Full text of "Ninety-three"

Univers!
South^
Libral

I am a héritage because I
brlnÇi )jov years of tboupbt
and îbe lore of time *=-^
I impart yet I can mt 5peai<e
I have t leveled avnon^ tbe
peoples of tbe eartb --=^ I
am a rover-^ Oft-tlrpes
1 strc^y jtDn? tbe /I re side,
ctf tbe ore who loves ard
cberlsbeD n9e-ajbo
TOlooes me ujber I an?
^or?e<«^5bould you find
me va^rart please send
me borne --aimoi^g my
brot be rs -- on t be boo I^^l.
sbelves of

ALr2LP3ANTt:LL

NINETY-THREE

VICTOR HUGO

li^lTH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM DESIGNS BY VICTOR HUGO, BAYARD, BRION,
yiERGE, AND OTHER EMINENT FRENCH ARTISTS

IN TWO VOLUMES

Vol II

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS

LONDON AND NEIV-YORK

1889

'Br the S

ciiiw zÂiitbor,

III L'li

form Styh

. S Vols.

LhS MlSÉRABLHS

Toilers of thk

Sea, . .

. 2 Vols.

Nôtre-Dame, .

. 2 Vols.

The Man Who

Laughs.

. 2 Vols.

Ninety-Three.

. 2 Vols.

George Routleuge

& Sons,

LONDON

AND Ni;\V-YORK.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by

Hakper & Brothers,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

CopyriglU, 1888, by Joseph L. Blamikk.

stack
Annex

/
TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOLUME II

BOOK H— THE THREE CHILDREN

PAOE

Chap. I. PLUscjT^iw Civilia Bella 1

II. Doi 8

III. Small Armies and Great Battles 14

lY. "It ls the Second Time" 26

y. The Drop of Cold Water 30

VI. A Healed Breast; A Bleeding Heart 33

VII. The Two Poles of the Truth 40

VIII. Dolorosa 48

IX. A Provincial Bastile

I. La Touegite 53

II. The Breach 55

III. The Oubliette 55

IV. The Bridge-Castle 57

V. The Iron Door 60

VI. The LiBiLUiY (il

VII. The Granary 61

X. The Hostages 63

XI. Terrible as the Antique .......... 71

XII. Possible Escape , ... 76

XIII. "What the Marquis was Doing ......... 79

XIV. What Imânus was Doing 81

TABLE OF COX TE XT S.

BOOK HT— THE MxiSSACRE OF SAINT BAR-
THOLOMEW

PAGE

Chap. 1 87

II 91

IIJ 9-t

lY 97

V 100

\M 104

YII 107

BOOK IV_TIIE MOTHER

Ohap. I. Death Passes Ill

I r. Death Speaks 114

III. MUTTEKINGS AllOXci THE PEASANTS 119

lY. A Mistake 123

Y. Yox IN Desepto 128

YI. The Situation 132

YII. PlîELUIIXAPJES 136

Y] 1 1. The Word and the Roak 140

IX. Titans a(;ainst Oiants 146

X. Radou]! 154

XI. Desperate 162

XII. Deliverance 167

XIII. The Executioner 170

XIY. Imânus also Escapes 173

X\". Never Put a Watch and a Key in the Sa:\ie Pocket. 176

BOOK Y — IN DyEMONE DEUS

(.'hap. I. Found, put Lost 183

II. From the Door of Stone to the Iron Door .... 193
HI. Where ave See the Children Wake that we Saw go

TO Sleep 196

TABLE OF CONTENTS. xi

BOOK VI— AFTER THE BATTLE THE COMBAT

BEGINS

PAGE

C'hap. I. Lantenac Taken 205

II. Gtauvain's Self-questioning 208

III. The Commandant's Mantle 218

BOOK YII— FEUDALITY AND REYOLUTION

Chap. I. The Ancestor 223

II. The Coukt-maetial 230

ni. The Yotes 235

IV. After Cimourdain the Judge Comes Cimourdain the

Master 240

V. The Dungeon 242

VI. When the Sun Rose 251

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIOI^S

VOLUME II

ARTIST

The Three Children G. Brioi/ .

When the Sun Rose Blon . . .

The Tavern of La ( !roix-Blanchakd . . . . I). Vien/e .

DoL //. Scoff .

The Old Market House Itioii . . .

Lantenag at the Battery E. Moriii .

GrAUVAIN'S ATTACK Bioit . . .

The Defeat //. Sfott .

" The Street was Strewn with Dead " . . .A. Lançoi/

" The Man Eeceived the Sword-cut " . . . . E. Morin .

The Bag of Chestnuts "

Tellmarch and Fléchard "

" Open Ranks !" IJ. Ma'tlliui

The Sword and the Axe E. Mor'ni .

Dolorosa 3//,s-.s- l'aftciHoit

La Tourgue Victor Hiir/o

Interior of a Bastille Rum . . .

The Oubliette "...

Execution of Charlotte Cord.^y I). Maitlarf

Imânus A. Lançon

The Gauvain Tower Hhm . . .

Peasants Destroying the Ladders (iUfu-rt . .

The Windows of the Library //. Scott .

The Massacre of St. Bartholomew . . . . E. Bai/ard

"T have Finished my Soup" "

Madame Roland and the Girondins ....***..
xiii

PAGE

vii

o
O

9
1.")
17

28
29
35
43
47
49
51
:)4
.")()

(;;•)

67
73
77
SI
85
89
90

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIOXS.

The Length of the Laddeii . . . . E. Bitijurd . . 92

"It is a Beast!" " . . 94

"She Stopped at the Chair" " . . 95

The Caep.iage Upset " . . 99

The First Page " . . 101

Butterflies " . . 106

"The Three Malefactors Fell Asleep" . . " . . 108

The Mother />. T'/V/y/r . . . 109

In the Abandoned Loft J?. Mor'm . . . 11P>

Outlawed (jUhi'ii .... 113

The Surprise 1). Virnf . . . 12.")

She Walked Towards the Tower Iiioi/ 129

All that wished, Ate and Drank D. Viei-f/c . . . 133

The Bugle and the Trumpet E. ]\forii/ . . . 13.")

Preliminaries .... Eioi/ .... 137

"They Knelt Down" ^1. Lm/rini . . 141

(tR.\nd Francœur FirdhmiKlu.s . . 144

Titans and Giants I). Me rue . . . 147

The Summons " ... 149

The Bre.\ch A. Laiiroi/ . . loi

Radoub at the Loop-hole " . . 15.5

" Then He Became Forjiidable I). Vieiy/c . . . 159

The Secret Passage " ... 165

"He Fired his Second Shot" " ... 171

Imânus Lighting the Fuse A. Laiiroii . . 175

Lantenac in the Forest Bioi/ 177

In D.î:mone Deus D. Mailhirt . . ISl

The Fuse Bhii 185

The Library on Fire " 186

Found, yet Lost A. Luurou . . 189

The Iron Door E. Mor'm . . . 194

" They are all Saved !" " ... 199

After the Victory the Combat Begins . . . /Tkh/ 203

GrAUVAiN Meditative " 207

Feudalism and Revolution G. Ilrlm/ . . . 221

The Leader's Cloak Bian 225

The Court-jiartial E. Mor'ni . . . 231

The Dungeon IK Mn'ilhirt . . 243

The Ctuillotine B'loii 257

WHEN THE SUN KOSE.

NINETY-THEEE

];<)() K II

THE THREE OHILDREK

CHAPTER I

PLUSQUAJI CIVILIA BELLA

HE summer of 1792 had Iieeu very rainy; the
Slimmer 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 possil)le to get
about, thanks to the beauty of the season. Dry
fields make an easy route.

At the close of a lovely Jul}- day, about iiu

^^•^Ç^ ^fc f^)^'^ hour before sunset, a man on horseback, who

"^ -- ' y^^ came from the direction of A\Tanches, drew reiu

' Ï l)efore the little inn called the Croix-Branchard,

which stood at the entrance of Pontorson, and wliich for years past had

boriif this inscription on its sign — '"''Good cider an drafty It had been

warm all day, but the Avind was l>egiuning now to rise.

The traveler Wiis enveloped iu an ample cloak which covei'ed the
l)ack of his horse. He wore a broad hat with a tricolored 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 liis

2 XI X£ T Y- THREE.

ueck, was tln'own back to leave his amis fvee, and beneath gUmpses
couhl be had of a tricohjred sash and two pistols thrust in it. A sabre
hung down below the cloak.

