verse of his song, — something about 
 ' 1 am black, and you are white, and the union of the 
 two produces the beautiful light ' ? Well, if this song 
 is true, Habibrah, your humble slave, was born of a 
 negress and a white, and must be more beautiful than 
 you, master. I am the offspring of day and night, there- 
 fore I am more beautiful than a white man, and — " 
 
 He accompanied this rhapsody with bursts of laughter. 
 
 " Enough of buffoonery, " cried I ; " tell me who was 
 singing in the wood ! * 
 
 " Certainly, master ; the man who sang such buffoon- 
 eries, as you rightly term thern, could only have been — 
 a fool like me ! Have I not gained my ten purses ? " 
 
 T raised my hand to chastise his insolence, when a 
 wild shriek rang through the wood from the direction of 
 the summer-house. It was Marie's voice. Like an 
 arrow I darted to the spot, wondering what fresh mis- 
 fortune could be in store for us, and in a few moments 
 arrived, out of breath, at the door of the pavilion. A 
 terrible spectacle presented itself to my eyes. 
 
 An enormous alligator, whose body was half concealed 
 by the reeds and water plants, had thrust his monstrous 
 head through one of the leafy sides of the summer- 
 house ; his hideous, widely-opened mouth threatened a 
 young negro of colossal height, who with one arm sus- 
 tained Marie's fainting form, while with the other he 
 had plunged the iron portion of a hoe between the sharp 
 and pointed teeth of the monster. The reptile struggled 
 fiercely against the bold and courageous hand that held 
 him at bay. 
 
 As I appeared at the door, Marie uttered a cry of joy, 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 29 
 
 and extricating herself from the support of the negro, 
 threw herself into my arms with, " I am saved ! I am 
 saved ! " 
 
 At the movement and exclamation of Marie the negro 
 turned abruptly round, crossed his arms on his breast, 
 and casting a look of infinite sorrow upon my betrothed, 
 remained immovable, taking no heed of the alligator, 
 which, having freed itself from the hoe, was advancing 
 on him in a threatening manner. There would have 
 been a speedy end of the courageous negro had I not 
 rapidly placed Marie on the knees of her nurse (who, 
 more dead than alive, was gazing upon the scene), and 
 coming close to the monster, discharged my carbine into 
 its yawning mouth. The huge reptile staggered back, 
 its bleeding jaws opened and shut convulsively, its eyes 
 closed ; and after one or two un vailing efforts it rolled 
 over upon its back, with its scaly feet stiffening in the 
 air. It was dead. 
 
 The negro whose life 1 had so happily preserved turned 
 his head, and saw the last convulsive struggles of the 
 monster; then he fixed his eyes upon Marie, who had 
 again cast herself into my arms, and in accents of the 
 deepest despair, he exclaimed in Spanish, " Why did 
 you kill him ? " and without waiting for a reply leaped 
 into the thicket and disappeared. 
 
CHAPTEE VL 
 
 Ï^HE terrible scene, its singular conclusion, the ex- 
 traordinary mental emotions of every kind which 
 had accompanied and followed my vain researches in 
 the wood, had made my brain whirl. Marie was still 
 stupefied with the danger that she had so narrowly es- 
 caped, and some time elapsed before we could frame 
 coherent words, or express ourselves otherwise than by 
 looks and clasping of the hands. 
 
 At last I broke the silence : " Come, Marie, let us 
 leave this ; some fatality seems attached to the place. " 
 
 She rose eagerly, as if she had only been waiting for 
 my permission to do so, and leaning upon my arm, we 
 quitted the pavilion. I asked her how it had happened 
 that succour had so opportunely arrived when the danger 
 was so imminent, and if she knew who the slave was 
 who had come to her assistance ; for that it was a slave, 
 was shown by his coarse linen trousers, — a dress only 
 worn by that unhappy class. 
 
 " The man," replied Marie, " is no doubt one of my 
 father's negroes, who was at work in the vicinity when 
 the appearance of the alligator made me scream; and 
 my cry must have warned him of my danger. All I 
 know is, that he rushed out of the wood and came to 
 my help. " 
 
 " From which side did he come ? " asked I. 
 
 " From the opposite side from which the song came, 
 and into which you had just gone. " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 31 
 
 This statement upset the conclusion that T had been 
 drawing from the Spanish words that the negro had ad- 
 dressed to me, and from the song in the same language 
 by my unknown rival. But yet there was a crowd of 
 other similarities. This negro of great height and 
 powerful muscular development might well have been 
 the adversary with whom I had struggled on the preceding 
 night. In that case his half-clothed person would fur- 
 nish a striking proof. The singer in the wood had said, 
 " I am black, " — a further proof. He had declared him- 
 self to be a king, and this one was only a slave ; but I 
 recollected that in my brief examination I had been 
 surprised at the noble appearance of his features, though 
 of course accompanied by the characteristic signs of the 
 African race. 
 
 The more that I thought of his appearance, the noble- 
 ness of his deportment, and his magnificent proportions. 
 I felt that there might be some truth in his statement 
 that he had been a king. But then came the crushing 
 blow to my pride : if he had dared to gaze with an eye 
 of affection upon Marie, if he had made her the object 
 of his serenades, — he, a negro and a slave, — ■ what 
 punishment could be sufficiently severe for his presump- 
 tion ? With these thoughts all my indecision returned 
 again, and again my anger increased against the myste- 
 rious unknown. But at the moment that these ideas 
 filled my brain, Marie dissipated them entirely by ex- 
 claiming, in her gentle voice, — 
 
 " My Leopold, we must seek out this brave negro, and 
 pay him the debt of gratitude that we owe him ; for 
 without him I should have been lost, for you would 
 have arrived too late. " 
 
 These few words had a decisive effect. They did not 
 alter my determination to seek out the slave, but they 
 entirely altered the design with which I sought him; 
 
32 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 for it was to recompense and not to punish him that I 
 was now eager. 
 
 My uncle learned from me that he owed his daughter's 
 life to the courage of one of his slaves, and he promised 
 me his liberty as soon as I could find him out. 
 
CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 UP to that time my feelings had restrained me from 
 going into those portions of the plantation where 
 the slaves were at work ; it had been too painful for me 
 to see so much suffering which I was powerless to alle- 
 viate. But on the day after the events had taken place 
 which I have just narrated, upon my uncle asking me 
 to accompany him on his tour of inspection, I accepted 
 his proposal with eagerness, hoping to meet among the 
 labourers the preserver of my much-beloved Marie. 
 
 I had the opportunity in this visit of seeing how 
 great a power the master exercises over his slaves, but 
 at the same time I could perceive at what a cost this 
 power was bought; for though at the presence of my 
 uncle all redoubled their efforts, I could perceive that 
 there was as much hatred as terror in the looks that 
 they furtively cast upon him. 
 
 Irascible by temperament, my uncle seemed vexed at 
 being unable to discover any object upon which to vent 
 his wrath, until Habibrah the buffoon, who was ever at 
 his heels, pointed out to him a young negro, who, over- 
 come by heat and fatigue., had fallen asleep under a 
 clump of date-trees. My uncle stepped quickly up to 
 him, shook him violently, and in angry tones ordered 
 him to resume his work. 
 
 The terrified slave rose to his feet, and in so doing 
 disclosed a Bengal rose-tree upc*' ^rhich he had acci- 
 
34 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 dentally lain, and which my uncle prized highly. The 
 shrub was entirely destroyed. 
 
 At this the master, already irritated at what he called 
 the idleness of his slave, became furious. Foaming with 
 rage, he unhooked from his belt the whip with wire- 
 plated thongs, which he always carried with him on 
 his rounds, and raised his arm to strike the negro who 
 had fallen at his feet. 
 
 The whip did not fall. I shall, as long as I live, 
 never forget that moment. A powerful grasp arrested 
 the hand of the angry planter, and a negro (it was the 
 very one that I was in search of) exclaimed, " Punish 
 me, for I have offended you ; but do not hurt my brother, 
 who has but broken your rose-tree. " 
 
 This unexpected interposition from the man to whom 
 I owed Marie's safety, his manner, his look, and the 
 haughty tone of his voice, struck me with surprise. 
 But his generous intervention, far from causing my 
 uncle to blush for his causeless anger, only increased 
 the rage of the incensed master, and turned his anger 
 upon the new comer. 
 
 Exasperated to the highest pitch, my uncle disengaged 
 his arm from the grasp of the tall negro, and pouring 
 out a volley of threats, again raised the whip to strike 
 the first victim of his anger. This time, however, it 
 was torn from his hand, and the negro, breaking the 
 handle studded with iron nails as you would break a 
 straw, cast it upon the ground and trampled upon the 
 instrument of degrading punishment. 
 
 I was motionless with surprise ; my uncle with rage, 
 for it was an unheard-of thing for him to find his au- 
 thority thus contemned. His eyes appeared ready to 
 start from their sockets, and his lips quivered with 
 passion. 
 
 The negro gazed upon him calmly, and then, with a 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 35 
 
 dignified air, he offered him an axe that he held in his 
 hand. " White man, " said he, " if you wish to strike 
 me, at least take this axe. " 
 
 My uncle, beside himself with rage, would certainly 
 have complied with the request, for he stretched out his 
 hand to grasp the dangerous weapon ; but I in my turn 
 interfered, and. seizing the axe threw it into the well of 
 a sugar-mill which was close at hand. 
 
 " What have you done ? " asked my uncle, angrily. 
 
 " I have saved you, " answered I, " from the unhappi- 
 ness of striking the preserver of your daughter. It is 
 to this slave that you owe Marie ; it is the negro to 
 whom you have promised liberty. " 
 
 It was an unfortunate moment in which to remind 
 my uncle of his promise. My words could not soothe 
 the wounded dignity of the planter. 
 
 " His liberty ! " replied he, savagely. " Yes, he has de^ 
 served that an end should be put to his slavery. His 
 liberty indeed ! we shall see what sort of liberty the 
 members of a court-martial will accord him. " 
 
 These menacing words chilled my blood. In vain did 
 Marie later join her entreaties to mine. The negro 
 whose negligence had been the cause of this scene was 
 punished with a severe flogging, while his defender was 
 thrown into the dungeons of Fort Galifet, under the 
 terrible accusation of having assaulted a white man. 
 For a slave who did this, the punishment was invaria- 
 bly death. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 YOU may judge, gentlemen, how much all these cir- 
 cumstances excited my curiosity and interest. I 
 made every inquiry regarding the prisoner, and some 
 strange particulars came to my knowledge. I learned 
 that all his comrades displayed the greatest respect for 
 the young negro. Slave as he was, he had but to make 
 a sign to be implicitly obeyed. He was not born upon 
 the estate, nor did any one know his father or mother : 
 all that was known of him was that some years ago a 
 slave ship had brought him to St. Domingo. This cir- 
 cumstance rendered the influence which he exercised 
 over the slaves the more extraordinary, for as a rule the 
 negroes born upon the island profess the greatest con- 
 tempt for the Congos, — a term which they apply to all 
 slaves brought direct from Africa. 
 
 Although he seemed a prey to deep dejection, his 
 enormous strength, combined with his great skill, ren- 
 dered him very valuable in the plantation. He could 
 turn more quickly, and for a longer period, than a horse 
 the wheels of the sugar-mills, and often in a single day 
 performed the work of ten of his companions to save 
 them from the punishment to which their negligence or 
 incapacity had rendered them liable. For this reason 
 he was adored by the slaves ; but the respect that they 
 paid him was of an entirely different character from the 
 superstitious dread with which they looked upon Habi- 
 brah the Jester. 
 
BUG-JAR G AL, 37 
 
 What was more strange than all was the modesty and 
 gentleness with which he treated his equals, in contrast 
 to the pride and haughtiness which he displayed to the 
 negroes who acted as overseers. These privileged slaves, 
 the intermediary links in the chain of servitude, too 
 often exceed the little brief authority that is delegated 
 to them, and find a cruel pleasure in overwhelming those 
 beneath them with work. Not one of them, however, 
 had ever dared to inflict any species of punishment on 
 him, for had they done so, twenty negroes would have 
 stepped forward to take his place, while he would have 
 looked gravely on, as though he considered that they 
 were merely performing a duty. The strange being was 
 known throughout the negro quarter as Pierrot 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "T^HE whole of these circumstances took a firm hold 
 ■*- upon my youthful imagination. Marie, inspired 
 by compassion and gratitude, applauded my enthusiasm , 
 and Pierrot excited our interest so much that I deter- 
 mined to visit him and offer him my services in extri- 
 cating him from his perilous position. As the nephew 
 of one of the richest colonists in the Cap, I was, in spite 
 of my youth, a captain in the Acul Militia. This regi- 
 ment, and a detachment of the Yellow Dragoons, had 
 charge of Fort Galifet ; the detachment was commanded 
 by a non-commissioned officer, to whose brother I had 
 once had the good fortune to render an important ser- 
 vice, and who therefore was entirely devoted to me. 
 
 [Here the listeners at once pronounced the name of 
 Thaddeus.] 
 
 You are right, gentlemen ; and as you may well believe, 
 I had not much trouble in penetrating to the cell in which 
 the negro was confined. As a captain in the militia, I 
 had of course the right to visit the fort; but to evade 
 the suspicions of my uncle, whose rage was still un- 
 abated, I took care to go there at the time of his noon- 
 day siesta. All the soldiers too, except those on guard, 
 were asleep, and guided by Thaddeus I came to the door 
 of the cell. He opened it for me, and then discreetly 
 retired. 
 
 The negro was seated on the ground, for on account of 
 his height he could r^t stand upright. He was not 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 30 
 
 alone ; an enormous dog was crouched at his feet, which 
 rose with a growl, and moved toward me. 
 
 " Eask ! " cried the negro. 
 
 The dog ceased growling, and again lay down at his 
 master's feet, and began eating some coarse food. 
 
 I was in uniform, and the daylight that came through 
 the loophole in the wall of the cell was so feeble that 
 Pierrot could not recognize my features. 
 
 " I am ready, " said he, in a clear voice. 
 
 " I thought, " remarked I, surprised at the ease with 
 which he moved, " that you were in irons. " 
 
 He kicked something that jingled. 
 
 " Irons ; oh, I broke them ! " 
 
 There was something in the tone in which he uttered 
 these words that seemed to say, " I was not born to wear 
 fetters. " 
 
 I continued : " I did not know that they had per- 
 mitted you to have a dog with you. " 
 
 " They did not allow it ; I brought him in. " 
 
 I was more and more astonished. Three bolts closed 
 the door on the outside, the loop hole was scarcely six 
 inches in width, and had two iron bars across it. 
 
 He seemed to divine my thoughts, and rising as 
 nearly erect as the low roof would permit, he pulled out 
 with ease a large stone placed under the loop-hole, re- 
 moved the iron bars, and displayed an opening suffi- 
 ciently large to permit two men to pass through. This 
 opening looked upon a grove of bananas and cocoa-nut 
 trees which covered the hill upon which the fort was 
 built. 
 
 Surprise rendered me dumb ; at that moment a ray of 
 light fell on my face. The prisoner started as if he had 
 accidentally trodden upon a snake, and his head struck 
 against the ceiling of the cell. A strange mixture of 
 opposing feelings passed over his face, — hatred, kind- 
 
40 BUG-JAKGAL. 
 
 ness, and astonishment being all mingled together; but 
 recovering himself with an effort, his face once more 
 became cold and calm, and he gazed upon me as if I 
 was entirely unknown to him. 
 
 " I can live two days more without eating, " said he. 
 
 I saw how thin he had become, and made a movement 
 of horror. 
 
 He continued : " My dog will only eat from my hand, 
 and had I not enlarged the loop-hole, poor Eask would 
 have died of hunger. It is better that he should live, 
 for I know that I am condemned to death. " 
 
 " No, " I said ; " no, you shall not die of hunger. " 
 
 He misunderstood me. " Very well, " answered he. 
 with a bitter smile, " I could have lived two days yet 
 without food, but I am ready: to-day is as good as to- 
 morrow, Do not hurt Eask. " 
 
 Then I understood what he meant when he said " I 
 am ready " Accused of a crime the punishment for 
 which was death, he believed that I had come to an- 
 nounce his immediate execution ; and yet this man 
 endowed with herculean strength, with all the avenues 
 of escape open to him, had in a calm and childlike man- 
 ner repeated, " I am ready ! " 
 
 " Do not hurt Eask, " said he, once more. 
 
 I could restrain myself no longer. " What ! " I ex- 
 claimed, " not only do you take me for your executioner, 
 but you think so meanly of my humanity that you be- 
 lieve I would injure this poor dog, who has never done 
 me any harm ! " 
 
 His manner softened, and there was a slight tremor 
 in his voice as he offered me his hand, saying, " White 
 man, pardon me ; but I love my dog, and your race have 
 cruelly injured me. " 
 
 T embraced him, T clasped his hand, I did my best to 
 undeceive him. " Do you not know me?" asked I. 
 
BUG-JAKGAL. 41 
 
 * I know that you are white, and that a negro is 
 nothing in the eyes of men of your colour ; besides, you 
 have injured me. " 
 
 " In what manner ? n exclaimed I, in surprise. 
 
 " Have you not twice saved my life ? " 
 
 This strange accusation made me smile ; he perceived 
 it, and smiled bitterly : " Yes, I know it too well : once 
 you saved my life from an alligator, and once from a 
 planter; and what is worse, I am denied the right to 
 hate you. I am very unhappy. " 
 
 The strangeness of his language and of his ideas sur- 
 prised me no longer; it was in harmony with himself. 
 " I owe more to you than you can owe to me. I owe you 
 the life of Marie, — of my betrothed. " 
 
 He started as though he had received some terrible 
 shock. " Marie ! " repeated he in stifled tones, and his 
 face fell in his hands, which trembled violently, while 
 his bosom rose and fell with heavy sighs. 
 
 I must confess that once again my suspicions were 
 aroused ; but this time there were no feelings of anger 
 or jealousy. I was too near my happiness, and he was 
 trembling upon the brink of death, so that I could not 
 for a moment look upon him as a rival; and even had I 
 done so, his forlorn condition would have excited my 
 compassion and sympathy. 
 
 At last he raised his head. " Go, " said he ; " do not 
 thank me. " After a pause he added, " And yet my 
 rank is as lofty as your own. " 
 
 These last words roused my curiosity. I urged him 
 to tell me of his position and his sufferings; but he 
 maintained an obstinate silence. 
 
 My proceedings, however, had touched his heart, and 
 my entreaties appeared to have vanquished his distaste 
 for life. He left his cell, and in a short time returned 
 with some bananas and * large cocoa-nut ; then he re 
 
42 BUG-JÂRGAL. 
 
 closed the opening and began to eat. As we conversed, 
 I remarked that he spoke French and Spanish with 
 equal facility, and that his education had not been en- 
 tirely neglected. He knew many Spanish songs, which 
 he sang with great feeling. Altogether he was a mys- 
 tery that I endeavoured in vain to solve, for he would 
 give me no key to the riddle. At last, with regret, I was 
 compelled to leave him, after having urged on my faith- 
 ful Thaddeus to permit him every possible indulgence. 
 
CHAPTEK 3L 
 
 EVEEY day at the same hour I visited him. His 
 position rendered me very uneasy, for in spite of 
 all our prayers, my uncle obstinately refused to with- 
 draw his complaint. I did not conceal my fears from 
 Pierrot, who however listened to them with indifference. 
 
 Often Eask would come in with a large palm-leaf tied 
 round his neck. His master would take it off, read 
 some lines traced upon it in an unknown language, and 
 then tear it up. I had ceased to question him in any 
 matters connected with himself. 
 
 One day as I entered he took no notice of me ; he was 
 seated with his back to the door of the eel], and was 
 whistling in melancholy mood the Spanish air, " Yo que 
 soy contrabandista " (" A smuggler am I "). When he 
 had completed it, he turned sharply round to me, and 
 exclaimed : " Brother, if you ever doubt me, promise 
 that you will cast aside all suspicion on hearing me sing 
 this air. " 
 
 His look was earnest, and I promised what he asked, 
 without noticing the words upon which he laid so much 
 stress, " If you ever doubt me. " He took the empty half 
 of a cocoa-nut which he had brought in on the day of 
 my first visit, and had preserved ever since, filled it 
 with palm wine, begged me to put my lips to it, and 
 then drank it off at a draught From that day he al- 
 ways called me brother. 
 
 And now I began to cherish a hope of saving Pierrot's 
 life. My uncle's anger had cooled down a little. The 
 
44 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 preparations for the festivities connected with his 
 daughter's wedding had caused his feelings to flow in 
 gentle channels. Marie joined her entreaties to mine. 
 Each day I pointed out to him that Pierrot had had no 
 desire to insult him, but had merely interposed to pre- 
 vent him from committing an act of perhaps too great 
 severity ; that the negro had at the risk of his life saved 
 Marie from the alligator ; and besides, Pierrot was the 
 strongest of all his slaves (for now I sought to save 
 his life, not to obtain his liberty) ; that he was able to 
 do the work of ten men, and that his single arm was 
 sufficient to put the rollers of a sugar-mill in motion. 
 My uncle listened to me calmly, and once or twice 
 hinted that he might not follow up his complaint. 
 
 I did not say a word to the negro of the change that 
 had taken place, hoping that I should soon be the mes- 
 senger to announce to him his restoration to liberty. 
 What astonished me greatly was, that though he be- 
 lieved that he was under sentence of death, he made no 
 effort to avail himself of the means of escape that lay in 
 his power. I spoke to him of this. 
 
 " I am forced to remain, " said he, simply, " or they 
 would think that I was afraid. " 
 
CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 ONE morning Marie came to me radiant with happi- 
 ness ; upon her gentle face was a sweeter expres- 
 sion than even the joys of pure love could produce, for 
 written upon it was the knowledge of a good deed. 
 
 " Listen, " said she. " In three days we shall be mar- 
 ried. We shall soon — " 
 
 I interrupted her. 
 
 " Do not say soon, Marie, when there is yet an inter- 
 val of three days. " 
 
 She blushed and smiled. " Do not be foolish, Leo- 
 pold, " replied she. " An idea has struck me which has 
 made me very happy. You know that yesterday I went 
 to town with my father to buy all sorts of things for our 
 wedding. I only care for jewels because you say that 
 they become me ; T would give all my pearls for a single 
 flower from the bouquet which that odious man with the 
 marigolds destroyed. But that is not what I meant to 
 say. My father wished to buy me everything that I 
 admired ; and among other things there was a basquina 
 of Chinese satin embroidered with flowers, which I ad- 
 mired. It was very expensive. My father noticed that 
 the dress had attracted my attention. As we were return- 
 ing home, I begged him to promise me a boon after the 
 manner of the knights of old : you know how he delights 
 to be compared to them. He vowed on his honour that 
 he would grant me whatever I asked, thinking of course 
 that it was the basquina of Chinese satin ; but no, it is 
 
46 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 Pierrot's pardon that I will ask for as my nuptial 
 
 present. " 
 
 I could not refrain from embracing her tenderly. My 
 uncle's word was sacred, and while Marie ran to him to 
 claim its fulfilment, I hastened to Fort Galifet to con- 
 vey the glad news to Pierrot. 
 
 " Brother," exclaimed I, as I entered, " rejoice! your 
 life is safe ; Marie has obtained it as a wedding present 
 from her father. " 
 
 The slave shuddered. 
 
 " Marie — wedding — my life ! What reference have 
 these things to one another ? " 
 
 " It is very simple, " answered I. " Marie, whose life 
 you saved, is to be married — " 
 
 " To whom ? " exclaimed the negro, a terrible change 
 coming over his face. 
 
 " Did you not know that she was to be married to me ?" 
 
 His features relaxed. " Ah, yes, " he replied ; " and 
 when is the marriage to take place ? " 
 
 " On August the 22d. " 
 
 " On August the 22d ! Are you mad ? " cried he, with 
 terror painted in his countenance. 
 
 He stopped abruptly ; I looked at him with astonish- 
 ment. After a short pause he clasped my hand : 
 " Brother, " said he, " I owe you so much that I must 
 give you a warning. Trust to me ; take up your resi- 
 dence in Cap, and get married before the 22d. " 
 
 Tn vain I entreated him to explain his mysterious 
 words. 
 
 • Farewell, " said he, in solemn tones ; " I have perhaps 
 said too much, but I hate ingratitude even more than 
 perjury. " 
 
 I left the prison a prey to feelings of great uneasiness , 
 but all these were soon effacpd by the thoughts of my 
 approaching happiness. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 47 
 
 That very day my uncle withdrew his charge, and I 
 returned to the fort to release Pierrot. Thaddeus, on 
 hearing the noise, accompanied me to the prisoner's 
 cell ; but he was gone ! Kask alone remained, and came 
 up to me wagging his tail. To his neck was fastened 
 a palm-leaf, upon which were written these words : 
 " Thanks ; for the third time you have saved my life. 
 Do not forget your promise, friend ; " while underneath, 
 in lieu of signature, were the words : " Yo que soy 
 contrabandists " 
 
 Thaddeus was even more astonished than I was, for 
 he was ignorant of the enlargement of the loop-hole, and 
 firmly believed that the negro had changed himself into 
 a dog. I allowed him to remain in this belief, content- 
 ing myself with making him promise to say nothing of 
 what he had seen. I wished to take Eask home with 
 me, but on leaving the fort he plunged into a thickefe 
 and disappeared. 
 
CHAPTEK X1L 
 
 MY uncle was furiously enraged" at the escape of the 
 negro. He ordered a diligent search to be made 
 for him, and wrote to the governor placing Pierrot en- 
 tirely at his disposal should he be re-taken. 
 
 The 22d of August arrived. My union with Marie 
 was celebrated with every species of rejoicing at the 
 parish church of Acul. How happily did that day com- 
 mence from which all our misfortunes were to date ! I 
 was intoxicated with my happiness, and Pierrot and his 
 mysterious warning were entirely banished from my 
 thoughts. 
 
 At last the day came to a close, and my wife had 
 retired to her apartments, but for a time duty forbade 
 me joining her there. My position as a captain of mili- 
 tia required me that eveniDg to make the round of the 
 guards posted about Acul. This nightly precaution was 
 absolutely necessary owing to the disturbed state of the 
 colony, caused by occasional outbreaks among the ne- 
 groes, which, however, had been promptly repressed. 
 My uncle was the first to recall me to the recollection of 
 my duty. I had no option but to yield, and, putting 
 on my uniform, I went out. I visited the first few 
 guards without discovering any cause of alarm; but 
 towards midnight, as half buried in my own thoughts I 
 was patrolling the shores of the bay, I perceived upon 
 the horizon a ruddy light in the direction of Limonade 
 and St. Louis da Morin. At first my escort attributed 
 it to some accidental conflagration; but in a few mo- 
 
.buG-JARGAL. 49 
 
 ments the flames became so vivid, and the smoke rising 
 before the wind grew so thick, that I ordered an imme- 
 diate return to the fort to give the alarm, and to request 
 that help might be sent in the direction of the fire. 
 
 In passing through the quarters of the negroes who 
 belonged to our estate, I was surprised at the extreme 
 disorder that reigned there. The majority of the slaves 
 were afoot, and were talking together with great earnest- 
 ness. One strange word was pronounced with the greatest 
 respect : It was Bug-Jargal, which occurred continually 
 in the almost unintelligible dialect that they used. 
 From a word or two which I gathered here and there, I 
 learned that the negroes of the northern districts were in 
 open revolt, and had set fire to the dwelling-houses and 
 the plantations on the other side of Cap. Passing 
 through a marshy spot, I discovered a quantity of axes 
 and other tools, which would serve as weapons, hidden 
 among the reeds. 
 
 My suspicions were now thoroughly aroused, and I 
 ordered the whole of the Acul militia to get under arms, 
 and gave the command to my lieutenant ; and while my 
 poor Marie was expecting me, I, obeying my uncle's 
 orders (who, as I have mentioned, was a member of the 
 Provincial Assembly) took the road to Cap, with such 
 soldiers as I had been able to muster. 
 
 I shall never forget the appearance of the town as we 
 approached. The flames from the plantations which 
 were burning all around it threw a lurid light upon the 
 scene, which was only partially obscured by the clouds 
 of smoke which the wind drove into the narrow streets. 
 Immense masses of sparks rose from the burning heaps 
 of sugar-cane, and fell like fiery snow on the roofs of 
 the houses, and on the rigging of the vessels at anchor 
 in the roadsteads, at every moment threatening the 
 town of Cap with as serious a conflagration as was al- 
 
50 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 ready raging in its immediate neighbourhood. It was 
 a terrible sight to witness the terror-stricken inhabitants 
 exposing their lives to preserve from so destructive a 
 visitant their habitations, which perhaps was the last 
 portion of property left to them; while, on the other 
 hand, the vessels, taking advantage of a fair wind, and 
 fearing the same fate, had already set sail, and were 
 gliding over an ocean reddened by the flames of tb<? 
 conflagration. 
 
CHAPTEK XIII 
 
 STUNNED by the noise of the minute-guns from the 
 fort, by the cries of the fugitives and the distant 
 crash of falling buildings, I did not know in what direc 
 tion to lead my men ; but meeting in the main square 
 the captain of the Yellow Dragoons, he advised me to 
 proceed direct to the governor. 
 
 Other hands have painted the disasters of Cap, and I 
 must pass quickly over my recollections of them, written 
 as they are in fire and blood. I will content myself 
 with saying that the insurgent slaves were already mas- 
 ters of Dondon, of Terrier-Eouge, of the town of Ouana- 
 minte, and of the plantation of Limbe. This last news 
 filled me with uneasiness, owing to the proximity of 
 Limbe to Acul. I made all speed to the Government 
 House. All was in confusion there. I asked for orders, 
 and begged that instant measures might be taken for the 
 security of Acul, which I feared the insurgents were 
 already threatening. With the governor (Monsieur de 
 Blanchelande) were M. de Kouvray, the brigadier and 
 one of the largest landholders in Cap ; M. de Touzard, 
 the lieutenant-colonel of the Eegiment of Cap ; a great 
 many members of the Colonial and the Provincial As- 
 semblies, and numbers of the leading colonists. As I 
 entered, all were engaged in a confused argument. 
 
 " Your Excellency, " said a member of the Provincial 
 Assembly, " it is only too true, — it is the negroes, and 
 not the free mulattoes. It has often been pointed out 
 that there was danger m that direction. " 
 
52 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " You make that statement without believing in it& 
 truth, " answered a member of the Colonial Assembly, 
 bitterly ; " and you only say it to gain credit at our 
 expense. So far from expecting a rising of the slaves, 
 you got up a sham one in 1789, — a ridiculous farce, in 
 which with a supposed insurgent force of three thousand 
 slaves one national volunteer only was killed, and that 
 most likely by his own comrades. " 
 
 " I repeat, * replied the Provincial, " that we can see 
 farther than you. It is only natural. We remain upon 
 the spot and study the minutest details of the colony, 
 while you and your Assembly hurry off to France to 
 make some absurd proposals, which are often met with 
 a national reprimand Ridiculus mus. " 
 
 The member of the Colonial Assembly answered with 
 a sneer : " Our fellow-citizens re-elected us all without 
 hesitation. " 
 
 " It was your Assembly, " retorted the other, " that 
 caused the execution of that poor devil who neglected to 
 wear a tricoloured cockade in a café, and who com- 
 menced a petition for capital punishment to be inflicted 
 on the mulatto Lacombe with that worn-out phrase, ' In 
 the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy 
 Ghost.'" 
 
 " It is false ! " exclaimed the other ; " there has always 
 been a struggle of principles against privileges between 
 our Assemblies. " 
 
 " Ha, monsieur ! I see now you are an Independent. " 
 
 " That is tantamount to allowing that you are in 
 favour of the White Cockade : I leave you to get out 
 of that confession as best you may. " 
 
 More might have passed, but the governor interposed : 
 * Gentlemen, gentlemen, what has this to do with the 
 present state of affairs, and the pressing danger that 
 threatens us ? Listen to the reports that I have received. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 53 
 
 The revolt began this night at ten o'clock among the 
 slaves in the Turpin Plantation. The negroes, headed 
 by an English slave named Bouckmann, were joined by 
 the blacks from Clement, Trémés, Flaville, and Nee. 
 They set fire to all the plantations, and massacred the 
 colonists with the most unheard-of barbarities. By one 
 single detail I can make you comprehend all the horrors 
 accompanying this insurrection. The standard of the 
 insurgents is the body of a white child on the point of 
 a pike. " 
 
 A general cry of horror interrupted the governor's 
 statement. 
 
 " So much, " continued he, * for what has passed out- 
 side the town. Within its limits all is confusion. Fear 
 has rendered many of the inhabitants forgetful of the 
 duties of humanity, and they have murdered their 
 slaves. Nearly all have confined their negroes behind 
 bolts and bars. The white artisans accuse the free 
 mulattoes of being participators in the revolt, and many 
 have had great difficulty in escaping from the fury of 
 the populace. I have had to grant them a place of ref- 
 uge in a church, guarded by a regiment of soldiers ; and 
 now, to prove that they have nothing in common with 
 the insurgents, they ask that they may be armed and 
 led against the rebels. " 
 
 " Do nothing of the kind, your Excellency ! " cried a 
 voice which I recognized as that of the planter with 
 whom I had had a duel, — " do nothing of the kind ! 
 give no arms to the mulattoes ! " 
 
 " What ! do you not want to fight ? " asked a planter, 
 with a sneer. 
 
 The other did not appear to hear him, and continued: 
 " These men of mixed blood are our worst enemies, and 
 we must take every precaution against them. It is from 
 that quarter that the insurgents are recruited ; the ne- 
 
54 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 groes have but little to do with the rising. " The poor 
 wretch hoped by his abuse of the mulattoes to prove 
 that he had nothing in common with them, and to clear 
 himself from the imputation of having black blood in 
 his veins; but the attempt was too barefaced, and a 
 murmur of disgust rose up on all sides. 
 
 "Yes," said M. de Kouvray, "the slaves have some- 
 thing to do with it, for they are forty to one ; and we 
 should be in a serious plight if we could only oppose 
 the negroes and the mulattoes with whites like you. " 
 
 The planter bit his lips. 
 
 " General, " said the governor, " what answer shall be 
 given to the petition ? Shall the mulattoes have the 
 arms ? " 
 
 " Give them weapons, your Excellency ; let us make 
 use of every willing hand. And you, sir," he added, 
 turning to the colonist of doubtful colour, " go arm 
 yourself, and join your comrades. " 
 
 The humiliated planter slunk away, filled with con- 
 centrated rage. 
 
 But the cries of distress which rang through the town 
 reached even to the chamber in which the council was 
 being held. M. de Blanchelande hastily pencilled a few 
 words upon a slip of paper, and handed it to one of his 
 aides-de-camp, who at once left the room. 
 
 " Gentlemen, " he said, " the mulattoes will receive 
 arms ; but there are many more questions to be settled. " 
 
 " The Provincial Assembly should at once be con- 
 voked, " said the planter who had been speaking when 
 first I entered. 
 
 " The Provincial Assembly ! " retorted his antagonist ; 
 " what is the Provincial Assembly ? " 
 
 " You do not know because you are a member of the 
 Colonial Assembly," replied the favourer of the White 
 Cockade. 
 
bug-jargal. 55 
 
 The Independent interrupted him. " I know no more 
 of the Colonial than the Provincial- I only recognize 
 the General Assembly. " 
 
 " Gentlemen, " exclaimed a planter, " while we are 
 losing time with this nonsense, tell me what is to be- 
 come of my cotton and my cochineal. " 
 
 " And my indigo at Lumbé ? " 
 
 " And my negroes, for whom I paid twenty dollars 
 a-head all round ? " said the captain of a slave-ship. 
 
 " Each minute that you waste, " continued another 
 colonist, " costs me ten quintals of sugar, which at sev- 
 enteen piastres the quintal makes one hundred and 
 thirty livres, ten sous, in French money, by the — " 
 
 Here the rival upholders of the two Assemblies again 
 sought to renew their argument. 
 
 " Morbleu, " said M. de Eouvray in a voice of thunder, 
 striking the table violently, " what eternal talkers you 
 are ! What do we care about your two Assemblies ? 
 Summon both of them, your Excellency, and I will form 
 them into two regiments ; and when they march against 
 the negroes we shall see whether their tongues or their 
 muskets make the most noise. " 
 
 Then turning towards me he whispered : " Between 
 the two Assemblies and the governor nothing can be 
 done. These fine talkers spoil all, as they do in Paris. 
 If I was seated in his Excellency's chair, I would throw 
 all these fellows out of the window, and with my sol- 
 diers and a dozen crosses of St. Louis to promise, I 
 would sweep away all the rebels in the island. These 
 fictitious ideas of liberty, which they have all run mad 
 after in France, do not do out here. Negroes should be 
 treated so as not to upset them entirely by sudden liber- 
 ation ; all the terrible events of to-day are merely the re- 
 sult of this utterly mistaken policy, and this rising of the 
 slaves is the natural result of the taking of the Bastille. * 
 
56 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 While the old soldier thus explained to me his views» 
 — a little narrow-minded perhaps, but full of the frank- 
 ness of conviction, — the stormy argument was at its 
 height. A certain planter, one among the few who 
 were bitten with the rabid mania of the revolution, and 
 
 who called himself Citizen General C , because he 
 
 had assisted at a few sanguinary executions, exclaimed : 
 
 " We must have punishments rather than battles. 
 Every nation must exist by terrible examples : let us 
 terrify the negroes. It was 1 who quieted the slaves 
 during the risings of June and July by lining the ap- 
 proach to my house with a double row of negro heads. 
 Let each one join me in this, and let us détend the 
 entrances to Cap with the slaves who are still in our 
 hands. " 
 
 " How ? " " What do you mean ? " " Folly ! " " The 
 height of imprudence ! " was heard on all sides. 
 
 " You do not understand me, gentlemen. Let us make 
 a ring of negro heads, from Fort Picolet to Point Cara- 
 cole. The rebels, their comrades, will not then dare to 
 approach us. I have five hundred slaves who have re- 
 mained faithful : I offer them at once. " 
 
 This abominable proposal was received with a cry of 
 horror. " It is infamous ! It is too disgusting ! " was 
 repeated by at least a dozen voices. 
 
 " Extreme steps of this sort have brought us to the 
 verge of destruction, " said a planter. " If the execution 
 of the insurgents of June and July had not been so hur- 
 ried on, we should have held in our hands the clew to 
 the conspiracy, which the axe of the executioner divided 
 forever. " 
 
 Citizen C ■ was silenced for a moment by this out- 
 burst ; then in an injured tone he muttered : " I did not 
 think that i" above all others should have been suspected 
 of cruelty. Why, all my life I have been mixed un 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 57 
 
 with the lovers of the negro race. I am in correspond- 
 ence with Briscot and Pruneau de Pomme Gouge, in 
 France; with Hans Sloane, in England; with Magaw, 
 in America ; with Pezll, in Germany ; with Olivarius, 
 in Denmark ; with Wadstiorn, in Sweden ; with Peter 
 Paulus, in Holland ; with Avendano, in Spain ; and with 
 the Abbé Pierre Tamburini, in Italy I " 
 
 His voice rose as he ran through the names of his 
 correspondents among the lovers of the African race, 
 and he terminated his speech with the contemptuous 
 remark, " But after all, there are no true philosophers 
 here." 
 
 For the third time M. de Blanchelande asked if any 
 one had anything further to propose. 
 
 " Your Excellency, " cried one, " let us embark on 
 board the 'Leopard, ' which lies at anchor off the quay. " 
 
 " Let us put a price on the head of Bouckmarm, " ex- 
 claimed another. 
 
 " Send a report of what has taken place to the Gov- 
 ernor of Jamaica, " suggested a third. 
 
 " A good idea, so that he may again send us the ironical 
 help of five hundred muskets ! " sneered a member of 
 the Provincial Assembly. " Your Excellency, let us 
 send the news to France, and wait for a reply. " 
 
 " Wait ! a likely thing indeed, " exclaimed M. de 
 Eouvray ; " and do you think that the blacks will wait, 
 eh ? And the flames that encircle our town, do you 
 think that they will wait? Your Excellency, let the 
 tocsin be sounded, and send dragoons and grenadiers in 
 search of the main body of the rebels. Form a camp in 
 the eastern division of the island ; plant military posts 
 at Trou and at Vallieres. I will take charge of the plain 
 of Dauphin ; but let us lose no more time, for the mo- 
 ment for action has arrived. " 
 
 The bold and energetic speech of the veteran soldier 
 
58 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 hushed all differences of opinion. The general had acted 
 wisely. That secret knowledge which every one pos- 
 sesses, most conducive to his own interests, caused all 
 to support the proposal of General de Eouvray; and 
 while the governor with a warm clasp of the hand 
 showed his old friend that his counsels had been appre- 
 ciated, though they had been given in rather a dictatorial 
 manner, the colonists urged for the immediate carrying 
 out of the proposals. 
 
 I seized the opportunity to obtain from M. de Blanche- 
 lande the permission that I so ardently desired, and 
 leaving the room, mustered my company in order to 
 return to Acul, — though, with the exception of myself, 
 all were worn out with the fatigue of their late march. 
 
CHAPTEK XIV. 
 
 DAY began to break as I entered the market-place of 
 the town, and began to rouse up the soldiers, who 
 were lying about in all directions wrapped in their 
 cloaks, and mingled pell-mell with the Eed and Yellow 
 Dragoons, fugitives from the country, cattle bellowing, 
 and property of every description sent in for security by 
 the planters. In the midst of all this confusion I began 
 to pick out my men, when I saw a private in the Yellow 
 Dragoons, covered with dust and perspiration, ride up at 
 full speed. I hastened to meet him ; and in a few broken 
 words he informed me that my fears were realized, — 
 that the insurrection had spread to Acul, and that the 
 negroes were besieging Fort Galifet, in which the plan- 
 ters and the militia had taken refuge. I must tell you 
 that this fort was by no means a strong one, for in St. 
 Domingo they dignify the slightest earthwork with the 
 name of fort. 
 
 There was not a moment to be lost. I mounted as 
 many of my soldiers as I could procure horses for, and 
 taking the dragoon as a guide, I reached my uncle's 
 plantation about ten o'clock. I scarcely cast a glance at 
 the enormous estate, which was nothing but a sea of 
 flame, over which hovered huge clouds of smoke, through 
 which every now and then the wind bore trunks of trees 
 covered with sparks. A terrible rustling and crackling 
 sound seemed to reply to the distant yells of the negroes 
 which we now began to hear, though we could not as yet 
 see them. The destruction of all this wealth, which would 
 
60 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 eventually have become mine, did not cause me a mo« 
 ment's regret. All I thought of was the safety of Marie : 
 what mattered anything else in the world to me ? I 
 knew that she had taken refuge in the fort, and I prayed 
 to God that I might arrive in time to rescue her. This 
 hope sustained me through all the anxiety I felt, and 
 gave me the strength and courage of a lion. 
 
 At length a turn in the road permitted us to see the 
 fort. The tricolour yet floated on its walls, and a well- 
 sustained fire was kept up by the garrison. I uttered a 
 shout of joy. " Gallop, spur on ! " said I to my men, 
 and redoubling our pace we dashed across the fields in 
 the direction of the scene of action. Near the fort I 
 could see my uncle's house ; the doors and windows were 
 dashed in, but the walls still stood, and shone red with 
 the reflected glare of the flames, which owing to the 
 wind being in a contrary direction, had not yet reached 
 the building. A crowd of the insurgents had taken pos- 
 session of the house, and showed themselves at the win- 
 dows and on the roof. I could see the glare of torches 
 and the gleam, of pikes and axes, while a brisk fire of 
 musketry was kept up on the fort. Another strong body 
 of negroes had placed ladders against the walls of the 
 fort and strove to take it by assault, though many fell 
 under the well-directed fire of the defenders. These 
 black men, always returning to the charge after each 
 repulse, looked like a swarm of ants endeavouring to 
 scale the shell of a tortoise, and shaken off by each 
 movement of the sluggish reptile. 
 
 We reached the outworks of the fort, our eyes fixed 
 upon the banner which still floated above it. I called 
 upon my men to remember that their wives and children 
 were shut up within those walls, and urged them to fly 
 to their rescue. A general cheer was the reply, and 
 forming column I was on the point of giving the order 
 
EUG-JARGAL. 61 
 
 to charge, when a loud yell was heard ; a cloud of smoke 
 enveloped the fort and for a time concealed it from our 
 sight; a roar was heard like that of a furnace in full 
 blast, and as the smoke cleared away we saw a red flag 
 floating proudly above the dismantled walls. All was 
 over. Tort Galifet was in the hands of the insurgents. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 T CANNOT tell you what my feelings were at this ter- 
 -*■ rible spectacle. The fort was taken, its defenders 
 slain, and twenty families massacred ; but I confess, to 
 my shame that I thought not of this. Marie was lost to 
 me, — lost, after having been made mine but a few brief 
 hours before ; lost, perhaps, through my fault, for had I 
 not obeyed the orders of my uncle in going to Cap I should 
 have been by her side to defend her, or at least to die 
 with her. These thoughts raised my grief to madness, 
 for my despair was born of remorse. 
 
 However, my men were maddened at the sight. With 
 a shout of " Eevenge ! " with sabres between their teeth 
 and pistols in either hand, they burst into the ranks of 
 the victorious insurgents. Although far superior in 
 numbers, the negroes fled at their approach; but we 
 could see them on our right and left, before and behind 
 us, slaughtering the colonists, and casting fuel on the 
 flames. Our rage was increased by their cowardly 
 conduct. 
 
 Thaddeus, covered with wounds, made his escape 
 through a postern gate. " Captain, " said he, " your 
 Pierrot is a sorcerer, — an obi as these infernal negroes 
 call him; a devil, I say. We were holding our posi- 
 tion, you were coming up fast ; all seemed saved, — 
 when by some means, which I do not know, he pene- 
 trated into the fort, and there was an end of us. As 
 for your uncle and Madame — " 
 
Pierrot carrying off Marie. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 63 
 
 * Marie ! " interrupted I, " where is Marie ? " 
 
 At this instant a tall black burst through a blazing 
 fence, carrying in his arms a young woman who shrieked 
 and struggled : it was Marie, and the negro was Pierrot ! 
 
 "Traitor!" cried I, and fired my pistol at him; one 
 of the rebels threw himself in the way, and fell dead. 
 
 Pierrot turned, and addressed a few words tc me which 
 I did not catch ; and then grasping his prey tighter, he 
 dashed into a mass of burning sugar-canes. A moment 
 afterwards a huge dog passed me, carrying in his mouth 
 a cradle in which lay my uncle's youngest child. Trans- 
 ported with rage, I fired my second pistol at him ; but 
 it missed fire. 
 
 Like a madman I followed on their tracks; but my 
 night march, the hours that I had spent without taking 
 rest or food, my fears for Marie, and the sudden fall 
 from the height of happiness to the depth of misery, 
 had worn me out. After a few steps I staggered, a cloud 
 seemed to come over me, and I fell senseless. 
 
CHAPTER XVL 
 
 WHEN I recovered my senses I found myself in my 
 uncle's ruined house, supported in the arms of 
 my faithful Thaddeus, who gazed upon me with an ex- 
 pression of the deepest anxiety. " Victory ! " exclaimed 
 he, as he felt my pulse begin to beat ; " victory ! the 
 negroes are in full retreat and my captain has come to 
 life again ! " 
 
 I interrupted his exclamations of joy by putting the 
 only question in which I had any interest : " Where is 
 Marie ? " I had not yet collected my scattered ideas : I 
 felt my misfortune without the recollection of it. 
 
 At my question Thaddeus hung his head. Then my 
 memory returned to me, and like a hideous dream I re- 
 called once more the terrible nuptial day, and the tall 
 negro bearing away Marie through the flames. The re- 
 bellion which had broken out in the colony caused the 
 whites to look on the blacks as their mortal enemies, 
 and made me see in Pierrot — the good, the generous 
 and the devoted, who owed his life three times to me — 
 a monster of ingratitude and a rival. The carrying off 
 my wife on the very night of our nuptials proved too 
 plainly to me what I had at first only suspected ; and I 
 now knew that the singer of the wood was the wretch 
 who had torn my wife from me. In a few hours how 
 great a change had taken place! 
 
 Thaddeus told me that he had vainly nursued Pierrot 
 a& his dog when the negroes, in spite of their numbers 
 
BUG-JARGAL. Go 
 
 retired ; and that the destruction of my uncle's property 
 still continued, without the possibility of its being 
 arrested. I asked what had become of my uncle. He 
 took my hand in silence and led me to a bed, the cur- 
 tains of which he drew. My unhappy uncle was there, 
 stretched upon his blood-stained couch, with a dagger 
 driven deeply into his heart. By the tranquil expres- 
 sion of his face it was easy to see that the blow had 
 been struck during his sleep. 
 
 The bed of the dwarf Habibrah, who always slept at 
 the foot of his master's couch, was also profusely stained 
 with gore, and the same crimson traces could be seen 
 upon the laced coat of the poor fool, cast upon the floor 
 a few paces from the bed. I did not hesitate for a mo- 
 ment in believing that the dwarf had died a victim to 
 his affection for my uncle, and that he had been mur- 
 dered by his comrades, perhaps in the effort to defend 
 his master. I reproached myself bitterly for the preju- 
 dice which had caused me to form so erroneous an esti- 
 mate of the characters of Pierrot and Habibrah ; and of 
 the tears I shed at the tragic fate of my uncle, some 
 were dedicated to the end of the faithful fool. By my 
 orders his body was carefully searched for, but all in 
 vain ; and I imagined that the negroes had cast the body 
 into the flames. I gave instructions that in the funeral 
 service over my uncle's remains prayers should be said 
 for the repose of the soul of the devoted Habibrah. 
 
CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 F OUT GALIFET had been destroyed, our house was in 
 ruins; it was useless to linger there any longer, 
 so that evening I returned to Cap. On my arrival there 
 I was seized with a severe fever. The effort that I had 
 made to overcome my despair had been too violent ; the 
 spring had been bent too far and had snapped. Delirium 
 came on. My broken hopes, my profound love, my lost 
 future, and, above all, the torments of jealousy made my 
 brain reel. It seemed as if fire flowed in my veins ; my 
 head seemed ready to burst, and my bosom was filled 
 with rage. I pictured to myself Marie in the arms of 
 another lover, subject to the power of a master, of a 
 slave, of Pierrot ! They told me afterwards that I sprang 
 from my bed, and that it took six men to prevent me 
 from dashing out my brains against the wall. Why did 
 I not die then ? 
 
 The crisis, however, passed. The doctors, the care 
 and attention of Thaddeus, and the latent powers of 
 youth conquered the malady : would that it had not 
 done so ! At the end of ten days I was sufficiently re- 
 covered to lay aside grief, and to live for vengeance. 
 
 Hardly arrived at a state of convalescence, I went to 
 M. de Blanchelande, and asked for employment. At 
 first he wished to give me the command of some forti- 
 fied post, but I begged him to attach me to one of the 
 flying columns, which from time to time were sent out 
 to sweep those districts in which the insurgents had 
 
BUG-JARGAL 67 
 
 congregated. Cap had been hastily pat in a position 
 of defence, for the revolt had made terrible progress, 
 and the negroes of Port au Prince had begun to show 
 symptoms of disaffection. Biassou was in command of 
 the insurgents at Lumbé, Dondon, and Acul ; Jean 
 François had proclaimed himself generalissimo of the 
 rebels of Maribarou; Bouckmann, whose tragic fate 
 afterwards gave him a certain celebrity, with his bri- 
 gands ravaged the plains of Limonade; and lastly, the 
 bands of Morne-Rouge had elected for their chief a negrc 
 called Bug-Jargal. 
 
 If report was to be believed, the disposition of this 
 man contrasted very favourably with the ferocity of the 
 other chiefs. While Bouckmann and Biassou invented 
 a thousand different methods of death for such prisoners 
 as fell into their hands, Bug-Jargal was always ready to 
 supply them with the means of quitting the island. M. 
 Colas de Marjue and eight other distinguished colonists 
 were by his orders released from the terrible death of 
 the wheel to which Bouckmann had condemned them; 
 and many other instances of his humanity were cited, 
 which I have not time to repeat. 
 
 My hoped-for vengeance, however, still appeared to 
 be far removed. I could hear nothing of Pierrot. The 
 insurgents commanded by Biassou continued to give us 
 trouble at Cap ; they had once even endeavoured to take 
 position on a hill that commanded the town, and had 
 only been dislodged by the battery from the citadel be- 
 ing directed upon them. The governor had therefore 
 determined to drive them into the interior of the island. 
 The militia of Acul, of Lumbé, of Ouanaminte, and of 
 Maribarou, joined with the regiment of Cap and the 
 Red and Yellow Dragoons, formed one army of attack ; 
 while the corps of volunteers under the command of 
 the merchant Poncignon, with the militia of Dondon 
 
63 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 and Quartier-Dauphin, composed the garrison of the 
 town. 
 
 The governor desired first to free himself from Bug- 
 Jargal, whose incursions kept the garrison constantly 
 on the alert; and he sent against him the militia of 
 Ouanaminte and a battalion of the regiment of Cap. 
 Two days afterwards the expedition returned, having 
 sustained a severe defeat at the hands of Bug-Jargal. 
 The governor, however, determined to persevere, and a 
 fresh column was sent out with fifty of the Yellow Dra- 
 goons and four hundred of the militia of Maribarou. 
 This second expedition met with even less success than 
 the first. Thaddeus, who had taken part in it, was in 
 a violent fury, and upon his return vowed vengeance 
 against the rebel chief Bug-Jargal. 
 
 [A tear glistened in the eyes of D'Auverney; he 
 
 crossed his arms on his breast, and appeared to be for 
 
 a few moments plunged in a melancholy reverie. At 
 length he continued.] 
 
CHAPTER XVIIÏ. 
 
 THE news had reached us that Bug-Jargal had left 
 Morne-Kouge, and was moving through the moun» 
 tains to effect a junction with the troops of Biassou, 
 The governor could not conceal his delight. " We have 
 them ! " cried he, rubbing his hands. " They are in our 
 power ! " 
 
 By the next morning the colonial forces had marched 
 some four miles to the front of Cap. At our approach 
 the insurgents hastily retired from the positions which 
 they had occupied at Port-Mayat and Fort Galifet, and 
 in which they had planted siege guns that they had cap- 
 tured in one of the batteries on the coast. The governor 
 was triumphant, and by his orders we continued our 
 advance. As we passed through the arid plains and the 
 ruined plantations, many a one cast an eager glance in 
 search of the spot which was once his home ; but in too 
 many cases the foot of the destroyer had left no traces 
 behind. Sometimes our march was interrupted, by the 
 conflagration having spread from the lands under culti- 
 vation to the virgin forests. 
 
 In these regions, where the land is untilled and the 
 vegetation abundant, the burning of a forest is accom- 
 panied with many strange phenomena. Ear off, long 
 before the eye can detect the cause, a sound is heard 
 like the rush of a cataract over opposing rocks ; the 
 trunks of the trees flame out with a sudden crash, the 
 branches crackle, and the roots beneath the soil all con- 
 
70 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 tribute to the extraordinary uproar. The lakes and the 
 marshes in the interior of the forests boil with the heat. 
 The hoarse roar of the coming flame stills the air, caus- 
 ing a dull sound, sometimes increasing and sometimes 
 diminishing in intensity as the conflagration sweeps on 
 or recedes. Occasionally a glimpse can be caught of a 
 clump of trees surrounded by a belt of fire, but as yet 
 untouched by the flames ; then a narrow streak of fire 
 curls round the stems, and in another instant the whole 
 becomes one mass of gold-coloured fire. Then uprises a 
 column of smoke, driven here and there by the breeze ; 
 it takes a thousand fantastic forms, — spreads itself out, 
 diminishes in an instant ; at one moment it is gone, in 
 another it returns with greater density; then all be- 
 comes a thick black cloud, with a fringe of sparks , a 
 terrible sound is heard, the sparks disappear, and the 
 smoke ascends, disappearing at last in a mass of red 
 ashes, which sink down slowly upon the blackened 
 ground. 
 
CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 ON the evening of the third day of our march we en- 
 tered the ravines of Grande-Eiviere ; we calculated 
 that the negro army was some twenty leagues off in the 
 mountains. 
 
 We pitched our camp on a low hill, which appeared 
 to have been used for the same purpose before, as the 
 grass had been trodden down and the brushwood cut 
 away. It was not a judicious position in a strategical 
 point of view, but we deemed ourselves perfectly secure 
 from attack. The hill was commanded on all sides by 
 steep mountains clothed with thick forests, — their 
 precipitous sides having given these mountains the 
 name of the Dompte-Mulâtre. The Grande-Eiviere 
 flowed behind our camp, which being confined within 
 steep banks was just about here very deep and rapid. 
 Both sides of the river were hidden with thickets, 
 through which nothing could be seen. The waters of 
 the stream itself were frequently concealed by masses of 
 creeping plants, hanging from the branche* of the flow- 
 ering maples which had sprung up at intervals in the 
 jungle, crossing and recrossing the stream, and forming 
 a tangled net-work of living verdure. From the heights 
 of the adjacent hills this mass of verdure appeared like 
 a meadow still fresh with dew, while every now and then 
 a dull splash could be heard as a teal plunged through 
 the flower-decked curtain, and showed in which direc- 
 tion the river lay. By degrees the sun ceased to gild 
 
72 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 the crested peaks of the distant mountains of Dondon; 
 little by little darkness spread its mantle over the camp, 
 and the silence was only broken by the cry of the night- 
 bird, or by the measured tread of the sentinels. 
 
 Suddenly the dreaded war-songs of " Oua-Nassé " and 
 of " The Camp of the Great Meadow " were heard above 
 our heads ; the palms, the acomas, and the cedars, which 
 crowned the summits of the rocks, burst into flames, 
 and the lurid light of the conflagration showed us 
 numerous bands of negroes and mulattoes, whose copper- 
 hued skins glowed red in the firelight upon the neigh- 
 bouring hills. It was the army of Biassou. 
 
 The danger was imminent. The officers, aroused 
 from their sleep, endeavoured to rally their men. The 
 drum beat the " Assembly, " while the bugles sounded 
 the " Alarm. " Our men fell in hurriedly and in confu- 
 sion ; but the insurgents, instead of taking advantage of 
 our disorder, remained motionless, gazing upon us, and 
 continuing their song of " Oua-Nassé. " 
 
 A gigantic negro appeared alone on one of the peaks 
 that overhung the Grande- Eiviere ; a flame-coloured 
 plume floated on his head, and he held an axe in his 
 right hand and a blood-red banner in his left. I recog- 
 nized Pierrot. Had a carbine been within my reach I 
 should have fired at him, cowardly although the act 
 might have been. The negro repeated the chorus of 
 " Oua-Nassé, " planted his standard on the highest portion 
 of the rock, hurled his axe into the midst of our ranks, 
 and plunged into the stream. A feeling of regret seized 
 me ; I had hoped to have slain him with my own hand. 
 
 Then the negroes began to hurl huge masses of rocks 
 upon us, while showers of bullets and flights of arrows 
 were poured upon our camp. Our soldiers, maddened 
 at being unable to reach their adversaries, fell on all 
 sides, crushed by the rocks, riddled with bullets, and 
 
bug-jargal,, 73 
 
 transfixed by arrows. The army was rapidly falling 
 into disorder. Suddenly a terrible noise came from the 
 centre of the stream. 
 
 The Yellow Dragoons, who had suffered most from 
 the shower of rocks, had conceived the idea of taking 
 refuge under the thick roof of creepers which grew over 
 the river. It was Thaddeus who had at first discovered 
 this — 
 
 Here the narrative was suddenly interrupted. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 MORE than a quarter of an hour had elapsed since 
 Thaddeus, his arm in a sling, had glided into the 
 tent without any of the listeners noticing his arrival, 
 and taking up his position in a remote corner had by 
 occasional gestures expressed the interest that he took 
 in his captain's narrative; but at last, considering that 
 this direct allusion to himself ought not to be permitted 
 to pass without some acknowledgment on his part, he 
 stammered out, — 
 
 " You are too good, Captain ! " 
 
 A general burst of laughter followed this speech, and 
 D'Auverney, turning towards him, exclaimed severely: 
 " What, Thaddeus, you here ? And your arm ? " 
 
 On being addressed in so unaccustomed a tone, the 
 features of the old soldier grew dark ; he quivered, and 
 threw back his head, as though to restrain the tears 
 which seemed to struggle to his eyes. " I never 
 thought, " said he, in a low voice, " that you, Captain, 
 could have omitted to say thou when speaking to your 
 old sergeant. " 
 
 " Pardon me, old friend, " answered the captain, 
 quickly ; " I hardly knew what I said. Thou wilt par- 
 don me, wilt thou not ? " 
 
 The tears sprang to the sergeant's eyes in spite of his 
 efforts to repress them. " It is the third time, " re- 
 marked he, — " but these are tears of joy. " 
 
 Peace was made, and a short silence ensued. 
 
 " But tell me, Thaddeus, why hast thou quitted the 
 hospital to come here? " asked D'Auverney, gently. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 75 
 
 ** It was — with your permission, Captain — to ask if 
 I should put the laced saddle-cloth on the charger for 
 to-morrow. " 
 
 Henri laughed. " You would have been wiser, Thad- 
 deus, to have asked the surgeon-major if you should put 
 two more pieces of lint on your arm, " said he. 
 
 " Or to ask, " continued Paschal, " if you might take a 
 glass of wine to refresh yourself. At any rate, here is 
 some brandy ; taste it, — it will do you good, my brave 
 sergeant. " 
 
 Thaddeus advanced, saluted, and apologizing for tak- 
 ing the glass with his left hand, emptied it to the health 
 of the assembled company : " You had got, Captain, to 
 the moment when — yes, I remember, it was I who pro- 
 posed to take shelter under the creepers, to prevent our 
 men being smashed by the rocks. Our officer, who did 
 not know how to swim, was afraid of being drowned, 
 and, as was natural, was dead against it until he saw 
 — with your permission, gentlemen — a great rock fall 
 on the creepers without being able to get through them. 
 'It is better to die like Pharaoh than like Saint Stephen, ' 
 said he ; ' for we are not saints, and Pharaoh was a sol- 
 dier like ourselves. ' The officer was a learned man, 
 you see. And so he agreed to my proposal, on the con- 
 dition that I should first try the experiment myself. 
 Off I went; I slid down the bank and caught hold of 
 the roof of the creepers, when all of a sudden some one 
 took a pull at my legs. I struggled, I shouted for help, 
 and in a minute I received half-a-dozen sabre-cuts. 
 Down came the dragoons to help me, and there was a 
 nice little skirmish under the creepers. The blacks of 
 Morne-Eouge had hidden themselves there, never for a 
 moment thinking that we should fall right on the top 
 of them. This was not the right time for fishing, I can 
 tell you. We fought, we swore, we shouted. They 
 
76 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 had nothing particular on, and were able to move about 
 in the water more easily than we were ; but, on the 
 other hand, our sabres had less to cut through. We 
 swam with one hand and fought with the other. Those 
 who could not swim, like my captain, hung on to the 
 creepers, while the negroes pulled them by the legs. 
 
 " In the midst of the hullabaloo I saw a big negro 
 fighting like Beelzebub against five or six of ours. I 
 swam up to him, and recognized Pierrot, otherwise 
 called Bug — But I mustn't tell that yet, must I, Cap- 
 tain ? Since the capture of the fort I owed him a grudge, 
 so I took him hard and fast by the throat ; he was go- 
 ing to rid himself of me by a thrust of his dagger, when 
 he recognized me, and gave himself up at once. That 
 was very unfortunate, was it not, Captain ? For if he 
 had not surrendered, he would not — But you will 
 know that later on, eh ? When the blacks saw that he 
 was taken they made a rush at me to get him off; when 
 Pierrot, seeing no doubt that they would all lose their 
 lives, said some gibberish or other, and in the twinkling 
 of an eye they plunged into the water, and were out of 
 sight in a moment. This fight in the water would have 
 been pleasant enough if I had not lost a finger and 
 wetted ten cartridges, and if the poor man — but it was 
 to be, was it not, Captain ? " 
 
 And the sergeant respectfully placed the back of his 
 hand to his forage-cap, and then raised it to heaven 
 with the air of an inspired prophet. 
 
 D'Auverney was violently agitated. " Yes, w cried he, 
 " thou art right, my old Thaddeus ; that night was a 
 fatal night for me ! " 
 
 He would have fallen into one of his usual reveries 
 had they not urgently pressed him to conclude his story. 
 After a while he continued. 
 
CHAPTEE XXL 
 
 WHILE the scene which Thaddeus has just de- 
 scribed was passing behind the camp, I had 
 succeeded, by aid of the brushwood, with some of my 
 men in climbing the opposite hills until we had reached 
 a point called Peacock Peak, from the brilliant tints of 
 the mica which coated the surface of the rock. 
 
 From this position, which was opposite a rock cov- 
 ered with negroes, we opened a withering fire. The in- 
 surgents, who were not so well armed as we were, could 
 not reply warmly to our volleys, and in a short time be- 
 gan to grow discouraged. We redoubled our efforts, and 
 our enemies soon evacuated the neighbouring rocks, first 
 hurling the dead bodies of their comrades upon our 
 army, the greater proportion of which was still drawn 
 up on the hill. Then we cut down several trees, and 
 binding the trunks together with fibres of the palm, we 
 improvised a bridge, and by it crossed over to the de- 
 serted positions of the enemy, and thus managed to 
 secure a good post of vantage. This operation com- 
 pletely quenched the courage of the rebels. Our fire 
 continued. Shouts of grief arose from them, in which 
 the name of Bug-Jargal was frequently repeated. Many 
 negroes of the army of Morne-Eouge appeared on the 
 rock upon which the blood-red banner still floated ; they 
 prostrated themselves before it, tore it from its resting- 
 place, and then precipitated it and themselves into the 
 depths of the Grande-Eiviere. This seemed to signify 
 that their chief was either killed or a prisoner. 
 
78 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 Our confidence had now risen to such a pitch that I 
 resolved to drive them from their last position at the 
 point of the bayonet, and at the head of my men I 
 dashed into the midst of the negroes. The soldiers were 
 about to follow me across the temporary bridge that I 
 had caused to be thrown from peak to peak, when one 
 of the rebels with a blow of his axe broke the bridge to 
 atoms, and the ruins fell into the abyss with a terrible 
 noise. 
 
 I turned my head : in a moment I was surrounded, 
 and seized by six or seven negroes, who disarmed me in 
 a moment. I struggled like a lion, but they bound me 
 with cords made of bark, heedless of the hail of bullets 
 that my soldiers poured upon them. My despair was 
 somewhat soothed by the cries of victory which I heard 
 from our men, and I soon saw the negroes and mulattoes 
 ascending the steep sides of the rocks with all the pre- 
 cipitation of fear, uttering cries of terror. 
 
 My captors followed their example. The strongest 
 among them placed me on their shoulders, and carried 
 me in the direction of the forest, leaping from rock to 
 rock with the agility of wild goats. The flames soon 
 ceased to light the scene, and it was by the pale rays of 
 the moon that we pursued our course. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 AFTER passing through jungles and crossing many a 
 torrent, we arrived in a valley situated in the 
 higher part of the hills, of a singularly wild and sav- 
 age appearance. The spot was absolutely unknown to 
 me. The valley was situated in the heart of the hills, 
 in what is called the "double mountains." It was a 
 large green plain, imprisoned by walls of bare rock, and 
 dotted with clumps of pines and palm trees. The cold, 
 which at this height is very severe, was increased by 
 the morning air, the day having just commenced to 
 break ; but the valley was still plunged in darkness, 
 and was only lighted by flashes from the negroes' fires. 
 Evidently this spot was their headquarters ; the shat- 
 tered remains of their army had begun to reassemble, 
 and every now and then bands of negroes and mulattoes 
 arrived, uttering groans of distress and cries of rage. 
 New fires were speedily lighted, and the camp began to 
 increase in size. 
 
 The negro whose prisoner I was had placed me at the 
 foot of an oak, whence I surveyed this strange spectacle 
 with entire carelessness. The black had bound me with 
 his belt to the trunk of the tree, against which I was 
 leaning, and carefully tightening the knots in the cords 
 which impeded my movements, he placed on my head 
 his own red woollen cap, as if to indicate that I was his 
 property ; and after making sure that I could not escape 
 or be carried off by others, he was preparing to leave me, 
 
80 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 when I determined to address him ; and speaking in the 
 créole dialect, I asked him if he belonged to the band of 
 Dondon, or of Morne-Eouge. He stopped at once, and 
 in a tone of pride replied, " Morne-Eouge. " Then an 
 idea entered my head. I had often heard of the gener- 
 osity of the chief Bug-Jargal; and though I had made 
 up my mind that death would soon end all my troubles, 
 the thought of the tortures that would inevitably pre- 
 cede it should I fall into the hands of Biassou filled me 
 with horror. All I wanted was to be put to death with- 
 out torment. It was perhaps a weakness, but I believe 
 that the mind of man ever revolts at such a death. I 
 thought then that if I could be taken from Biassou, 
 Bug-J.argal might give me what I desired, — a soldier's 
 death. I therefore asked the negro of Morne-Eouge to 
 lead me to Bug-Jargal. 
 
 He started : " Bug-Jargal ! " he repeated, striking on 
 his forehead in anguish ; then, as if rage had suddenly 
 overtaken him, he shook his fist, and shouting, " Bias- 
 sou, Biassou ! " he left me hastily. 
 
 The mingled rage and grief of the negro recalled to 
 my mind the events of the day, and the certainty we 
 had acquired of either the death or capture of the chief 
 of the band of Morne-Eouge. I felt that all hope was 
 over, and resigned myself to the threatened vengeance 
 of Biassou. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A GROUP of négresses came near the tree to which 
 I was fastened, and lit a fire. By the numerous 
 bracelets of blue, red, and violet glass which ornamented 
 their arms and ankles ; by the rings which weighed 
 down their ears and adorned their toes and fingers ; by 
 the amulets on their bosoms and the collar of charms 
 suspended round their necks ; by the aprons of varie- 
 gated feathers which were their sole coverings, — I at 
 once recognized them as griotes. You are perhaps igno- 
 rant that among the African blacks there exists a certain 
 class with a rude talent for poetry and improvisation, 
 which approaches closely to madness. These unhappy 
 creatures, wandering from one African kingdom to an- 
 other, are in these barbarian countries looked upon in 
 the same light as the minstrels of England, the minne- 
 singers of Germany, and the troubadours of France. 
 They are called " griots, " and their wives " griotes. n 
 The griotes accompany the barbaric songs of their hus- 
 bands with lascivious dances, and form a grotesque 
 parody on the nautch girls of India and the almes of 
 Egypt. 
 
 It was a group of these women who came and sat 
 down near me, with their legs crossed under them ac- 
 cording to their custom, and their hideous faces lighted 
 up by the red light of a fire of withered branches. 
 When they had formed a complete circle they all joined 
 hands, and the eldest, who had a heron's plume stuck 
 
82 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 in her hair, began to exclaim, " Ouanga !" I at once 
 understood that they were going through one of their 
 performances of pretended witchcraft. Then the leader 
 of the band, after a moment's silence, plucked a lock 
 of hair from her head and threw it into the fire, crying 
 out these words, " Male o guiab, " which in the jargon 
 of the créoles means, " I shall go to the devil. " All 
 the griotes imitated their leader, and throwing locks of 
 their hair in the fire, repeated gravely, " Male o guiab. " 
 This strange invocation, and the extraordinary grimaces 
 that accompanied it, caused me to burst into one of 
 those hysterical fits of laughter which so often seize on 
 one even at the most serious moments. It was in vain 
 that I endeavoured to restrain it, — it would have vent ; 
 and this laugh, which escaped from so sad a heart, 
 brought about a gloomy and terrifying scene. 
 