At the sound of the horse's hoofs the door of the inn opened and
the landlord ai:)peared, a. lantern in his hand. It was the intermediate
hour l)etween day and niglit ; still light along the highway, but dark iu
the house. The host ]ook(Ml at the cockade.

"Citizen," said lie, "do you stop here ?"

" No."

" Where are you going, then .'"

" To Dol."

"In "that case go bat-k 1o Avi-auches or remain at PoutorSou."

" Why f "

"Because there is fighting at Dol."

"Ah !" said the hoi'seman.

Then he added :

"Grive my lun'se some oats."

The host brought the trough, emptied a measure of oats into it, and
took the bridelle oft' the horse, Avhich l)egan to siuift' and eat.

The dialogue continued :

" Citizen, has that horse been seized .' "

"No."

" It belongs to you .' "

"Yes. I boiight and ])ai<l for it."

" Where do you come from ? "

" Paris."

"Not direct ?"

" No."

"I sliould tliiuk not! The roads arc closed. lîut tlie post runs
still."

"As far as Alençon. I left it there."

"Ah ! Very soon there will be no longer any posts iu France.
There are uo more horses. A horse woi-th three hundred livres costs six
luindi-ed, and fodder is lieyond all pi'ice. I have Ix'en postmaster, and
now I am keeper of a cookshop. Out of thirteen hundred and thirteen
])ostmasters that there used to be, two hundred have resigned. Citizen,
you traveled accoi'ding to the new tarift'f"

"That of the 1st of May— yes."

" Twenty sous a post for a cari-iage, twelve for a gig, five sous for a
van. You bought your hoi'se at Alençon V

"Yes."

"You have ridden all dav.'"

XIXE TY-THREE. 3

" Since dawD."
"Aud yesterday ? "
"And the day before."

" I can see that. You came by Domfront and Mortaiu."
"Aud Avranehes."

" Take my advice, citizen ; rest yourself. You must be tired. Y^our
horse is certainly."

" Horses have a right to be tired ; men have not."

The host again fixed his eyes on the traveler. It -was a grave, calm,
severe face, framed liy gray hair.

The innkt^eper cast a glance along the road, which was deserted as
fai" as the eye could reach, and said :

"And you travel alone in this fashion ? "

" I have an escort."

" AMiere is it ? "

"My sabre and pistols."

The innkeeper Ijrought a T)ucket of water, and, while the horse was
drinking, studied the travelei-, and said mentally — "All the same, he has
the look of a priest."

The horseman resumed :

"You say there is fighting at Doll"

4 XI XE T Y- THREE.

"Yes. Tliat ouii'ht ti> hr aliuiit iM'^-iiiuhiii'."

" Who is tiglitiug '! "

"Oue ei-devaut ai;'aiiist aiiothiM- ci-dt'vaiit."

" You said "

"I say that au ex-iioble wlio is for tlie Republic is liKlitiuy ag-aiust
auother ex-uoble wlio is for the King.''

"But tliore is uo longer a king."

"There is the Uttle fellow! Tlie odd j.nrt of the ])usiness is tliat
these two ei-devauts are relations."

The horsemau listeued attentively. The innkeeper continued :

"Oue is young, the otln.'r old. It is the graud-uephew who fights
the great-uncle. The unch? is a lioyalist, the nephew a patriot. The
uncl(! commands tht; Whites, the uephew commands the Blues. Ah,
they will show no (piarter, Til wai'rant you. It is a war to the death."
' " Death ? "

"Yes, citizen, iloltl! would you like to see the compliments they
fling at each other's heads I Here is a notice the ol<l man iiuds means
to placard everywhere, on all the houses and all the trees, and that he
has had sti;ck up on my very door."

The host held up his lantern to a square of paper fastened on a panel
of the double door, and, as the placard was written in large characters,
the traveler could read it as he sat on his horse:

"The Marcpns de Lantenac has the honor of informing his grand-
uephew, the Viscount Gauvain, that, if the Martpns has the good fortune
to seize his person, he Avill cause tlu^ Viscount to be decently shot."

" Here," added the host, " is the reply."

He went forward, and threw the light of tlie lantern upon a second
placard placed on a level with the fii-st upon the otliei- leaf of the door.
The traveler read :

" Gauvain warns Lantenac tliat, if he taki' hhn, he will have him
shot."

" Y(>sterday," said the host, "the first placard was stuck on my
<^loor, and this nK>rning the second. There was no waiting for the
answer."

The traveler in a half-voic(>, and as if speaking to himself, uttered
these words, which the innke(>per heard without really comprehending:

"Yes; this is moi'c than war in tln' country — it is war in families.
It is necessary, and it is well. The grand restoi-ation of the people
nmst be bought at this ]>rice."

And the traveler raised his liaml lo his hat an<l saluted the sec<_)nd
plac;inl, on which his eyes wei'e still fixed.

The host continued :

XI XE T Y - THREE. 5

" .So, citizen, you iiiiderstiuid 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 Avar of the townsjjeople against
the peasants. They call us clowns, we call them Vtoors. The nobles
and the priests are with them."

" Not all," interrupted the horseman.

''Certainly not, citizen, since we ha\c here a viscount against a
marquis."

Then he added to himself:

"And I feel sure I am speaking t.) a priest."

The horseman continued :

"And which of the two has the hest 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 Avith two branches : there is the great branch,
Avhose chief is called the Marcpiis de Lantenac, and there is the lesser
branch, Avhose hc^ad is called the Viscount Gauvain. To-day the two
branches fight each other. One does not see that among trees, hut one
sees it among men. This Marc^uis de Lantenac is all-pOAverful in Brit-
tany; the peasants consider him a prince. The A'ery day he landed,
eight thousand men joined him ; in a Aveek, three hundred parishes had
risen. If he had been able to get foothold on the coast, the English
would liaA-e landed. Luckily this GauA^ain was at hand — the other's
gi'and-nephew — odd chance ! He is the Republican connnander, and he
has checkmated his grand-uncle. And then, as good luck would have
it, AA'hen tliis Lantenac arriA'ed, and AA^as massacring a heap of prisoners,
he had tAVo Avomeu shot, one of Avhom had three children that had been
adopted l)y a Paris liattalion. And that made a terrible battalion.
They call themseh-es the Battalion of the Bonnet Rouge. There are
not many of those Parisians left, but they are furious bayonets. They
haA-e been incorporated into the diAdsion of Commandant Gauvain.
Nothing can stand against them. They mean to aA'enge the women
and retake the children. Xoljody knows Avhat the old man has done
Avith the little ones. That is Avhat enraged the Parisian grenadiers.
Suppose those babies had not Ijeen mixed np in the matter — the war
would not be Avhat it is. The viscount is a good, braA'^e young man ;
but the old fellow is a terrible marquis. The peasants call it the Avar of
Saint Michael against Beelzeljub. 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 OA-ercame the demon, and bui'ied him
under another mountain near here, which is called Tomlx'hiine."

e ■ NIXETY- THREE.

"Yes," niunuured the hovsenian ; "Tuiiil>;i Beleui, tlie touil) of
Beleuus — Belus, Bel, Belial, Beelzebub."

" I see that you are weU iufornied."

Aud the host again spoke to himself:

"He miderstands Latin ! Decidedly he is a priest."

Then he resumed :

" Well, citizen, for the peasants it is that war l)eginning over again.
For them the Royalist general is Saint Michael, and Beelzelnili is the
Republican commander. But if there is a devil, it is certainly Lante-
nac, and if there is an angel, it is (Tau^'aiu. You will take nothing,
citizen ? "

"I have my gourd and a 1iit 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 insurrection, and stistain Lower
Brittany by the aid of Lower Xormandy, open the door to Pitt, and
give a shove forward to the ^'elldean army, with twenty tliousand
English, and two Intndred thousand ]ieasants. (iauvain cttt this plan
shf)rt. He holds the coast, and \w drives Lantenac into the interior and
the English into the sea. Lantenac was here, and Gfativain has dis-
lodged him; has taken from him the Pont-au-Bean, has driven him otit
of Avranches, chased him out of Yilledieu, and kept him from reaching
Clranville. He is manœuvring to shut him ttp again in tlie forest of
Fotigères, ;ind to siu'roitud him. Yesterday every thing was going well;
Gativain was here with his division. ^Vll of a sudden — an alarm! — the
old man, who is skillful, made a point; information comes that he has
marched on Dol. If he take 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 every thing is lost. That is why, as there was
not a nnnute to lose, that Clauvain, avIio is a man with a head, took
counsel witli nobody but himself, asked no orders and waite<l for none,
bttt sounded the signal to saddle, ptit to his artillery, collected his troop,
drew his sal)re, and, while Lantenac throws himself on Dol, Orauvain
throws himself on Lantenac. Tt is at Dol that these two Breton heads
will knock together. There will 1»' a fine shock. They are at it now."