 Disturbed in their incantations, the négresses sprang 
 to their feet. Until then they had not noticed me, but 
 now they rushed close up to me, screaming " Blanco, 
 Blanco ! " I have never seen so hideous a collection of 
 faces, contorted as they were with passion, their white 
 teeth gleaming, and their eyes almost starting from their 
 heads. They were, I believe, about to tear me in pieces, 
 when the old woman with the heron's plume on her 
 head stopped them with a sign of her hand, and ex- 
 claimed seven times, " Zoté cordé 1 " (" Do you agree ? ") 
 The wretched creatures stopped at once, and to my sur- 
 prise tore off their feather aprons, which they flung 
 upon the ground, and commenced the lascivious dance 
 which the negroes call " La chica. " 
 
 This dance, which should only consist of attitudes 
 and movements expressive of gaiety and pleasure, as- 
 sumed a very different complexion when performed by 
 these naked sorceresses. In turn, each of them would 
 place her face close to mine, and with a frightful 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 83 
 
 expression of countenance would detail the horrible pun- 
 ishment that awaited the white man who had profaned 
 the mysteries of their Ouanga. I recollected that sav- 
 age nations had a custom of dancing round the victims 
 that they were about to sacrifice, and I patiently awaited 
 the conclusion of the performance which I knew would 
 be sealed with my blood ; and yet I could not repress a 
 shudder as I perceived each griote, in strict unison with 
 the time, thrust into the fire the point of a sabre, the 
 blade of an axe, a long sail-maker's needle, a pair of 
 pincers, and the teeth of a saw. 
 
 The dance was approaching its conclusion, and the 
 instruments of torture were glowing red with heat. At 
 a signal from the old woman, each negress in turn with- 
 drew an implement from the fire, while those who had 
 none furnished themselves with a blazing stick. Then 
 I understood clearly what my punishment was to be, 
 and that in each of the dancers I should find an execu- 
 tioner. Again the word of command was given, and 
 the last figure of the dance was commenced. I closed 
 my eyes that I might not see the frantic evolutions of 
 these female demons, who in measured cadence clashed 
 the red-hot weapons over their heads. A dull, clinking 
 sound followed, while the sparks flew out in myriads. 
 I waited, nerving myself for the moment when I should 
 feel my flesh quiver in agony, my bones calcine, and 
 my muscles writhe under the burning tortures of the 
 nippers and the saws. It was an awful moment. For- 
 tunately it did not last long. 
 
 In the distance I heard the voice of the negro whose 
 prisoner I was, shouting, " Que haceis, mujeres, ne 
 demonio, que haceis alii, devais mi prisonero ? " I 
 opened my eyes again; it was already broad daylight. 
 The negro hurried towards me, gesticulating angrily. 
 The griotes paused, but they seemed less influenced 
 
84 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 by the threats of my captor than by the presence of 
 a strange-looking person by whom the negro was 
 accompanied. 
 
 It was a very stout and very short man, — a species 
 of dwarf, — whose face was entirely concealed by a white 
 veil, pierced with three holes for the eyes and mouth. 
 The veil hung down to his shoulders, and displayed a 
 hairy, copper-hued breast, upon which was hung by a 
 golden chain the mutilated sun of a monstrance. The 
 cross-hilt of a heavy dagger peeped from a scarlet belt, 
 which also supported a kind of petticoat striped with 
 green, yellow, and black, the hem of which hung down 
 to his large and ill-shaped feet. His arms, like his 
 breast, were bare ; he carried a white staff, and a rosary 
 of amber beads was suspended from his belt, in close 
 proximity to the handle of his dagger. His head was 
 surmounted with a pointed cap adorned with bells ; and 
 when he came close I was not surprised in recognizing 
 in it the gorra of Habibrah, and among the hieroglyphics 
 with which it was covered I could see many spots of 
 gore : without doubt, it was the blood of the faithful 
 fool. These blood-stains gave me fresh proofs of his 
 death, and awakened in me once again a fresh feeling of 
 regret for his loss. 
 
 Directly the griotes recognized the wearer of Habi- 
 brah' s cap, they cried out all at once. " The Obi ! " and 
 prostrated themselves before him. I guessed at once 
 that this was a sorcerer attached to Biassou's force. 
 
 " Basta, basta " (" enough "), said he, in a grave and 
 solemn voice, as he came close up to them. " Devais el 
 prisonero de Biassou. " (" Let the prisoner be taken to 
 Biassou. ") 
 
 All the négresses leaped to their feet and cast their 
 implements of torture on one side, put on their aprons, 
 and at a gesture of the Obi fled like a cloud of grass- 
 hoppers. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 85 
 
 At this instant the glance of the Obi fell upon me. 
 He started back a pace, and half waved his white staff 
 in the direction of the retiring griotes, as if he wished 
 to recall them ; then muttering between his teeth the 
 word " Maldicho " (" accursed "), he whispered a few 
 words in the ear of the negro, and crossing his arms 
 retired slowly, apparently buried in deep thought. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MY captor informed me that Biassou had asked to 
 see me, and that in an hour I should be brought 
 before him. This, I calculated, gave me another hour 
 in which to live. Until that time had elapsed, I al- 
 lowed my glances to wander over the rebel camp, the 
 singular appearance of which the daylight permitted me 
 to observe. 
 
 Had I been in any other position, I should have 
 laughed heartily at the ostentatious vanity of the ne- 
 groes, who were nearly all decked out in fragments of 
 clerical and military dress, the spoils of their victims. 
 The greater portion of these ornaments were not new, 
 consisting of torn and blood-stained rags. A gorget 
 could often be seen shining over a stole, while an epau- 
 let looked strange when contrasted with a chasuble. To 
 make amends for former years of toil, the negroes now 
 maintained a state of utter inaction : some of them slept 
 exposed to the rays of the sun, their heads close to a 
 burning fire; others, with eyes that were sometimes full 
 of listlessness, and at others blazed with fury, sat chant- 
 ing a monotonous air at the doors of their ajoupas, — a 
 species of hut with conical roofs somewhat resembling 
 our artillery tents, but thatched with palm or banana 
 leaves. Their black or copper-coloured wives, aided by 
 the negro children, prepared the food for the fighting- 
 men. I could see them stirring up with long forks, 
 ignames, bananas, yams, peas, cocus and maize, and 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 87 
 
 other vegetables indigenous to the country, which were 
 boiling with joints of pork, turtle, and dog in the great 
 boilers stolen from the dwellings of the planters. In 
 the distance, on the outskirts of the camp, the griots and 
 griotes formed large circles round the fires, and the wind 
 every now and then brought to my ears strange frag- 
 ments of their barbaric songs, mingled with notes from 
 their tambourines and guitars. A few videttes posted 
 on the high ground watched over the headquarters of 
 General Biassou, — the only defence of which in case of 
 attack was a circle of wagons tilled with plunder and 
 ammunition. These black sentries posted on the sum- 
 mits of the granite pyramids, with which the valley 
 bristled, turned about like the weathercocks in Gothic 
 spires, and with all the strength of their lungs shouted 
 one to the other the cry of " Nada, nada ! " (" Nothing, 
 nothing!") which showed that the camp was in full 
 security. Every now and then groups of negroes, in- 
 spired by curiosity, collected round me, but all looked 
 upon me with a threatening expression of countenance. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AT length an escort of negro soldiers, very fairly 
 equipped, arrived. The negro whose property I 
 appeared to be unfastened me from the oak to which I 
 was bound, and handed me over to the escort, receiving in 
 exchange a bag full of piastres. As he lay upon the grass 
 counting them with every appearance of delight, I was 
 led away by the soldiers. My escort wore a uniform of 
 coarse cloth, of a reddish-brown colour, with yellow 
 facings ; their head-dress was a Spanish cap called a 
 montera, ornamented with a large red cockade. Instead 
 of a cartouche case, they had a species of game-bag slung 
 at their sides. Their arms were a heavy musket, a 
 sabre, and a dagger. I afterwards learned that these 
 men formed the body-guard of Biassou. 
 
 After a circuitous route through the rows of ajoupas 
 which were scattered all over the place, I came to a 
 cave which Nature had hollowed out in one of those 
 masses of rock with which the meadow was full. A 
 large curtain of some material from the looms of Thibet, 
 which the negroes called katchmir, and which is remark- 
 able less for the brilliancy of its colouring than for the 
 softness of its material, concealed the interior of the 
 cavern from the vulgar gaze. The entrance was guarded 
 by a double line of negroes, dressed like those who had 
 escorted me thither. 
 
 After the countersign had been exchanged with the 
 sentries who marched backwards and forwards before the 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 89 
 
 cave, the commander of the escort raised the curtain 
 sufficiently for me to enter, and then let it drop behind 
 me. A copper lamp with six lights, hung by a chain 
 from the roof of the grotto, cast a flickering light upon 
 the damp walls. Between the ranks of mulatto soldiers 
 I perceived a coloured man sitting upon a large block of 
 mahogany, which was partially covered with a carpet 
 made of parrots' feathers. His dress was of the most 
 absurd kind. A splendid silk girdle, from which hung 
 a cross of Saint Louis, held up a pair of common blue 
 trousers, while a waistcoat of white linen which did not 
 meet the waistband of the trousers completed the strange 
 costume. He wore high boots, and a round hat with a 
 red cockade, and epaulets, — one of gold with silver 
 stars, like those worn by brigadiers ; while the other 
 was of red-worsted, with two copper stars (which seemed 
 to have been taken from a pair of spurs) fixed upon it, 
 evidently to render it more worthy of its resplendent 
 neighbour. A sabre and a pair of richly chased pistols 
 lay by his side. Behind him were two white children 
 dressed in the costume of slaves, bearing large fans of 
 peacock feathers. 
 
 Two squares of crimson velvet, which seemed to have 
 been stolen from some church, were placed on either side 
 of the mahogany block. One of these was occupied by 
 the Obi who had rescued me from the frenzy of the 
 griotes. He was seated with his legs crossed under him, 
 holding in his hand his white wand, and not moving a 
 muscle : he looked like a porcelain idol in a Chinese 
 pagoda, but through the holes in his veil I could see his 
 flashing eyes fixed steadfastly upon mine. 
 
 Upon each side of the general were trophies of flags, 
 banners, and pennons of all kinds. Among them I no- 
 ticed the white flag with the lilies, the tricolour, and 
 the banner of Spain ; the others were covered with fancy 
 
90 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 devices. I also perceived a large standard entirely black. 
 At the end of the grotto, I saw a portrait of the mulatto 
 Ogé who, together with his lieutenant Jean Charanne, 
 had been broken on the wheel the year previous for the 
 crime of rebellion. Twenty of his accomplices, blacks 
 and mulattoes, suffered with him. In this painting Ogé, 
 the son of a butcher at Cap, was represented in the uni- 
 form of a lieutenant-colonel, and decorated with the 
 star of Saint Louis and the Order of Merit of the Lion, 
 which last he had purchased from the Prince of Limburg. 
 
 The negro general into whose presence I had been 
 introduced was short and of vulgar aspect, while his 
 face showed a strange mixture of cunning and cruelty. 
 After looking at me for some time in silence, with a 
 bitter omen on his face, he said, — 
 
 " I am Biassou. " 
 
 I expected this, but I could not hear it from his 
 mouth, distorted as it was by a cruel smile, without an 
 inward trembling ; yet my face remained unchanged, 
 and I made no reply. 
 
 " Well, " continued he, in his bad French, " have they 
 already empaled you, that you are unable to bend before 
 Biassou, generalissimo of this conquered land, and brig- 
 adier of his Most Catholic Majesty ? " (The rebel chiefs 
 sometimes affected to be acting for the King of France, 
 sometimes for the Republic, and at others for the King 
 of Spain.) 
 
 I crossed my arms upon my chest, and looked him 
 firmly in the face. 
 
 He again sneered. " Ho, ho ! " said he ; " me pareces 
 hombre de buen corazon (" you seem a courageous man ") ; 
 well, listen to my questions. Were you born in the 
 island ? " 
 
 " No, I am a Frenchman. * 
 
 My calmness irritated him. " All the better; I see by 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 91 
 
 your uniform that you are an officer. How old are 
 you?" 
 
 u Twenty. " 
 
 u When were you twenty ? " 
 
 To this question, which aroused in me all the recollec- 
 tion of my misery, I could not at first find words to re- 
 ply. He repeated it imperiously. 
 
 " The day upon which Leogri was hung, " answered I. 
 
 An expression of rage passed over his face as he an- 
 swered, " It is twenty-three days since Leogri was exe- 
 cuted. Frenchman, when you meet him this evening 
 you may tell him from me that you lived twenty -four 
 days longer than he did. I will spare you for to-day ; I 
 wish you to tell him of the liberty that his brethren 
 have gained, and what you have seen at the headquar- 
 ters of General Jean Biassou. " 
 
 Then he ordered me to sit down in one corner between 
 two of his guards, and with a motion of his hand to some 
 of his men, who wore the uniform of aides-de-camp, he 
 said, " Let the Assembly be sounded, that we may in- 
 spect the whole of our troops ; and you, your reverence, " 
 he added, turning to the Obi, " put on your priestly 
 vestments, and perform for our army the holy sacrament 
 of the Mass. " 
 
 The Obi rose, bowed profoundly, and whispered a 
 word or two in the general's ear. 
 
 " What, " cried the latter, " no altar ! but never mind, 
 the good Giu has no need of a magnificent temple for 
 His worship. Gideon and Joshua adored Him before 
 masses of rock ; let us do as they did. All that is re- 
 quired is that the hearts should be true. No altar, you 
 say ! why not make one of that great chest of sugar 
 which we took yesterday from Dubussion's house?" 
 
 This suggestion of Biassou was promptly carried into 
 execution. In an instant the interior of the cave was 
 
92 BUG-JARGAL, 
 
 arranged for a burlesque of the divine ceremony. A 
 pyx and a monstrance stolen from the parish church of 
 Acul were promptly produced (the very church in which 
 my nuptials with Marie had been celebrated, and where 
 we had received Heaven's blessing, which had so soon 
 changed to a curse). The stolen chest of sugar was 
 speedily made into an altar and covered with a white 
 cloth, through which, however, the words " Dubussion 
 and Company for Nantes " could be plainly perceived. 
 
 When the sacred vessels had been placed on the altar, 
 the Obi perceived that the crucifix was wanting. He 
 drew his dagger, which had a cross handle, and stuck it 
 into the wood of the case in front of the pyx. Then 
 without removing his cap or veil, he threw the cope 
 which had been stolen from the priest of Acul over his 
 shoulders and bare chest, opened the silver clasps of the 
 missal from which the prayers had been read on my ill- 
 fated, marriage day, and turning towards Biassou, whose 
 seat was a few paces from the altar, announced to him 
 that all was ready. 
 
 On a sign from the general the katchmir curtains were 
 drawn aside, and the insurgent army was seen drawn 
 up in close column before the entrance to the grotto. 
 Biassou removed his hat and knelt before the altar. 
 
 " On your knees ! " he cried, in a loud voice. 
 
 " On your knees ! " repeated the commander of the 
 battalions. 
 
 The drums were beaten, and all the insurgents fell 
 upon their knees. I alone refused to move, disgusted at 
 this vile profanation about to be enacted under my very 
 eyes ; but the two powerful mulattoes who guarded me 
 pulled my seat from under me, and pressed heavily upon 
 my shoulders, so that I fell on my knees, compelled to 
 pay a semblance of respect to this parody of a religious 
 ceremony. The Obi performed his duties with affected 
 
JBUG-JARGAL. 93 
 
 solemnity, while the two white pages of Biassou offi- 
 ciated as deacon and sub-deacon. The insurgents, 
 prostrated before the altar, assisted at the ceremony 
 with the greatest enthusiasm, the general setting the 
 example. 
 
 At the moment of the exaltation of the host, the Obi 
 raising in his hands the consecrated vessel exclaimed in 
 his créole jargon, " Zoté coné bon Giu ; ce li mo fé zoté 
 voer. Blan touyé li : touyé blan yo toute ! " (* You 
 see your good God ; I am showing Him to you. The 
 white men killed Him : kill all the whites ! ") 
 
 At these words, pronounced in a loud voice, the tones 
 of which had something in them familiar to my ear, all 
 the rebels uttered a loud shout, and clashed their weap- 
 ons together. Had it not been for Biassou 's influence, 
 that hour would have been my last. To such atrocities 
 may men be driven who use the dagger for a cross, and 
 upon whose mind the most trivial event makes a deep 
 and profound impression. 
 
CHAPTEE XXVI 
 
 AT the termination of the ceremony the Obi bowed 
 respectfully to Biassou ; then the general rose 
 and, addressing me in French, said, — 
 
 " We are accused of having no religion. You see it 
 is a falsehood, and that we are good Catholics. " 
 
 I do not know whether he spoke ironically or in good 
 faith. A few moments later he called for a glass bowl 
 filled with grains of black maize ; on the top he threw 
 some white maize, then he raised it high in his hand so 
 that all the army might see it. 
 
 " Brothers, " cried he, " you are the black maize ; your 
 enemies are the white maize. " 
 
 With these words he shook the bowl, and in an in- 
 stant the white grains had disappeared beneath the 
 black ; and, as though inspired, he cried out, " Where 
 are the white now ? " 
 
 The mountains re-echoed with the shouts with which 
 the illustration of the general was received ; and Biassou 
 continuing his harangue, mixed up French, créole dia- 
 lect, and Spanish alternately : — 
 
 " The season for temporizing has passed ; for a long 
 time we have been as patient as the sheep to whose wool 
 the whites compare our hair ; let us now be as implaca- 
 ble as the panthers or the tigers of the countries from 
 which they have torn us. Force alone can obtain for us 
 our rights ; and everything can be obtained by those who 
 use their force without pity. Saint Loup [Wolf] has 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 95 
 
 two days in the year consecrated to him in the Grego- 
 rian calendar, while the Paschal Lamb has but one. 
 Am not I correct, your reverence ? " 
 
 The Obi bowed in sign of corroboration.' 
 
 " They have come, " continued Biassou, — " these ene- 
 mies of ours have come as enemies of the regeneration 
 of humanity ; these whites, these planters, these men of 
 business, veritable devils vomited from the mouth of 
 hell. They came in the insolence of their pride, in 
 their fine dresses, their uniforms, their feathers, their 
 magnificent arms ; they despised us because we were 
 black and naked, in their overbearing haughtiness ; 
 they thought that they could drive us before them as 
 easily as these peacock feathers disperse the swarms of 
 sandflies and mosquitoes. " 
 
 As he uttered these concluding words, he snatched 
 from the hands of his white slaves one of the large fans, 
 and waved it over his head with a thousand eccentric 
 gesticulations. Then he continued : — 
 
 " But, my brethren, we burst upon them like flies 
 upon a carcass ; they have fallen in their fine uniforms 
 beneath the strokes of our naked arms, which they be- 
 lieved to be without power, ignorant that good wood is 
 the stronger when the bark is stripped off ; and now these 
 accursed tyrants tremble, and are filled with fear. " 
 
 A triumphant yell rose in answer to the general's 
 speech, and all the army repeated, " They are filled with 
 fear ! " 
 
 " Blacks, Creoles, and Congos, " added Biassou. " ven- 
 geance and liberty ! Mulattoes, do not be led away by 
 the temptations of the white men ! Your fathers serve 
 in their ranks, but your mothers are with us ; besides, ' O 
 bermanos de mi alma ' (' brethren of my soul ') have 
 they ever acted as fathers to you ? Have they not rather 
 been cruel masters, and treated you as slaves, because you 
 
D6 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 had the blood of your mothers in your veins ? While a 
 miserable cotton garment covered your bodies scorched 
 by the sun, your cruel fathers went about in straw hats 
 and nankeen clothes on work-days, and in cloth and 
 velvet on holidays and feasts. Curses be on their un- 
 natural hearts ! But as the holy commandments forbid 
 you to strike your father, abstain from doing so ; but in 
 the day of battle what hinders you from turning to your 
 comrade and saying, ' Touyé papa moé, ma touyé quena 
 toué ! ' ('Kill my father, and I will kill yours I ') Ven- 
 geance then, my brethren, and liberty for all men ! This 
 cry has found an echo in every part of the island ; it has 
 roused Tobago and Cuba. It was Bouckmann, a negro 
 from Jamaica, the leader of the twenty-five fugitive 
 slaves of the Blue Mountain, who raised the standard of 
 revolt among us. A glorious victory was the first proof 
 that he gave of his brotherhood with the negroes of St. 
 Domingo. Let us follow his noble example, with an 
 axe in one hand and a torch in the other. No mercy for 
 the whites, no mercy for the planters ! let us massacre 
 their families, and destroy their plantations ! Do not 
 allow a tree to remain standing on their estates ; let us 
 upturn the very earth itself that it may swallow up our 
 white oppressors ! Courage then, friends and brethren ! 
 we will fight them and sweep them from the face of the 
 earth. We will conquer or die. As victors, we shall 
 enjoy all the pleasures of life ; and if we fall, the saints 
 are ready to receive us in heaven, where each warrior 
 will receive a double ration of brandy and a silver 
 piastre each day ! " 
 
 This warlike discourse, which to you appears perfectly 
 ridiculous, had a tremendous effect on the insurgents. 
 It is true that Biassou's wild gesticulations, the manner 
 in which his voice rose and fell, and the strange sneer 
 which every now and then appeared on his lips, im- 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 97 
 
 parted to his speech a strange amount of power and fas- 
 cination. The skill with which he alluded to those 
 points that would have the greatest weight with the 
 negroes added a degree of force which told well with his 
 audience. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe to you the outburst of 
 determined enthusiasm which the harangue of Biassou 
 roused among the rebels. There arose at once a discord- 
 ant chorus of howls, yells, and shouts. Some beat their 
 naked breasts, others dashed their clubs and sabres to- 
 gether. Many threw themselves on their knees, and 
 remained in that position as though in rapt ecstasy. 
 The négresses tore their breasts and arms with their 
 fish-bone combs. The sounds of drums, tomtoms, gui- 
 tars, and tambourines were mingled with the discharge 
 of firearms. It was a veritable witches' Sabbath. 
 
 Biassou raised his hand, and as if by enchantment 
 the tumult was stilled, and each negro returned to his 
 place in the ranks in silence. The discipline which 
 Biassou had imposed upon his equals by the exercise of 
 his power of will struck me, I may say, with admira- 
 tion. All the soldiers of the force seemed to exist only 
 to obey the wishes of their chief, as the notes of the 
 harpsichord under the fingers of the musician. 
 
CHAPTER XXVTL 
 
 f^HE spectacle of another example of the powers of 
 ■*■ fascination and deception now attracted my at- 
 tention. This was the healing of the wounded. 
 
 The Obi, who in the army performed the double func- 
 tions of healer of souls and bodies, began his inspection 
 of his patients. He had taken off his sacerdotal robes, 
 and was seated before a large box in which he kept his 
 drugs and instruments. He used the latter very rarely, 
 but occasionally drew blood skilfully enough with a 
 lancet made of fish-bone ; but he appeared to me to use 
 the knife, which in his hands replaced the scalpel, rather 
 clumsily. In most cases he contented himself with pre- 
 scribing orange-flower water, or sarsaparilla, and a 
 mouthful of old rum. His favourite remedy, however, 
 and one which he said was an infallible panacea for 
 all ills, was composed of three glasses of red wine, in 
 which was some grated nutmeg and the yolk of an 
 egg boiled hard ; he employed this specific for almost 
 every malady. You will understand that his knowledge 
 of medicine was as great a farce as his pretended reli- 
 gion ; and it is probable that the small number of cures 
 that he effected would not have secured the confidence 
 of the negroes had he not had recourse to all sorts of 
 mummeries and incantations, and acted as much upon 
 their imaginations as upon their bodies. Thus, he 
 never examined their wounds without performing some 
 mysterious signs; while at other times he skilfully 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 99 
 
 mingled together religion and negro superstition, and 
 would put into their wounds a little fetish stone wrapped 
 in a morsel of lint, and the patient would credit the stone 
 with the healing effects of the lint. If any one came to 
 announce to him the death of a patient, he would an- 
 swer solemnly : " I foresaw it ; he was a traitor : in the 
 burning of such and such a house he spared a white 
 man's life ; his death was a judgment, " — and the won- 
 dering crowd of rebels applauded him as he thus in- 
 creased their deadly hatred for their adversaries. 
 
 This impostor, among other methods, employed one 
 which amused me by its singularity. One of the negro 
 chiefs had been badly wounded in the last action. The 
 Obi examined the wound attentively, dressed it as well 
 as he was able, then, mounting the altar, exclaimed, 
 " All this is nothing. " He then tore two or three leaves 
 from the missal, burnt them to ashes, and mingling them 
 with some wine in the sacramental cup, cried to the 
 wounded man, " Drink ! this is the true remedy. " The 
 patient, stupidly fixing his eyes on the impostor, drank, 
 while the Obi with raised hands seemed to call down 
 blessings on his head; and it may be the conviction 
 that he was healed which brought about his cure. 
 
CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 ANOTHER scene in which the Obi also played the 
 principal part succeeded to this. The physician 
 had taken the place of the priest, and the sorcerer now 
 replaced the physician. 
 
 " Listen, men ! * cried the Obi, leaping with incredi- 
 ble agility upon the improvised altar, and sinking down 
 with his legs crossed under his striped petticoat, — ■ 
 " listen. Who will dive into the book of fate ? I can 
 foretell the future. ' He' estudiado la cienca de los 
 Gitanos ' (' I have studied the sciences of the gipsies '). 
 A crowd of mulattoes and negroes hurriedly crowded up 
 to him. " One by one, " said the Obi, in that voice 
 which called to my mind some remembrances that I 
 could not quite collect. " If you come all together, al- 
 together you will enter the tomb. " 
 
 They stopped. Just then a coloured man dressed in 
 a white jacket and trousers, with a bandana handker- 
 chief tied round his head, entered the cave. Consterna- 
 tion was depicted on his countenance. 
 
 " Well, Rigaud, " said the general, " what is it ? * 
 
 Rigaud, sometimes called General Rigaud, was at the 
 head of the mulatto insurgents at Lagu, ■ — a man who 
 concealed much cunning under an appearance of candour, 
 and cruelty beneath the mask of humanity, I looked 
 upon him with much attention. 
 
 " General, " whispered Rigaud, but as I was close to 
 them I could catch every word, " on the outskirts of the 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 101 
 
 camp there is a messenger from Jean François who has 
 brought the news that Bouckmann has been killed in a 
 battle with the whites under M. de Touzard, and that 
 his head has been set upon the gates of the town as a 
 trophy. " 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked Biassou, his eyes sparkling with 
 delight at learning the diminution of the number of chiefs 
 and the consequent increase of his own importance. 
 
 " The emissary of Jean François has in addition a 
 message for you. " 
 
 " That is all right, " replied the general ; • but get rid 
 of this air of alarm, my good Bigaud. " 
 
 " But, " said Kigaud, " do you not fear the effect that 
 the death of Bouckmann will have on the army ? " 
 
 " You wish to appear more simple than you are ; but 
 you shall see what Biassou will do. Keep the messen- 
 ger back for a quarter of an hour, and all will go well. " 
 
 Then he approached the Obi, who during this conver- 
 sation had been exercising his functions as fortune-teller, 
 questioning the wondering negroes, examining the lines 
 on their hands and foreheads, and distributing more or 
 less good luck according to the size and colour of the 
 piece of money thrown by each negro into a silver-gilt 
 basin which stood on one side. Biassou whispered a 
 few words in his ear, and without making any reply the 
 Obi continued his prophetic observations. 
 
 " He, " cried the Obi, " who has in the middle of his 
 forehead a little square or triangular figure will make a 
 large fortune without work or toil. The figure of three 
 interlaced S's on the forehead is a fatal sign ; he who 
 has it will certainly be drowned if he does not carefully 
 avoid water. Four lines from the top of the nose, and 
 turning round two by two towards the eyes, announces 
 that you will be taken prisoner, and for a long time lan- 
 guish in a foreign prison. " 
 
102 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 Here the Obi paused. " Friends, " continued he, u 1 
 have observed this sign in the forehead of Bug-Jargal, 
 the brave chief of Morne-Eouge. " 
 
 These words, which convinced me that Bug-Jargal 
 had been made prisoner, were followed by a cry of grief 
 from a band of negroes who wore short scarlet breeches. 
 They belonged to the band of Morne-Rouge. 
 
 Then the Obi began again : " If you have on the right 
 side of the forehead in the line of the moon a mark re- 
 sembling a fork, do not remain idle, and avoid dissipa- 
 tion of all kinds. A small mark like the Arabic cipher 
 3 in the line of the sun betokens blows with a stick. " 
 
 An old negro here interrupted the magician, and 
 dragging himself to his feet begged him to dress his 
 wound. He had been wounded in the face, and one of his 
 eyes almost torn from the socket hung upon his cheek. 
 
 The Obi had forgotten him when going through 
 his patients. Directly, however, he saw him he cried 
 out : " Round marks on the right side of the forehead in 
 the line of the moon foretell misfortunes to the sight. 
 My man, let me see your hand. " 
 
 " Alas, excellent sir, " answered the other, " it is my 
 eye that I want you to look at. " 
 
 " Old man, " replied the Obi, crossly, " it is not neces- 
 sary to see your eye ; give me your hand, I say. " 
 
 The miserable wretch obeyed, moaning, " My eye ! 
 my eye ! " 
 
 " Good, " cried the Obi ; " if you see on the line of 
 life a spot surrounded by a circle you wilMose an eye. 
 There is the mark. You will become blind of an eye. " 
 
 " I am so already, " answered the negro, piteously. 
 
 But the Obi had merged the physician in the sorcerer, 
 and thrusting him roughly on one side continued : " Lis- 
 ten, my men. If the seven lines on the forehead are 
 slight, twisted, and lightly marked, they announce a 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 103 
 
 short life. He who has between his eyebrows on the 
 line of the moon the figure of two crossed arrows will be 
 killed in battle. If the line of life which intersects the 
 hand has a cross at its junction it foretells death on the 
 scaffold ; and here I must tell you, my brethren, " said 
 the Obi, interrupting himself, " that one of the bravest 
 defenders of our liberties, Bouckmann, has all these 
 fatal marks. " 
 
 At these words all the negroes held their breath, and 
 gazed on the impostor with glances of stupid admiration. 
 
 " Only, " continued the Obi, " I cannot reconcile the 
 two opposing signs, death on the battle-field and also on 
 the scaffold ; and yet my science is infallible. " 
 
 He stopped, and cast a meaning glance at Biassou, 
 who whispered something to an officer, who at once 
 quitted the cavern. 
 
 " A gaping mouth, " continued the Obi, turning on his 
 audience a malicious glance, " a slouching carriage, and 
 arms hanging down by the side, announces natural stu- 
 pidity, emptiness, and want of reasoning powers. " 
 
 Biassou gave a sneer of delight ; at that moment the 
 aide-de-camp returned, bringing with him a negro cov- 
 ered with mud and dust, whose feet, wounded by the 
 roots and flints, showed that he had just come off a long 
 journey. This was the messenger whose arrival Eigaud 
 had announced. He held in one hand a letter, and in 
 the other a document sealed with the design of a flaming 
 heart ; round it was a monogram, composed of the letters 
 M and N interlaced, no doubt intended as an emblem of 
 the union of the free mulattoes and the negro slaves. Un- 
 derneath I could read this motto, " Prejudice conquered ; 
 the rod of iron broken ; long live the king ! " This doc- 
 ument was a safe conduct given by Jean François. 
 
 The messenger handed his letter to Biassou, who has- 
 tily tore it open and perused the contents, then with an 
 
104 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 appearance of deep grief he exclaimed, " My brothers ! " 
 All bowed respectfully. 
 
 " My brothers, this is a dispatch to Jean Biassou, gen- 
 eralissimo of the conquered states, Brigadier-General of 
 his Catholic Majesty, from Jean François, Grand Ad- 
 miral of France, Lieutenant-General of the army of the 
 King of Spain and the Indies. Bouckmann, chief of the 
 hundred and twenty negroes of the Blue Mountain, 
 whose liberty was recognized by the Governor-General 
 of Belle Combe, has fallen in the glorious struggle 
 of liberty and humanity against tyranny and barbarism. 
 This gallant chief has been slain in an action with the 
 white brigands of the infamous Touzard. The monsters 
 have cut off his head, and have announced their inten- 
 tion of exposing it on a scaffold in the main square of 
 the town of Cap. Vengeance I " 
 
 A gloomy silence succeeded the reading of this dis- 
 patch ; but the Obi leaped on his altar, and waving his 
 white wand, exclaimed in accents of triumph, — 
 
 " Solomon, Zerobabel, Eleazar Thaleb, Cardau, Judas 
 Bowtharicht, Avenoes, Albert the Great, Bohabdil, Jean 
 de Hagul, Anna Baratio, Daniel Ogromof, Eachel Flintz, 
 Allornino, — I give you thanks ! The science of the 
 spirits has not deceived me. Sons, friends, brothers, 
 boys, children, mothers, all of you listen to me. What 
 was it that I predicted ? The marks on the forehead of 
 Bouckmann announced that his life would be a short 
 one, that he would die in battle, and that he would ap- 
 pear on the scaffold. The revelations of my art have 
 turned out true to the letter, and those points which 
 seemed the most obscure are now the most plain. 
 Brethren, wonder and admire ! " 
 
 The panic of the negroes changed during this dis- 
 course to a sort of admiring terror. They listened to 
 the Obi with a species of confidence mingled with fear, 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 105 
 
 while the latter, carried away by his own enthusiasm, 
 walked up and down the sugar-case, which presented 
 plenty of space for his short steps. 
 
 A sneer passed over Biassou's face as he addressed the 
 Obi : " Your reverence, since you know what is to come, 
 will you be good enough to tell me the future of Jeara 
 Biassou, Brigadier-General ? " 
 
 The Obi halted on the top of his strange altar, which 
 the credulity of the negroes looked upon as something 
 divine, and answered, " Venga vuestra merced" (" Com^ 
 your Excellency"). At this moment the Obi was the 
 most important man in the army ; the military power 
 \)owed to the spiritual. 
 
 " Your hand, General, " said the Obi, stooping to grasp 
 it. " Empezo " (" I begin"). The line of junction equally 
 marked in its full length promises you riches and hap- 
 piness ; the line of life strongly developed announces a 
 life exempt from ills, and a happy old age. Its narrow- 
 ness shows >our wisdom and your superior talents, as 
 well as the generosity of your heart; and lastly, I see 
 what chiromancers call the luckiest of all signs, — a 
 number of little wrinkles in the shape of a tree with its 
 branches extending upwards ; this promises health and 
 wealth ; it also prognosticates courage. General, it 
 curves in the direction of the little finger ; this is the 
 sign of wholesome severity. " 
 
 As he said this, the eyes of the Obi glanced at me 
 through the apertures of his veil, and I fancied that I 
 could catch a well-known voice under the habitual grav- 
 ity of his intonation, as he continued, — 
 
 " The line of health, marked with a number of small 
 circles, announces that you will have, for the sake of the 
 cause, to order a number of executions ; divided here by 
 a half-moon, it shows that you will be exposed to great 
 danger from ferocious beasts, that is to say from the 
 
106 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 whites, if you do not exterminate them. The line of for- 
 tune surrounded, like the line of life, by little branches 
 rising towards the upper part of the hand, confirms the 
 position of power and supremacy to which you have been 
 called ; turning to the right, it is a symbol of your ad- 
 ministrative capacity. The fifth line, that of the trian- 
 gle prolonged to the root of the middle finger, promises 
 you success in all your undertakings. Let me see your 
 fingers : the thumb marked with little lines from the 
 point to the nail shows that you will receive a noble 
 heritage, — that of the glory of the unfortunate Bouck- 
 mann, no doubt, " added the Obi, in & loud voice. " The 
 slight swelling at the root of the forefinger, lightly 
 marked with lines, promises honours and dignities. 
 The middle finger shows nothing. Your little finger is 
 covered with lines crossing one another ; you will van- 
 quish all your enemies, and rise high above your rivals. 
 These lines form the cross of Saint Andrew, a mark of 
 genius and foresight. I also notice the figure of a circle, 
 another token of your arrival at the highest power and 
 dignity. ' Happy the man, ' says Eleazar Thaleb, ' who 
 possesses all these signs. Destiny has its choicest gifts 
 in store for him, and his fortunate star announces the 
 talent which will bring him glory. ' And now, General, 
 let me look at your forehead. ' He, ' says Bachel Flintz, 
 of Bohemia, ' who bears on his forehead, on the line of 
 the sun, a square or a triangular mark, will make a great 
 fortune. ' Here is another prediction : ' If the mark is 
 on the right, it refers to an important succession ; ' that 
 of Bouckmann is, of course, again referred to. The 
 mark in the shape of a horseshoe between the eyebrows, 
 on the line of the moon, means that prompt vengeance 
 will be taken for insult and tyranny. I have this mark 
 as well as you. " 
 
 The curious manner in which the Obi uttered 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 107 
 
 these words, " I have this mark, w attracted my at- 
 tention. 
 
 " The mark of a lion's claw which you have on youi 
 left eyelid is only noticeable among men of undoubted 
 courage. But to close this, General Jean Biassou, your 
 forehead shows every sign of the most unexampled suc- 
 cess, and on it is a combination of lines which form the 
 letter M, the commencement of the name of the Blessed 
 Virgin. In whatever part of the forehead, and in what- 
 ever line of the face, such a sign appears, the significa- 
 tion is the same, — genius, glory, and power. He who 
 bears it will always bring success to whatever cause he 
 embraces, and those under his command will never have 
 to regret any loss. He alone is worth all the soldiers 
 of his* army. You, General, are the elect of Fate. " 
 
 " Thanks, your reverence, " said Biassou, preparing to 
 return to his mahogany throne. 
 
 " Stay a moment, General, " said the Obi, " I forgot 
 one last sign : The line of the sun, which is so strongly 
 marked on your forehead, proves that you understand 
 the way of the world; that you possess the wish to make 
 others happy ; that you have much liberality, and like 
 to do things in a magnificent manner. " 
 
 Biassou at once recognized his forgetfulness, and draw- 
 ing from his pocket a heavy purse, he threw it into the 
 plate, so as to prove that the line of the sun never lies. 
 
 But this miraculous horoscope of the general had pro- 
 duced its effect upon the army. All the insurgents, 
 who since the news of the death of Bouckmann attached 
 greater weight than ever to the words of the Obi, .lost 
 their feelings of uneasiness and became violently enthu- 
 siastic ; and trusting blindly in their infallible sorcerer 
 and their predestined chief, they began to shout, " Long 
 live our Obi < long live our general ! " 
 
 The Obi and Biassou glanced at each other; and 1 
 
108 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 almost thought I could hear the stifled laugh of the one 
 replied to by the sardonic chuckle of the other. I do 
 not know how it was, but this Obi tormented me dread- 
 fully ; I had a feeling that I had seen or heard him be- 
 fore, and I made up my mind to speak to him. 
 
 * Ho, Obi, your reverence, doctor, here ! " cried I to 
 him. He turned sharply round. " There is some one 
 here whose lot you have not yet cast, — it is mine. " 
 
 He crossed his arms over the silver sun that covered 
 his hairy breast, but he made no reply. 
 
 I continued : " I would gladly know what you proph- 
 esy with regard to my future, but your worthy comrades 
 have taken my watch and my purse, and I suppose you 
 will not give me a specimen of your skill for nothing. " 
 
 He advanced quickly to me, and muttered hoarsely in 
 my ear. " You deceive yourself ; let me see your hand. " 
 
 I gave it, looking fixedly at him; his eyes sparkled as 
 he bent over my hand. 
 
 " If the line of life, " said he, " is cut by two trans- 
 verse lines, it is the sign of immediate death : your life 
 will be a short one. If the line of health is not in the 
 centre of the hand, and if the line of life and the line 
 of fortune are united so as to form an angle, a natural 
 death cannot be looked for ; do not therefore, look for a 
 natural death ! If the bottom of the forefinger has a long 
 line cutting it, a violent death will be the result ; pre- 
 pare yourself for a violent death ! " 
 
 There was a ring of pleasure in his sepulchral voice as 
 he thus announced my death, but I listened to him with 
 contempt and indifference. 
 
 " Sorcerer," said I, with a disdainful smile," you are 
 skilful, for you are speaking of a certainty, w 
 
 Once more he came closer to me. " You doubt my 
 science, n cried he ; " listen, then, once more. The sev- 
 erance of the line of the sun on your forehead shows me 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 109 
 
 that you take an enemy for a friend, and a friend for an 
 
 enemy. " 
 
 These words seemed to refer to the treacherous Pierrot 
 whom I loved, but who had betrayed me, and to the 
 faithful Habibrah whom I had hated, and whose blood- 
 stained garments attested his fidelity and his devotion. 
 
 " What do you say ? * exclaimed I. 
 
 " Listen until the end, " continued the Obi. " I spoke 
 of the future ; listen to the past. The line of the moon 
 on your forehead is slightly curved ; that signifies that 
 your wife has been carried off. " 
 
 I trembled, and endeavoured to spring from my seat, 
 but my guards held me back. 
 
 " You have but little patience, " continued the sor- 
 cerer ; " listen to the end. The little cross that cuts the 
 extremity of that curve shows me all : your wife was 
 carried off on the very night of your nuptials. n 
 
 " Wretch S " cried I, " you know where she is ! Who 
 are you ? " 
 
 I strove again to free myself, and to tear away his 
 veil; but I had to yield to numbers and to force, and 
 had the mortification of seeing the mysterious Obi move 
 away repeating, " Do you believe me now ? Prepare foi 
 immediate death. " 
 
CHAPTER XXIX, 
 
 AS if to draw my attention from the perplexity into 
 which I had been thrown by the strange scene 
 that had just passed, a new and more terrible drama 
 succeeded to the farce that had been played between 
 Biassou and the Obi. Biassou had again taken his 
 place upon his mahogany throne, while Rigaud and the 
 Obi were seated on his right and left ; the latter, with 
 his arms crossed on his breast, seemed to have given 
 himself up to deep thought. Biassou and Rigaud were 
 chewing tobacco, and an aide-de-camp had just asked if 
 he should order a general march past of the forces, when 
 a tumultuous crowd of negroes, with hideous shouts, 
 arrived at the entranee of the grotto. They had brought 
 with them three white prisoners to be judged by Biassou, 
 but what they desired was easily shown by thé cries of 
 * Muerte ! Muerte ! " (" Death, death 1 ") the latter, no 
 doubt, emanating from the English negroes of Bouck- 
 mann's band, many of whom had by this time arrived 
 to join the French and Spanish negroes of Biassou. 
 
 The general with a gesture of his hand commanded 
 silence, and ordered the three captives to be brought to 
 the entrance of the grotto. I recognized two of them 
 with considerable surprise ; one was .the Citizen General 
 
 C , that philanthropist who was. in correspondence 
 
 with all the lovers of the negro race in different parts of 
 the globe, and who had proposed so cruel a mode of sup- 
 pressing the insurrection to the governor. The other 
 
BUG-JARGAL. Ill 
 
 was the planter of doubtful origin, who manifested so 
 great a dislike to the mulattoes, among whom the whites 
 insisted on classing him. The third appeared to belong 
 to a section called " poor whites, " — that is to say, 
 white men who had to work for their living ; he wore a 
 leathern apron, and his sleeves were turned up to his 
 elbows. All the prisoners had been taken at different 
 times, endeavouring to hide themselves in the mountains. 
 
 The " poor white " was the first one that was questioned. 
 
 " Who are you ? " asked Biassou. 
 
 " I am Jacques Belin, carpenter to the Hospital of the 
 Fathers, at Cap. " 
 
 Surprise and shame struggled for the mastery in the 
 features of the general. " Jacques Belin ! " repeated he, 
 biting his lips. 
 
 " Yes, " replied the carpenter ;• " do you not recognize 
 me?" 
 
 " Begin, " retorted the general, furiously, " by recog- 
 nizing me and saluting me. " 
 
 " I do not salute my slave, " replied the carpenter, 
 sturdily. 
 
 " Your slave, wretch ! " cried the general. 
 
 "Yes," replied the carpenter; " yes, I was your first 
 master. You pretend not to recognize me, but remem- 
 ber, Jean Biassou, that I sold you for thirty piastres in 
 the St. Domingo slave-market. " 
 
 An expression of concentrated rage passed over Bias- 
 sou's face. 
 
 " Well, " continued the carpenter, " you appear ashamed 
 of having worked for me ; ought not Jean Biassou to feel 
 proud of having belonged to Jacques Belin? Your 
 mother, the old idiot, has often swept out my shop ; but 
 at last I sold her to the major domo of the Hospital of 
 the Fathers, and she was so old and decrepit that he 
 would give me only thirty-two livres and six sous for 
 
112 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 her. There is my history and yours ; but it seems as if 
 the negroes and the mulattoes are growing proud, and 
 that you have forgotten the time when you served Mas- 
 ter Jacques Belin, the carpenter of Cap, on your knees. " 
 
 Biassou listened to him with that sardonic smile 
 which gave him the appearance of a tiger. 
 
 " Good ! " said he. Then turning to the negroes who 
 had captured Belin, " Get two trestles, two planks, and 
 a saw, and take this man away. Jacques Belin, carpen- 
 ter of Cap, thank me, for you shall have a true carpen- 
 ter's death. * 
 
 His sardonic laugh too fully explained the horrible 
 punishment that he destined for the pride of his former 
 master; but Jacques Belin did not blench, and turning 
 proudly to Biassou, cried, — 
 
 " Yes, I ought to thank you, for I bought you for 
 thirty piastres, and I got work out of you to a much 
 greater amount. " 
 
 They dragged him away. 
 
CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 MOEE dead than alive, the other two prisoners had 
 witnessed this frightful prologue to their own 
 fate. Their timid and terrified appearance contrasted 
 with the courageous audacity of the carpenter; every 
 limb quivered with affright. 
 
 Biassou looked at them one after the other with his 
 fox-like glance, and, as if he took a pleasure in prolong- 
 ing their agony, began a discussion with Eigaud upon 
 the different kinds of tobacco, — asserting that that of 
 Havana was only good for manufacturing cigars, while 
 for snuff he knew nothing better than the Spanish to- 
 bacco, two barrels of which Bouckmann had sent him, 
 being a portion of the plunder of M. Lebattre's stores 
 in the island of Tortue. Then, turning sharply upon 
 the Citizen General C , he asked him, — 
 
 " What do you think ? " 
 
 This sudden address utterly confounded the timid 
 citizen, and he stammered out, " General, I am entirely 
 of your Excellency's opinion." 
 
 " You flatter me," replied Biassou ; " I want your opin- 
 ion, not mine. Do you know any tobacco that makes 
 better snuff than that of M. Lebattres ? " 
 
 " No, my lord," answered C , whose evident terror 
 
 greatly amused Biassou. 
 
 "' General/ 'your Excellency/ 'my lord!' you are 
 an aristocrat." 
 
 "Oh, no, certainly not," exclaimed the citizen gen- 
 eral. "I am a good patriot of '91, and an ardent 
 negrophile." 
 
114 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " ' Negrophile ' ! " interrupted trie general ; " pray, what 
 is a ' negrophile ' ? " 
 
 " It is a friend of the blacks, " stammered the citizen. 
 
 " It is not enough to be a friend of the blacks ; you 
 must also be a friend of the men of colour. " 
 
 " Men of colour is what I should have said, " replied 
 the lover of the blacks, humbly. " I am mixed up with 
 all the most famous partisans of the negroes and the 
 mulattoes — " 
 
 Delighted at the opportunity of humiliating a white 
 man, Biassou again interrupted him : " ' Negroes and 
 mulattoes ' ! What do you mean, pray ? Do you wish 
 to insult me by making use of those terms of contempt 
 invented by the whites ? There are only men of colour 
 and blacks here, — do you understand that, Mr. Planter ? " 
 
 " It was a slip, a bad habit that I picked up in child- 
 hood, " answered C . " Pardon me, my lord, I had 
 
 no wish to offend you. " 
 
 " Leave off this my lording business ! I have already 
 told you that I don't like these aristocratic ways. " 
 
 C again endeavoured to excuse himself, and be- 
 gan to stammer out a fresh explanation. * If you knew, 
 citizen — " 
 
 "Citizen, indeed!" cried Biassou, in affected anger; 
 ;t I detest all this Jacobin jargon. Are you by chance 
 a Jacobin ? Remember that you are speaking to the 
 generalissimo of the king's troops. " 
 
 The unhappy partisan of the negro race was dumb- 
 founded, and did not know in what terms to address 
 this man, who equally disdained the titles of * my lord " 
 or " citizen, " — the aristocratic or republican modes of 
 salutation. Biassou, whose anger was only assumed, 
 cruelly enjoyed the predicament in which he had placed 
 C -. 
 
 " Alas, " at last said the citizen general, " you do not 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 115 
 
 do me justice, noble defender of the unwritten rights of 
 the larger portion of the human race ! " 
 
 In his perplexity to hit upon an acceptable mode of 
 address to a man who appeared to disdain all titles, he 
 had recourse to one of those sonorous periphrases which 
 the republicans occasionally substituted for the name 
 and title of the persons with whom they were in 
 conversation. 
 
 Biassou looked at him steadily and said, " You love 
 the blacks and the men of colour ? " 
 
 " Do I love - them ? " exclaimed the citizen C . 
 
 " Why, I correspond with Brissot and — " 
 
 Biassou interrupted him with a sardonic laugh. " Ha, 
 ha ! I am glad to find in you so trusty a friend to our 
 cause; you must, of course, thoroughly detest those 
 wretched colonists who punished our insurrection by a 
 series of the most cruel executions ; and you, of course 
 think with us that it is not the blacks, but the whites, 
 who are the true rebels, since they are in arms against 
 the laws of nature and humanity ? You must execrate 
 such monsters ! " 
 
 " I do execrate them, " answered C . 
 
 " Well, " continued Biassou, " what do you think of a 
 man who, in his endeavours to crush the last efforts of 
 the slaves to regain their liberty, placed the heads of 
 fifty black men on each side of the avenue that led to 
 his house ? " 
 
 C grew fearfully pale. 
 
 " What do you think of a white man who would pro- 
 pose to surround the town of Cap with a circle of negro 
 heads ? " 
 
 " Mercy, mercy ! " cried the terrified citizen general. 
 
 * Am I threatening you ? " replied Biassou, coldly. 
 * Let me finish, — a circle of heads that would reach 
 from Fort Picolet to Cape Caracol. What do you think 
 of that? Answer me!" 
 
116 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 The words of Biassou, * Do I threaten you." had given 
 
 a faint ray of hope to C , for he fancied that the 
 
 general might have heard of this terrible proposition 
 without knowing the author of it ; he therefore replied 
 with all the firmness that he could muster, in order to 
 remove any impression that the idea was his own : — 
 
 " I consider such a suggestion an atrocious crime. " 
 
 Biassou chuckled. " Good ! And what punishment 
 should be inflicted on the man who proposed it ? " 
 
 The unfortunate C hesitated. 
 
 " What! " cried Biassou, " you hesitate! Are you, or 
 are you not, the friend of the blacks ? " 
 
 Of the two alternatives the wretched man chose the 
 least threatening one, and seeing no hostile light in 
 Biassou 's eyes, he answered in a low voice: "The 
 guilty person deserves death. " 
 
 " Well answered, " replied Biassou, calmly, throwing 
 aside the tobacco that he had been chewing. His as- 
 sumed air of indifference had completely deceived the 
 unfortunate lover of the negro race, and he made another 
 effort to dissipate any suspicions which might have been 
 engendered against him. 
 
 " No one, " cried C , " has a more ardent desire 
 
 for your success than I. I correspond with Brissot and 
 Pruneau de Pomme-Gouge in France, with Magaw in 
 America, with Peter Paulus in Holland, with the Abbé 
 Tamburini in Italy, — " and he was continuing to unfold 
 the same string of names which he had formerly re- 
 peated, but with a different motive, at the council held 
 at M. de Blanchelande's, when Biassou interrupted him. 
 
 " What do I care with whom you correspond ? Tell 
 me rather where are your granaries and store-houses, for 
 my army has need of supplies. Your plantation is 
 doubtless a rich one, and your business must be lucra- 
 tive since you correspond with so many merchants. " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 117 
 
 C ventured timidly to remark : " Hero of human- 
 ity, they are not merchants, but philosophers, philan- 
 thropists, lovers of the race of blacks. " 
 
 " Then, " said Biassou, with a shake of his head, " if 
 you have nothing that can be plundered, what good are 
 
 you?" 
 
 This question afforded a chance of safety of which 
 
 G eagerly availed himself. " Illustrious warrior, " 
 
 exclaimed he, " have you an economist in your 
 
 army ? " 
 
 ' " What is that ? " asked the general. 
 
 " It is, " replied the prisoner, with as much calmness 
 as his fears would permit him to assume, " a most ne- 
 cessary man, — -one whom all appreciate, one who fol- 
 lows out and classes in their proper order the respective 
 material resources of an empire, and gives to each its 
 real value, increasing and improving them by combin- 
 ing their sources and results, and pouring them like 
 fertilizing streams into the main river of general util- 
 ity, which in its turn swells the great sea of public 
 prosperity. " 
 
 " Caramba ! " observed Biassou, leaning over towards 
 the Obi. " What the deuce does he mean by all these 
 words strung together like the beads on your rosary ? " 
 
 The Obi shrugged his shoulders in sign of ignorance 
 and disdain, as citizen C continued : — 
 
 ■ If you will permit me to observe, valiant chief of the 
 regenerators of St. Domingo, I have carefully studied the 
 works of the greatest economists of the world, — Turgot, 
 Eaynal, and Mirabeau the friend of man. I have put 
 their theories into practice ; I thoroughly understand 
 the science indispensable for the government of king- 
 doms and states — " 
 
 " The economist is not economical of his words^ " ob- 
 served Kigaud, with his bland and cunning smile. 
 
118 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " But you, eternal talker, " cried Biassou, * tell me, 
 have I any kingdoms or states to govern ? " 
 
 " Not yet perhaps, great man, but they will come ; 
 and besides, my knowledge descends to all the useful 
 details which are comprised in the interior economy of 
 an army. " 
 
 The general again interrupted him : * I have nothing 
 to do with the interior economy of the army ; I com- 
 mand it. " 
 
 " Good ! " replied the citizen ; " you shall bë the com- 
 mander, I will be the commissary. I have much special 
 knowledge as to the increase of cattle — " 
 
 " Do you think we are going to breed cattle ? " cried 
 Biassou, with his sardonic laugh. " No, my good fel- 
 low, we are content with eating them. When cattle 
 become scarce in the French colony I shall cross the 
 line of mountains on the frontier and take the Spanish 
 sheep and oxen from the plains of Cotury, of La Vega, 
 of St. Jago, and from the banks of the Yuna ; if neces- 
 sary I will go as far as the Island of Jamaica, and to 
 the back of the mountain of Cibos, and from the mouths of 
 the Neybe to those of Santo Domingo ; besides, I should 
 be glad to punish those infernal Spanish planters for 
 giving up Ogé to the French. You see I am not uneasy 
 as regards provisions, and so have no need of your 
 knowledge. " 
 
 This open declaration rather disconcerted the poor 
 economist ; he made, however, one more effort for safety. 
 " My studies, " said he, " have not been limited to the 
 reproduction of cattle ; I am acquainted with other spe- 
 cial branches of knowledge that may be very useful to 
 you. I can show you the method of manufacturing 
 pitch and working coal mines. " 
 
 " What do I care for that ? " exclaimed Biassou. 
 " When I want charcoal I burn a few leagues of forest. " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 119 
 
 " I can tell you the proper kinds of wood to use 
 for shipbuilding, — the chicarm and the sabieca for 
 the keels ; the yabas for the knees, the medlars for the 
 framework, the hacomas, the gaïacs, the cedars, the 
 acomas — " 
 
 " Que te lleven todos los demonios de los diez-y-siete 
 infernos Î " (" May the devils of the thirty-seven hells 
 fly away with you! ") cried Biassou, boiling over with 
 impatience. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my gracious patron, " said the 
 trembling economist, who did not understand Spanish. 
 
 " Listen, " said Biassou. " I don't want to build ves- 
 sels ; there is only one vacancy that I can offer you, and 
 that is not a very important one. I want a man to wait 
 upon me ; and now, Mr. Philosopher, tell me if that 
 will suit you. You will have to serve me on your 
 bended knees; you will prepare my pipe, cook my 
 calalou and turtle soup, and you will stand behind me 
 with a fan of peacock or parrot feathers like those two 
 pages. Now, will the situation suit you ? " 
 
 Citizen C , whose only desire was to save his life, 
 
 bent to the earth with a thousand expressions of joy and 
 gratitude. 
 
 " You accept my offer, then ? " asked Biassou. 
 
 " Can you ask such a question, generous master ? Do 
 you think that I should hesitate for a moment in accept- 
 ing so distinguished a post as that of being in constant 
 attendance on you ? " 
 
 At this reply the diabolical sneer of Biassou became 
 more pronounced. He rose up with an air of triumph, 
 crossed his arms on his chest, and thrusting aside with 
 his foot the white man's head who was prostrate on the 
 ground before him, he cried in a loud voice, — 
 
 " I am delighted at being able to fathom how far the 
 cowardice of the white man could go; I had already 
 
1 20 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 measured the extent of his cruelty. Citizen C , it 
 
 is to you that I owe this double experience. I knew 
 all ; how could you have been sufficiently besotted to 
 think that I did not ? It was you who presided at the 
 executions of June, July, and August ; it was you who 
 placed fifty negro heads on each side of your avenue; 
 it was you who proposed to slaughter the five hundred 
 aegroes who were confined in irons after the revolt, and 
 to encircle the town of Cap with their heads from Fort 
 Picolet to Cape Caracol. If you could have done it, you 
 would have placed my head among them ; and now you 
 think yourself lucky if I will take you as my body-servant. 
 No, no, I have more regard for your honour than you 
 yourself have, and I will not inflict this affront on you ; 
 prepare to die ! " 
 
 " At a gesture of Biassou's hand the negroes removed 
 the unhappy lover of the blacks to a position near me, 
 where, overwhelmed by the honour of his position, he 
 fell to the ground without being able to articulate a 
 word. 
 
CHAPTEK XXXI 
 
 " TT is your turn now, " said the general, turning to the 
 J- last of the prisoners, — the planter who was accused 
 by the white men of having black blood in his veins, 
 and who had on that account sent me a challenge. 
 
 A general clamour drowned the reply of the planter. 
 * Muerte ! Mort ! Touyé ! " cried the negroes, grinding 
 their teeth, and shaking their fists at the unhappy 
 captive. 
 
 " General, " said a mulatto, making himself heard 
 above the uproar, " he is a white man, and he must die. " 
 
 The miserable planter, by cries and gesticulations, 
 managed to edge in some words. " No, general ! no, my 
 brothers ! it is an infamous calumny. I am a mulatto 
 like yourselves, of mixed blood ; my mother was a ne- 
 gress, like your mothers and sisters. " 
 
 " He lies ! " cried the infuriated negroes ; " he is a 
 white man ; he has always detested the coloured 
 people. " 
 
 "Never!" retorted the prisoner; "it is the whites 
 that I detest. I have always said with you, ' Nègre ce 
 blan ; blan ce negre ' (' The negroes are the masters ; the 
 whites are the slaves '). " 
 
 " Not at all ! " cried the crowd, " not at all ! Kill the 
 white man, kill him! " 
 
 Still the unhappy wretch kept repeating in heart- 
 rending accents, " I am a mulatto, I am one of your- 
 selves. " 
 
 " Give me a proof," was Biassou's sole reply. 
 
122 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 * A proof ? " answered the prisoner, wildly ; " the proot 
 is that the whites have always despised me. " 
 
 " That may be true, " returned Biassou, " but you are 
 an insolent hound to tell us so." 
 
 A young mulatto stepped to the front and addressed 
 the planter in an excited manner. " That the whites 
 despised you is a fact; but, on the other hand, you 
 affected to look down upon the mulattoes among whom 
 they classed you. It has even been reported that you 
 once challenged a white man who called you a half- 
 caste. " 
 
 A howl of execration arose from the crowd, and the 
 cry of " death " was repeated more loudly than ever ; 
 while the planter, casting an appealing glance at me, 
 continued, with tears in his eyes, — 
 
 " It is a calumny ; my greatest glory and happiness is 
 in belonging to the blacks. I am a mulatto. " 
 
 " If you really were a mulatto, " observed Eigaud, 
 quietly, " you would not make use of such an expression. " 
 
 " How do I know what I am saying ? " asked the 
 panic-stricken wretch. "" General, the proof that I am of 
 mixed blood is in the black circle that you see round 
 the bottom of my nails. " 
 
 Biassou thrust aside the suppliant hand. " I do not 
 possess the knowledge of our chaplain, who can tell 
 what a man is by looking at his hand. But listen to 
 me: my soldiers accuse you — some, of being a white 
 man ; others, of being a false brother. If this is the 
 case you ought to die. You, on the other hand, assert 
 that you belong to our race, and that you have never 
 denied it. There is one method by which you can prove 
 your assertion. Take this dagger and stab these two 
 white prisoners ! " 
 
 As he spoke, with a wave of his hand, Biassou desig- 
 nated the citizen C and myself. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 123 
 
 The planter drew back from the dagger which, with 
 a devilish smile on his face, Biassou presented to him. 
 
 " What ! " said the general, " do you hesitate ? It is 
 your only chance of proving your assertion to the army 
 that you are not a white, and are one of ourselves. 
 Come, decide at once, for we have no time to lose. " 
 
 The prisoner's eyes glared wildly ; he stretched out 
 his hand towards the dagger, then let his arm fall again, 
 turning away his head, while every limb quivered with 
 emotion. 
 
 " Come, come ! " cried Biassou, in tones of impatience 
 and anger, " I am in a hurry. Choose : either kill 
 them, or die with them ! " 
 
 The planter remained motionless, as if he had been 
 turned to stone. 
 
 " Good ! " said Biassou, turning towards the negroes ; 
 " he does not wish to be the executioner, let him be the 
 victim. I can see that he is nothing but a white man ; 
 away with him ! " 
 
 The negroes advanced to seize him. This movement 
 impelled him to immediate choice between giving or 
 receiving death. Extreme cowardice produces a bastard 
 species of courage. Stepping forward, he snatched the 
 dagger that Biassou still held out to him, and without 
 giving himself time to reflect upon what he was about 
 to do, he precipitated himself like a tiger upon citizen 
 
 C , who was lying on the ground near me. Then a 
 
 terrible struggle commenced. The lover of the negro 
 race, who had at the conclusion of his interview with 
 Biassou remained plunged in a state of despair and stu- 
 por, had hardly noticed the scene between the general 
 and the planter, so absorbed was he in the thought of 
 his approaching death ; but when he saw the man rush 
 upon him, and the steel gleam above his head, the im- 
 minence of his danger aroused him at once. He started 
 
124 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 to his feet, grasped trie arm of his would-be murderer, 
 and exclaimed in a voice of terror, — 
 
 " Pardon, pardon ! What are you doing ? What have 
 I done ? " 
 
 " You must die, sir, " said the half-caste, fixing his 
 frenzied eyes upon his victim, and endeavouring to dis- 
 engage his arm. " Let me do it ; J will not hurt you. " 
 
 " Die by your hand, " cried the economist ; " but why ? 
 Spare me ! you wish perhaps to kill me because I used 
 to say that you were a mulatto. But spare my life, and 
 I vow that I will always declare that you are a white 
 man. Yes, you are white ; I will say so everywhere, 
 but spare me ' " 
 
 The unfortunate man had taken the wrong method of 
 suing for mercy. 
 
 " Silence, silence ! " cried the half-caste, furious at 
 the idea of the danger he was incurring, and fearing 
 that the negroes would hear the assertion. 
 
 But the other cried louder than ever that he knew 
 that he was a white man, and of good family. The 
 half-caste made a last effort to impose silence on him ; 
 then finding his efforts vain, he thrust aside his arms, 
 and pressed the dagger upon C 's breast. The un- 
 happy man felt the point of the weapon, and in his 
 despair bit the arm that was driving the dagger home. 
 
 " Monster ! wretch ' " exclaimed he, " you are murder- 
 ing me ! " Then casting a glance of supplication towards 
 Biassou, he cried, " Defend me, avenger of humanity ! " 
 
 Then the murderer pressed more heavily on the dag- 
 ger; a gush of blood bubbled over his fingers, and spat- 
 tered his face. The knees of the unhappy lover of the 
 negro race bent beneath him, his arms fell by his 
 side, his eyes closed, he uttered a stifled groan, and 
 fell dead. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXII. 
 
 T WAS paralyzed with horror at this scene, in which I 
 J- every moment expected to play an important part. 
 
 The " avenger of humanity " had gazed on the struggle 
 without a lineament of his features changing. When all 
 was over, he turned to his terrified pages. " More to- 
 bacco, " said he, and began to chew calmly. The Obi 
 and Rigaud were equally impassible, but the negroes 
 appeared terrified at the horrible drama that their gen- 
 eral had caused to be enacted before them. 
 
 One white man, however, yet remained to be slaugh- 
 tered ; my turn had come. I cast a glance upon the 
 murderer who was about to become my executioner, and 
 a feeling of pity came over me. His lips were violet, 
 his teeth chattered, a convulsive tremor caused every 
 limb to quiver. By a mechanical movement his hand 
 was continually passed over his forehead, as if to oblit- 
 erate the traces of the blood which had so liberally 
 sprinkled it ; he looked with an air of terrified wonder 
 at the bleeding body which lay at his feet, as though he 
 were unable to detach his strained eyeballs from the 
 spectacle of his victim. I waited for the moment when 
 he would resume his task of blood. The position was a 
 strange one : he had already tried to kill me and failed, 
 to prove that he was white ; and now he w T as going to 
 murder me to show that he was black. 
 
 * Come," said Biassou, addressing him, " this is good; 
 I am pleased with you, my friend. " Then glancing at 
 
126 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 me, he added, " You need not finish the other one ; and 
 now I declare you one of us, and name you executioner 
 to the army. " 
 
 At these words a negro stepped out of the ranks, and 
 bowing three times to the general, cried out in his jar- 
 gon, which I will spare you, — 
 
 " And I, General ? " 
 
 " Well, what do you want ? " asked Biassou. 
 
 " Are you going to do nothing for me, General ? " asked 
 the negro. " Here you give an important post to this 
 dog of a white, who murders to save his own skin, and 
 to prove that he is one of ourselves. _ Have you no post 
 to give to me, who am a true black ? " 
 
 This unexpected request seemed to embarrass Biassou, 
 and Eigaud whispered to him in French, — 
 
 " You can't satisfy him ; try to elude his request. " 
 
 " You wish for promotion, then ? " asked Biassou of 
 the true black. " Well, I am willing enough to grant 
 it to you. What grade do you wish for ? " 
 
 " I wish to be an officer. " 
 
 " An officer, eh ? And what are your claims to the 
 epaulet founded on ? " 
 
 " It was I, " answered the negro, emphatically, " who 
 set fire to the house of Lagoscelte in the first days of 
 August last. It was I who murdered M. Clement the 
 planter, and carried the head of his sugar refiner on my 
 pike. I killed ten white women and seven small chil- 
 dren, one of whom on the point of a spear served as a 
 standard for Bouckmann's brave blacks. Later on I 
 burnt alive the families of four colonists, whom I had 
 locked up in the strong room of Fort Galifet. My father 
 was broken on the wheel at Cap, my brother was hung 
 at Eocrow, and I narrowly escaped being shot. I have 
 burnt three coffee plantations, six indigo estates, and 
 two hunderd acres of sugar-cane ; I murdered my master, 
 M. Noé, and his mother— " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 127 
 
 " Spare us the recital of your services, " said Bigaud, 
 whose feigned benevolence was the mask for real cruelty, 
 but who was ferocious with decency, and could not lis- 
 ten to this cynical confession of deeds of violence. 
 
 " I could quote many others, " continued the negro, 
 proudly, " but you will no doubt consider that these are 
 sufficient to ensure my promotion, and to entitle me to 
 wear a gold epaulet like my comrades there, " pointing 
 to the staff of Biassou. 
 
 The general affected to reflect for a few minutes, and 
 then gravely addressed the negro. " I am satisfied with 
 your services, and should be pleased to promote you; 
 but you must satisfy me on one point. Do you under- 
 stand Latin ? " 
 
 The astonished negro opened his eyes widely. " Eh, 
 General ? " said he. 
 
 " Yes, " repeated Biassou, quickly ; " do you under- 
 stand Latin ? " 
 
 " La — Latin ? " stammered the astonished negro. 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes, Latin ; do you understand Latin ? " 
 said the cunning chief, and unfolding a banner upon 
 which was embroidered the verse from the Psalms, " In 
 exitu Israël de Egypto, " he added, " Explain the mean- 
 ing of these words. " 
 
 The negro, in complete ignorance of what was meant, 
 remained silent and motionless, fumbling with the 
 waistband of his trousers, while his astonished eyes 
 wandered from the banner to the general, and from the 
 general back again to the banner. 
 
 " Come, go on ! " exclaimed Biassou, impatiently. 
 
 The negro opened and shut his mouth several times, 
 scratched his head, and at last said slowly: "I don't 
 understand it, General. " 
 
 " How, scoundrel ! " cried Biassou ; " you wish to be' 
 come an officer, and you do not understand Latin ! " 
 
128 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " But, General — " stammered the puzzled negro. 
 
 " Silence ! " roared Biassou, whose anger appeared to 
 increase ; " I do not know what prevents me from hav- 
 ing you shot at once. Did you ever hear such a thing, 
 Kigaud ? He wants to be an officer, and does not under- 
 stand Latin. Well then, idiot, as you do not under- 
 stand, I will explain what is written on this banner: 
 In exitu — ' Every soldier ' — Israël — ' who does not 
 understand Latin ' — de Egypto — ' cannot be made an 
 officer. ' Is not that the translation, reverend sir ? " 
 
 The Obi bowed his head in the affirmative, and Bias- 
 sou continued, — 
 
 " This brother of whom you are jealous, and whom I 
 have appointed executioner, understands Latin ! " He 
 turned to the new executioner : " You know Latin, do 
 you not ? Prove it to this blockhead. What is the 
 meaning of Dominus voliscum ? " 
 
 The unhappy half-caste, roused from his gloomy rev- 
 erie by the dreaded voice, raised his head ; and though 
 his brain was still troubled by the cowardly murder 
 that he had just committed, terror compelled him to be 
 obedient. There was something pitiable in his manner, 
 as his mind went back to his schooldays, and in the 
 midst of his terrible feelings and remorse he repeated, 
 in the tone of a child saying its lesson, " Dominus vobis- 
 cum, --that means, ' May the Lord be with you. ' " 
 
 " Et cum spirito tuo, " added the mysterious Obi, 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Amen, " repeated Biassou ; then resuming his angry 
 manner, and mingling with his reproaches some Latin 
 phrases to impress the negroes with the superior attain- 
 ments of their chief, he cried : " Go to the rear rank, 
 sursum corda / Never attempt to enter the places of 
 those who know Latin, orate fratres, or I will have you 
 hung. JBonus, bona, honum ! " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 129 
 
 The astonished and terrified negro slunk away, greeted 
 by the hoots and hisses of his comrades, who were in- 
 dignant at his presumption, and impressed with the 
 deep learning of their general. 
 
 Burlesque though this scene was, it inspired me with 
 a very high idea of Biassou's administrative capabilities. 
 He had made ridicule the means of repressing ambi- 
 tious aspirations, which are always so dangerous to 
 authority in undisciplined bodies and his cunning gave 
 me a fuller idea of his mental powers, as well as of the 
 crass ignorance of the negroes under his command. 
 
CHAPTEK XXXIII. 
 
 r I ^HE breakfast hour had now arrived. The shell of 
 '-*- a turtle was placed before Biassou, in which 
 smoked a species of olla-podrida seasoned with bacon, 
 in which turtle -flesh took the place of lamb ; an enor- 
 mous carib cabbage floated on the surface of the stew, 
 and in addition, on strips of bark, were dried raisins 
 and water-melons, a loaf of maize bread ; a bottle of 
 wine, bound round with tarred string, completed the 
 feast. Biassou took from his pocket a few heads of 
 garlic and rubbed his bread with them; then, without 
 even ordering the bleeding form to be carried away, he 
 began to eat, inviting Eigaud to do the same. There 
 was something terrible in Biassou 's appetite. 
 
 The Obi did not join their repast ; like others in his 
 profession, I could easily understand that he never took 
 anything in public, to induce a belief among the negroes 
 that he lived entirely without food. 
 