" How long does it take to get t<_) Dol P

"At least three hours for a troop with cannon ; but they are there
now."

Tlie traveler listened, and said:

" In fact, I think I hear cannon."

The host listened.

" Yes, citizen ; and the musketry. 'I'liey liave opened the liall. Yoii

XI XE T Y - TER EE. • 7

would do well to pass tlic night here. There will lie nothing good to
catch over there."

" I .eau uot stop. I must keep on my road."

" You are wrong. I do not know your business; but the risk is
gi'eat, 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 soi i "

"Very nearly that," said the cavalier.

The innkeeper raised his head, and said to himself :

"Still this citizen gives me the impression of lieing a, priest."

Then, after a little reflection :

"All the same, a priest may Ivaxq children."

" Put the bridle back on my horse," said the ti-avcler. " How nuich
do I owe you ?"

He paid the man.

The host set the trough and the bucket back against the w^all 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 Saiut-deorges-de-Brehaigne, Cherrueix, and IIirèlle-Yi\ier.
You leave Dol to the south and Caucale to the north. Citizen, at the
end of the street you will find the branching oft' of the two routes ; that
of Dol is on the left, that of Saint-Cleorges-de-Brehaigne on the right.
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 traveler.

He spurred his horse forward. The obscurity was now complete ;
he hurried on into the night. The innkeeper lost sight of him.

AVhen the traveler reached the end of the street where the two
roads branclied oft', he heard the voice of the innkeeper calling to him
from afar :

" Take the right ! "

He took the left.

CHAPTER II

DOL

i>L, a Spanish city of France in Brittany, as tlie guide-
Ijooks stylt^ it, is not a town — it is a street. A great old
(Totlde street, bordered all tlie way on the right and the left
by houses with pillars, placed irregularly, so that they form
nooks and elbows in the Inghway, 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 l)rooks into a
river. The city, without gato'.s or walls, o}icn, ovcrlookcil Ijy ]M(>nnt
Dol, could not have sustained a siege, but the street might have sus-
tained one. The promontories of houses, which were still to be seen
tifty years back, and the two-pillared galleries which bordered the
street, madii a 1 )attle-ground that was very strong and capable of offer-
ing great resistance. Each h(.»use was a fortress in fact, and it would
b(* necessai'y to take tlicm one after another. Thi^ ohl market was very
nearly in the mid<lle of the street.

The innkeeper of the Croix-Branchard had spoken truly — a mad
conflict tilled Dol at t1ie moment he uttered the words. A nocturnal
duel between thi' Wliiles, tluit miiriiiiig ari'ived, and the Blues, who had
come upon them in the evening, burst suddenly over the town. Th(>
forces wei'e une(pial ; llie Whites numbered six thousand — thei'e were
only fifteen hundred of tlie Blues; but there was equality in point of
obstinate rage. Strange to s;iy, it was the iifteeii liuiidi'ed wlio had
attacke(l tlie six thoiisaiKJ.

< >n one side a, nioli, on the olliei- a iiiialanx. ( )n one side six thou-
sand peasants, with i)lessed nuMlals on their leatlier vests, white ribbons
on their I'ound hats, Chi'istian dexices on their hraces, cliai)lets at their
lielts, carrying more jiitchforks than salires, cai-l)ines without bayonets,
dragging cannon with I'opes; hadly ecpiipped, ill disciplined, poorly

NINETY-THREE. 9

armed, but fvaiitie. In opposition to theiu were fifteen liundred soldiers,
wearing three-cornered hats, coats with large tails and wide lapels,
shoulder-belts crossed, copper-hilted swords, and carrying guns with
long ba.yonets. They wei'e trained, skilled ; docile, yet fierce ; obeying
like men who would know how to command. Volunteers also, shoeless

"V^

oc ■,',

r-'t'

and in rags too, Imt volunteers for their country. On the side of Mon-
archy, peasants wlio were paladins; for the Revolution, liarefooted
heroes, and each troop possessing a soul in its leader; the Royalists
having an old man, the Rei^ublicans a young one. On this side, Lan-
tenac ; on the other, Gauvain.

The Revolution, side by side with its faces of youthful giants like
those of Danton, Saint-Just, and Robespierre, has faces of ideal youth,
like tliose of Hoche and IMarceau. Gauvain was one of these.

10 XIXETY- THREE.

He "was thirty years old ; he had a Herculean bust, the solemn eye-
of a iirojihet, and the laugh of a child. He did not smoke, he did not
th'ink, he did not swear. He carried a dressing-case through the whole
war; lit^ took care of his nails, ]iis teeth, and his hair, which was dark
and luxuriant. During halts he himself sliook in tlie wind liis military
coat, riddled with Imllets and white witli dust. ïlKmgh always rushing
headlong into an affray, he had nevcn- Ijeen wounded. His singularly
sweet voice had at command the abrujit imperioiisness needed liy 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 pillowed
on a, stone. His was a heroic and innocent soul. The sabre in his hand
transfigur«'(l liim. II»' laid tliat ett'eminate air which in liattlc turns into
sona'thing formidable.

Witli cill that, a thinker and a. pliilosopliei- — m youthful sage. ^Vlci-
biades in ai)peai'ance, Socrates in speech.

In that immense imiirovisation of the French lîevolutiou this
yotmg man had become at once a leader.

His division, formed by himself, was like a Roman legion, a kind of
complete little army; it was composed of infantry and cavalry ; it had
its scouts, its 2)ioneers, its sapjiers, pontoniers ; and as a Eoman legion
liail its catapults, this one had its cannon. Three faeces, well mounted,
rendered the colunni strong, while leaving it easy to gtiide.

Lantenac was also a thorough soldier — a more consummate one.
He was at the same time wary and hai'dy. Old lieroes have more cold
determination than young (.mes, because they are far remove<l fi'om the
warmth of life's morning; more audacity, because they are near death.
What have they to lose ? So very little. HeiK^o the manceuvres of
Lantemic were at once rash and skillful. But in the main, and almost
always, in this dogged hand-to-hand contlict l)etween the old man and
the young, Gauvain gained the advantage. It was rather the work of
foi'tune than any thing else. All good luck — even successes which are
in themselves terrible — go to youth. Victory is somewhat of a Avoman.

Lantenac Avas exasperated against GauA'ain; justly, because GauA'ain
fought against him ; in the second place, b(^cause he Avas of his kindred.
What did he mean liy ttirning Jacobin ;' Tliis (rativain! This nds-
chieA'ous dog! His heir — for the mai-([uis had no children — iiis grand-
ne]»hew, almost his grandson. " JA," said this qttasi-graudfather, '''' if I
jiiif UN/ Ikii/iI (in liiiii, I iri/l hill liiii/ lil.c a diii/ f^

For that matter, the K'evobitioii was right to disquiet itself in
regard 1o this iMarcpiis lie Lantenac. An eartlupiake followed his laud-
ing. I lis name spi'cad throng] i the Yendean insurrection like a train
of ]io\\der. and l.,anteiia(' at onc(^ liecame the centre. In a rcA'olt of that

XIXUTY- THREE. 11

nature, where eaeli is jealous of the other, and each has his thieket or
ravine, the anival of a superior rallies the scattered leaders who have
beeu equals among themselves. Nearly all the forest captains had
joined Lantenac, and, whether near or far off, thev obeyed him. One
man alone had departed ; it was the first Avho had joined him — (Tavard.
"Wherefore ! Because he had lieeu a man of trust. Gravard had known
all tlie secrets and adopted all the plans of the ancient system of civil
war; Lantenac ai)2:)eare< I to replace and supplant him. One does not
inherit from a man of trust ; the shoe of La Ronaiu did not fit Lantenac.
Gavard departed to join Bonchamp.

Lantenac, as a military man, T)elonged to the school of Frederick IL;
he understood comljining the great war with the little. He would have
neither a " confused mass," like the great Catholic and royal army, a
crowd destined to be crushed, nor a troop of guerrillas scattered among
the hedges and copses, good to harass, impotent to destroy. Guerrilla
warfare finishes nothing, or finishes ill; it begins by attacking a republic
and ends by rifling a diligence. Lantenac did not comprehend this
Breton war as the other chiefs had done ; neither as La Rochejacquelein,
who was all for open country campaigns, nor as Jean Chouan, all for
the forest; he would havn neither Vendée nor Chouannerie; he wanted
real warfare; he would mak(3 use of the peasant, but he meant to
depend on the soldier. He wanted bands for strategy and regiments
for tactics. Hi" fcnuid these village armies admii'able for attack, for
ambush and surprise, quickly gathered, quickly dispersed ; ])ut he felt
that they lactked 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 t<j the savage army of the forests regularly drilled trooj^s that
would make a i)ivot aljout which he could maufeuvin; the peasants. It
was a profound and terrible concei)tion ; if it had succeeded, the Vendée
would have been unconquerable.

But where to find regular troops! Where look for soldiers?
Where S(>ek for regiments I Where discover an army ready made f In
England. Hence Lantenac's determined idea — to land the English.
Thus the conscience of parties compromises with itself. The Avhite
cockade hid the red uniform from Lantenac's sight. He had only one
thought — to get possession of some pctint on the coast and deliver it up
to Pitt. That was why, seeing Dol defenseless, he flung himself upon
it; the taking of the town Avould give him ]\Iount Dol. and Mount Dol
the coast.

The place was well chosen. The cannon of Mount Dol woidd
swee}) the Fresnois on one side and Saint- Brelade on the other ; would
keep the cruisers of Cancale at a distance, and leave the wliole lieach,

12 XI NE T Y - THREE.

from Raz-sni'-Coiiesnon to Sjiiiit-^Mrloii'-dcs-Oinles, clear for au inva-
sion.

For tlie carrying out of this docisive attempt, Lauteuac had Ijrought
^vitli him only a little over six thousand men, the flower of the bands
which he had at his disposal, and all his artillery — ten sixteeu-pouud
culverius, a denh-culverin, and a. four-pounder. His idea was to estab-
lish a strong battery on Mount Dol, upon the principle that a thousand
shots fired from ten cannon do mon^ execution than tifteen huudred
fired with five.

Success appeared certain. Tlicy wim-c six thousand men. Toward
Avranches, they had only (rauvain and his tifteen hundred men to fear,
and Léchelle in the direction of Dinan. It was true that Léchclle had
twenty-five thousand men, Imt lu' was twenty leagues away. So Lan-
teuac felt confidence; on Léchelle's side he put the great distance
against the great numlicrs ; with Gauvain, the size of the force against
their propinquity. Let lis add that Léchelle was an idiot, who later on
allowed his twenty-five thousand men to be exterminated in the laudes
of the ( 'voix-Bataille, a 1 ilunder wliich he atoned for Ijy suicide.

So Lanteuac felt ])erfect security. His entrance into Dol was sud-
den and stern. The Marcpus de Lantenac had a stern reputation ; he
was known to be without pity. No resistance was attempted. The
terrified inhaljitauts barricaded themselves in their houses. The six
thousand Yendeans installed themselves in Wm town with rustic con-
fusion ; it was almost like a fair-gi'ound, witliout quartermasters, with-
out allotted camp, bivouacking at hazard, cooking in the open air,
scattering themselves among the churches, forsaking their guns for
their rosaries. Lantenac went in liaste with some artillery officers to
reconnoitre INIount Dol, leaving thcconnnand to Gouge-le-Bruant, whouL
he had appointed field-sergeant.

This Gouge-le-Bruaut has left a, vague trace in history. He had
two nicknames, Brise-hlcu, on account of his massacre of patriots, and
liiKUitis, l)(>cause he had in him a something that was indescribably hor-
rible. JiiKutKS, derived from iniai/is, is an old lias-Normau word which
expresses sui>erhuniau ugliness, something almost divine in its a.wful-
ness — a demon, a satyr, an ogre. An ancient manuscript says — '"'With
tiijl fipo ci/es I saw Imdmis." The old people of the Bocage no longer
know to-day who Gouge-le-Bruant was, nor what Brise-bleu signifies;
lint 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 Vendee the (>! h ei's were savages; Gouge-le-Bruant was
tlie ))arharian. He was a s]iecies of Oaci(pie, tattooed with Christian

NIKE TY-THR E'E. 13

crosses i\m\ jlvur-dc-Vis ; lie had on his face tlie hideous, ahuost super-
uatural glare of a soul which uo other human soul resembled. He was
iufernally brave iu combat ; atrocious afterward. His was a heart full
of tortuous iutricacies, capable of all forms of devotion, inclined to all
madnesses. L)id he reason f Yes ; but as serpents crawl — in a twisted
fashion. He started from heroism to reach murder. It was nnpossible
to divine whence his resolves came to him — they were sometimes grand
from their very monstrosity. He was capable of every possible unex-
pected horror. His ferocity was epic.

Hence his mysterious nickname — Iiiuhius.

The Marquis de Lantenac had confidence in his cruelty.

It was true that Imânus excelled in cruelty, but in strategy and in
tactics he was less clever, and i>erhaps the marquis erred in making- him
his tield-sergeant. However that might be, he left Imânus behind him
with instructions to replace him and look after eveiy thing.

Gouge-le-Bruant, a man more of a fighter than a soldier, was fitter
to cut the throats of a clan than to g-uard a town. Still he posted main-
guards.

When evening came, as the Marquis de Lantenac was returning
toward Dol, after having decided upon the groimd for his battery, he
suddd'iily heard the report of cannon. He looked forward. A red
smoke was lising from the principal street. There had been surprise,
invasion, assault ; they were fighting in the town.

Although very difficult to astonish, he was stupefied. He had not
been prepared for any thing of the sort. Who could it be ! E\ddently
it was not Grauvain. No man would attack a force that numbered foui'
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 filing inha])itants ; he questioned them; they were mad with terror;
they cried — " The Blues ! the Blues ! " AVhen he arrived, the situation
was a bad one.

This is what had happened.

CHAPTER III

SMALL AinilES AND GREAT BATTLES

S we liave just seen, the peasants, on avrivino- at Do], dis-
persed themselves through the town, each man following his
own faney, as happens when troops "ofcc// from friciidsJiip^^
— a favorite exju-ession with the Vendeans — a si)eeies of
nhrdicuce which makes heroes, l>ut not troojiers. They thnist tlie artil-
lery out of the way along witli the ])aggage, mider the arches of the old
market-hall. They were weary ; tliey ate, drank, counted their rosaries,
and lay down pell-mell across the ])rincipal street, which was eucum-
l)ered ratlier than guarded.

As night came on, the greater portion fell asleep, with their heads
on tlieir knapsacks, some having their wives beside them, for the peas-
ant women often followed their liusliands, and tlie robust ones acted as
spies. It was a mild July evening ; the constellation glittered in the
deep i»urple of the sky. Tlie entii'e bivouac, which resembled I'ather the
halt of a caravan than an army encamped, gave itself up to repose.
Suddenly, amid the dull gleams of twilight, such as had not yet closed
their eves saw three pieces of ordnance ]H)inte<l at the entrance of the
street.

It Avas Clauvain's artillery. He had surprised the main-guard. He
was in the town, and his colunni held the toji of the street.

A peasant started up, cried, " Who goes there ! " and fired his
musket; a cannon-shot replied. Then a fui'ious 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 tlumdei'slrickeii crowd. They fiung them-
selves on tlieir arms. They yelled, they ran; many fell. The assaulted
peasants no longer knew what they were about, and blindly shot each

NINETY-THREE.

other. The townspeople, stuuued with fright, rushed in and out of their
houses, and wandered frantically amid the huliljulj. Families shrieked
to one another. A dismal combat, in which women and children were

mingled. The balls, as they whistled overhead, streaked the darkness
with rays of light. A fusillade 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

IG NINETY -THREE.

horses became unmanageable. The Avounded were trampled under foot.
The groans of the poor ASTetehes, helpless on the ground, filled the air.
Horror here — stupefaction there. Soldiers and officers sought for one
another. lu tlie midst of ;ill this could be seen creatures made indif-
ferent to the awful scene l)y personal preoccupations. A woman sat
nursing her new-born babe, seated on a l)it of wall, against which her
husljand leaned with his leg broken ; and he, while his blood was flow-,
ing, trau(piilly loaded his rifle and fired at random, straight before him
into the darkness. Men lying flat on the gr<.>und fired across the spokes
of the wagon-wheels. At moments there rose a hideous din of clamors,
then the great voices of the cannon drowned all. It was a,wful.

It was like a felling of trees; they dropped oik- u[)on another.
Gauvain poured out a deadly fire from his ambush, and suffered little
loss.