 During breakfast, Biassou ordered one of his aides-de- 
 camp to direct the review of the army to commence, and 
 the different corps began to defile past in fairly good 
 order. The negroes of Morne-Bouge were the first ; there 
 were about four thousand of them, divided into com- 
 panies commanded by chiefs, who were distinguished 
 by their scarlet breeches and sashes. This force was 
 composed of tall and powerful negroes ; some of them 
 carried guns, axes, and sabres, but many had no other 
 arms than bows and arrows, and javelins rudely fash- 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 131 
 
 ioned by themselves. They carried no standard, and 
 moved past in mournful silence. As they marched on, 
 Biassou whispered to Eigaud, — 
 
 " When will Blanchelande's and Eouvray's shot and 
 shell free me from these bandits of Morne-Eouge ? I 
 hate them ; they are nearly all of them Congos, and they 
 only believe in killing in open battle, — following the 
 example of their chief Bug-Jargal, a young fool, who 
 plays at being generous and magnanimous. You do not 
 know him, Eigaud, and I hope you never will ; for the 
 whites have taken him prisoner, and they may perhaps 
 rid me of him, as they did of Bouckmann. " 
 
 " Speaking of Bouckmann, " answered Eigaud " there 
 are the negroes of Macaya just passing, and I see in 
 their ranks the negro whom Jean François sent to you 
 with the news of Bouckmann 's death. Do you know 
 that that man might upset all the prophecies of the Obi, 
 if he were to say that he had been kept for more than 
 half an hour at the outposts, and that he had told nie 
 the news before you sent for him ? " 
 
 " Diabolo ! " answered Biassou, you are in the right, 
 my friend; this man's mouth must be shut. Wait a 
 bit. " 
 
 Then raising his voice he called out " Macaya ! " The 
 leader of the division left the ranks, and approached the 
 general with the stock of his firelock reversed, in token 
 of respect. 
 
 " Make that man who does not belong to your division 
 leave his rank and come forward. " 
 
 Macaya speedily brought the messenger of Jean 
 François before the general, who at once assumed that 
 appearance of anger which he knew so well how to 
 simulate. 
 
 " Who are you ? " cried he. 
 
 " General, I am a black. " 
 
132 BUG-JAÏfcGAL. 
 
 u Carramha ! I can see that well enough ; but what is 
 your name ? " 
 
 " My name is Vavelan ; my patron saint is Sabas, 
 deacon and martyr, whose feast is on the twentieth day 
 before the nativity of our Lord. " 
 
 Biassou interrupted him: "How dare you present 
 yourself on parade, amidst shining muskets and white 
 cross-belts, with your sword without a sheath, your 
 breeches torn, and your feet muddy ? " 
 
 " General, " answered the negro, " it is not my fault. 
 T was dispatched by the Grand Admiral, Jean François, 
 to bring you the news of the death of the chief of the 
 English negroes ; and if my clothes are torn and my feet 
 bemired, it is because I have run, without stopping to 
 take breath, to bring you the news as soon as possible ; 
 but they detained me at — " 
 
 Biassou frowned. " I did not ask you about that, but 
 how you dared to enter the ranks in so unbecoming a 
 dress. Commend your soul to Saint Sabas, your patron, 
 the deacon and martyr, and go and get yourself shot. " 
 
 And here I had another proof of the ascendency that 
 Biassou exercised over the insurgents. The unfortunate 
 man who was ordered to go and get himself executed 
 did not utter a protest ; he bowed his head, crossed his 
 arms on his breast, saluted his pitiless judge three 
 times, and after having knelt to the Obi, who gave him 
 plenary absolution, he left the cavern. A few minutes 
 afterwards a volley of musketry told us that Biassou's 
 commands had been obeyed, and that the negro was no 
 more. 
 
 Freed from all sources of uneasiness, the general 
 turned to Eigaud, a gleam of pleasure in his eye, and 
 gave a triumphant chuckle which seemed to say, " Ad- 
 mire me ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 BUT the review still continued. This army, which 
 had presented so curious a spectacle in camp, had 
 a no less extraordinary appearance under arms. Some- 
 times a horde of almost naked negroes would come along 
 armed with clubs and tomahawks, marching to the 
 notes of a goat's horn like mere savages ; then would 
 come regiments of mulattoes, dressed in the English or 
 Spanish manner, well armed and equipped, regulating 
 their pace by the roll of the drum ; then a band of né- 
 gresses and their children carrying forks and. spits; 
 then some tag-rag, bent under the weight of an old mus- 
 ket without lock or barrel ; then griotes with their feath- 
 ered aprons, griots dancing with hideous contortions, 
 and singing incoherent airs to the accompaniment of 
 guitars, tomtoms, and balafos ; then would be a proces- 
 sion of priests, or Obi men, of half-castes, quarter-castes, 
 free mulattoes, or wandering hordes of escaped slaves 
 with a proud look of liberty on their faces and shining 
 muskets on their shoulders, dragging in their ranks 
 well -filled wagons, or some artillery taken from the 
 whites, which were looked on more as trophies than as 
 military engines, and yelling out at the top of their voices 
 the songs of " Grand-Pré " and " Oua-Nassé. " Above 
 the heads of all floated flags, banners, and standards of 
 every form, colour, and device, — white, red, tricolour, 
 with the lilies, with th c iap of liberty, bearing inscrip- 
 tions : " Death to Priests and Nobles ! " " Long live 
 
134 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 Eeligion ! " " Liberty and Equality ! " " Long live the 
 King ! " " Viva Espana ! " " No more Tyrants ! " etc. , 
 — a confusion of sentiments which showed that the in- 
 surgents were a mere crowd collected together, with 
 ideas as different as were the men who composed it. 
 On passing in their turn before the cave the companies 
 drooped their banners, and Biassou returned the salute. 
 He addressed every band either in praise or censure, and 
 each word that dropped from his mouth was received by 
 his men with fanatical respect or superstitious dread. 
 
 The wave of savage soldiery passed away at last. I 
 confess that the sight that had at first afforded some dis- 
 traction to my feelings finished by wearying me. The 
 sun went down as the last ranks filed away, and his last 
 rays cast a copper-coloured hue upon the granite portals 
 of the cave. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 BIASSOU seemed to be dreaming. When the review 
 was concluded, his last orders had been given, and 
 the insurgents had retired to the huts, he condescended 
 to address me again. 
 
 " Young man, " said he, " you have now had the 
 means of judging of my power and genius ; the time has 
 now arrived for you to bear the report to Leogri. " 
 
 " It is not my fault that he has not had it earlier, " 
 answered I, coldly. 
 
 " You are right," replied Biassou. He then paused, as 
 if to note what the effect would be upon me of what he 
 was going to say, and then added : " But it will depend 
 upon yourself whether you ever carry the message or not. " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " exclaimed I, in astonishment. 
 
 " Why, " replied he, " that your life depends upon 
 yourself, and that you can save it if you will. " 
 
 This sudden paroxysm of pity — the first, and no 
 doubt the last, which had ever possessed Biassou — sur- 
 prised me much, and astonished the Obi so greatly that 
 he leaped from the position which he had so long main- 
 tained, and placing himself face to face with the general 
 addressed him in angry tones : — 
 
 " What are you saying ? Have you forgotten your 
 promise ? Neither God nor you can dispose of this 
 life, for it belongs to me. n 
 
 At that instant I thought that I recognized the voice ; 
 but it was only a fleeting recollection, and in a moment 
 had passed away. 
 
 Biassou got up from his seat without betraying any 
 anger, spoke for a few moments in whispers to the Obi, 
 
136 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 and pointed to the black flag which I had already re- 
 marked ; and after a little more conversation the Obi 
 nodded in sign of assent. Both of them then reverted to 
 their former positions. 
 
 " Listen to me, " said the general, drawing from his 
 pocket the dispatch which Jean François had sent to 
 him. " Things are going ill. Bouckmann has been 
 killed. The whites have slaughtered more than two 
 thousand of our men in the district of Cul-de-Sac. The 
 colonists are continuing to establish and to fortify military 
 posts. By our own folly we have lost the chance of taking 
 Cap, and it will be long before another occasion will pre- 
 sent itself. On the eastern side our line of march has been 
 cut by a river, and the whites have defended the pas- 
 sage by a pontoon battery and a fortified camp. On the 
 south side they have planted artillery on the mountain- 
 ous road called the Haut-du-Cap. The position is, in 
 addition, defended by a strong stockade, at which all 
 the inhabitants have laboured, and in front of it there 
 is a strong chevaux-de-frise. Cap, therefore, is beyond 
 our reach. Our ambush in the ravines of Dompte- 
 Mulâtre was a failure ; and, to acid to all these misfor- 
 tunes, the Siamese fever has devastated our camps. In 
 consequence, the Grand Admiral (and I agree with him) 
 has decided to treat with the Governor Blanchelande 
 and the Colonial Assembly. Here is the letter that we 
 have addressed to the Assembly on this matter. Listen ! " 
 
 Gentlemen of the House of Deputies, — In the great 
 misfortunes which have afflicted this great and important col- 
 ony we have also been enveloped, and there remains nothing 
 for us to say in justification of our conduct. One day you 
 will render us the justice that our conduct merits. 
 
 According to us, the King of Spain is a good king, who 
 treats us well, and has testified it to us by rewards; so we 
 shall continue to serve him with zeal and devotion. 
 
BUG-JARGAL, 137 
 
 We see by the law of Sept. 28, 1791, that the National 
 Assembly and the King have agreed to settle definitely the 
 status of slaves, and the political situation of people of colour. 
 We will defend the decrees of the National Assembly with 
 the last drop of our blood. 
 
 It would be most interesting to us if you would declare, by 
 an order sanctioned by your general, as to your intentions 
 regarding the position of the slaves. Knowing that they are 
 the objects of your solicitude through their chiefs, who send 
 you this, they will be satisfied if the relations now broken 
 are once again resumed. 
 
 Do not count, gentlemen Deputies, upon our consenting to 
 take up arms for the revolutionary Assemblies. We are the 
 subjects of three kings, — the King of Congo, the born mas- 
 ter of all the blacks; the King of France, who represents our 
 fathers; and the King of Spain, who is the representative 
 of our mothers. These three kings are the descendants of 
 those who, conducted by a star, worshipped the Man God. If 
 we were to consent to serve the Assemblies, we might be 
 forced to take up arms and to make war against our brothers, 
 the subjects of those three kings to whom we have sworn 
 fidelity. And, besides, we do not know what is meant by 
 the will of the Nation, seeing that since the world has been 
 in existence we have always executed that of the King. The 
 Prince of France loves us; the King of Spain never ceases 
 to help us. We aid them, — they aid us; it is the cause of 
 humanity; and, besides, if these kings should fail us we 
 could soon enthrone a king of our own. 
 
 Such are our intentions, although we now consent to make 
 peace. 
 
 {Signed) Jean François, General. 
 
 Biassou, Brigadier. 
 Desprez, \ 
 
 Manzeau, I Commissaires, 
 Toussaint, l ad hoc. 1 
 Aubert, ) 
 
 1 It is a fact that thifc ridiculously characteristic letter was sent to tha 
 Assembly. 
 
138 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " You see, " said Biassou, after he had read this piece 
 of negro diplomacy, every word of which has remained 
 imprinted on my memory, " that our intentions are 
 peaceable ; but this is what we want you to do : Neither 
 Jean François nor I have been brought up in the schools 
 of the whites, or learned the niceties of their language ; 
 we know how to light, but not how to write. Now, we 
 do not wish that there should be anything in our letter 
 at which our former masters can laugh. You seem to 
 have learned these frivolous accomplishments in which 
 we are lacking. Correct any faults you may find in this 
 dispatch, so that it may excite no derision among the 
 whites, and — I will give you your life! " 
 
 This proposition of becoming the corrector of Biassou 's 
 faults of spelling and composition was too repugnant to 
 my pride for me to hesitate for a moment ; and besides, 
 what did I care for life ? I declined his offer. He ap- 
 peared surprised. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed he, " you prefer death to scrawl- 
 ing a few marks with a pen on a piece of paper ? " 
 
 " Yes, " replied I. 
 
 My determination seemed to embarrass him. After a 
 few moments of thought he again addressed me : " Lis- 
 ten, young fool ! I am less obstinate than you are ; I 
 give you until to-morrow evening, up to the setting of 
 the sun, when you shall again be brought before me. 
 Think well, then, before you refuse to obey my wishes. 
 Adieu. Let night bring reflection to you ; and remem- 
 ber that with us death is not simply death, — much 
 comes before you reach it. " 
 
 The frightful sardonic grin with which he concluded 
 his last speech too plainly brought to my recollection 
 the awful tortures which it was Biassou ? s greatest pleas- 
 ure to inflict upon his prisoners. 
 
 " Candi, " continued Biassou, " remove the prisoner. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 139 
 
 and give his in charge to the men of Morne-Kouge. I 
 wish him to live for another day, and perhaps my other 
 soldiers would not have the patience to let him do so. " 
 
 The mulatto Candi, who commanded the guard, caused 
 my arms to be bound behind my back ; a soldier took 
 hold of the end of the cord, and we left the grotto. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 "Xll^HEN any extraordinary events, unexpected anxi- 
 W eties or catastrophies, intrude themselves sud- 
 denly into a life up to that period peaceful and happy, 
 these unexpected emotions interrupt the repose of the 
 soul which lay dreaming in the monotony of prosperity. 
 Misfortune which comes on you in this manner does not 
 seem like an awakening from bliss, but rather like a 
 dream of evil. With the man who has been invariably 
 happy, despair begins with stupor. Unexpected misery 
 is like cramp, — it clasps, and deadens everything. 
 Men, acts, and things at that time pass before us like a 
 fantastic apparition, and move along as if in a dream. 
 Everything in the horizon of our life is changed, both 
 the atmosphere and the perspective ; but it still goes on 
 for a long time before our eyes have lost that sort of 
 luminous image of past happiness which follows in its 
 train, and interposes without cessation between it and 
 the sombre present. Then everything that is appears to 
 be unreal and ridiculous, and we can scarcely believe in 
 our own existence, because we find nothing around us 
 that formerly used to compose our life, and we cannot 
 understand how all can have gone away without taking 
 us with it, and why nothing of our life remains to us. 
 
 Were this strained position of the soul to continue 
 long, it would disturb the equilibrium of the brain and 
 become madness, — a state happier perhaps than that 
 which remains, for life then is nothing but a vision of 
 past misfortune, acting like a ghost. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXVII 
 
 GENTLEMEN, I hardly know why I lay before you 
 my ideas upon such a subject ; they are not those 
 which you understand, or can be made to understand. 
 To comprehend them thoroughly, you must have gone 
 through what I have. But such was the state of my 
 mind when the guards of Biassou handed me over to 
 the , negroes of Morne-Eouge. I was still in a dream, 
 — it appeared as if one body of phantoms passed me 
 over to another ; and without opposing any resistance I 
 permitted them to bind me by the middle to a tree. 
 They then gave me some boiled potatoes, which I ate 
 with the mechanical instinct that God grants to man 
 even in the midst of overwhelming thought. 
 
 The darkness had now come on, and my guards took 
 refuge in their huts, — with the exception of half-a- 
 dozen who remained with me, lying before a large fire 
 that they had lighted to preserve themselves from the 
 cold night-air. In a few moments they were all buried 
 in profound sleep. 
 
 The state of physical weakness into which I had 
 fallen caused my thoughts to wander in a strange man- 
 ner. I thought of those calm and peaceful days which 
 but a few weeks ago I had passed with Marie, without 
 being able to foresee any future but one of continued 
 happiness. I compared them with the day that had 
 just expired, — a day in which so many strange events 
 had occurred as almost to make me wonder whether I 
 was not labouring under some delusion. I had been 
 
142 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 three times condemned to death, and still remained un- 
 der sentence. I thought of my future, bounded only by 
 the morrow, and which offered nothing but misfortune 
 and a death happily near at hand. I seemed to be the 
 victim of some terrible nightmare. Again and again 1 
 asked myself if all that had happened was real : was I 
 really in the power of the sanguinary Biassou, and was my 
 Marie lost to me forever ? Could this prisoner, guarded 
 by six savages, bound to a tree, and condemned to cer- 
 tain death, really be I \ In spite of all my efforts to 
 repel them, the thoughts of Marie would force them- 
 selves upon me. In anguish I thought of her fate ; I 
 strained my bonds in my efforts to break them, and to 
 fly to her succour, ever hoping that the terrible dream 
 would pass away, and that Heaven \70uld not permit all 
 the horrors that I dreaded to fall upon the head of her 
 who had been united to me in a sacred bond. In my 
 sad preoccupation the thought of Pierrot returned to me, 
 and rage nearly took away my senses ; the pulses of my 
 temples throbbed nearly to bursting. I hated him, I 
 cursed him ; I despised myself for having ever had 
 friendship for Pierrot at the same time I had felt love 
 for Marie ; and without caring to seek for the motive 
 which had urged him to cast himself into the waters of 
 Grande-Eiviere, I wept because he had escaped me. He 
 was dead, and I was about to die, and all that I re- 
 gretted was that I had been unable to wreak my ven- 
 geance upon him. 
 
 During the state of semi-somnolency into which my 
 weakness had plunged me, these thoughts passed through 
 my brain. I do not know how long it lasted, but I was 
 aroused by a man's voice singing distinctly, but at some 
 distance, the old Spanish song, " Yo que soy contraban- 
 dists " Quivering with emotion I opened my eyes ; all 
 was dark around me, the negroes slept, the fire was 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 143 
 
 dying down. I could hear nothing more. I fancied 
 that the voice must have been a dream, and my sleep- 
 laden eyelids closed again. In a second I opened them ; 
 lor again I heard the voice singing sadly, but much 
 nearer, the same song, — 
 
 " 'T was on the field of Ocanen 
 That I fell in their power, 
 To Cotadilla taken, 
 
 Unhappy from that hour." 
 
 This time it was not a charm, — it was Pierrot's 
 voice. A few moments elapsed ; then it rose again 
 through the silence and the gloom, and once more I 
 heard the well-known air of " Yo que soy contraban- 
 dista, " A dog ran eagerly to greet me, and rolled at 
 my feet in token of welcome ; it was Eask ! A tall 
 negro stood facing me, and the glimmer of the fire threw 
 his shadow, swelled to colossal proportions, upon the 
 sward. It was Pierrot 
 
 The thirst for vengeance fired my brain ; surprise ren- 
 dered me motionless and dumb. I was not asleep. 
 Could the dead return ? If not a dream, it must be an 
 apparition. I turned from him with horror. 
 
 When he saw me do this, his head sank upon his 
 breast. " Brother, " murmured he, " you promised that 
 you would never doubt me when you heard me sing that 
 song. My brother, have you forgotten your promise ? " 
 
 Page restored the power of speech to me. u Monster ! " 
 exclaimed I, " do I see you at last ? Butcher, murderer 
 of my uncle, ravisher of Marie, dare you call me 
 your brother ? Do not venture to approach me ! " 
 
 I forgot that I was too securely tied to make the 
 slightest movement, and glanced to my left side as 
 though to seek my sword. 
 
 My intention did not escape him, and he continued 
 
144 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 in a sorrowful tone of voice : " No, I will not come near 
 you; you are unhappy and I pity you, — while you have 
 no pity for me, though I am much more wretched than 
 you are. " 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders ; he understood my feelings, 
 and in a half dreamy manner continued, — 
 
 " Yes, you have lost much : but, believe me, I have 
 lost more than you have. " 
 
 But the sound of our conversation had aroused the 
 negro guard. Perceiving a stranger, they leaped to their 
 feet and seized their weapons ; but as soon as they recog- 
 nized the intruder they uttered a cry of surprise and joy, 
 and cast themselves at his feet, striking the ground with 
 their foreheads. 
 
 But neither the homage that the negroes rendered to 
 Pierrot, nor the fondlings of Eask, made any impression 
 upon me at the moment. I was boiling over with pas- 
 sion, and maddened at the bonds that restrained me , 
 and at length my fury found words. " Oh, how un- 
 happy I am ! " I exclaimed, shedding tears of rage. " 1 
 was grieving because I thought that this wretch had 
 committed suicide, and robbed me of my just revenge ; 
 and now he is here to mock me, living and breathing 
 under my very eyes, and I am powerless to stab him to 
 the heart ! Is there no One to free me from these ac- 
 cursed cords ? " 
 
 Pierrot turned to the negroes, who were still prostrate 
 before him. 
 
 " Comrades, " said he, " release the prisoner ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 HE was promptly obeyed. With the greatest eager 
 ness, my guards cut asunder the ropes that con* 
 fined me. I rose up free ; but I remained motionless, 
 for surprise rooted me to the spot. 
 
 " That is not all, " said Pierrot ; and snatching a dag- 
 ger from one of the negroes, he handed it to me. " You 
 can now have your wish. Heaven would not be pleased 
 should I dispute your right to dispose of my life. Three 
 times you have preserved it. Strike ! it is yours, I say ; 
 and if you wish, strike ! " 
 
 There was no sign of anger or of bitterness in his 
 face ; he appeared resigned and mournful. The very 
 vengeance offered to me by the man with whom I had 
 so much longed to stand face to face, prevented my 
 seizing the opportunity. I felt that all my hatred for 
 Pierrot, all my love for Marie, could not induce me to 
 commit a cowardly murder; besides, however damning 
 appearances might be, a voice from the depths of my 
 heart warned me that no criminal, no guilty man, would 
 thus dare to stand before me and brave my vengeance. 
 Shall I confess it to you, — there was a certain imperi- 
 ous fascination about this extraordinary being which 
 conquered me in spite of myself. I pushed aside the 
 dagger he offered to me. 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried I, " I wish to kill you in fair fight ; 
 but I am no assassin. Defend yourself ! " 
 
 " Defend myself ' " replied he, in tones of astonish* 
 ment, " and against whom ? " 
 
146 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " Against me ! " 
 
 He started back. " Against you ! That is the only 
 thing in which I cannot obey you. Look at Eask there : 
 I could easily kill him, for he would let me do it ; but 
 as for making him fight me, the thing would be impos- 
 sible, — he would not understand me if I told him to do 
 so. I do not understand you ; in your case I am Eask. " 
 
 After a short silence, he added : " I see the gleam of 
 hate in your eyes, as you once saw it in mine. I know 
 that you have suffered much ; that your uncle has been 
 murdered, your plantations burned, your friends slaugh- 
 tered. Yes, they have plundered your house, and devas- 
 tated your inheritance ; but it was not I that did these 
 things, it was my people. Listen to me. I one day 
 told you that your people had done me much injury; 
 you said that you must not be blamed for the acts of 
 others. What was my reply ? " 
 
 His face grew brighter as he awaited my reply, evi- 
 dently expecting that I would embrace him ; but fixing 
 an angry gaze upon him, I answered, — 
 
 " You disdain all responsibility as to the acts of your 
 people, but you say nothing about what you have vour- 
 self done. " 
 
 " What have I done ? " asked he. 
 
 I stepped up close to him, and in a voice of thunder 
 I demanded, " Where is Marie ? What have you done 
 with Marie ? " 
 
 At this question a cloud passed over his face ; he 
 seemed momentarily embarrassed. At last he spoke. 
 " Marie ! " said he ; " yes, you are right. But too many 
 ears listen to us here. " 
 
 His embarrassment, and the words " You are right, " 
 raised the hell of jealousy in my heart; yet still he 
 gazed upon me with a perfectly open countenance, and 
 in a voice trembling with emotion, said, — 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 147 
 
 * Do not suspect me, I implore you ! Besides, I will 
 fcell you everything ; love me, .as I love you, witn per- 
 fect trust. " He paused to mark the effect of his words, 
 and then added tenderly, " May I not again call you 
 brother ? " 
 
 But I was a prey to my jealous feelings, and his 
 friendly words seemed to me but the deep machinations 
 of a hypocrite, and only served to exasperate me more. 
 " Dare you recall the time when you did so, you mon- 
 ster of ingratitude ? " I exclaimed. 
 
 He interrupted me, a tear shining in his eye : " It is 
 not I who am ungrateful. " 
 
 " Well, then, " I continued, " tell me what you have 
 done with Marie ! " 
 
 " Not here, . not here ! " answered he, — * other ears 
 than ours listen to our words ; besides, you would not 
 believe me, and time presses. The day has come, and 
 you must be removed from this. All is at an end. 
 Since you doubt me, far better would it have been for 
 you to take the dagger and finish all ; but wait a little 
 before you take what you call your vengeance, — I must 
 first free you. Come with me to Biassou. " 
 
 His mauner, both in speaking and acting, concealed a 
 mystery which I could not understand. In spite of all 
 my prejudices against the man, his voice always made 
 my heart vibrate. In listening to him, a certain hidden 
 power that he possessed subjugated me. I found myself 
 hesitating between vengeance and pity, between the 
 bitterest distrust and the blindest confidence. I fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 WE left the camp of the negroes of Morne-Rouge. 
 I could not help thinking it strange to find my- 
 self at perfect liberty among a horde of savages, in a 
 spot where the evening before each man had seemed 
 only too ready to shed my blood. Far from seeking to 
 bar our progress, both the negroes and the mulattoes 
 prostrated themselves on all sides, with exclamations of 
 surprise, joy, and respect. I was ignorant what rank 
 Pierrot held in the army of the insurgents ; but I re- 
 membered the influence that he used to exercise over 
 his companions in slavery, and this appeared to me 
 to account for the respect with which he was now 
 treated. 
 
 On our arrival at the guard before the grotto, the 
 mulatto Candi advanced before us with threatening ges- 
 tures, demanding how we dared approach so near the 
 general's quarters; but when he came close enough to 
 recognize my conductor, he hurriedly removed his gold- 
 laced cap, as though terrified at his own audacity, bowed 
 to the ground, and at once introduced us into Biassou's 
 presence with a thousand apologies, of which Pierrot 
 took no heed. 
 
 The respect with which the simple negro soldiers had 
 treated Pierrot excited my surprise very little ; but see- 
 ing Candi, one of the principal officers of the army, 
 humiliate himself thus before my uncle's slave, made 
 me ask myself who this man could be whose power was 
 illimitable. How much more astonished was I then, 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 149 
 
 when, upon being introduced into the presence of Bias- 
 sou, — who was alone when we entered, and was quietly 
 enjoying his calalou, — he started to his feet, concealing 
 disappointment and surprise under the appearance of 
 profound respect, bowed humbly to my companion, and 
 offered him his mahogany throne. 
 
 Pierrot declined it. " No, Jean Biassou, " said he. 
 " I have not come to take your place, but simply to ask 
 a favour at your hands. " 
 
 "Your Highness," answered Biassou, redoubling his 
 obeisances, " you know well that all Jean Biassou has is 
 yours, and that you can dispose as freely of all as you can 
 of Jean Biassou himself. " 
 
 " I do not ask for so much, " replied Pierrot, quickly ; 
 " all I ask is the life and liberty of this prisoner, " and 
 he pointed to me. 
 
 For a moment Biassou appeared embarrassed, but he 
 speedily recovered himself. * Your servant is in de- 
 spair, your Highness ; for you ask of him, to his great 
 regret, more than he can grant. He is not Jean Bias 
 sou's prisoner, does not belong to Jean Biassou, and has 
 nothing to do with Jean Biassou. " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Pierrot in severe tones, 
 " by saying that he does not belong to you ? Does any 
 one else hold authority here except you? " 
 
 " Alas, yes, your Highness. " 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " My army. * 
 
 The sly and obsequious manner in which Biassou 
 eluded the frank and haughty questions of Pierrot 
 showed, had it depended solely upon himself, that he 
 would gladly have treated his visitor with far less re- 
 spect than he felt himself now compelled to do. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Pierrot, " your army ! And do 
 not you command it ? " 
 
150 BUG-JARGAL 
 
 Biassou, with every appearance of sincerity. replied s 
 * Does your Highness really think that we can command 
 men who are in insurrection because they will not 
 obey 1 " 
 
 I cared too little for my life to break the silence 
 which I had imposed upon myself, else, having seen the 
 day before the despotic authority that Biassou exercised 
 over his men, I might have contradicted his assertions, 
 and laid bare his duplicity to Pierrot. 
 
 " Well, if you have no authority over your men, and 
 if they are your masters what reason can they have for 
 hating your prisoner ? " 
 
 " Bouckmann has been killed by the white troops, " 
 answered Biassou, endeavouring to conceal his sardonic 
 smile under a mask of sorrow, " and my men are deter- 
 mined to avenge upon this white man the death of the 
 chief of the Jamaica negroes. They wish to show trophy 
 against trophy, and desire that the head of this young 
 officer should serve as a counterpoise to the head of 
 Bouckmann in the scales in which the good Giu weighs 
 both parties. " 
 
 " Do you still continue to carry on this horrible sys- 
 tem of reprisals ? Listen to me, Jean Biassou ! it is 
 these cruelties that are the ruin of our just cause. 
 Prisoner as I was in the camp of the whites (from which 
 I have managed to escape), I had not heard of the death 
 of Bouckmann until you told me. It is the just punish- 
 ment of Heaven for his crimes. I will tell you another 
 piece of news : Jeannot, the negro chief who served as a 
 guide to draw the white troops into the ambush of 
 Dompte -Mulâtre, — Jeannot also is dead. You know 
 — do not interrupt me, Biassou 1 — you know that he 
 rivalled you and Bouckmann in his atrocities ; and pay 
 attention to this, — it was not the thunderbolt of 
 Heaven, nor the bullets of the whites, that struck him; 
 
BUG-JAKGAL. 151 
 
 it was Jean François himself who ordered this act of 
 justice to be performed. " 
 
 Biassou, who had listened with an air of gloomy re- 
 spect, uttered an exclamation of surprise. At this 
 moment Eigaud entered, bowed respectfully to Pierrot, 
 and whispered in Biassou's ear. The murmur of many 
 voices was heard in the camp. 
 
 " Yes, " continued Pierrot, " Jean François, who has 
 no fault except a preposterous love of luxury and show ; 
 whose carriage with its six horses takes him every day 
 to hear Mass at the Grande-Riviere, — Jean François 
 himself has put a stop to the crimes of Jeannot. In 
 spite of the cowardly entreaties of the brigand, who 
 clung in despair to the knees of the priest of Marmalade 
 who attended him in his last moments, he was shot beneath 
 the very tree upon which he used to hang his living 
 victims upon iron hooks. Think upon this, Biassou. 
 Why these massacres which provoke the whites to repri- 
 sals ? Why all these juggleries which only tend to ex- 
 cite the passions of our unhappy comrades, already too 
 much exasperated ? There is at Trou-Coffi a mulatto 
 impostor, called Romaine the Prophet, who is in com- 
 mand of a fanatical band of negroes ; he profanes the 
 holy sacrament of the Mass, he pretends that he is in 
 direct communication with the Virgin, and he urges on 
 his men to murder and pillage in the name of Marie. " 
 
 There was a more tender inflection in the voice of 
 Pierrot as he uttered this name than even religious re- 
 spect would have warranted, and I felt annoyed and 
 irritated at it. 
 
 " And you. " continued he, " you have in your camp 
 some Obi, I hear, — some impostor like this Romaine 
 the Prophet. I well know that having to lead an army 
 composed of so many heterogeneous materials, a common 
 bond is necessary ; but can it be found nowhere save in 
 
152 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 ferocious fanaticism and ridiculous superstition? Be- 
 lieve me, Biassou, the white men are not so cruel as we 
 are. I have seen many planters protect the lives of 
 their slaves. I am not ignorant that in some cases it 
 was not the life of a man, but a sum of money that they 
 desired to save ; but at any rate their interest gave them 
 the appearance of a virtue. Do not let us be less mer- 
 ciful than they are, for it is not our interest to be so. 
 Will our cause be more holy and more just because we 
 exterminate the women, slaughter the children, and 
 burn the colonists in their own houses ? These, however, 
 are every-day occurrences. Answer me, Biassou ! must 
 the traces of our progress be always marked by a line 
 of blood and fire ? " 
 
 He ceased. The fire of his glance, the accent of his 
 voice, gave to his words a force of convictiop and au- 
 thority which it is impossible for me to imitate. Like 
 a fox in the clutches of a lion, Biassou seemed to seek 
 for some means of escape from the power that con- 
 strained him. 
 
 While Biassou vainly sought for a pretext, the chief 
 of the negroes of Cayer, Bigaud, who the evening before 
 had calmly watched the horrors that had been perpetrated 
 in his presence, seemed to be shocked at the picture 
 that Pierrot had drawn, and exclaimed with a hypocritical 
 affectation of grief, " Great heavens ! how terrible is a 
 Dation when roused to fury ! " 
 
CHAPTEK XL. 
 
 THE confusion in the camp appeared to increase, to 
 the great uneasiness of Biassou. I heard after- 
 wards that it was caused by the negroes of Morne- 
 Bouge, who hurried from one end of the camp to the 
 other, announcing the return of my liberator, and de- 
 claring their intention of supporting him in whatever 
 object he had come to Biassou's camp for. Bigaud had 
 informed the generalissimo of this, and it was the fear 
 of a fatal division in the camp that prompted Biassou to 
 make some sort of concession to the wishes of Pierrot. 
 
 " Your Highness, " remarked he, with an air of in- 
 jured innocence, " if we are hard on the whites, you are 
 equally severe upon us. You are wrong in accusing 
 us of being the cause of the torrent, for it is the torrent 
 that drags us away with it. But what can I do at pres- 
 ent that will please you ? " 
 
 " I have already told you, Senor Biassou, " answered 
 Pierrot ; " let me take this prisoner away with me. " 
 
 Biassou remained for a few moments silent, as though 
 in deep thought; then putting on an expression of as 
 great frankness as he was able, he answered, " Your 
 Highness, I wish to prove to you that I have every desire 
 to please you. Permit me to have two words in private 
 with the prisoner, and he shall be free to follow you. " 
 
 " If that is all you ask, I agree, " replied Pierrot. 
 
 His eyes, which up to that moment had wandered 
 about in a distrustful manner, glistened with delight, 
 
154 BUG^JARGAL. 
 
 and he moved away a few paces to leave us to our 
 conversation. 
 
 Biassou drew me on one side into a retired part of the 
 cavern, and said in a low voice, " I can only spare your 
 life upon the condition that I proposed ; are you ready 
 to fulfil it ? " 
 
 He showed me the dispatch of Jean François ; to con- 
 sent appeared to me too humiliating. 
 
 " Never ! " answered I, firmly. 
 
 " Aha ! " repeated he, with his sardonic chuckle, " are 
 you always as firm ? You have great confidence, then, 
 in your protector. Do you know who he is ? " 
 
 " I do, " answered I, quickly. " He is a monster, as 
 you are ; only he is a greater hypocrite. " 
 
 He started back in astonishment, seeking to read in 
 my glance if I spoke seriously. "What!" exclaimed 
 he, " do you not know him then ? " 
 
 With a disdainful look, I replied : " I only know him 
 as my uncle's slave ; and his name is Pierrot. " 
 
 Again Biassou smiled bitterly. "Aha, that indeed is 
 strange : he asks for your life and liberty, and you say 
 that you only know him for a monster like myself. " 
 
 " What matters that ?" I answered ; " if I do gain a 
 little liberty, it is not to save my own life, but to take 
 his." 
 
 " What is that you are saying ? " asked Biassou. 
 " And yet you seem to speak as you believe ; I cannot 
 think that you would trifle with your life. There is 
 something beneath all this that I do not understand. 
 You are protected • by a man that you hate; he insists 
 upon your life being spared, and you are longing to take 
 his ! But it matters little to me ; you desire a short 
 spell of freedom, — it is all that I can give you. I will 
 leave you free to follow him ; but swear to me, by your 
 honour, that you will return to me and reconstitute 
 
BXJG-JARGAL. 155 
 
 yourself my prisoner two hours before the sun sets. 
 You are a Frenchman, and I will trust you. " 
 
 What shall I say gentlemen ? Life was a burden to 
 me, and I hated the idea of owing it to Pierrot, for 
 every circumstance pointed him out as a just object of 
 my hatred. I could not think for a moment that Bias- 
 sou (who did not easily permit his prey to escape him) 
 would allow me to go free except upon his own condi- 
 tions. All I desired was a few hours' liberty which I 
 could devote to discovering the fate of my beloved be- 
 fore my death. Biassou, relying upon my honour as a 
 Frenchman, would grant me these, and without hesita- 
 tion I pledged it. 
 
 " Your Highness, " said Biassou, in obsequious tones, 
 " the white prisoner is at your disposal ; you can take 
 him with you, for he is free to accompany you wherever 
 you wish. " 
 
 " Thanks, Biassou, " cried Pierrot, extending his hand. 
 " You have rendered me a service which places me en- 
 tirely at your disposal. Eemain in command of our 
 brethren of Morne-Rouge until my return. " 
 
 Then he turned towards me, I never saw so much 
 happiness in his eyes before. " Since you are free, " 
 cried he, " come with me. " And with a strange earnest- 
 ness he drew me away with him. 
 