Still th(^ peasants, courageous amid their disorder, ended by putting
themselves on the defensive; they retreate<l into the market — a vast,
ol_)scure redoubt, a forest of stone i)illars. Thei-e they again made a
stand; any thing wliidi resembled a wood gave them confidence.
Imânus supplied the absence of Lantenac as best he could. They had
cannon, Ijut, to the great astonishment of (lauvain, they did not make
use of it ; that was owing to the fact that the artillery officers had gone
with tlie marquis to reconuoitre Mount Do], and the peasants did not
know how to manage the culverius and demi-culverins; but they riddled
with balls the Blues Avho cannonaded them. They replied to the grape-
shot Ity volleys of nuisketry. It was now they who were sheltered.
They had heaped together the drays, the tumln-ils, the casks, all the
litter of the old market, and improvised a lofty 1 tarricade, with openings
through which they could pass their carbines. From these holes tlieir
fusillade was inurderous. The whole was quickly arranged. In a
(piarter of an hour the market presented an impi'egnable front.

This l)ecame a serious matter for (J-auvain. This market suddenly
transformed into a citailel was unexin-cted. The peasants were inside it,
massed and solid, (iauvain's siu'prise 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 swoi'd in one
hand, erect, in the glare of a toi'ch which lighted his battery.

The gleam, falling on Jiis tali figure, made him visible to the men
beliiml tlie l)arrica<le. He became an aim for them, biit he did not
notice it.

Tlie shower of balls sent out from the bai'ricade fell alioul him as
he stood there, lost in thought.

But he could oppose cannon 1o all these eai'bim's, and cannon alwaj'S

LANTENAC AT THE BATTERY.

:kinety-theee. 19

ends by getting the advantage. Victoi'v rests Avith him who has the
ai-tillei-y. 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 l^all broke through a house
above Gauvain's head. The barricade was replying to the cannon with
its own voice. What had happened ? Hometliiug new had occurred.
The artillery was no longer confined to one side.

A second l>all folloAved the first and l>uried itself in the wall close to
riauvain. A third knocked his hat off on the ground.

These l)alls were of a heavy i-aliln-e. It was a sixteeu-poiinder that
fired.

"They ai-e aiming at you, commandant," cried the artillerymen.

They extinguished the torch, (iauvain, as if in a reverie, picked
up his hat.

Some niie had in fact aimed at (Iauvain — it was Lantenac. The
mar(|uis had just ari'ived Avithiu the liarricade from the opposite
side.

Inianus lunl Inuiied to meet him.

" Monseigneur, we are surj^rised."

"T'y whom!"

" I do not Know."

" Is the route to Dinan tree ?"

" I think so."

" We must Ijegin 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 theii; heads ; fjesides, the officers were not here."

" I am come."

"Monseigneur, 1 have sent toward Fougères all I could of the
baggage, the Avomen, every thing useless. What is to ))e done with the
three little prisoners ? "

" Ah, those children ! "

" Yes."

" They are our hostages. Have them taken to La Tourgue."

This said, the manjuis rushed to the l)arricade. 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-pouuders, 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.

20 XI XE T Y - THE EE.

Then he took the swah and rammer liimself, loaded tlic ]iieee,
sighted it, and fired.

Thriee he aimed at (lauvaiii and missed. Tlie third time he only
succeeded iu knoekiny his iiat oft'.

"Numbskull!" muttered Lanteuac; "a little lower, and 1 .should
have takeu his head."

Suddenly the torch went out, and he had only darkness liet'ore him.

" So he it," said he.

Then turning toward the peasant gunners, he cried:

" Now let them hav(^ it."

(rauvain, on his side, was not less in earnest. The seriousness of
the situation increased. A new phase of the eomliat develoi)ed itseh".
The barricade had begun to use cannon. Who coul<l tell if it Avere not
about to pass from the defensive 1o the offensive! He had before him,
after deducting the killed and fugitives, at least five thousand com-
batants, and he had left only twelve hundred servicetible men. What
woiiM li,-ipp<'n to the Keimblieans if tlie enemy perceived their paucity
of numliers ;' The rôles were reversed. lie had been the assailant — he
would l)ecome the assailed. If the barricade Avere to make a sortie,
every thing might l)e lost.

What was to be (hnie .' He could no longe-r think of attacking the
barricade in front; an attempt at main force would be foolhardy;
twelve hundred men can not ilislodge fivt^ thousand. To rush upon
them was impossible; to wait would be fatal. He must make an end.
But how ?

(ranvain belonged to the neighborliood; he was acquainted with
the town; he knew that the old ma rket-liouse where the Vendeans were
intrenched was l.)acked 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 l)orn, and for preventing the capture of Bourg-
neuf by holding the dike of La (.'haine against the reliels.

"(Inéchanip," said he, " I leave you in command. Fire as fast as
you call, h'iddle the bari'icade with cann(m-balls. Keeji all those
fellows over yonder busy."

"I understand," said (hu'cha-mp.

"Mass the whole colmnn with their guns loaded, and hold them
ready to make an onslaught."

He added a few words in (!ué<'hanip's ear.

"I hear," said Guéchamii.

Gauvain resumed :

"Ai'e all our di'unimers on foot?"

NI NU T Y - THREE. 21

"Yes."

" We have uiue. Keep two, and give me seven."

The seven drummers i-anged themselves in silence in front of
Gauvain.

Then he said :

" Battalion of the Bonnet Rouge ! "

Twelve men, of whom one was a sergeant, stepped out from the
main body of the troop.

" I demand the whole liattalion," said Gauvain.

" Here it is," replied the sergeant.

" You are twelve ! "

" There are twelve of us left."

" It is well," said Gauvain.

This sergeant was the good, rough trooper Radoub, who had
adopted, in the name of the battalion, the thi'ee ehildren they had
encountered in the Avood of La Saudraie.

It will be i-emembered that only a demi-battalion had been exter-
minated at Herl)e-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 iinger.

" 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 yom- 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 nest to me —
the battalion lieliind them. Sergeant, you will command the battalion."

He put himseh 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 then- cellars. Every door was barred ; every
shutter closed. No light to be seen anywhere.

Amid this silence the principal street kej)t up its din ; the canncm-
ading continued; the Republican battery and the Royalist barricade
spit forth their volleys with undhninished fury.

After twenty minutes of this tortuous march, Gauvain, wlio kept

22 XIXE T Y - THE EE.

liis way uiierriiigly tlirougli tlio darkness, readied the end of a laiit^
"whicli led into the l)rnad street, hut «m tlie other siihi" of the market-
house.

The position was turne(L In this lUrection tlu-re was no intreneli-
ment, according to the eternal imprudence of bai'ricade builders; the
market was open and the entrance free among the pillars where some
baggage-Avagons stood I'eady to depart. Gauvain and his nineteen meu
had the five thoixsand Vendeans before them, but their backs instead of
their faces.

Gauvain spoke in a low voice to the sergeant; the soldiers un-
twisted the straw from their guns; the twelve grenadiers posted them-
selves in line behind the angle of the lane, and the seven drummers
'waited Avith theii' drumsticks lifted. The artillery tiring was intermit-
tent. Suddenly, in a pause between the discharges, Gauvain waved his
sword, and cried, in a voice Avhich rang like a trumpet through the
silence :

"Two hundred men to tlie right — two lunidred meu to tlu^ left — all
the rest in the centre ! "

The twelve muskets fired, and the seven drums beat.

Gauvain uttered the formidable Ijattle-cry of the Blues :

" To your bayonets ! Down upon them !"

The effect was pi-odigious.

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
hearing the drums, the column Avhich Guéchamp commanded at the
head of the street began to inove, sounding the charge in its turn, and
Hung itself at a run on the barricade. 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 peasant catches fright as easily as tluxtch catches fire,
and as quickly as a lilazing tliatch liecomes a confiagration, a yianic
among peasants becomes a rout. \\\ indescribal.)ly confused fiight
eusuetl.

In a few instants tlie market-hall was empty — tlie terrified rustics
In'oke away in all directions ; the officers were powerless ; Imânus use-
lessly killed two or three fugitives ; nothing was to be heard but the
cry — ^'' Save ijOKrselves !■'' Tlie army jioured through the streets of the
town like water through llie lioles of a sicA^e, and dispersed into the
open country Avitli tlie i-ajiidity of a cloud carrit^d along by a Avhirhvind.
Home fied toward Châteauneuf, some toward Plergner, others toAvard
Autrain.