 Biassou looked after us with blank astonishment, 
 which was even perceptible through the respectful leave 
 that he took of my companion. 
 
CHAPTEK XL! 
 
 I WAS longing to be alone with Pierrot. His embar- 
 rassment when I had questioned him as to the fate 
 of Marie, the ill-concealed tenderness with which he 
 had dared to pronounce her name, had made those feel- 
 ings of hatred and jealousy which had sprung up in my 
 heart take far deeper root than at the time I saw him 
 bearing away through the flames of Fort Galifet her 
 whom I could scarcely call my wife. What did I care 
 for the generous indignation with which he had reproved 
 the cruelties of Biassou, the trouble which he had taken 
 to preserve my life, and the curious manner which 
 marked all his words and actions ? What cared I for 
 the mystery that appeared to envelop him, which 
 brought him living before my eyes when I thought to 
 have witnessed his death ? He proved to be a prisoner 
 of the white troops when I believed that he lay buried 
 in the depths of Grande-Biviere, — the slave become a 
 king, the prisoner a liberator. Of all these incompre- 
 hensible things one was clear, — Marie had been carried 
 off by him; and I had this crime to punish, this out- 
 rage to avenge. However strange were the events that 
 had passed under my eyes, they were not sufficient to 
 shake my determination, and I had waited with impa- 
 tience for the moment when I could compel my rival to 
 explain all. That moment had at last arrived. 
 
 We had passed through crowds of negroes, who cast 
 themselves on the ground as we pursued our way, ex- 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 157 
 
 claiming in tones of surprise, " Miraculo ! ya no esta 
 prisonero I " (" A miracle ! he is no longer a prisoner ! ") ; 
 but whether they referred to Pierrot or to myself 1 
 neither knew nor cared. We had gained the outskirts 
 of the camp, and rocks and trees concealed from our 
 view the outposts of Biassou ; Eask in high good humour 
 was running in front of us, and Pierrot was following 
 him with rapid strides, when I stopped him. 
 
 " Listen to me ! " cried I ; "it is useless to go any 
 farther : the ears that you dreaded can no longer listen 
 to us. What have you done with Marie ? Tell me 
 that ! " 
 
 Concentrated emotion made my voice tremble. He 
 gazed upon me kindly. 
 
 " Always the same question ! " said he. 
 
 " Yes, always, " returned I, furiously ; " always ! I 
 will put that question to you as you draw your last 
 breath, or as I utter my last sigh. Where is Marie ? " 
 
 " Can nothing, then, drive away your doubts of my 
 loyalty ? But you shall know all soon. " 
 
 " Soon, monster ! " repeated I, il soon ! it is now, at 
 this instant, that I want to know all. Where is Marie ? 
 Where is Marie ? Answer, or stake your life against 
 mine. Defend yourself ! " 
 
 " I have already told you, " answered he, sadly, " that 
 that is impossible ; the stream will not struggle against 
 its source, — and my life, which you have three times 
 saved, cannot contend against yours. Besides, even if 
 I wished it, the thing is impossible ; we have but one 
 dagger between us. " 
 
 As he spoke, he drew the weapon from his girdle and 
 offered it to me. " Take it, " said he. 
 
 I was beside myself with passion. I seized the dagger 
 and placed the point on his breast ; he never attempted 
 to move. 
 
158 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried I, " do not force me to murder you. 
 I will plunge this blade into your heart if you do not at 
 once tell me where my wife is ! " 
 
 He replied in his calm way : " You are the master to 
 do as you like ; but with clasped hands I implore you 
 to grant me one hour of life, and to follow me. Can 
 you doubt him who thrice has owed his life to you, and 
 whom you once called brother ? Listen : if in one hour 
 from this time you still doubt me, you shall be at per- 
 fect liberty to kill me. That will be time enough ; you 
 see that I do not attempt to resist you. I conjure you 
 in the name of Marie, — of your wife, " he added slowly, 
 as though the victim of some painful recollection, — 
 " give me but another hour, I beg of you, not for my 
 sake, but for yours. " 
 
 There was so much pathos in his entreaties that an 
 inner feeling w T arned me to grant his request, and I 
 yielded to that secret ascendency which he exercised 
 over me, but which at that time I should have blushed 
 to confess. 
 
 " Well, " said I, slowly, " I will grant you one hour, 
 and I am ready to follow you ; " and as I spoke I handed 
 him his dagger. 
 
 " No, " answered he, " keep it ; you still distrust me, 
 but let us lose no time. " 
 
CHAPTEE XLII. 
 
 AGAIN we started. Bask, who during our conversa- 
 tion had shown frequent signs of impatience to 
 renew his journey, bounded joyously before us. We 
 plunged into a virgin forest, and after half an hour's 
 walking came out on a grassy opening in the wood. On 
 one side was a waterfall dashing over rugged rocks, 
 while the primeval trees of the forest surrounded it on 
 all sides. Among the rocks was a cave, the grey face 
 of which was shrouded by a mass of climbing plants. 
 Eask ran towards it barking ; but at a sign from Pierrot 
 he became silent, and the latter taking me by the hand 
 led me without a word to the entrance of the cave. 
 
 A woman with her back towards the light was seated 
 on a mat ; at the sound of our steps she turned. My 
 friends, it was Marie ! She wore the same white dress 
 which she had worn on the day of our marriage, and 
 the wreath of orange blossoms was still on her head. 
 She recognized me in a moment, and with a cry of joy 
 threw herself into my arms. I was speechless with 
 surprise and emotion. At her cry an old woman carry- 
 ing a child in her arms hurried from an inner chamber 
 formed in the depth of the cave; she was Marie's nurse, 
 and she carried my uncle's youngest child. 
 
 Pierrot hastened to bring some water from the neigh- 
 bouring spring, and threw a few drops in Marie's face ; 
 who was overcome by emotion ; she speedily recovered, 
 and opening her eyes exclaimed, — 
 
 " Leopold ! my Leopold ! " 
 
1G0 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " Marie ! " cried I*, and my words were stifled in a 
 kiss. 
 
 "Not before me, for pity's sake!" crisd a voice, in 
 accents of agony. 
 
 We looked round, it came from Pierrot The sight of 
 our endearments appeared to inflict temble torture on 
 him ; his bosom heaved, a cold perspiration bedewed his 
 forehead, and every limb quivered. sSuddenly he hid 
 his face in his hands and fled from the grotto, repeating 
 in tones of anguish, — 
 
 " Not before me 3 not before me I " 
 
 Marie half raised herself in my arms, and following 
 his retreating form with her eyes, exclaimed, " Leopold, 
 our happiness seems to trouble him ; can it be that he 
 loves me ? " 
 
 The exclamation of the slave had shown that he was 
 my rival, but Marie's speech proved that he was my 
 trusty friend. 
 
 " Marie, " answered I, as the wildest happiness min- 
 gled with the deepest regret filled my heart, " Marie, 
 were you ignorant of it ? " 
 
 " Until this moment I was, " answered she, a blush 
 overspreading her beautiful features. " Does he really 
 love me, for he never let me know it ? " 
 
 I clasped her to my bosom, in all the madness of hap- 
 piness. " I have recovered both wife and friend ' How 
 happy am I, but how guilty, for I doubted him ! " 
 
 " What ! " cried Marie, in surprise, " had you doubts of 
 Pierrot ? Oh, you have indeed been in fault. Twice has 
 he saved my life, and perhaps more than life, " she added, 
 casting down her eyes. " Without him the alligator 
 would have devoured me ; without him the negroes — 
 It was Pierrot who rescued me from their hands 
 when they were about to send me to rejoin my unhappy 
 father." 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 161 
 
 She broke off her speech with a flood of tears. 
 
 " And why, " asked I, " did not Pierrot send you to 
 Cap, to your husband ? " 
 
 " He tried to do so, " replied she, " but it was impos- 
 sible. Compelled as he was to conceal me both from 
 the whites and the blacks, his position was a most diffi- 
 cult one; and then, too, he was ignorant where you 
 were. Some said that they had seen you killed, but 
 Pierrot assured me that this was not the case ; and a 
 something convinced me that he spoke the truth, for I 
 felt that had you been dead I should have died at the 
 same time. " 
 
 " Then, Pierrot brought you here ? " asked I. 
 
 " Yes, my Leopold ; this solitary cave is known only 
 to him. At the same time that he rescued me, he saved 
 all that remained alive of our family, my little brother 
 and my old nurse, — and hid us here. The place is very 
 nice, and now that the war has destroyed our house and 
 ruined us, I should like to live here with you. Pierrot 
 supplied all our wants. He used to come very often; 
 he wore a plume of red feathers on his head. He used 
 to console me by talking of you, and always assured me 
 that we should meet again ; but for the past three days 
 I have not seen him, and I was beginning to be uneasy, 
 when to-day he came back with you. He had been 
 seeking for vou, had he not ? " 
 
 " Yes, " replied I. 
 
 " But if so, how can he be in love with me ? Are you 
 sure of it ? " 
 
 " Quite, " answered I. " It was he who was about to 
 stab me beneath your window, and spared me lest it 
 should afflict you ; it was he who sang the love songs at 
 the pavilion by the river. " 
 
 " Then he is your rival, " exclaimed Marie, with naïve 
 surprise ; " and the wicked man with the wild marigolds 
 
162 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 is Pierrot ! I can hardly believe that : he was so re- 
 spectful and humble to me, much more so than when he 
 was our slave. It is true that sometimes he looked at 
 me in a strange manner, but I attributed his sadness to 
 our misfortunes. If you could only know with what 
 tenderness he spoke of you, my Leopold ! His friend- 
 ship made him speak of you as much as my love did. " 
 
 These explanations of Marie enchanted and yet grieved 
 me. I felt how cruelly I had treated the noble-hearted 
 Pierrot, and I felt all the force of his gentle reproach, 
 " It is not I who am ungrateful. " 
 
 At this instant Pierrot returned. His face was dark 
 and gloomy, and he looked like a martyr returning from 
 the place of torture, but yet retaining an air of tri- 
 umph. He came towards me, and pointing to the dag- 
 ger in, my belt said, " The hour has passed ! " 
 
 " Hour ! what hour ? " asked I. 
 
 " The one you granted me ; it was necessary for me to 
 have so much time allowed me in which to bring you here. 
 Then I conjured you to spare my life ; now I supplicate 
 you to take it away. " 
 
 The most tender feelings of the heart — love, grati- 
 tude and friendship — united themselves together to 
 torture me. Unable to say a word, but sobbing bitterly, 
 I cast myself at the feet of the slave. He raised me up 
 in haste. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " cried he. 
 
 " I pay you the homage that is your due ; but I am 
 no longer worthy of friendship such as yours. Can 
 your friendship be pushed so far as to forgive me my 
 ingratitude ? " 
 
 For a time his expression remained stern ; he appeared 
 to be undergoing a violent mental contest. He took a 
 step towards me, then drew back, and seemed on the 
 point of speaking ; but no words passed his lips. The 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 163 
 
 struggle was a short one, he opened his arms to embrace 
 me, saying, — 
 
 " May I now call you brother ? " 
 
 My only reply was to cast myself on his breast. 
 After a short pause he added, — 
 
 " You were always kind, but misfortune had rendered 
 you unjust. " 
 
 " I have found my brother once again, " said I. " I 
 am unfortunate no longer, but I have been very guilty. " 
 
 " Guilty, brother ? I also have been guilty, and more 
 so than you ; you are no longer unhappy, but I shall be 
 so forever ! " 
 
CHAPTEE XLIII. 
 
 f I "'HE expression of pleasure which the renewal of our 
 
 -*- friendship had traced on his features faded away, 
 and an appearance of deep grief once more pervaded 
 them. 
 
 " Listen, " said he coldly. " My father was the King 
 of Kakongo. Each day he sat at the door of his hut and 
 dispensed justice among his subjects. After every judg- 
 ment, according to the custom of the kings his ancestors, 
 he drank a full goblet of palm wine. We were happy 
 and powerful. But the Europeans came to our country ; 
 it was from them that I learned the accomplishments 
 which you appeared to be surprised at my possessing. 
 Our principal acquaintance among the Europeans was a 
 Spanish captain ; he promised my father territories far 
 greater than those he now ruled over, treasure, and 
 white women. My father believed him, and gathering 
 his family together, followed him. Brother, he sold us 
 as slaves ! " 
 
 The breast of the negro rose and fell, as he strove to 
 restrain himself ; his eyes shot forth sparks of fire ; and 
 without seeming to know what he did, he broke in his 
 powerful grasp a fancy medlar-tree that stood beside 
 him. 
 
 * The master of Kakongo in his turn had a master, 
 and his son toiled as a slave in the furrows of St. Do- 
 mingo. They tore the young lion from his father that 
 they might the more easily tame him ; they separated 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 165 
 
 the wife from the husband, and the little children from 
 the mother who nursed them, and from the father who 
 used to bathe them in the torrents of their native land. 
 In their place they found cruel masters and a sleeping 
 place shared with the dogs ! " 
 
 He was silent, though his lips moved as though he 
 were still continuing his narrative; after a moment's 
 pause he seized me roughly by the arm, and continued : 
 * Brother, do you understand ? I have been sold to 
 different masters like a beast of burden. Do you re- 
 member the punishment of Ogé ? It was on that day 
 that I saw my father after a long separation : he was on 
 the wheel ! " 
 
 I shuddered ; he went on : — 
 
 " My wife was outraged by white men, and she died 
 calling for revenge. I must tell you I was guilty 
 towards her, for I loved another ; but let that pass by. 
 All my people urged me to deliver and avenge them; 
 Eask brought me their messages. I could do nothing 
 for them, I was fast in your uncle's prison. The day 
 upon which you obtained my release, I hurried off to 
 save my children from the power of a cruel master. 
 Upon the very day that I arrived, the last of the grand- 
 children of the King of Kakongo had expired under 
 the blows of the white man ; he had followed the 
 others ! " 
 
 He interrupted his recital, and coldly asked me: 
 " Brother, what would you have done ? " 
 
 This frightful tale froze me with horror. I replied 
 by a threatening gesture. He understood me, and with 
 a bitter smile he continued : — 
 
 " The slaves rose against their master, and punished 
 the murder of my children. They chose me for their 
 chief. You know the frightful excesses that were per- 
 petrated by the insurgents. I heard that your uncle's 
 
166 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 slaves were on the point of rising. I arrived at Acul on 
 the night upon which the insurrection broke out. You 
 were away. Your uncle had been murdered in his bed, 
 and the negroes had already set fire to the plantation. 
 Not being able to restrain them (for in destroying your 
 uncle's property they thought that they were avenging 
 my injuries), I determined to save the survivors of his 
 family. I entered the fort by the breach that I had 
 made. I intrusted your wife's nurse to a faithful negro. 
 I had more trouble in saving your ]\tarie ; she had hur- 
 ried to the burning portion of the fort to save the young- 
 est of her brothers, the sole survivor of the massacre. 
 The insurgents surrounded her, and were about to kill 
 her. I burst upon them, and ordered them to leave her 
 to my vengeance ; they obeyed me, and retired. I took 
 your wife in my arms ; I intrusted the child to Eask, — 
 and I bore them both away to this cavern, of which I 
 alone knew the existence and the access. Brother, such 
 was my crime ! " 
 
 More than ever overwhelmed with gratitude and 
 remorse, I would again have thrown myself at his feet, 
 but he stopped me. 
 
 " Come, " said he, " take your wife and let us leave 
 this, all of us. " 
 
 In wonder I asked him whither he wished to conduct 
 us. 
 
 " To the camp of the whites, " answered he. " This 
 retreat is no longer safe. To-morrow at break of day 
 the camp of Biassou will be attacked, and the forest 
 will assuredly be set on fire. Besides, I have no time 
 to lose. Ten lives are in jeopardy until my return. 
 We can hasten because you are free; we must hasten 
 because I am not. " 
 
 These words increased my surprise, and I pressed him 
 for an explanation. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 167 
 
 " Have you not heard that Bug- Jargal is a prisoner ? K 
 
 replied he, impatiently. 
 
 " Yes ; but what has Bug-Jargal to do with you ? " 
 In his turn he seemed astonished, and then in a grav^ 
 
 voice he answered : " I am Buq-Jaraal. " 
 
CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 I H AD thought that rothing that related to this extra- 
 ordinary man could have surprised me. I h*ad expe- 
 rienced some feelings of astonishment in ending the 
 slave Pierrot transformed into an African king ; but my 
 admiration reached its height when from his own confes- 
 sion I learned that he was the courageous and magnani- 
 mous Bug-Jargal, the chief of the insurgents of Morne- 
 Eouge ; and I now understood the respectful demeanour 
 shown by all the rebels, even by Biassou, to Bug-Jargal, 
 the King of Kakongo. He did not notice the impres- 
 sion that his last words had made upon me. 
 
 " They told me, " continued he, " that you were a 
 prisoner in Biassou 's camp, and I hastened to deliver 
 you. " 
 
 " But you told me just now that you too were a 
 prisoner. " 
 
 He glanced inquisitively at me, as though seeking 
 my reason for putting this natural question. " Listen, " 
 answered he. " This morning I was a prisoner in the 
 hands of your friends ; but I heard a report that Biassou 
 had announced his intention of executing, before sunset 
 to-day, a young prisoner named Leopold d'Auverney. 
 They doubled my guards, and I was informed that my 
 execution would immediately follow yours, and that in 
 the event of escape ten of my comrades would suffer in 
 my stead. So you see that I have no time to lose. " 
 
 I still detained him. " You made your escape then ? " 
 asked I. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 169 
 
 u How else could I have been here ? It was necessary 
 to save you. Did I not owe you my life ? Come, let 
 us set out ; we are an hour's march from the camp of 
 the whites, and about the same distance from that of 
 Biassou. See, the shadows oi the cocoanut-trees are 
 lengthening, and their round tops look on the pass like 
 the egg of the giant condor. In three hours the sun 
 will have set. Come, brother, time waits for no man. " 
 
 In three hours the sun will have set ! These words 
 froze my blood, like an apparition from the tomb. They 
 recalled to my mind the fatal promise which bound me 
 to Biassou. Alas ! in the rapture of seeing Marie again, 
 I had not thought of our approaching eternal separation. 
 I had been overwhelmed with my happiness ; a flood of 
 joyful emotions had swept away my memory, and in 
 the midst of my delight I had forgotten that the inexo- 
 rable finger of death was beckoning to me. But the words 
 of my friend recalled everything to my mind. In three 
 hours the sun will have set ! It would take an hour to 
 reach Biassou 's camp. There could be no faltering with 
 my duty. The villain had my word, and it would never 
 do to give him the chance of despising what he seemed 
 still to put trust in, — the word of a Frenchman ; better 
 far to die. The alternative was a terrible one, and I 
 confess that I hesitated for a moment before I chose the 
 right course. Can you blame me, gentlemen ? 
 
CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 WITH a deep sigh, I placed one hand in that of 
 Bug-Jargal, and the other in that of Marie, who 
 gazed with anxiety on the sadness that had overspread 
 my features. 
 
 " Bug-Jargal, " said I, struggling with emotion, " I 
 intrust to you the only being in the world that I love 
 more than you, — my Marie. Return to the camp with- 
 out me, for I may not follow you. " 
 
 " Great heavens ! " exclaimed Marie, hardly able to 
 breathe from her terror and anxiety, " what new misfor- 
 tune is this ? " 
 
 Bug-Jargal trembled, and a look of mingled sorrow 
 and surprise passed over his face. " Brother, what is 
 this that you say ? " 
 
 The terror that had seized upon Marie at the thought 
 of the coming misfortune, which her love for me had 
 almost caused her to divine, made me determine to 
 spare her the dreadful truth for the moment. I placed 
 my mouth to Bug-Jargal's ear, and whispered in hurried 
 accents : " I am a prisoner. I swore to Biassou that two 
 hours before sunset I would once more place myself in 
 his hands; in fact, I have sworn to return to my 
 death ! " 
 
 Filled with rage, in a loud voice he exclaimed : " The 
 monster ! This then was his motive for a secret inter- 
 view with you : it was to bind you with this fatal prom- 
 ise. I ought to have distrusted the wretch. Why did 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 171 
 
 I not foresee that there must be some treachery lurking 
 in the request, for he is a mulatto, not a black. " 
 
 " What is this — what treachery — what promise ? " 
 said Marie in an agony of terror. " And who is 
 Biassou ? " 
 
 " Silence, silence, " repeated I, in a low voice to Bug- 
 Jargal ; " do not let us alarm Marie. " 
 
 " Good, " answered he ; " but why did you give such a 
 pledge, — how could you consent ? " 
 
 " I thought that you had deceived me, and that Marie 
 was lost to me forever. What was life to me then ? " 
 
 " But a simple promise cannot bind you to a brigand 
 like that. " 
 
 " I gave my word of honour. " 
 
 He did not seem to understand me. " Your word of 
 honour, " repeated he ; ; ' but what is that ? You did not 
 drink out of the same cup ; you have not broken a ring 
 together, or a branch of the red-blossomed maple ? " 
 
 " No, we have done none of these things. " 
 
 " Well, then, what binds you to him ? " 
 
 " My honour ! " 
 
 " I cannot understand you ; nothing pledges you to 
 Biassou ; come with us ! " 
 
 " I cannot, my brother, for I am bound by my 
 promise. " 
 
 " No, you are not bound, " cried he, angrily. " Sister, 
 add your prayers to mine, and entreat your husband not 
 to leave you. He wishes to return to the negro camp 
 from which I rescued him, on the plea that he has 
 promised to place his life in Biassou 's hands. " 
 
 " What have you done ? " cried I. 
 
 It was too late to stay the effects of the generous im- 
 pulse that had prompted him to endeavour to save the 
 life of his rival by the help of her he loved. Marie cast 
 herself into my arms with a cry of anguish, her hands 
 
172 BUG-JAKGAL. 
 
 clasped my neck, and she hung upon my breast speech- 
 less and breathless. 
 
 8 Oh, my Leopold, what does he say ? " murmured 
 she, at last. " Is he not deceiving me ? It is not im- 
 mediately after our reunion that you must quit me again. 
 Answer me quickly, or I shall die. You have no right 
 to throw away your life, for you have given it to me. 
 You would not leave me, never to see me again ? " 
 
 " Marie, " answered I, " we shall meet again, but it 
 will be in another place. " 
 
 " In another place ! Where ? " she asked, in faltering 
 accents. 
 
 K In heaven, " I answered ; for to this angel I could 
 not lie. 
 
 Again she fainted, but this time it was from grief. 
 I raised her up, and placed her in the arms of Bug- 
 Jargal, whose eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " Nothing can keep you back, then, " said he. " I 
 will add nothing to my entreaties ; this sight ought to 
 be enough. How can you resist Marie ? For one word 
 such as she has spoken to you I would have sacrificed 
 the world; and you cannot even give up death for 
 her'." 
 
 " Honour binds me, " answered I, sadly. " Farewell, 
 Bug-Jargal ! farewell, brother ! I leave her to you. " 
 
 He grasped my hand, overwhelmed with grief, and 
 appeared hardly to understand me. " Brother, " said he, 
 " in the camp of the whites there are some of your rela- 
 tives ; I will give her over to them. For my part, I 
 cannot accept your legacy. " 
 
 He pointed to a rocky crag which towered high above 
 the adjacent country. " Do you see that rock ? " asked 
 he ; * when the signal of your death shall float from it, 
 it will promptly be answered by the volley that an- 
 nounces mine. " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 173 
 
 Hardly understanding his last words, I embraced him, 
 pressed a kiss upon the pale lips of Marie, who was 
 slowly recovering under the attentions of her nurse, and 
 fled precipitately, fearing that another look or word 
 would shake my resolution. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 I RUSHED headlong, and plunged into the depths of 
 the forest, following the tracks that we had left but 
 a short time before, not daring to cast a last glance be- 
 hind me. To stifle the grief which oppressed my heart, 
 I dashed, without a moment's pause, through the 
 thickets, past hill and plain, until I reached the crest 
 of a rock from which I could see the camp of Biassou, 
 with its lines of wagons and huts swarming with life, 
 and looking in the distance like a vast ant-hill. Then 
 I halted, for I felt that I had reached the end of my 
 journey and my life at the same time. Fatigue and 
 emotion had weakened my physical powers, and I leaned 
 against a tree to save myself from falling, and allowed 
 my eyes to wander over the plain, which was to be my 
 place of execution. 
 
 Up to this moment I had imagined that I had drained 
 the cup of bitterness and gall to the dregs ; but I had 
 not until then tasted the most cruel of all misfortunes, 
 — that of being constrained by powerful moral force to 
 voluntarily renounce life when it appeared most sweet. 
 Some hours before, I cared not for the world ; extreme 
 despair is a simulation of death which makes the reality 
 more earnestly desired. Marie had been restored to me, 
 my dead happiness had been resuscitated, my past had 
 become my future, and all my overshadowed hopes had 
 beamed forth more gloriously than ever ; and again had a 
 new life, — a life of youth and love and enchantment, 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 175 
 
 — shone gloriously upon the horizon. I was ready to 
 enter upon this life ; everything invited me to it ; no 
 material obstacle, no hindrance, was apparent. I was 
 free, I was happy, and yet — I was about to die. I had 
 made but one step into paradise, and a hidden duty 
 compelled me to retrace it, and to enter upon a path the 
 goal of which was death ! 
 
 Death has but few terrors for the crushed and broken 
 spirit; but how heavy and icy is his hand when it 
 grasps the heart which has just begun to live and revel 
 in the joys of life ! I felt that I had emerged from the 
 tomb, and had for a moment enjoyed the greatest de- 
 lights of life, love, friendship, and liberty ; and now the 
 door of the sepulchre was again opened, and an unseen 
 force compelled me once more to enter it forever. 
 
CHAPTEE XLVII. 
 
 WHEN the first bitter pang of grief had passed, a 
 kind of fury took possession of me ; and I entered 
 the valley with a rapid step, for I felt the necessity of 
 shortening the period of suspense. When I presented 
 myself at the negro outpost, the sergeant in command 
 at first refused to permit me to pass. It seemed strange 
 that I should be obliged to have recourse to entreaties to 
 enable me to effect my object. At last two of them 
 seized me by the arms and led me into Biassou's 
 presence. 
 
 As I entered the grotto he was engaged in examining 
 the springs of various instruments of torture with which 
 he was surrounded. At the noise my guard made in 
 introducing me he turned his head, but my presence did 
 not seem to surprise him. 
 
 " Do you see these ? " asked he, displaying the horri- 
 ble engines which lay before him. 
 
 I remained calm and impassive, for I knew the cruel 
 nature of the " hero of humanity, " and I was determined 
 to endure to the end without blenching. 
 
 " Leogri was lucky in being only hung, was he not ? " 
 asked he, with his sardonic sneer. 
 
 I gazed upon him with cold disdain, but I made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Tell his reverence the chaplain that the prisoner has 
 returned, " said he to an aide-de-camp. 
 
 During the absence of the negro, we both remained 
 silent, but I could see that he watched me narrowly. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 177 
 
 Just then Eigaud entered; he seemed agitated, and 
 whispered a few words to the general. 
 
 " Summon the chiefs of the different bands, " said 
 Biassou, calmly. 
 
 A quarter of an hour afterwards, the different chiefs 
 in their strange equipments were assembled in the 
 grotto. Biassou rose. 
 
 " Listen to me, friends and comrades ! The whites 
 will attack us here at daybreak ; our position is a bad 
 one, and we must quit it. At sunset we will march to 
 the Spanish frontier. Macaya, you and your negroes 
 will form the advanced guards. Padre j an, see that the 
 guns taken at Pralato are spiked ; we cannot take them 
 into the mountains. The brave men of Croix-des-Bouquets 
 will follow Macaya ; Toussaint will come next with the 
 blacks from Léogane and Trose. If the griots or the 
 griotes make any disturbance, I will hand them over to 
 the executioner of the army. Lieutenant-Colonel Cloud 
 will distribute the English muskets that were disem- 
 barked at Cape Cabron, and will lead the half-breeds 
 through the by-ways of the Vista. Slaughter any pris- 
 oners that may remain, notch the bullets, and poison 
 the arrows. Let three tons of arsenic be thrown into 
 the wells ; the colonists will take it for sugar, and drink 
 without distrust. Block up the roads to the plain with 
 rocks, line the hedges with marksmen, and set fire to 
 the forest. Eigaud, you will remain with me ; Candi, 
 summon my body-guard. The negroes of Morne-Bouge 
 will form the rear-guard, and will not evacuate the 
 camp until sunrise. " 
 
 He leaned over to Eigaud, and whispered hoarsely : 
 " They are Bug-Jargal's men; if they are killed, all the 
 better. ' Muerta la tropa, murte el gefe ! ' ('If the men 
 die, the chief will die. ') 
 
 " Go, my brethren, " he added, rising, " you will re- 
 ceive instructions from Candi. " 
 
1T8 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 The chiefs left the grotto 
 
 " General, " remarked Kigaud, " we ought to send that 
 dispatch of Jean François ; affairs are going "badly, and 
 it would stop the advance of the whites. " 
 
 Biassou drew it hastily from his pocket. " I agree 
 with you ; but there are so many faults, both in gram- 
 mar and spelling, that they will laugh at it. " 
 
 He presented the paper to me. " For the last time, 
 will you save your life ? My kindness gives you a last 
 chance. Help me to correct this letter, and to re-write 
 it in proper official style. " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Do you mean no ? " asked he. 
 
 " I do, " I replied. 
 
 " Eeflect, " he answered, with a sinister glance at the 
 instruments of torture. 
 
 " It is because I have reflected that I refuse, " replied 
 I. " You are alarmed for the safety of yourself and your 
 men, and you count upon this letter to delay the just 
 vengeance of the whites. I do not desire to retain a life 
 which may perhaps have saved yours. Let my execu- 
 tion commence. " 
 
 " Ha, boy ! " exclaimed Biassou, touching the instru- 
 ments of torture with his foot, " you are growing famil- 
 iar with these, are you ? I am sorry, but I have not 
 the time to try them on you ; our position is a dangerous 
 one, and we must get out of it as soon as we can. And 
 so you refuse to act as my secretary ? Well, you are 
 right ; for it would not after all have saved your miser- 
 able life, which, by the way, I have promised to his 
 reverence my chaplain. Do you think that I would 
 permit any one to live who holds the secrets of 
 Biassou ? " 
 
 He turned to the Obi, who just then entered. " Good 
 father, is your guard ready ? " 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 179 
 
 The latter made a sign in the affirmative. 
 
 " Have you taken it from among the negroes of Morne- 
 Kouge, for they are the. only ones who are not occupied 
 in preparations for departure ? " 
 
 Again the Obi bowed his head. 
 
 Then Biassou pointed out to me the black flag which 
 I had before remarked in a corner of the grotto. " That 
 will show your friends when the time comes to give 
 your place to your lieutenant. But I have no more time 
 to lose ; I must be off. By the way, you have been for 
 a little excursion ; how did you like the neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " I noticed that there were enough trees upon which 
 to hang you and all your band. " 
 
 " Ah, " retorted he, with his hideous laugh, " there is 
 one place that you have not seen, but with which the 
 good father will make you acquainted. Adieu, my 
 young captain, and give my compliments to Leogri. " 
 
 He bade me farewell with a chuckle that reminded 
 me of the hiss of the rattlesnake, and turned his back 
 as the negroes dragged me away. The veiled Obi fol- 
 lowed us, his rosary in his hand. 
 
CHAPTEK XLVIII. 
 
 I WALKED between my guards without offering any 
 resistance, which would indeed have been hopeless. 
 We ascended the shoulder of a hill on the western side 
 of the plain, and then my escort sat down for a brief 
 period of repose. As we did so, I cast a last lingering 
 look at the setting sun, which would never rise again 
 for me on this earth. 
 
 When my guards rose to their feet, I followed their 
 example, and we descended into a little dell, the beauty 
 of which under any other circumstances would have 
 filled me with admiration. A mountain stream ran 
 through the bottom of the dell, which by its refreshing 
 coolness produced a thick and luxuriant growth of vege- 
 tation, and fell into one of those dark-blue lakes with 
 which the hills of St. Domingo abound. How often in 
 happier days have I sat and dreamed on the borders 
 of these beautiful lakes, in the twilight hour, when be- 
 neath the influence of the moon their deep azure changed 
 into a sheet of silver, or when the reflections of the stars 
 sowed the surface with a thousand golden spangles ! 
 How lovely this valley appeared to me ! There were 
 magnificent plane-trees of gigantic growth, closely grown 
 thickets of mauritias, a kind of palm, which allows no 
 other vegetation to flourish beneath its shade ; date-trees 
 and magnolias with the goblet-shaped flowers. The tall 
 catalpa, with its polished and exquisitely chiselled 
 blossoms, stood out in relief against the golden buds of 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 181 
 
 the ebony-trees ; the Canadian maple mingled its yellow 
 flowers with the blue aureolas of that species of the wild 
 honeysuckle which the negroes call " coali ; " thick cur- 
 tains of luxurious creepers concealed the bare sides of 
 the rocks, while from the virgin soil rose a soft perfume, 
 such as the first man may have inhaled amidst Eden's 
 groves. 
 
 We continued our way along a footpath traced on the 
 brink of the torrent. I was surprised to notice that this 
 path closed abruptly at the foot of a tall peak, in which 
 was a natural archway, from which flowed a rapid tor- 
 rent. A dull roar of falling waters, and an impetuous 
 wind issued from this natural tunnel. The negroes who 
 escorted me took a path to the left which led into a 
 cavern, and seemed to be the bed of a torrent that had 
 long been dried up. Overhead I could see the rugged 
 roof, half hidden by masses of vegetation, and the same 
 sound of falling waters filled the whole of the vault. 
 
 As I took the first step into the cavern, the Obi came 
 to my side, and whispered in a hoarse voice, " Listen to 
 what I have to predict : only one of us two shall leave 
 by this path and issue again from the entrance of the 
 cave. " 
 
 I disdained to make any reply, and we advanced fur- 
 ther into the gloom. The noise became louder, and 
 drowned the sound of our footfalls. I fancied that there 
 must be a waterfall near, and I was not deceived. After 
 moving through the darkness for nearly ten minutes, 
 we found ourselves on a kind of internal platform caused 
 by the central formation of the mountain. The larger 
 portion of this platform, which was of a semicircular 
 shape, was inundated by a torrent which burst from the 
 interior of the mountain with a terrible din. Above 
 this subterranean hall the roof rose into the shape of a 
 dome, covered with moss of a yellowish hue. A large 
 
182 BUG-JAKGAL. 
 
 opening was formed in the dome, through which the 
 daylight penetrated ; and the sides of the crevice were 
 fringed with green trees, gilded just now by the last 
 rays of the setting sun. At the northern extremity of 
 the platform the torrent fell with a frightful noise into 
 a deep abyss, over which appeared to float, without be- 
 ing able to illuminate its depths, a feeble portion of the 
 light which came through the aperture in the roof. 
 
 Over this terrible precipice hung the trunk of an old 
 tree, whose topmost branches were filled with the foam 
 of the waterfall, and whose knotty roots pierced through 
 the rock two or three feet below the brink. This tree, 
 whose top and roots were both swept by the torrent, 
 hung over the abyss like a skeleton arm, and was so 
 destitute of foliage that I could not distinguish its 
 species. It had a strange and weird appearance ; the 
 humidity which saturated its roots prevented it from 
 dying, while the force of the cataract tore off its new 
 shoots, and only left it with the branches that had 
 strength to resist the force of the water. 
 
CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 IN this terrible spot the negroes came to a halt, and 1 
 knew that my hour had come. It was in this abyss, 
 then, that was to be sunk all my hopes in this world. 
 The image of the happiness which but a few hours be- 
 fore I had voluntarily renounced brought to my heart a 
 feeling of regret, almost one of remorse. To pray for 
 mercy was unworthy of me, but I could not refrain 
 from giving utterance to my regrets. 
 
 " Friends, " said I to the negroes who surrounded me, 
 " it is a sad thing to die at twenty years of age, full of 
 life and strength, when one is loved by one whom in 
 your turn you adore, and when you leave behind you 
 eyes that will ever weep for your untimely end. " 
 
 A mocking burst of laughter hailed my expression of 
 regret. It came from the little Obi. This species of 
 evil spirit, this living mystery, approached me roughly. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! you regret life then, Zabadosea Bios ! 
 My only fear was that death would have no terrors for 
 you. » 
 
 It was the same voice, the same laugh that had so 
 often before baffled my conjectures. " Wretch ! " ex- 
 claimed I, " who are you ? " 
 
 " You are going to learn, " replied he, in a voice of 
 concentrated passion ; and thrusting aside the silver sun 
 that half concealed his brown chest, he exclaimed, 
 " Look ! ■ ' 
 
 I bent forward. Two names were written in white 
 letters on the hairy chest of the Obi, showing but too 
 
184 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 clearly the hideous and ineffaceable brand of the heated 
 iron. One of these names was Effingham ; the other 
 was that of my uncle and myself, D'Auverney! I was 
 struck dumb with surprise. 
 
 "Well, Leopold d'Auverney, " asked the Obi, "does 
 not your name tell you mine ? * 
 
 " No, " answered I, astonished to hear the man name 
 me, and seeking to re-collect my thoughts. " These 
 two names were only to be found thus united upon the 
 chest of my uncle's fool. But the poor dwarf is dead; 
 and besides that, he was devotedly attached to us. You 
 cannot be Habibrah. " 
 
 " No other ! " shrieked he ; and casting aside the 
 blood-stained cap, he raised his veil and showed me the 
 hideous features of the household fool. But a threaten- 
 ing and sinister expression had usurped the half imbe- 
 cile smile which was formerly eternally imprinted on 
 his features. 
 
 " Great God ! " exclaimed I, overwhelmed with sur- 
 prise, " do all the dead, then, come back to life ? It is 
 Habibrah, my uncle's fool ! " 
 
 " His fool, and also his murderer. " 
 
 I recoiled from him in horror. " His murderer, 
 wretch ! Was it thus that you repaid his kindness — " 
 
 He interrupted me. " His kindness ! rather say his 
 insults. " 
 
 " What ! " I again cried, " was it you, villain, who 
 struck the fatal blow ? " 
 
 " It was, " he replied, with a terrible expression upon 
 his face. " I plunged my knife so deeply into his heart 
 that he had hardly time to cast aside sleep before death 
 claimed him. He cried out feebly, * Habibrah, come to 
 me ! ' but I was with him already! " 
 
 The cold-blooded manner in which he narrated the 
 murder disgusted me. " Wretch ! cowardly assassin ! 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 185 
 
 You forgot, then, all his kindness ; that you ate at his 
 table, and slept at the foot of his bed — " 
 
 " Like a dog ! " interrupted Habibrah, roughly, " como 
 un pèrro. I thought too much of what you call his 
 kindness, but which I looked upon as insults. I took 
 vengeance upon him, and I will do the same upon you. 
 Listen : do you think that because I am a mulatto and a 
 deformed dwarf that I am not a man ? Ah, I have a 
 soul stronger, deeper, and bolder than the one that I am 
 about to set free from your girlish frame. I was given 
 to your uncle as if I had been a pet monkey. I was his 
 butt ; I amused him, while he despised me. He loved 
 me, do you say ? Yes, forsooth ; I had a place in his 
 heart between his dog and his parrot; but I found a 
 better place there with my dagger. " 
 
 I shuddered. 
 
 " Yes, " continued the dwarf, " it was I, I that did it all. 
 Look me well in the face, Leopold d'Auverney: you 
 have often laughed at me, now you shall tremble before 
 me. And you dare to speak of your uncle's liking for 
 me, — a liking that carried degradation with it. If I 
 entered the room, a shout of contemptuous laughter was 
 my greeting ; my appearance, my deformities, my fea- 
 tures, my costume, — all furnished food for laughter to 
 your accursed uncle and his accursed friends, while I 
 was not allowed even to remain silent ; it was necessary 
 for me to join in the very laughter that was levelled at 
 me ! I foam with rage while I think of it Answer 
 me : do you think that after such humiliations I could 
 feel anything but the deadliest hatred for the creature 
 that inflicted them upon me? Do you not think that 
 they were a thousand times harder to endure than the 
 toil in the burning sun, the fetters, and the whip of the 
 driver, which were the lot of the other slaves ? Do you 
 not think that they would cause ardent, implacable, and 
 
186 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 eternal hatred to spring up in the heart of man as last- 
 ing as the accursed brand which degrades my chest? 
 Has not the vengeance that I have taken for my suffer- 
 ings been short and insufficient. Why could I not make 
 my tyrant suffer something of what I endured for so 
 many years ? Why could he not before his death know 
 the bitterness of wounded pride, and feel what burning 
 traces the tears of shame leave upon a face condemned 
 to wear a perpetual smile ? Alas ! it is too hard to have 
 waited so long for the hour of vengeance, and then only 
 to find it in a dagger thrust ! Had he but known the 
 hand that struck him, it would have been something; 
 but I was too eager to hear his dying groan, and I drove 
 the knife too quickly home : he died without having 
 recognized me, and my eagerness balked my vengeance. 
 This time, however, it' shall be more complete. You 
 see me, do you not ? Though in point of fact you may 
 be unable to recognize me in my new character. You 
 have always been in the habit of seeing me laughing 
 and joyous ; but now nothing prevents me from letting 
 my true nature appear on my face, and I do not greatly 
 resemble my former self. You only knew my mask; 
 look now upon my real face ! " 
 
 At that moment his appearance was truly terrible. 
 " Monster ! " exclaimed I, " you deceive yourself ; there 
 is more of buffoonery than heroism in your face even 
 now, and nothing in your heart but cruelty. " 
 
 " Do not speak of cruelty, " retorted he, " think of 
 your uncle — " 
 
 " Wretch ! " returned I, " if he were cruel, it was at 
 your instigation. You, to pretend to pity the position 
 of the poor slaves ! Why, then, did you not exert all 
 your influence to make their master treat them less 
 harshly ? Why did you never intercede in their favour ? * 
 
 " I would not have done so for the world. Would I 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 187 
 
 ever attempt to hinder a white man from blackening his 
 soul by an act of cruelty ? No, no ! I urged him to in- 
 flict more and more punishment upon his slaves, so as 
 to hurry on the revolt, and thus draw down a surer ven- 
 geance upon the heads of our oppressors. In seeming to 
 injure my brethren I was serving them. " 
 
 I was thunderstruck at such a cunning act of diplo- 
 macy carried out by such a man. 
 
 " Well, " continued the dwarf, " do you believe now 
 that I had the brain to conceive and the hand to execute ? 
 What do you think of Habibrah the buffoon ? What 
 do you think of your uncle's ' fool ' ? " 
 
 " Finish what you have begun so well, " replied I. 
 " Let me die, but let there be no more delay. " 
 
 " And suppose I wish for delay ? Suppose that it does 
 my heart good to watch you in the agonies of suspense ? 
 You see Biassou owed me my share in the last plunder. 
 When I saw you in our camp I asked for your life as my 
 share, and he granted it willingly ; and now you are 
 mine, I am amusing myself with you. Soon you will 
 follow the stream of the cataract into the abyss beneath ; 
 but before doing so, let me tell you that I have discov- 
 ered the spot where your wife is concealed, and it was I 
 that advised Biassou to set the forest on fire : the work, 
 I imagine, is already begun. Thus your family will be 
 swept from the face of the earth. Your uncle fell by 
 steel, you will perish by water, and your Marie by 
 fire ! " 
 
 " Villain ! villain ! " I exclaimed, and I made an 
 effort to seize him by the throat, but a wave of his hand 
 summoned my guards. 
 
 " Bind him ! " cried he ; " he precipitates his hour of 
 doom ! " 
 
 In dead silence the negroes began to bind me with 
 the cords that they had carried with them. Suddenly I 
 
188 BUG-JARGAL- 
 
 faneied that I heard the distant barking of a dog, but 
 this sound might be only an illusion caused by the noise 
 of the cascade. 
 
 The negroes had finished binding me, and placed me 
 on the brink of the abyss into which I was so soon to be 
 hurled. The dwarf, with folded arms, gazed upon the 
 scene with a sinister expression of joy. I lifted my 
 eyes to the opening in the roof so as to avoid the trium- 
 phant expression of malice painted on his countenance, 
 and to take one last look at the blue sky. At that in- 
 stant the barking was more distinctly heard, and the 
 enormous head of Eask appeared at the opening. I 
 trembled. 
 
 The dwarf exclaimed, " Finish with him ! " and the 
 negroes, who had not noticed the dog, raised me in 
 their arms to hurl me into the hell of waters which 
 roared and foamed beneath me. 
 
CHAPTEE L. 
 
 • COMRADES ! " cried a voice of thunder. 
 
 ^^ All looked at the spot from whence the sound 
 proceeded. Bug-Jargal was standing on the edge of the 
 opening, a crimson plume floating on his head. 
 
 " Comrades, " repeated he, " stay your hands ! " 
 
 The negroes prostrated themselves upon the earth in 
 token of submission. 
 
 " I am Bug-Jargal ! " continued he. 
 
 The negroes struck the earth with their heads, utter- 
 ing cries the meaning of which I could not comprehend. 
 
 " Unbind the prisoner ! " commanded the chief. 
 
 But now the dwarf appeared to recover from the stu- 
 por into which the sudden appearance of Bug-Jargal had 
 thrown him, and he seized by the arm the negro who 
 was preparing to cut the cords that bound me. " What 
 is the meaning of this ? What are you doing ? " cried 
 he. 
 
 Then, raising his voice, he addressed Bug-Jargal : 
 " Chief of Morne-Rouge, " cried he, " what are you do- 
 ing here ? " 
 
 " I have come to command my own men, " was the 
 reply. 
 
 " Yes, " answered the dwarf, in tones of concentrated 
 passion, " these negroes do certainly belong to your 
 band ; but, " added he, raising his voice again, " by what 
 right do you interfere with my prisoner ? " 
 
 The chief answered, " I am Bug-Jargal ! " and again 
 the negroes struck the ground with their foreheads. 
 
190 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " Bug-Jargal, " continued Habibrah, " cannot contra- 
 vene the orders of Biassou. This white man was given 
 to me by Biassou; I desire his death, and die he shall. 
 Obey me, " he added, turning to the negroes, " and hurl 
 him into the abyss ! " 
 
 At the well-known voice of the Obi the negroes rose 
 to their feet and took a step towards me. I thought all 
 was lost. 
 
 " Unbind the prisoner ! " cried Bug- Jargal again. 
 
 In an instant I was free. My surprise was equalled 
 by the fury of the Obi. He attempted to throw himself 
 upon me. The negroes interfered; then he burst out 
 into imprecations and threats. 
 
 " Demonios ! rabia ! inferno de mi alma ! How, 
 wretches, you refuse to obey me ? Do you not recognize 
 my voice ? Why did I lose time in talking to this ac- 
 cursed one ? I ought to have had him hurled without 
 delay to the fishes of the gulf. By wishing to make my 
 vengeance more complete I have lost it all together. 
 Orabia de Satan. Listen to me : if you do not obey me, 
 and hurl him into the abyss, I will curse you ; your hair 
 shall grow white, the mosquitoes and sandflies shall eat 
 you up alive ; your legs and your arms shall bend like 
 reeds ; your breath shall burn your throat like red hot- 
 sand; you shall die young, and after your death your 
 spirit shall be compelled to turn a millstone as big as 
 a mountain, in the moon where it is always cold ! " 
 
 The scene was a strange one. I was the only one of 
 my colour in a damp and gloomy cavern surrounded by 
 negroes with the aspect of demons, balanced as it were 
 upon the edge of a bottomless gulf, and every now and 
 then threatened by a deformed dwarf, by a hideous sor- 
 cerer upon whose striped garments and pointed cap the 
 fading light shone faintly, yet protected by a tall negro 
 who was standing at the only point from which day- 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 191 
 
 light could be seen. It appeared to me almost that I 
 was at the gates of hell, awaiting the conflict between 
 my good and evil angels, to result in the salvation or 
 the destruction of my soul. The negroes appeared to be 
 terrified at the threats of the Obi, and he endeavoured to 
 profit by their indecision. 
 
 " I desire the death of the white man, and he shall 
 die ;■ obey me ! " 
 
 Bug-Jargal replied solemnly : " He shall live ! I am 
 Bug-Jargal; my father was the King of Kakongo who 
 dispensed justice at the gate of his palace. " 
 
 Again the negroes cast themselves upon the ground. 
 
 The chief continued : " Brethren, go and tell Biassou 
 not to unfurl the black banner upon the mountain-top 
 which should announce to the whites the signal of this 
 man's death, for he was the saviour of Bug-Jargal's life, 
 and Bug-Jargal wills that he should live. " 
 
 They rose up. Bug-Jargal threw his red plume on 
 the ground before them. The chief of the guard picked 
 it up with every show of respect, and they left the cav- 
 ern without a word. The Obi, with a glance of rage, 
 followed them down the subterranean avenue. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe my feelings at that 
 moment. I fixed my eyes, wet with tears, upon Pierrot, 
 who gazed upon me with a singular expression of love 
 and tenderness. 
 
 " God be praised, " said he, " you are saved ! Brother, 
 go back by the road by which you entered ; you will 
 meet me again in the valley. " 
 
 He waved his hand to me and disappeared from my 
 sight. 
 
CHAPÏEE LI. 
 
 EAGEK to arrive at the appointed meeting-place, and 
 to learn by what fortunate means my saviour had 
 been enabled to make his appearance at so opportune a 
 moment, I prepared to leave the cavern in which my 
 nerves had been so severely tried ; but as I prepared to 
 enter the subterranean passage an unexpected obstacle 
 presented itself in my path. It was Habibrah Î 
 
 The revengeful Obi had not in reality followed the 
 negroes as I had believed, but had concealed himself 
 behind a rocky projection of the cave, waiting for a 
 propitious moment for his vengeance ; and this moment 
 had come. He laughed bitterly as he showed himself. 
 A dagger, the same that he was in the habit of using for 
 a crucifix, shone in his right hand. At the sight of it 
 I recoiled a step. 
 
 " Ha, accursed one ! did you think to escape me ? But 
 the fool is not such a fool after all'. I have you, and 
 this time there shall be no delay. Your friend Bug- 
 Jargal shall not wait for you long, — you shall soon be 
 at the meeting-place ; but it will be the wave of the 
 cataract that shall bear you there. " 
 
 As he spoke he dashed at me with uplifted weapon. 
 
 " Monster ! " cried I, retreating to the platform, " just 
 now you were only an executioner; now you are a 
 murderer. " 
 
 " I am an avenger ! " returned he, grinding his teeth. 
 
 I was on the edge of the precipice ; he endeavoured to 
 hurl me over with a blow of his dagger. I avoided it. 
 His foot slipped on the treacherous moss which covered 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 193 
 
 the rocks, and he rolled into the slope polished and 
 rounded by the constant flow of water. 
 
 " A thousand devils ! " roared he. 
 
 He had fallen into the abyss. I have already men- 
 tioned that the roots of the old tree projected through 
 the crevices of the rocks, a little below the edge of the 
 precipice. In his fall the dwarf struck against these, 
 and his striped petticoat caught in them; he grasped at 
 them as a last hope of safety, and clung to them with 
 all the energy of despair. His pointed bonnet fell from 
 his head ; to maintain his position he had to let go his 
 dagger, and the two together disappeared in the depths 
 of the abyss. 
 
 Habibrah, suspended over the terrible gulf, strove 
 vainly to regain the platform, but his short arms could 
 not reach the rocky edge, and he broke his nails in use- 
 less efforts to obtain a hold on the muddy surface of the 
 rocks which sloped down into the terrible abyss. He 
 howled with rage. The slightest push on my part 
 would have been sufficient to hurl him to destruction ; 
 but such an act would have been one of cowardice, and 
 I made no movement. This moderation on my part 
 seemed to surprise him. Thanking Heaven for its mer- 
 cies, I determined to abandon him to his fate, and was 
 about to leave the cave, when, in a voice broken with 
 fear, and which appeared to come from the depths of the 
 abyss, he addressed, me. 
 
 "Master," cried he, "master, do not go, for pity's 
 sake ! Do not, in the name of Heaven, leave a guilty 
 creature to perish whom it is in your power to save ! 
 Alas ! my strength is failing me ; the roots bend and 
 slip through my Angers ; the weight of my body drags 
 me down : I must let go, or my arms will break ! Alas ! 
 master, the fearful gulf boils and seethes beneath me ! 
 Nombre santo de Bios ! Have you no pity for the poor 
 
194 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 fool? He has been very guilty, but prove that the 
 white men are better than the mulattoes, the masters 
 than the slaves, by saving him ! " 
 
 I approached the brink of the precipice, and the fee- 
 ble light that broke through the aperture in the roof 
 showed me on the repulsive features of the dwarf an 
 expression which I had never noticed before, — that of 
 prayer and supplication. 
 
 " Senor Leopold, " continued he, encouraged by the 
 movement of pity that I showed, " can you see a fellow- 
 creature in so terrible a position of peril, without stretch- 
 ing out a hand to save him ? Give me your hand, 
 master ; with very slight assistance from you I can save 
 myself : I only ask for a little help. Help me then, 
 and my gratitude shall be as great as my crimes ! " 
 
 I interrupted him. " Unhappy wretch, do not recall 
 them to my memory. " 
 
 " It is because I repent of them that I do so. Oh, be 
 generous to me ! heavens, my hand relaxes its grasp, 
 and I fall ! Ay desdichado ! Your hand, your hand ! 
 in the name of the mother who bore you, give me 
 your hand ! " 
 
 I cannot describe the tone of agony in which he 
 pleaded for help. In this moment of peril I forgot all ; 
 he was no longer an enemy, a traitor, and an assassin, 
 but an unhappy fellow-creature, whom a slight exertion 
 upon my part could rescue from a frightful death. He 
 implored me in heart-rending accents. Eeproaches would 
 have been fruitless and out of place. The necessity for 
 help was urgent and immediate. I stooped, knelt down 
 on the brink of the precipice, and grasping the trunk 
 of the tree with one hand, I extended the other to 
 Habibrah. 
 
 As soon as it was within his reach, he grasped it with 
 both his hands, and hung on to it with all his strength. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 195 
 
 Far from attempting to aid me in my efforts to draw 
 him up, I felt that he was exerting all his powers to 
 draw me down with him into the abyss. If it had not 
 been for the assistance afforded to me by the trunk of 
 the tree, I must infallibly have been dragged over by 
 the violent and unexpected jerk that the wretched man 
 gave me. 
 
 " Villain ! " cried I, " what are you doing ? " 
 
 " Avenging myself ! " answered he, with a peal of 
 devilish laughter. " Aha, madman ! have I got you in 
 my clutches once more ? You have of your own free- 
 will placed yourself again in my power, and I hold you 
 tight. You were saved and I was lost ; and yet you of 
 your own accord place your head between the jaws of 
 the alligator, because it wept after having roared. I 
 can bear death, since it will give me revenge. You are 
 caught in the trap, amigo, and I shall take a companion 
 with me to feed the fishes of the lake. " 
 
 " Ah, traitor ! " cried I, struggling with all my 
 strength, " is it thus that you serve me when I was 
 trying to save you ? " 
 
 " Yes, " hissed he. " I know that we could have saved 
 ourselves together, but I would rather that we should 
 die at the same moment. I had rather compass your 
 death than save my life. Come down ! " 
 
 As he spoke, his brown muscular hands renewed their 
 grasp upon mine with unexpected strength ; his eyes 
 blazed, his mouth foamed. The strength, the departure 
 of which he had before so piteously bewailed, had re- 
 turned to him increased a thousandfold by the hope of 
 revenge. His feet were planted like two perpendicular 
 levers on a ledge of rock, and he struggled like a tiger 
 against the root which, entangled in his clothes, sup- 
 ported him in spifce of himself; for he was endeavour- 
 ing with all his might to shake himself free, so as to 
 
196 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 bring all his weight to bear on me, and to drag me more 
 quickly into the yawning gulf below. In his rage he 
 endeavoured to bite me, while his hideous features were 
 rendered more terrible by their expression of satanic 
 frenzy. He looked like the demon of the cave seeking 
 to drag down his victim to his abode of gloom and 
 darkness. 
 
 One of my knees, by good fortune, was planted in a 
 groove of the rock, and my arm was wound round the 
 trunk of the tree, and I strove against the efforts of the 
 dwarf with all the strength that the feeling of self- 
 preservation could give me at such a moment. Every 
 now and then I drew a long breath, and shouted " Bug- 
 Jargal ! " with all the force of my lungs. But the roar 
 of the cascade and the distance that he must be off gave 
 me but faint hopes of my voice reaching him. 
 
 The dwarf, who had not anticipated so vigorous a re- 
 sistance on my part, redoubled his efforts. I began to 
 grow weak, though in reality the struggle had not taken 
 so long as the narration of it. A violent pain paralyzed 
 my arm, my sight grew dim, bright sparks flashed be- 
 fore my eyes, and a buzzing sound filled my ears. I 
 heard the creaking of the root as it bent, mingled with 
 the laugh of the monster, and the abyss seemed to rise 
 up towards me as though eager to engulf its prey. But 
 before I gave up all hope I made a last effort, and 
 collecting together my exhausted forces, I once again 
 shouted, " Bug-Jargal ! " 
 
 A loud bark replied to me ; it was Eask who thus ans- 
 wered my appeal for help. I glanced upwards : Bug-Jargal 
 and his dog were gazing at me from the orifice in the roof. 
 He saw my danger at once. " Hold on ! " cried he. 
 
 Habibrah, fearing that I might yet be saved, foamed 
 with rage ; and crying, " Come down there ! come down !" 
 he renewed the attack with almost supernatural vigour. 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 197 
 
 At this moment, weakened by the long struggle, my 
 arm lost its hold of the tree. All seemed over with me, 
 when I felt myself seized from behind. It was Eask ! 
 At a sign from his master he had leaped down on the 
 platform, and seized me by the skirts of my uniform 
 with his powerful teeth. 
 
 This unlooked-for aid saved me. Habibrah had ex- 
 hausted all his strength in a last convulsive effort; 
 while I put forth all mine, and succeeded in withdraw- 
 ing my hand from his cramped and swollen fingers. 
 The root, which had been for some time yielding, now 
 parted suddenly ; Eask gave me a violent pull back- 
 wards, and the wretched dwarf disappeared in the foam 
 of the cascade, hurling a curse at me which was swal- 
 lowed up with him in the whirl of waters. 
 
 Such was the terrible end of my uncle's fooL 
 
CHÀPTEK LIL 
 
 THE excitement of the last few hours, the terrible 
 struggle and its awful conclusion, had utterly ex- 
 hausted me; and I lay where I had fallen, almost 
 deprived of sense or power of motion. The voice of 
 Bug-Jargal restored me to myself. 
 
 " Brother, " cried he, " hasten to leave this place. In 
 half an hour the sun will have set ; I will meet you in 
 the valley. Follow Bask. " 
 
 The words of my friend restored hope, strength, and 
 courage to me. I rose to my feet. The great dog ran 
 rapidly down the subterranean passage ; I followed him, 
 his bark guiding me through the darkness. After a 
 time I saw a streak of light, and in a few minutes 
 I gained the entrance, and breathed more freely as I 
 passed through the archway. As I left the damp and 
 gloomy vault behind me, I recalled to my mind the pre- 
 diction of the dwarf, and its fatal fulfilment, " One only 
 of us shall return by this road ! " His attempt had 
 failed, but the prophecy had been carried out. 
 
CHAPTEE LUI. 
 
 BUG-JABGAL was waiting for me in the valley. I 
 threw myself into his arms ; but I had so many 
 questions to put to him that I could not find words in 
 which to express them. 
 
 " Listen to me, " said he. " Your wife, my sister, is 
 in safety in the camp of the white men ; 1 handed her 
 over to a relative of yours who was in command of the 
 outposts, and I wished again to constitute myself a 
 prisoner, lest they should execute the ten prisoners 
 whose lives were security for my re-appearance. But your 
 relative told me to return, and, if possible, to prevent 
 your execution ; and that the ten negroes should not be 
 executed until, Biassou should announce the fact by dis- 
 playing a black flag on one of the highest peaks of the 
 mountains. Then I returned to do my best. Eask led 
 me to where you were ; thanks be to Heaven, I arrived 
 in time ! You will live, and so shall I. " 
 
 He extended his hand to me, adding, " Brother, are 
 you satisfied ? " 
 
 I again clasped him to my breast; I entreated him 
 not to leave me again, but to remain with the white 
 troops, and I promised him to exert all my influence to 
 procure him a commission in the colonial army. 
 
 But he inter- ^ ^ed me with an angry air. " Brother, " 
 asked he, C( do I propose to you to join my army ? " 
 
 I kept silence, for I felt that I had been guilty of a 
 folly ; then he added in a tone of affected gaiety, — 
 
200 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 " Come, let us hurry to the camp to reassure your 
 wife. " 
 
 This proposal was what I most ardently desired ; we 
 started at once. The negro knew the way, and took the 
 lead ; Eask followed us. 
 
 Here D'Auverney stopped suddenly, and cast a gloomy 
 look around him ; perspiration in large beads covered his 
 forehead ; he concealed his face with his hands. Eask 
 looked at him with an air of uneasiness. 
 
 " Yes, you may well look at me like that, " murmured 
 he. 
 
 An instant afterwards he rose from his seat in a state 
 of violent agitation, and followed by the sergeant and 
 the dog, rushed hurriedly from the tent. 
 
CHAPTEE LIV. 
 
 * T WILL lay a bet, " said Henri, " that we are nearing 
 
 A the end of the drama ; and I should really feel sorry 
 if anything happened to Bug-Jargal, for he was truly a 
 famous fellow. " 
 
 Paschal removed from his lips the mouth of his 
 wicker-covered flask, and said, " I would give twelve 
 dozen of port to have seen the cocoa-nut cup that he 
 emptied at a draught. " 
 
 Alfred, who was gently humming the air of a love- 
 song, interrupted himself by asking Henri to tie his 
 aguilettes ; then he added : " The negro interests me 
 very much, but I have not dared to ask D'Auverney if 
 he knew the air of ' Beautiful Padilla. ' " 
 
 " What a villain that Biassou was ! " continued Pas- 
 chal ; " but for all that he knew the value of a French- 
 man' s word! There are, however, people more pitiless 
 than Biassou, — my creditors, for instance. " 
 
 "But what do you think of D'Auverney's story?" 
 asked Henri. 
 
 " Ma foi, " answered Alfred, " I have not paid much 
 attention to it ; but I certainly had expected something 
 more interesting from D'Auverney 's lips; and then I 
 want to know the air to which Bug-Jargal sang his 
 songs. In fact, I must admit that the story has bored 
 me a little. " 
 
 " You are right, " returned Paschal, the aide-de-camp. 
 " Had I not had my pipe and my bottle, I should have 
 
202 BUG-JAEGAL. 
 
 passed but a dreary evening. Besides, there were a lot 
 of absurdities in it : how can we believe, for instance, 
 that that little thief of a sorcerer (I forget his name) 
 would have drowned himself for the sake of destroying 
 his enemy ? " 
 
 Henri interrupted him with a smile. " You cannot 
 understand any one taking to vater, can you, Captain 
 Paschal ? But what struck me more than anything was, 
 that every time D'Auverney mentioned the name of 
 Bug-Jargal, his lame dog lifted up his head. " 
 
 The sound of the sentry carrying arms warned them 
 of D'Auverney 's return. All remained silent. He 
 walked up and down the tent for a few moments with 
 folded arms, without a word. 
 
 Old Sergeant Thaddeus, who had returned with his 
 captain, bent over Eask and furtively caressed him, 
 hoping by that means to conceal his countenance, which 
 was full of anxiety, from the eyes of his officer. At 
 length, after making a strong effort, D'Auverney con- 
 tinued his narrative. 
 
CHAPTEE LV. 
 
 RASK followed us. The highest rock in the valley 
 was not yet lighted by the rays of the sun ; a 
 glimmer of light touched it for an instant, and then 
 passed away. 
 
 The negro trembled, and grasped my hand firmly. 
 " Listen, " said he. 
 
 A dull sound like the discharge of a piece of artillery 
 was heard, and was repeated by the echoes of the 
 valleys. 
 
 " It is the signal, " said the negro in a gloomy voice. 
 " It was a cannon shot, was it not ? " 
 
 I nodded in sign of the affirmative. 
 
 In two bounds he sprang to the top of a lofty rock ; I 
 followed him. He crossed his arms and smiled sadly. 
 " Do you see that ? " asked he. 
 
 I looked in the direction to which he pointed ; and on 
 the lofty peak to which he had drawn my attention 
 during our last interview with Marie, and which was 
 now glowing in the rays of the setting sun, I saw a huge 
 black flag, its folds flapping idly in the breeze. 
 
 [At this point of his recital D'Auverney again 
 paused. ] 
 
 I learned afterwards that Biassou, in a hurry to leave 
 his ground, had ordered the flag to be hoisted without 
 waiting for the return of the negroes who had been 
 despatched to assist at my execution. 
 
204 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 Bug-Jargal was still in the same position, his arms 
 folded, and his eyes eagerly fixed upon the fatal signal. 
 Suddenly he started, and seemed about to descend from 
 his post of observation. " Great heavens ' my unfortu- 
 nate comrades ! " cried he. " Did you hear the gun ? " 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 " It was the signal, my brother. They are leading 
 them now to the place of execution. " 
 
 His head fell upon his breast ; after a short pause, he 
 said : " Go, brother, and rejoin your wife ; Eask will 
 guide you to her ; " and he whistled an African air, 
 which Eask appeared to recognize, for he wagged his 
 tail, and seemed ready to set out. 
 
 Bug-Jargal grasped my hand, and strove to smile ; 
 but his features were contracted, and his look was 
 ghastly. " Farewell forever ! " cried he, and dashed 
 into the thicket by which we were surrounded. 
 
 I remained motionless ; the little that I understood of 
 the position made me fear the worst. 
 
 Eask, on seeing his master disappear, advanced to 
 the edge of the rock, and raising his head uttered a 
 plaintive howl. Then he turned to me ; his tail was 
 between his legs and his eyes were moist. He looked 
 at me with an air of inquietude, and turned to the spot 
 from which his master had disappeared, and barked sev- 
 eral times. I understood him, and shared his fears. 
 Suddenly he dashed off in pursuit of his master, and I 
 should soon have lost sight of him had he not every 
 now and then halted to give me time to come up to him. 
 In this manner we passed through many a valley and 
 leafy glade ; we climbed hills and crossed streams. At 
 last — 
 
 D'Auverney's voice failed him, an expression of de- 
 spair covered his face, and he could not find words to 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 205 
 
 continue his narrative. " Continue it, Thaddeus, " said 
 he, " for I can go on no further. " 
 
 The old sergeant was not less distressed than his 
 captain, but he made an effort to obey him. 
 
 " With your permission, gentlemen, " said he, * and 
 since it is your wish, Captain, I must tell you, gentle- 
 men, that Bug-Jargal (otherwise called Pierrot) was a 
 tall negro, very strong, very gentle, and the bravest man 
 in the world, — except you, Captain, if you please. But 
 I was terribly prejudiced against him, — for which I 
 will never pardon myself, though you, Captain, have 
 forgiven me, — so much so, that when we heard that 
 your execution had been fixed for the evening of the 
 second day I flew into a furious rage with the poor 
 fellow, and felt a fiendish pleasure in informing him 
 that his death would pay for yours, or that if he escaped 
 ten of his men would be shot by way of reprisal. He 
 said nothing upon hearing this, but an hour afterwards 
 he made his escape through a great hole which he 
 pierced in the wall of his prison. " 
 
 [D'Auverney made a movement of impatience, and 
 Thaddeus continued.] 
 
 " Well, when we saw the great black flag hoisted on 
 the mountain, and as the negro had not returned, — a 
 fact which surprised none of us, — our officers ordered the 
 signal gun to be fired, and I was directed to conduct the 
 ten negroes to the place of execution, which was a spot 
 we call the Devil's Mouth, about — but it does not 
 matter how far it was from the camp. Well, as you 
 can imagine, we did not take them there to set them at 
 liberty. I had them bound, as is the custom, and 
 paraded my firing party, when who should burst upon 
 us but the tall negro. He was out of breath with the 
 speed that he had made. 
 
206 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 * ' Good evening, Thaddeus, ' said he. 'I am in 
 time. ' 
 
 " No, gentlemen, he did not utter another word, but 
 hastened to unbind his comrades. I stood there in stu- 
 pefaction. Then (with your permission, Captain) there 
 was a good deal of generous argument between the other 
 negroes and himself, which might have lasted longer, 
 but — well, it is no good hiding the fact, it was I that 
 stopped it. At any rate he took their place. Then the 
 great dog came, poor Rask ! He leaped at my throat : he 
 ought to have held me longer, but Pierrot made a sign 
 to him, and the poor brute released me ; but he could 
 not he prevented from taking his place at his master's 
 feet. Then, believing that you were dead, Captain — 
 well, I was in a fine rage. I gave the word ; Bug- Jargal 
 fell, and a bullet broke the dog's foot. 
 
 " Since that time, gentlemen, " continued the sergeant, 
 sadly, " Rask has been lame. Then I heard groans in 
 the adjacent wood ; I reached it, and found you : a stray 
 bullet had hit you as you were running forward to save 
 the tall negro. Yes, Captain, you were wounded, but 
 Bug-Jargal was dead ! 
 
 " We carried you back to the camp ; you were not 
 dangerously wounded, and the doctors soon cured you ; 
 but I believe Madame Marie's nursing had a good deal 
 to do with it. " 
 
 The sergeant stopped in his story, and D'Auverney, 
 in a solemn voice, added : " Bug-Jargal was dead ! " 
 
 Thaddeus bowed his head. " Yes, " said he, " he 
 spared my life, and I — I killed him. " 
 
H 
 
 «J 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 THE reader, in general, is seldom satisfied with the 
 conclusion of a narrative unless it enters into 
 every detail in winding up the story. For this reason 
 the minutest researches have been made into the facts 
 having reference to the concluding details of the last 
 scenes of Leopold d'Auverney's life, as well as those of 
 his sergeant and the dog Eask. 
 
 The reader is already aware that the captain's feelings 
 of melancholy arose partly from the death of Bug-Jargal, 
 otherwise called Pierrot ; but he is not acquainted with 
 the fact that those feelings were terribly increased by 
 the loss of his beloved Marie, — who, after having been 
 preserved from the horrors that attended the taking of 
 Fort Galifet, perished in the burning of Cap, which 
 took place some weeks later. 
 
 The fate of Leopold d'Auverney may be briefly reca- 
 pitulated. A great victory had been won by the Ee- 
 publican forces against one of those united European 
 armies which so often struggled vainly against our sol- 
 diers ; and the General of Division, who was in com- 
 mand of the entire force, was seated in his tent drawing 
 up, from the reports of his staff, the bulletin which was 
 to be sent to the National Convention concerning the 
 victory of the day before. As he was thus occupied, an 
 aide-de-camp announced to him the arrival of a Eepresen- 
 tative of the People, who demanded an audience. The 
 general loathed these ambassadors of the guillotine, 
 
208 £UG-JAKGAL. 
 
 who were sent by the party of the Mountain to humili- 
 ate the military officers, and too often to demand the 
 heads of the most gallant of the men who had fought 
 bravely for the Republic, — ■ looking upon them as char- 
 tered informers charged with the hateful mission of 
 spying upon glory. But it would have been dangerous 
 for him to refuse to admit him, especially after such a 
 victory as had resulted to the arms of the Eepublic. 
 The gory idol which France had then set up almost in- 
 variably demanded victims of the highest lineage ; and 
 the executioners of the Place de la Revolution were de- 
 lighted if they could at the same time cause a head and 
 a coronet to fall, — were it one of thorns, like that of 
 Louis XVI. ; of flowers, like those of the girls of Verdun ; 
 or of laurels like those of Custine or of André Chénier. 
 The general, therefore, gave immediate orders that the 
 Representative of the People should be introduced to 
 his presence. 
 
 After a few clumsy congratulations regarding the 
 recent victory, the Representative of the People came 
 up close to the general, and muttered in a suppressed 
 voice : " But this is not all, Citizen General ; it is not 
 enough to destroy the foreign enemy, — those nearer 
 home must be also crushed. " 
 
 " What do you mean, Citizen Representative ? " asked 
 the astonished general. 
 