GAUVAIN'S ATTACK.

XIXETY- THE EU.

The Marquis de Laiiteuac watched this stampede. He si^iked the
guns with his uwn hauds and then retreated — tlie last of all, slowly,
coiui»>sedly, sayin.s,' to himself — "Decidedly, the peasants will not stand.
We must have the Eniiiish."

CHAPTEE IV

IT IS THE SECOND TIME'

HE \ietory was complete.

Gauvaiu tiirued toward the men of tlie Bonnet Rouge
Ijattalioii, au(l said — " You are twelve, Ijut you are equal to
a thousand."

Praise from a chief was the cross of honor of those times.

Guéchamp, dispatched heyond the town liy (lauvain, pursue(l the
fugitives and captui-ed a great numljer.

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 witli dead and dying. The root of a combat
must always l)e torn out ; a few desperate groups here and there still
resisted ; they were surrounded, and threw down their arms.

Gauvain had remarke(l, amid the frantic i)ell-mell of the retreat, an
intrepid man, a sort of agile and rol)ust form, who protected the flight
of others, Ijut had not himself fled. This peasant had used his gun so
energetically — the barrel for firing, the butt-end for knocking do^Y^l —
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 ]>illar of the broad street. The man
had just lieen wounded. But h(^ still clutched the sabre and pistol in his
fists. (Jauvain i)ut his 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 wliicji he had received, and made a pool at his
feet.

"You are my i>i-is<mer," added (hiuvain.

The man remained silent.

"What is vour name ?"

NINETY- TEREE.

The man answered : " I am called the Shadow-duncer."

" You are a brave man," said Grauvaiu.

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 un-
observed 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 killeil. The horse received the
pistol-shot, the man received the sabre-stroko, and both fell. It all hap-
pened in the time it would have needed to utter a cry.

The Vendean sank on his side upon the pavement.

KIXIJTY- Tllh'EE.

The sabre had struck the inan full in the face; he lay senseless on
the .stones. The horse was killiMJ.

Gauvain ap^jroached. " Who is this man ?" said he.

He studied him. The Idood from the gash inundated the -wounded
man, and spread a red mask over his face. It was impossible^ to distin-
gnish his features, but one oould see that his hair was graj'.

" This man has saved my life," continued Gauvain. " Does any one
here know him f"

" Connnandant," said a soldier, "he came into the town a. few min-
utes ago. I saw him enter; he came by the road from Pontoi'son."

The chief surge(ni hurrie<l up with Ids instrument-ease. 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 ! "

'Vhi\ sutfei-ei- wore a cloak, a tricoloi'ed sash, pistols, and a sabre.
He was laid on a litter. Tliey un<h-essed him. A bucket of fi'csli water
was l)roug]it; the surgeon wash<^d the cut; the face began to bis visible.
Gauvahi studied it with profound attention.

" Has he any papers on him .' " he asked.

NIA^ ETY-TH R E E.

The siu'geou felt in the strauger's side-pocket aud drew out a
pocket-book, whieli he hauded to Gauvaiu.

The wouuded mau, restored by the cokl Avater, 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 mau 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.

. /l^<» /S^y-yr^

CHAPTER Y

THE DROr OF COLD WATER

HEY had not met for many years, but their hearts had never
been parted ; tliey recognized each other as if they had
sejiarated the evening before.

An ambulance liad lieeii im})r<>vised in tlie town-hall of
])<il. Ciiiiourdain was placeil mi a. lied in a little room next the great
coniiiion rhamber of the other wounde(L The surgeon sewed up the
cut and put an end to the demonstrations of affection between the two
men, jmlging that ('imoui'dain ought to be left to sleeji. Besides, Oau-
vaiu was claimed by the thousand oecu])ations whicli are the duties and
cares of victory, ('imoui'dain I'eniained 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, (/^ould it be possiljle that his dream was realized? Cimonrdain
had long ceased to believe in luck, yet here it was. He had refouud
(rauvain. He had left him a child, he found him a man; he found him
great, formidable, intrepid. He found him triumjihant, and ti-inmi)hing
for the people, (lauvain was tlie real support of tlie Revolution in
Yeiid(''e, and it Avas he, Cimonrdain, who had given this tower of strength
to the Republic. This victor was his pniiil. The light which ho saw
illuminating this youthful face — reserved perhaps for the Republican
r\'inth(M)n — was his own thought : his, Cimourdain's. His disci]ile — the
child of his s{)irit — was from henceforth a hero, and before long would
lie ;i glory. It seemed to Cimourdaiii Ihal he saw the apotheosis of liis
own soul. He had just seen how ( laux'ain made war; he was like ( 'hi-
ron, who iiad watche(l Achilles light, 'i'hei'c was a mysterious anahigy
bet\ve(>n the priest and the centaui'. for the priest is only half-man.

All the chances of this ad\'enture. mingled with the sleejilessness
caused by his wound, filled ('iniour<lain witli a soil (if mysterious iiit<.)xi-

NINE T Y- THREE. 31

cation. He saw a glorious youthful destiny rising, and what added to
his i^rofound joy was tlie possession of full power over this destiny ;
another success like that which he had just witnessed, and Cimourda'tu
would only need to speak a single word to induce the Eepublie to con-
lide 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 Rossignol, Hébert wished to
appoint Ronsin, Robespierre wished to put these all aside. Why not
Gauvain ? asked C'imourdain of himself ; and he dreamed. All possi-
bilities were before liini : he i)assed from one hypothesis to another ; all
obstacles vanished ; when a man puts his foot on that ladder, Ik^ does
not stop ; it is an intinite ascent ; one starts from earth and one reaches
the stars. A great general is only a leader of armies ; a gTeat captain is
at the same time a leader of ideas ; Cimourdain dreamed of Gauvain as
a great captain. He seemed to see — for reverie travels swiftly — Gau-
vain on the ocean, chasing the English ; on the Rhine, chastising the
Northern kings ; on the Pyi-euees, repulsing Spain ; on the Alps, making
a signal to Rome to rouse itself. There were two men in (Jimourdain —
one tender, the other stern ; l)oth were satisfied, for the inexorable was
his ideal, and at the same time that he saw Gauvain noble, he saw him
terriljle. Cimom-dain thought of all that it was necessary to destroy
before beginning to build up, and said to himself — " Verily, this is no
time for tendernesses. Gauvain Avill be ' up to the mai'k,' " an expres-
sion of the period.

Cimourdain pictured Gauvain spurning the shadows with his foot,
with a In-eastplate of light, a meteor-glare on his brow, rising on the
grand ideal wings of Justice, Reason, and Progress, but with a sword in
his hand : an angel — a destroyer likewise.

In the height of this reverie, which was almost an ecstasy, he heard
through the half-open door a conversation in the great hall of the am-
biilance 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. ^Vliile nobody
was watching, he dragged himself into a cellar. We found him. Here
he is."

Then ('imourdain heard this dialogue between Gauvain and the
prisoner :

" You are wounded f "

32 NIKETY-THREE.

" I am well enough to be shot."

" Lay that mau ou a bed. Dress his wouuds ; take care of him ;
cm'e him."

"I wish to die."

" You must live. You tried to kill me iu the Kiug's name ; I show
you mercy in the name of the Rei^ublic."

A shadow passed across Cimourdain's forehead. He was like a
man waking up with a start, and he miu'mured with a sort of sinister
dejection:

" In truth, he is one of the merciful."

CHAPTER VI

A HEALED liKEAST; A BLEEDING HEAKT

( 'UT heals quickly ; hut there was in a oertain phioe a person

more seriously wouuded than Cimourdaiii. It was the

womau wlio had been shot, whom the beggar Tellmareh

had picked u[) out of the great lake of blood at the farm of

Herbe-en-Pail.

Michelle Fléchard was even in a more critical situation than Tell-
mareh had believed. Thei'e was a wound in the shoulder-blade corre-
sponding 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. Tellmareh was a "phi-
losopher," 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 foi-est lair, laid her upon his seaweed V)ed, and treated her by the
aid of those mysterious things called " simples," and thanks t(_> him slie
lived.

The collar-bone knitted together, the wounds in the bi'east and
shoulder closed ; after a few weeks she was convalescent. One morning-
she was able to walk out of the carnichot, leaning on Tellmai-ch, and
seat herself beneatli the trees in the sunshine. Tellmareh knew little
about her; wounds in the lireast demand silence, and during the almost
death-like agony which liad preceded her recovery she had scarcely
spoken a word. When she tried to speak, Tellmareh stojiped liei-, but
she kept up an obstinate reverie ; he could see in her eyes the sombre
going and coming of i^oignant thoughts. But this morning she was
quite strong ; she could almost walk alone ; a cure is a paternity, and
Tellmareh watched her with delight. Tlie g(-)od old man began to smile.
He said to her:

" We are upon our feet again ; we have no more wounds."

34 XI XE T Y - THE E E.

" Except in the heart," said she.

She added, presently — "Then yon have n(_> idea where they are."

"Who are ' they ?'" demanded Tellmareh.

"My cliildreu."'

This " then " expressed, a. wliole world of thonghts ; it signified —
" Since yon do not talk to me, since yon have been so many days beside
me withont oj^ening yonr 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 wan<lerings, her delirium, slic had called
her children, and had seen dearly (for delii'iuni nnikes its observations)
tliat the old man did not reply to her.

The truth was, Tellmareh did not know what to say to her. It is
not easy to tell a mother that her children are lost. And then, Avliat
did he know ? Xothing. He knew that a mother had been shot, tliat
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 childivn, and that Lantenac, after having had the mother shot,
carried oft the little ones. All his intV)rmation ended there. What had
become of the children? Were they even living I He knew, because
he had inqnireil, that there were two boys and a little girl, barely
weaned. Nothing more. He ask(>d himself a host of questions con-
cerning this unfortunate gnjup, l)ut could answer none of them. The
people of the nenghborliood whom In^ had interrogated contented them-
selves with shaking their heads. Tlu; Manpiis de Lantenac was a man
of whom they did not Avillingly talk.

They di<l not willingly talk iif\)e Lantenac, and they did not will-
ingly talk to Tellmareh. Peasants have a species of suspicion peculiar
to themselves. They did not like Tellmareh. Tellmareh the Caimand
was a puzzling man. Why was he always studying the sky ? What was
he doing and what Avas he thinking in his long hoiu's of stillness ! Yes,
indeed, he was odd! In tliis district in full warfare, in full conflagra-
tion, in liigh tumult; where all men had only one business — devastation
— and one work — carnage; where whosoever could burned a house, cut
llie throats of a family, massacred a,n outpost, sacked a. village; where
nol)ody thought of any thing lint 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, occiqued solely with the flowers,
the bii'ds, and the stars, was evidently a dangerous man. Plainly he
was not in possession of his reason; he did not lie iu wait behind

TELLMAKCII AND F LÉ GUARD.

XI NE T Y - TU REE. 37

thickets; lie did not lire a shot at any one. Hence he created a certain
dread aliout him.

" That man is mad," said tlie passers-by.

Tellmarch Avas more than an isolated man — he was shunned.
People asked him no questions and gave him few answers ; so he had
not been able to inform himself as he could have wished. The war
had drifted elsewhere; the armies had gone to fight farther off; the
Marquis de Lautenac had disaiijicari'd from the horizon, and in Tell-
march's state of mind for him to be conscious there was a war it was
necessary for it to set its foot on him.

After that cr\- — "' My children " — Tellmarch ceased to 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 accent of
rage : " ]\Iy childi'en ! "

Tellmarch drooped his head like one guilty. IIc^ was thiidcing of
this Man^uis de Lautenac, who certainly was not thinking of him, and
who probably no longer rememl^ered 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." There-
upon he remained thoughtful for some time, then Ijegan again mentally :
''Am I very sure of tliat ?"

He repeated liis liittcr words: '' If I had known !"

This whole adventure overwhelmed him, for in that which he had
done lie 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 consoled 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 Avithout speech, met one another
amid the shadows of reverie.

The woman's eyes, witli a niglit-like gloom in their dejiths, fixed
themselves anew on Tellmandi.

"Nevertheless, that can not be allowed to pass in this way," said
she.

" Hush ! " returned Tellmarch, laying his finger on his lips.

She continued : " You did 'WTong to save me, and I am angry with
you for it. I would rather l)e dead, because I am sure I should see

38 JIXE T y - THREE.

them then. T sliould know where they ave. They would not see me,
Imt I should lie near them. The dead — they ouaht to have power to
protect."

He took her arm and felt her pulse.

"Calm yourself; you are l)rin<;ing liacd-: your fever."

She asked him almost harshly, " ^Vllen can I go away from
here 1 "

"GoawavT'

"Yes. Walk."

"Never, if you arc not reasonahlc To-niorrtjw, if you are wise."

"What do you i-aU 1 icing wise.'"

"Having conMcncc in (xod."

"God! What has He don.' with my rldldren .'"

Her mind seemed wandering. Her voice liecame very sweet.

"You understand," she said to him, " 1 can not rest like this. You
have never had any children, hut I have. That makes a difference.
One can not jmlge of a. thing when one does not know what it is. You
never had any clnldren, had you ?"

"No," replied Telhnaivh.

"And I — I had nothing besides tlicm. What am L without my
children? I should like to liaA'c somebody exi>lain to me AVJiy I have
not my children. I feel that things happen, Ijut I do not imderstand.
They killed my husl.)and ; they shot me ; all the same, I do not under-
stand it."

"Come," said Tellmarch. "Iliere is tlie fe\-er taking you again. Do
not talk any nun-e."

Slie looked at him and relapsed into silenee.

From this ihiy slie s]ioke no more.

Tellmarch was oljeye.! more absolutely than he liked. She spent
long hours of stupefaction, crouched at the foot of an old tree. .She
dreamed, and held her peace. Silence makes an impenetrable refuge
for simple souls that have Ijeen down into the innermost depths of suf-
fering. She seemed to relinquish all effort to understand. To a certain
extent despair is imintelligilile tc) the despaii'ing.

Tellmareh studied her with sympathetic interest. In jiresence of
this anguish the old man liad llionghts sueli as might have c(une to a
woman. " ( )h, yes," lie said to himseU', "lier lips do not speak, ))ut her
eyes talk'. I know well what is the matter — what lier one idea is. To
have been aiiiother, an<l to be one no loiigei' ! To luive been a nurse,
and to l)e so no more ! She can not resign lierself. She thinks about
the tiniest chihl of all, that she was nursing not long ago. She thinks
of it; thinks — thinks, in ti'utli, it must be so sweet to feel a little rosy

XIX ET y -THREE. 39

mouth that draws your very soul out of your Ijfxly, and who, with the
Ufe that is yours, maizes a hfe for itself."

He kept sileuce on his side, eomprehendiug the impoteucy of speech
in face of an absorptiou like this. The persisteuce of au all-absorbiug
idea is terrilile. And how to make a mother thus beset hear reason ?
Maternity is inexplicaltle ; you can not argue with it. That it is whicli
renders a mother sublime; she becomes unreasoning; the maternal
instinct is divinely animal. The mother is no longer a woman, she is a
wild creatui-e. Her children are her eiil^s. Hence in the mother there
is something at once inferior and superior to argument. A mother has
an mierring instinct. The immense mysterious Will of creation is
within her and guides her. Hers is a blindness superhumanly en-
lightened.

Now Tflluiarch desired to make this uidiappy creature speak; he
did not succeed. On one occasion he said to lu'r :

"As illduck will have it, I am old, and I can not walk any longer.
At the end of a quarter of an hour my strength is exhausted, and I am
obliged to rest; if it were not for that, I would accompany you. After
all, perhaps it is fortunate that I can not. I slK)uld be rather a burden
than useful to you. I am tolei'ated here ; Ijut the Blues are suspicious
of me, as being a peasant ; and the ] )eastints 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 cajjable ? None. She can be a mother, and that is all.
Each day she bmied herself deeper in her reverie. Tellmai'ch watched
her. He tried to give her occupation ; he Ijrought 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 xuiearthly melodies in a
low voice. She nuirnuu'ed names — proliably the names of children —
but not distinctly çn(.)ugh for Tcllmarch to catch them. She would
break off abruptly and listen to the birds, as if she thought they might
have Ijrought 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 preparing to set forth,
her eyes gazing away into the depths of the forest.

" ^Vhere are you going ? " he asked.

She replied, " I am going to look for them."

He <lid not attempt to detain her.

CHAPTEE VII

THE ÏAVO rULES OF THE TRUTH

liiit ;i siiiii'ular (•(iiii])li(';iti<)ii had

the Olid of a few weeks, wliieli liad been filled witli 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 continiK^d, but tiu- ^"elldée was losing
ground. In Ille-ct-Yilaine in jjarticular, tlianks to the young commander
who had at Dol so opp(n'tiini'ly r('i)licd to th<' audacity of six thousand
Royalists l)y the audacity of fifteen hundred patriots, the insurrection,
if not quelled, was at least greatly weakeni^d and circumscribed. Sev-
eral lucky hits had followed that one, and oTit of these successes had
grown a new position of affairs.