 " There is in your division, " answered the emissary 
 of the Convention, in an unpleasant manner, " a captain 
 named Leopold d'Auverney, who is serving in the 
 Thirty-second Brigade ; do you know him, General ? " 
 
 " Know him ! certainly I do, " replied the general ; 
 " only as you came in I was reading the report of the 
 adjutant-general which refers to him. The Thirty- 
 second Brigade had in him an excellent officer, and I 
 was about to recommend him for promotion. * 
 
BUG-JARGAX. 209 
 
 " What, Citizen General ! " interposed the represen- 
 tative, harshly, " were you thinking of promoting 
 him ? " 
 
 " Such was most certainly my intention, citizen. " 
 
 " Victory has blinded you, General, " cried the repre- 
 sentative, imperiously ; " take care what you say or do. 
 If you cherish serpents who are the enemies of the 
 people, take care that the people do not crush you and 
 the serpents at the same moment. This Leopold d'Au- 
 verney is an aristocrat, a hater of the revolution, a 
 royalist, a Girondin ! Public justice demands his head, 
 and he must be given up to me on the spot. " 
 
 " I cannot do so, " replied the general, coldly. 
 
 " How ! you cannot do so ? " shouted the representa- 
 tive, whose rage was redoubled at this opposition. 
 " Are you ignorant, General, of the extent of my power ? 
 I, in the name of the Eepublic, command you, and you 
 have no option but to obey. Listen to me : in consider- 
 ation of your recent success, I will read you the report 
 which has been handed in regarding this D'Auverney, 
 and which I shall send with him to the Public Prosecu- 
 tor : 'Leopold Auverney (formerly known as D'Auver- 
 ney), captain in the Thirty-second Brigade, is convicted 
 of having, at a meeting of conspirators, narrated an anti- 
 revolutionary tale, conducing to the ridicule of the true 
 principles of Equality and Liberty, and exalting the 
 worn-out superstitions known under the names of roy- 
 alty and religion; convicted, secondly, of having used, 
 expressions deservedly forbidden by all good republi- 
 cans, to describe certain recent events, notably those refer- 
 ring to the negroes of St. Domingo ; convicted, thirdly, 
 of having made use of the expression Monsieur instead 
 of Citizen during the whole of his narrative ; and, by the 
 said narrative, of having endeavoured to bring into 
 contempt the Eepublic one and indivisible, and also 
 
210 BUG-JARGAL. 
 
 to propagate the infamous doctrines of the Girondins. f 
 Death is the punishment for these crimes, and I demand 
 his body. Do you hesitate, General, to hand this 
 traitor over to me, to meet the well-merited punish- 
 ment of his crimes ? " 
 
 " Citizen, " answered the general, with dignity, " this 
 enemy of his country has given his life for her. As a 
 contrast to your report, listen to an extract from mine : 
 ' Leopold d'Auverney, captain in the Thirty-second Bri- 
 gade, has contributed largely to the success that our 
 arms have obtained. A formidable earthwork had been 
 erected by the allies ; it was the key to their position, 
 and it was absolutely necessary to carry it at the point 
 of the bayonet. It was an almost impregnable position, 
 and the death of the stormers who led the attack was 
 almost inevitable. Captain d'Auverney volunteered to 
 lead the forlorn hope ; he carried the earthwork, but 
 was shot down at the moment of victory. Sergeant 
 Thaddeus of the Thirty -second, and a large dog were 
 found dead within a few paces of him. ' It was my in- 
 tention to propose that the National Convention should 
 pass a vote that Captain Leopold d'Auverney had 
 merited the thanks of his country. You see, Citizen 
 Eepresentative, " continued the general, calmly, " that 
 our duties differ slightly. We both send a report to the 
 Convention. The same name appears in each list : you 
 denounce him as a traitor, I hold him up to posterity 
 as a hero ; you devote him to ignominy, I to glory ; you 
 would erect a scaffold for him, while I propose a statue 
 in his honour. He is fortunate in having, by death in 
 action, escaped the infamy you proposed for him. He 
 whose death you desired is dead ; he has not waited for 
 you. " 
 
 Furious at seeing his conspiracy disappear with the 
 
BUG-JARGAL. 211 
 
 conspirator, the Eepresentative muttered, " Dead, is he ? 
 More 's the pity ! " 
 
 The general caught his words, and in indignant tones 
 exclaimed : " There is still something left for you, Citi- 
 zen Eepresentative. Qo seek for the body of Captain 
 d'Auverney among the ruins of the redoubt. Who can 
 tell if the bullets of the enemy may not have spared his 
 head for his country's guillotine ? " 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 CLAUDE GUEUX was a poor workman, living in 
 Paris about eight years ago, with his mistress and 
 child. Although his education had been neglected, and 
 he could not even read, the man was naturally clever 
 and intelligent, and thought deeply over matters. Win- 
 ter came with its attendant miseries, — want of work, 
 want of food, want of fuel. The man, the woman, and 
 the child were frozen and famished. The man turned 
 thief. I know not what he stole. What signifies, as 
 the result was the same : to the woman and child it gave 
 three days' bread and warmth; to the man, five years' 
 imprisonment. He was taken to Clairvaux, — the abbey 
 now converted into a prison, its cells into dungeons, 
 and the altar itself into a pillory. This is called 
 progress. 
 
 Claude Gueux the honest workman, who turned thief 
 from force of circumstances, had a countenance which 
 impressed you, — a high forehead somewhat lined with 
 care, dark hair already streaked with gray, deep-set eyes 
 beaming with kindness, while the lower part clearly 
 indicated firmness mingled with self-respect. He rarely 
 spoke, yet there was a certain dignity in the man which 
 commanded respect and obedience. A fine character, 
 and we shall see what society made of it. 
 
 Over the prison workshop was an inspector, who 
 rarely forgot that he was the jailer also to his subordi- 
 
4 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 nates, handing them the tools with one hand, and cast- 
 ing chains upon them with the other. A tyrant, never 
 using even self -reasoning ; with ideas against which 
 there was no appeal : hard rather than firm, at times he 
 could even be jocular, — doubtless a good father, a good 
 husband, really not vicious, but had. He was one of 
 those men who never can grasp a fresh idea, who appar- 
 ently fail to be moved by any emotj.on ; yet with hatred 
 and rage in their hearts they look like blocks of wood, 
 heated on the one side but frozen on the other. This 
 man's chief characteristic was obstinacy; and so proud 
 was he of this very stubbornness that he compared himself 
 with Napoleon, — an optical delusion, like taking the 
 mere nicker of a candle for a star. When he had made 
 up his mind to a thing, however absurd, he would carry 
 out that absurd idea, How often it happens, that, when a 
 catastrophe occurs, if we inquire into the cause we find 
 it originated through the obstinacy of one with little 
 ability, but having full faith in his own powers. 
 
 Such was the inspector of the prison workshop at 
 Clairvaux, — a man of flint placed by society over others, 
 who hoped to strike sparks out of such material ; but a 
 spark from a like source is apt to end in a conflagration. 
 
 The inspector soon singled out Claude Gueux, who 
 had been numbered and placed in the workshop, and 
 finding him clever, treated him well. Seeing Claude 
 looking sad (for he was ever thinking of her he termed 
 his wife), and being in a good humour, by way of pastime 
 to console the prisoner he told him the woman had be- 
 come one of the unfortunate sisterhood, and had been re- 
 duced to infamy ; of the child nothing was known. 
 
 After a time Claude had accustomed himself to prison 
 rule, and by his calmness of manner and a certain 
 amount of resolution clearly marked in his face, he had 
 acquired a great ascendency over his companions, who 
 
JLAUDE GUEUX. 5 
 
 so much admired him that they asked his advice, and 
 tried in all ways to imitate him. The very expression 
 in his eyes clearly indicated the man's character; be- 
 sides, is not the eye the window to the soul, and what 
 other result could be anticipated than that the intelli- 
 gent spirit Should lead men with few ideas, who yielded 
 to the attraction as the metal does to the loadstone ? In 
 less than three months Claude was the virtual head of 
 the workshop, and at times he almost doubted whether 
 he was king or prisoner, being treated something like a 
 captive pope, surrounded by his cardinals. 
 
 Such popularity ever has its attendant hatred ; and 
 though beloved by the prisoners, Claude was detested 
 by the jailers. To him two men's rations would have 
 been scarcely sufficient. The inspector laughed at this, 
 as his own appetite was large ; but what would be mirth 
 to a duke, to a prisoner would be a great misfortune. 
 When a free man, Claude Gueux could earn his daily 
 four-pound loaf and enjoy it; but as a prisoner he daily 
 worked, and for his labour received one pound and a- 
 half of bread and four ounces of meat : it naturally fol- 
 lowed that he was always hungry. 
 
 He had just finished his meagre fare, and was about 
 to resume his labours, hoping in work to forget famine, 
 when a weakly-looking young man came towards him, 
 holding a knife and his untasted rations in his hand, 
 but seemingly afraid to address him. 
 
 '• What do you want ? " said Claude, roughly. 
 
 " A favour at your hands, " timidly replied the young 
 man. 
 
 " What is it ? " said Claude. 
 
 " Help me with my rations ; I have more than I can eat. " 
 
 For a moment Claude was taken aback, but without 
 further ceremony he divided the food in two and at once 
 partook of one half. 
 
6 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 " Thank you, " said the young man ; " allow me to 
 share my rations with you every day. " 
 
 t What is your name ? " said Claude. 
 
 " Albin. " 
 
 " Why are you here ? " added Claude. 
 
 " I robbed. " 
 
 " So did I, " said Claude. 
 
 The same scene took place daily between this man old 
 before his time (he was only thirty-six) and the boy of 
 twenty, who looked at the most seventeen. The feeling 
 was more like that of father and son than one brother to 
 another; everything created a bond of union between 
 them, — • the very toil they endured together, the fact of 
 sleeping in the same quarters and taking exercise in the 
 same courtyard. They were happy, for were they not 
 all the world to each other ? 
 
 The inspector of the workshop was so hated by the 
 prisoners that he often had recourse to Claude Gueux to 
 enforce his authority; and when a tumult was on the 
 point of breaking out, a few words from Claude had 
 more effect than the authority of ten warders. Although 
 the inspector was glad to avail himself of this influence, 
 he was jealous all the same, and hated the superior prisoner 
 with an envious and implacable feeling, — an example of 
 might over right, all the more fearful as it was secretly 
 nourished. But Claude cared so much for Albin that 
 he thought little about the inspector. 
 
 One morning as the warders were going their rounds 
 one of them summoned Albin, who was working with 
 Claude, to go before the inspector. 
 
 " What are you wanted for ? " said Claude. 
 
 " I do not know, * replied Albin, following the 
 warder. 
 
 All day Claude looked in vain for his companion, and 
 at night, finding him still absent, he broke through his 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. i 
 
 ordinary reserve and addressed the turnkey. " Is Albin 
 ill ? " said he. 
 
 " No, " replied the man. 
 
 " How is it that he has never put in an appearance 
 to-day ? " 
 
 "His quarters have been changed, " was the reply. 
 
 For a moment Claude trembled, then calmly con- 
 tinued, " Who gave the order ? " 
 
 " Monsieur D . " This was the inspector's name. 
 
 On the following night the inspector, Monsieur 
 
 D , went his rounds as usual. Claude, who had 
 
 perceived him from the distance, rose, and hastened to 
 raise his woollen cap and button his gray woollen vest 
 to the throat, — considered a mark of respect to supe- 
 riors in prison discipline. 
 
 " Sir, " said Claude, as the inspector was about to pass 
 him, " has Albin really been quartered elsewhere ? " 
 
 " Yes, " replied the inspector. 
 
 " Sir, I cannot live without him. You know the ra- 
 tions are insufficient for me, and Albin divided his 
 portion with me. Could you not manage to let him 
 resume his old place near me?" 
 
 " Impossible ; the order cannot be revoked. " 
 
 " By whom was it given ? " 
 
 " By me. " 
 
 " Monsieur D , " replied Claude, " on you my life 
 
 depends. " 
 
 " I never cancel an order once given. " 
 
 " Sir, what have I ever done to you ? " 
 
 " Nothing. " 
 
 " Why, then, " cried Claude, " separate me from 
 Albin ? " 
 
 " Because I do, "replied the inspector, and with that 
 he passed on. 
 
 Claude's head sank down, like the poor caged lion 
 
8 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 deprived of his dog; but the grief, though so deeply 
 felt, in no way changed his appetite, — he was fam- 
 ished. Many offered to share their rations with him, 
 but he steadily refused, and continued his usual routine 
 in silence, — breaking it only to ask the inspector daily, 
 in tones of anguish mingled with rage, something be- 
 tween a prayer and a threat, these two words : " And 
 Albin ? " 
 
 The inspector simply passed on, shrugging his shoul- 
 ders ; but had he only observed Claude he would have 
 seen the evident change, noticeable to all present, and 
 he would have heard these words, spoken respectfully 
 but firmly : — 
 
 " Sir, listen to me ; send my companion to me. It 
 would be wise to do so, I can assure you. Eemember 
 my words ! " 
 
 On Sunday he had sat for hours in the courtyard, with 
 his head bowed in his hands, and when a prisoner called 
 Faillette came up laughing, Claude said : " I am judging 
 some one. " 
 
 On the 25th of October, 1831, as the inspector went 
 his rounds, Claude, to draw his attention, smashed a 
 watch-glass he had found in the passage. This had 
 the desired effect. 
 
 " It was I, " said Claude. " Sir, restore my comrade 
 to me. " 
 
 " Impossible, " was the answer. 
 
 Looking the inspector full in the face, Claude firmly 
 added: "Now, reflect! To-day is the 25th of October; 
 I give you till the 4th of November. " 
 
 A warder remarked that Claude was threatening 
 Monsieur D , and ought at once to be locked up. 
 
 " No, it is not a case of blackhole, " replied the in- 
 spector, smiling disdainfully ; " we must be considerate 
 with people of this stamp. " 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. 9 
 
 The following day Claude was again accosted by 
 one of the prisoners named Pernot, as he was brooding 
 in the courtyard. 
 
 " Well, Claude, you are sad indeed ; what are you 
 pondering over ? " 
 
 " I fear some evil threatens that good Monsieui 
 D , " answered Claude. 
 
 Claude daily impressed the fact on the inspector how 
 much Albin 's absence affected him, but with no result 
 save four-and-twenty hours' solitary confinement. On 
 the 4th of November he looked round his cell for the 
 little that remained to remind him of his former life. 
 A pair of scissors, and an old volume of the " Emile, " 
 belonging to the woman he had loved so well, the 
 mother of his child, — how useless to a man who could 
 neither work nor read ! 
 
 As Claude walked down the old cloisters, so dishon- 
 oured by its new inmates and its fresh whitewashed 
 walls, he noticed how earnestly the convict Ferrari was 
 looking at the heavy iron bars that crossed the window, 
 and he said to him : " To-night I will cut through those 
 bars with these scissors, " pointing to the pair he still 
 held in his hand. 
 
 Ferrari laughed incredulously, and Claude joined in 
 the mirth. During the day he worked with more than 
 ordinary ardour, wishing to finish a straw hat, which he 
 had been paid for in advance by a tradesman at Troyes, 
 — M. Bressier. 
 
 Shortly before noon he made some excuse to go 
 down into the carpenters' quarters, a story below his 
 own, at the time the warders were absent. Claude re- 
 ceived a hearty welcome, as he was equally populai 
 here as elsewhere. 
 
 " Can any one lend me an axe ? " he said. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
10 CLAUDE GUEUX, 
 
 Without exacting any promises of secrecy he at once 
 replied : " To kill the inspector with to-night. " 
 
 Claude was at once offered several; choosing the 
 smallest, he hid it beneath his waistcoat and left. 
 Now, there were twenty-seven prisoners present, and 
 not one of those men betrayed him ; they even refrained 
 from talking upon the subject among themselves, wait- 
 ing for the terrible event which must iollow. 
 
 As Claude passed on he saw a young convict of six- 
 teen yawning idly there, and he strongly advised him 
 to learn how to read. Just then Faillette asked what 
 he was hiding. 
 
 Claude answered unhesitatingly : " An axe to kill 
 Monsieur D to-night ; but can you see it ? " 
 
 " A little," said Faillette. 
 
 At seven o'clock the prisoners were locked in their 
 several workshops. It was then the custom for the 
 warders to leave them, until the inspector had been his 
 rounds. 
 
 In Claude's workshop a most extraordinary scene 
 took place, the only one of the kind on record. Claude 
 rose and addressed his companions, eighty -four in num- 
 ber, in the following words : — • 
 
 " You all know Albin and I were like brothers. I liked 
 him at first for sharing his rations with me, afterwards 
 because he cared for me. Now I never have sufficient, 
 though I spend the pittance I earn in bread. It could 
 make no possible difference to the inspector, Monsieur 
 
 D , that we should be together; but he chose to 
 
 separate us simply from a love of tormenting, for he is 
 a bad man. I asked again and again for Albin to be 
 sent back, without success ; and when I gave him a 
 stated time, the 4th of November, I was thrust into a 
 dungeon. During that time I became his judge, and 
 sentenced him to death on November the 4th. In two 
 
Claude Gueux addressing. his Companions. 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX 11 
 
 hours lie will be here, and I warn you I intend to kilJ 
 him. But have you anything to say ? " 
 
 There was a dead silence. Claude then continued 
 telling his comrades, the eighty-one thieves, his ideas 
 on the subject, — that he was reduced to a fearful ex- 
 tremity, and compelled by that very necessity to take 
 the law into his own hands ; that he knew full well he 
 could not take the inspector's life without sacrificing 
 his own, but that as the cause was a just one he would 
 bear the consequences, having come to this conclusion 
 after two months' calm reflection; that if they consid- 
 ered resentment alone hurried him on to such a step 
 they were at once to say so, and to state their objections 
 to the sentence being carried out. 
 
 One voice alone broke the silence which followed, 
 saying, " Before killing the inspector, Claude ought to 
 give him a chance of relenting. " 
 
 " That is but just, " said Claude, " and he shall have 
 the benefit of the doubt. " 
 
 Claude then sorted the few things a poor prisoner is 
 allowed, and gave them to the comrades he mostly cared 
 for after Albin, keeping only the pair of scissors. He 
 then embraced them all, — some not being able to with- 
 hold their tears at such a moment. Claude continued 
 calmly to converse during this last hour, and even gave 
 way to a trick he had as a boy, of extinguishing the 
 candle with a breath from his nose. Seeing him thus, 
 his companions afterwards owned that they hoped he 
 had abandoned his sinister idea. One young convict 
 looked at him fixedly, trembling for the coming event. 
 
 " Take courage, young fellow, " said Claude, gently ; 
 ' : it will be but the work of a minute. " 
 
 The workshop was a long room with a door at both 
 ends, and with windows each side overlooking the 
 benches, thus leaving a pathway up the centre for the 
 
12 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 inspector to review the work on both sides of him. 
 Claude had now resumed his work, — something like 
 Jacques Clement, who did not fail to repeat his prayers. 
 
 As the clock sounded the last quarter to nine, Claude 
 rose and placed himself near the entrance, apparently 
 calm. Amidst the most profound silence the clock 
 Struck nine ; the door was thrown open, and the in- 
 spector came in as usual alone, looking quite jovial and 
 self-satisfied, passing rapidly along, tossing his head at 
 one, grinding words out to another, little heeding the 
 eyes fixed so fiercely upon him. Just then he heard 
 Claude's step, and turning quickly round said, — 
 
 " What are you doing here ? Why are you not in 
 your place ? " just as he would have spoken to a dog. 
 
 Claude answered respectfully, " I wish to speak to 
 you, sir. " 
 
 " On what subject ? " 
 
 " Albin. " 
 
 " Again ! " 
 
 " Always the same, " said Claude. 
 
 " So then, " replied the inspector, walking along, 
 "you have not had enough with twenty-four hours in 
 the blackhole. " 
 
 Claude, following him closely, replied : " Sir, return 
 my companion to me ! " 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " Sir, " continued Claude, in a voice which would 
 have moved Satan, " I implore you to send Albin back 
 to me; you will then see how I will work. You are 
 free, and it would matter but little to you ; you do not 
 know the feeling of having only one friend. To me it 
 is everything, encircled by the prison walls. You can 
 come and go at your pleasure ; I have but Albin. Pray 
 let him come back to me ! You know well he shared 
 his food with me. What can it matter to you that & 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. 13 
 
 man named Claude Gueux should be in this hall, having 
 another by his side called Albin ? You have but to say 
 ' Yes, ' nothing more. Sir, my good sir, I implore you, 
 in the name of Heaven, to grant my prayer ! " 
 
 Claude, overcome with emotion, waited for the answer. 
 
 a Impossible ! " replied the inspector, impatiently ; 
 " I will not recall my words. Now go, you annoyance !" 
 And with that he hurried on towards the outer door, 
 amidst the breathless silence maintained by the eighty- 
 one thieves. 
 
 Claude, following and touching the inspector, gently 
 asked : " Let me at least know why I am condemned to 
 death. Why did you separate us ? " 
 
 " I have already answered you : because I chose, " re- 
 plied the inspector. 
 
 With that he was about to lift the latch, when Claude 
 raised the axe, and without one cry the inspector fell to 
 the ground, with his skull completely cloven from three 
 heavy blows dealt with the rapidity of lightning. A 
 fourth completely disfigured his face, and Claude, in 
 his mad fury, gave another and a useless blow ; for the 
 inspector was dead. 
 
 Claude, throwing the axe aside, cried out, " Now for 
 the other S " 
 
 The other was himself; and taking the scissors, his 
 wife's, he plunged them into his breast. But the blade 
 was short, and the chest was deep, and vainly he strove 
 to give the fatal blow. At last, covered with blood he 
 fell fainting across the dead. Which of the two would 
 be considered the victim ? 
 
 When Claude recovered consciousness he was in bed, 
 surrounded by every care and covered with bandages. 
 Near him were Sisters of Charity, and a recorder ready to 
 take down his deposition, who with much interest in- 
 quired how he was. Claude had lost a great deal of blood; 
 
14 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 but the scissors had done him a bad turn, inflicting 
 wounds not one of which was dangerous : the only 
 mortal blows he had struck were on the body of Mon- 
 sieur D- . Then the interrogatory commenced. 
 
 " Did you kill the inspector of the prison workshops 
 at Clairvaux ? " 
 
 " Yes, " was the reply. 
 
 " Why did you do so ? " 
 
 " Because I did. " 
 
 Claude's wounds now assumed a more serious aspect, 
 and he was prostrated with a fever which threatened his 
 life. November, December, January, February passed, 
 in nursing and preparations, and Claude in turn was 
 visited by doctor and judge, — the one to restore him to 
 health, the other to glean the evidence needful to send 
 him to the scaffold. 
 
 On the 16th of March, 1832, perfectly cured, Claude 
 appeared in court at Troyes, to answer the charge 
 brought against him. His appearance impressed the 
 court favourably ; he had been shaved and stood bare- 
 headed, but still clad in prison garb. The court was 
 well guarded by a strong military guard, to keep the 
 witnesses within bounds, as they were all convicts. 
 But an unexpected difficulty occurred : not one of these 
 men would give evidence ; neither questions nor threats 
 availed to make them break their silence, until Claude 
 requested them to do so. Then they in turn gave a 
 faithful account of the terrible event ; and if one, from 
 forgetfulness or affection for the accused, failed to re- 
 late the whole facts, Claude supplied the deficiency. 
 At one time the women's tears fell fast. 
 
 The usher now called the convict Albin. He came 
 in trembling with emotion and sobbing painfully, and 
 threw himself into Claude's arms. Turning to the Pub- 
 lic Prosecutor, Claude said, — ■ 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. 15 
 
 " Here is a convict who gives his food to the hungry, " 
 and stooping, he kissed Albin 's hand. 
 
 All the witnesses having been examined, the counsel 
 for the prosecution then rose to address the court. 
 " Gentlemen of the jury, society would be utterly put to 
 confusion if a public prosecution did not condemn great 
 culprits like him, who, etc. " 
 
 After the long address by the prosecution, Claude's 
 counsel rose. Then followed the usual pleading for and 
 against, which ever takes place at the criminal court. 
 
 Claude in his tarn gave evidence, and every one was 
 astonished at his intelligence ; there appeared far more 
 of the orator about this poor workman than the assassin. 
 In a clear and straightforward way he detailed the facts 
 as they were, — standing proudly there, resolved to tell 
 the whole truth. At times the crowd was carried away 
 by his eloquence. This man, who could not read, would 
 grasp the most difficult points of argument, yet treat the 
 judges with all due deference. Once Claude lost his 
 temper, when the counsel for the prosecution stated that 
 he had assassinated the inspector without provocation. 
 
 " What! " cried Claude, " I had no provocation ? In- 
 deed ! A drunkard strikes me, — I kill him; then you 
 would allow there was provocation, and the penalty of 
 death would be changed for that of the galleys. But a 
 man who wounds me in every way during four years, 
 humiliates me for four years, taunts me daily, hourly, 
 for four years, and heaps every insult on my head,— 
 what follows ? You consider I have had no provocation ! 
 I had a wife for whom I robbed, — he tortured me about 
 her. I had a child for whom I robbed, — he taunted me 
 about this child. I was hungry, a friend shared his 
 bread with me, — he took away my friend. I begged 
 him to return my friend to me, — he cast me into a dun- 
 geon. I told him how much I suffered, — he said it 
 
16 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 wearied him to listen. What then would you have me 
 do ? I took his life ; and you look upon me as a mon- 
 ster for killing this man, and you decapitate me : then 
 do so." 
 
 Provocation such as this the law fails to acknowl- 
 edge, because the blows have no marks to show. 
 
 The judge then summed up the case in a clear and 
 impartial manner, — dwelling on the life Claude had led, 
 living openly with an improper character ; then he had 
 robbed, and ended by being a murderer. All this was 
 true. Before the jury retired, the judge asked Claude 
 if he had any questions to ask, or anything to say. 
 
 " Very little, " said Claude. " I am a murderer, I am a 
 thief; but I ask you, gentlemen of the jury, why did I 
 kill ? Why did I steal ? " 
 
 The jury retired for a quarter of an hour, and accord- 
 ing to the judgment of these twelve countrymen — 
 gentlemen of the jury, as they are styled — Claude 
 Gueux was condemned to death. At the very outset 
 several of them were much impressed with the name of 
 Gueux (vagabond), and that influenced their decision. 
 
 When the verdict was pronounced, Claude simply 
 said : " Very well ; but there are two questions these 
 gentlemen have not answered. Why did this man steal ? 
 What made him a murderer ? " 
 
 He made a good supper that night, exclaiming, 
 " Thirty-six years have now passed me. " He refused to 
 make any appeal until the last minute, but at the in- 
 stance of one of the sisters who had nursed him he con- 
 sented to do so. She in her fulness of heart gave him a 
 five-franc piece. 
 
 Ris fellow-prisoners, as we have already noticed, were 
 devoted to him, and placed all the means at their dis- 
 posal to help him to escape. They threw into his dun- 
 geon, through the air hole, a nail, some wire, the handle 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. 17 
 
 of a pail : any one of these would have been enough for 
 a man like Claude to free himself from his chains. He 
 gave them all up to the warder. 
 
 On the 8th of June, 1832, seven months and four 
 days after the murder, the recorder of the court came, 
 and Claude was told that he had but one hour more to 
 live, for his appeal had been rejected. 
 
 " Indeed, " said Claude, coldly ; " I slept well last 
 night, and doubtless I shall pass my next even better. " 
 
 First came the priest, then the executioner. He was 
 humble to the priest, and listened to him with great at- 
 tention, regretting much that he had not had the benefit 
 of religious training, at the same time blaming himself 
 for much in the past. He was courteous in his manner 
 to the executioner ; in fact he gave up all, — his soul to 
 the priest, his body to the executioner. 
 
 While his hair was being cut, some one mentioned 
 how the cholera was spreading, and Troyes at any mo- 
 ment might become a prey to this fearful scourge. 
 Claude joined in the conversation, saying, with a smile, 
 " There is one thing to be said, — I have no fear of the 
 cholera ! " He had broken half of the scissors, — what 
 remained he asked the jailer to give to Albin; the other 
 half lay buried in his chest. He also wished the day's 
 rations to be taken to his friend. The only trifle he 
 retained was the five-franc piece that the sister had 
 given him, which he kept in his right hand after he 
 was bound. 
 
 At a quarter to eight, the dismal procession usual in 
 such cases left the prison. Pale, but with a firm tread, 
 Claude Gueux slowly mounted the scaffold, keeping his 
 eyes fixed on the crucifix the priest carried, — an em- 
 blem of the Saviour's suffering. He wished to embrace 
 the priest and the executioner, thanking the one and 
 pardoning the other; the executioner simply repulsed 
 
18 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 him. Just before he was bound to the infernal machine, 
 he gave the five-franc piece to the priest, saying, " For 
 the poor. " 
 
 The hour had scarcely struck its eight chimes, when 
 this man, so noble, so intelligent, received the fatal 
 blow which severed his head from his body. 
 
 A market-day had been chosen for the time of execu- 
 tion, as there would be more people about, for there are 
 still in France small towns that glory in having an exe- 
 cution. The guillotine that day remained, inflaming 
 the imagination of the mob to such an extent that one 
 of the tax-gatherers was nearly murdered. Such is the 
 admirable effect of public executions ! 
 
 We have given the history of Claude Gueux 's life, 
 more to solve a difficult problem than for aught else. 
 In his life there are two questions to be considered, — ■ 
 before his fall, and after his fall. What was his train- 
 ing, and what was the penalty ? This must interest 
 society generally; for this man was well gifted, his in- 
 stincts were good. Then what was wanting ? On this 
 revolves the grand problem which would place society 
 on a firm basis. 
 
 What Nature has begun in the individual, let society 
 carry out. Look at Claude Gueux. An intelligent and 
 most noble -hearted* man, placed in the midst of evil sur- 
 roundings, he turned thief. Society placed him in a 
 prison where the evil was yet greater, and he ended 
 with becoming a murderer. Can we really blame him, 
 or ourselves ? — questions which require deep thought, 
 or the result will be that we shall be compelled to shirk 
 this most important subject. The facts are now before 
 us, and if the government gives no thought' to the mat- 
 ter, what are the rulers about ? 
 
 The Deputies are yearly much occupied. It is im* 
 
CLAUDE GUEUX. 19 
 
 portant to sift sinecures and to unravel the budget ; . to 
 pass an Act which compels me, disguised as a soldier, 
 to mount guard at the Count de Lobau's, whom I do not 
 know, and to whom I wish to remain a stranger, or to 
 go on parade under the command of my grocer, who has 
 been made an officer. I wish to cast no reflections on 
 the patrol, who keep order and protect our homes, but 
 on the absurdity of making such parade and military 
 hubbub about turning citizens into parodies of soldiers. 
 
 Deputies or ministers ! it is important that we should 
 sound every subject, even though it end in nothing ; 
 that we should question and cross-question what we 
 know but little about. Rulers and legislators ! you 
 pass your time in classical comparisons that would 
 make a village schoolmaster smile. You assert that it 
 is the habits of modern civilization that have engen- 
 dered adultery, incest, parricide, infanticide, and poison- 
 ing, — proving that you know little of Jocasta, Phedra, 
 (Edipus, Medea, or Rodoguna. The great orators occupy 
 themselves in lengthy discussions on Corneille and Ra- 
 cine, and get so heated in literary argument as to make 
 the grossest mistakes in the French language. Very 
 important indeed all this is, but we consider there are 
 subjects of far greater consequence. In the midst of 
 such useless arguments, what answer would the Depu- 
 ties give if one rose and gravely addressed them in the 
 following words : — 
 
 " Silence, all those who have been speaking Î silence, 
 I say ! You consider yourself acquainted with the ques- 
 tion? You know nothing about it. The question is 
 this : In the name of justice, scarcely a year ago, a man 
 at Fanners was cut to pieces ; at Dijon a woman's head 
 was taken off ; in Paris, at St. Jacques, executions take 
 place without number. This is the question ! Now 
 take your time to consider it, you who argue over the 
 
20 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 buttons of the National Guards, whether they should 
 be white or yellow, and if security is preferable to 
 certainty ! 
 
 " Gentlemen of the Right, gentlemen of the Left, the 
 great mass of the people suffer ! Whether a republic or 
 a monarchy, the fact remains the same, — the people 
 suffer ! The people are famished, the people are frozen. 
 Such misery leads them on to crime : the galleys take 
 the sons, houses of ill-fame the daughters. You have 
 too many convicts, too many unfortunates. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this social gangrene ? You 
 are near the patient : treat the malady. You are at 
 fault : now study the matter more deeply. 
 
 " When you pass laws, what are they but expedients 
 and palliatives ? Half your codes result from routine. 
 
 " Branding but cauterizes the wound, and it mortifies, 
 and what is the end ? You stamp the crime for life on 
 the criminal ; you make two friends of them, two com- 
 panions — inseparables. The convict prison is a blister 
 which spreads far worse matter than ever it extracts ; 
 and as for the sentence of death, when carried out it is 
 a barbarous amputation. Therefore, branding, penal ser- 
 vitude, and sentence of death are all of one class ; you 
 have done away with the branding, banish the rest. 
 Why keep the chain and the chopper now you have put 
 aside the hot iron ? Farinace was atrocious, but he was 
 not ridiculous. 
 
 " Take down that worn ladder that leads to crime and 
 to suffering. Revise your laws ; revise your codes ; re- 
 build your prisons ; replace your judges. Make laws 
 suited to the present time. 
 
 " You are bent on economy ; do not be so lavish in 
 taking off the heads of so many during the year. Sup- 
 press the executioner ; you could defray the expenses of 
 six hundred schoolmasters with the wages you give your 
 
CLAUDE GTJEUX. 21 
 
 eighty executioners. Think of the multitude ; then there 
 would be schools for the children, workshops for the 
 men. 
 
 " Do you know that in France there are fewer people 
 who know how to read than in any other country in 
 Europe ? Fancy, Switzerland can read, Belgium can 
 read, Denmark can read, Greece can read, Ireland can 
 read — and France cannot read ! It is a crying evil. 
 
 " Go into our convict prisons, examine each one of 
 these condemned men, and you will observe by the pro- 
 file, the shape of the head, how many could find their 
 type in the lower animals. Here are the lynx, the cat, 
 the monkey, the vulture, the hysena. Nature was first 
 to blame, no doubt; but the want of training fostered 
 the evil. Then give the people a fair education, and 
 what there is of good in these ill-conditioned minds, 
 let that be developed. People must be judged by their 
 opportunities. Rome and Greece were educated : then 
 brighten the people's intellect. 
 
 " When France can read, then give the people encour- 
 agement for higher things. Ignorance is preferable to 
 a little ill-directed knowledge; and remember, there is 
 a book of far greater importance than the ' Compère 
 Mathieu,' more popular than the ' Constitutionnel,' and 
 more worthy of perusal than the charter of 1830, — that 
 is the Bible. 
 
 " Whatever you may do for the people, the majority 
 will always remain poor and unhappy. Theirs the 
 work, the heavy burden to carry, to endure : all the 
 miseries for the poor, all the pleasures for the rich. 
 
 " As such is life, ought not the State to lean to the 
 weaker and helpless side ? 
 
 " In the midst of all this wretchedness, if you but 
 throw hope in the balance, let the poor man learn there 
 is a heaven where joy reigns, a paradise that he can 
 
22 CLAUDE GUEUX. 
 
 share, and you raise him ; he feels that he has a part in 
 the rich man's joys. And this was the teaching Jesus 
 gave, and He knew more about it than Voltaire. 
 
 " Then give to those people who work, and who suffer 
 here, the hope of a different world to come, and they 
 will go on patiently; for patience but follows in the 
 footsteps of hope. Then spread the Gospel in all our 
 villages, let every cottage have its Bible ; the seed thus 
 sown will soon circulate. Encourage virtue, and from 
 that will spring so much that now lies fallow. 
 
 " The man turned assassin under certain circum- 
 stances, if differently influenced would have served his 
 country well. 
 
 " Then give the people all encouragement ; improve 
 the masses, enlighten them, guard their morals, make 
 them useful, and to such heads as those you will not 
 require to use cold steel." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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