Matters had changed their fai-e
arisen.

In all this purtion of the \'endée the Kepnlilic had tlie iqiper hand
— that was beyond a doulit ; but which rei)ul)lic ? In the triumph which
was opening out, two forms of republic made themselves felt — the
republic of terror and tlie n>]iublic of clemency — the one desirous to

coiupier by rigor, anil tl tlier by mildness. \Viii<-h wouhl prevail?

These two foi'ms — tlie conriliating and tlie implacable — were rej)reseuted
by two men, each of whum jiossessed lus special influence and authority:
the one a military coininandei-, the other a civil delegate. Which of
them would jirevail .' One of the two, the delegate, had a formidalile
basis of supi)()rt; he had arrived bearing the tlireateiiing watchword of
the Paris Commune to ihr battalions of Santeii-e — " A7; merci/ : i/o i/iuir-
tcr !^ He liad, in order to ])ut eveiy thing under liis control, the decree
of the Convention, ordaining " death to Avjiomsoever should set at liberty
and help a captive reliel chief to escape." He had full powers, emanating

-10

XI]^E T Y - THK EE. 41

from the Comuîittee of Public Safety, and an injuuction commaudiug
obédience 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 i^ardoned them. A con(|ueror, he believed that he had the right
to spare the conquered.

Hence arose a conflict, hidden l)ut deep, between these two men.
The two stood in different atmospheres ; both combating the rebellion,
and each having his own thundei'bolt — that of the one, victory ; that of
the other, terror.

Throughout all the Bocage nothing was talked of l)ut them ; and
what added to the anxiety of those who watched them from every quar-
ter was the fact that these two men so diametrically opposed were at
the same time closely united. These two antagonists were friends.
Xever s^^upathy loftier and more profound joined two hearts ; the stern
had saved the life of the 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 defith ; the one was the principle of destruction, the
other of peace, and they loved each other. Strange problem. Imagine
Orestes merciful and Pylades pitiless. Picture Arimanes the brother of

OlTBUS !

Let US add that the one of the pair who was called " the ferocious "
was, at the same time, the most brotherly of men. He dressed the
wounded, cared for the sick, passed his days and nights in the ambu-
lance and hospitals, was touched by the sight of barefootod children,
had nothing for himself, gave all to the poor. He was present at all
the battk's ; he marclicd at the head of the columns, and in the thickest
of the fight, armed, — tor hi' had in his belt a sabre and two pistols, — yet
disarmed, liecause no one had ever seen him draw his sabre or touch
his pistols. He faced blows, and did not returu them. It was said that
he had been a priest.

One of these men was Gauvain ; the other Avas Cimourdain.

There was friendship between the two men, but hatred lietween the
two principles; this hidden war could not fail to burst forth. One
morning the battle began.

Cimourdain said to Gauvain :

" What have we accomplished f "

Gauvaiu rephed :

" You know as well as I. I have dispersed Lautenac's bauds. He
has only a few men left. Then he is driven back to the forest of Fou-
gières. In eight days he will be surrounded."

" And in fifteen days f "

42 XI XIJ T Y - I H REE.

" He will l)e taken."

" Aud then ? "

"You liave ivad my notice ?"

" Yes. Well Î "

"He will l)e shot."

"More elemeuey! He must be guillotiiicd."

"As for me," said Gauvain, "I am for a military death."

"And I," replied ('imourdain, "for a, revolutionary death."

He lo<)ked Gauvain in the faee, and ad<led :

"Why did you set at liberty those nuns of the ronvent of Saint-
Marc-le-Blanc- i "

"I do not make war on women," answered Gaiivain.

" Those women hate the people. xVnil where hate is coneerned, one
woman outweighs ten men. Why did you refuse to send to the Revo-
lutionary Tril)unal all that herd of old fanatical i>riests who were taken
at Louvigné '. "

"I do not make war on old men."

"An old ]iriest is worse than a young one. Rebellion is more
dangerous preached by white hairs. ]\Ien have faith in wrinkles. Xo
false pity, Gau\"ain. The regicides are liljerators. Keep your eye tixe<l
on the tower of the Temple."

" The Temple tower ! I would liring the I )anpliin out of it. I do
not make war ou children."

CUmourdain's eyes grew stern.

"Gauvain, learn tliat it is necessary to make war on a woman
when she calls herself Marie Antoinette, on an (AA man when he is
named Pius VI. and Po2)e, and upon a child when he is named Louis
Capet."

"My master, I am not a iiolitician."

"Try not to be a dangerous man. Why, at the attack on the post
of Cossé, Avlien the rebel Jean Tretou, driven luick and lost, fixmg him-
self alone, sabre in hand, against tlie wliole colimni, didst thou cry,
* Open the. rdjiks I Let liiiii puss ! ' / "

"Because one does not set fifteen hundred to kill a single man."

"Why, at the ('aiilc|ei-ie d\Vstill('', when you saw your soldiers
about to kill the \'endeaii dost'ph IJé/.ier, wlio was wounded and drag-
ging himself along, did you e\<'laim, '"(la on before.' This is iii// ajfii'ir !'
and then lire your i^istol in the aii'i'"

"Because one does not kill a man on the ground."

"And you were wrong. IJoth are to-day chiefs of bands. .b>se]ih
Bé/,iei- is Mustache, and .lean Treton is -lamlie d'Aryent.
those two men you ga\'e two enemies to the lîe]iulilic."

"OPEN THE RAXKS!"

XIXE T Y- THREE. 45

" Cei'tainly I could wish to give her frieuds, aud not enemies."

" Why, after the victory of Landéau, did you not shoot your three
hundred peasant prisoners ? "

" Because Bonchamp had shown mercy to the Republican prisoners,
and I wanted it said that the Ke^mlilic showed mercy to the Royalist
prisoners."

"But, then, if von take Lautenac, von will pardon him?"

"No."

"T\Tiyl Since yon showed mercy to the three hundred 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. Lantenac sum-
mons the English. Lantenac is invasion. Lantenac is the enemy of
the country. The duel between him and me can only finish by his
death or mine."

" Gauvaiu, rememb(>r this vow."

" It is sworn."

There was silence, and th(^ two looked at each other.

Then Gauvaiu resumed :

" It will be a bloody date, this year '93 in which we live."

" Take eai-e ! " cried Cimourdaiu. " Terrible duties exist. Do not
accuse that which is not accusable. Since when is it that the illness is
the fault of the physician ? Yes, the characteristic of this tremendous
year is its pitilessness. Why 1 Because it is the grand revolutionary
year. This year in A\hieh we li^'e is the incarnation of the Revolution.
The Revolution has an enemy — the old world — aud it is withoixt pity
for it ; just as the surgeon has an enemy — gangrene — and is without
pity for it. The Revohition extirpates royalty in the king, aristocracy
in the noble, despotism in the soldier, superstition in the priest, bar-
barism in the judge ; in a word, every thing which is tyranny, in all
which is the tyrant. The operation is f earfvil ; the Revolution performs
it with a sure hand. As to the amount of sound flesh which it sacri-
fices, demand of Boerhaa^'e what he thinks in regard to that. What
tumor does not cause a loss of blood in its cutting away? Does not
the extinguishing of a conflagration demand an energy as tierce as that
of the fire itseK ? These formidable necessities are the verj^ condition
of success. A surgeon resembles a butcher; a healer may have the
appearance of an executioner. The Revolution devotes itself to its
fatal work. It nnxtilates, Ijut it saves. T^Hiat ! You demand pity for
the virus ! You wish it to be mercifid to that which is poisonous ! It

4(; Xiy E T Y - THREE.

will not listen. Tt lioLls tlio post; it Avill exteviiiiuate it. It makes a
deep 'svouikI in civilization, from -whence will spring health to the
human race. You suffer? Withoi;t doulit. How long will it last?
The time necessary for the operation. After that you Avill live. The
Revolution amputates the world. Hence this hemorrhage — "j:)."

" The surgeon is calm," said Gauvain, " and the men that I see are
violent."

" The Revolution," replied Oimourdain, " needs savage workmen to
aid it. It flushes aside every han<l that trembles. It has only faith in
the inexorables. Danton is the terriV)le; Robespierre is the inflexible ;
Saint-Just is the immoval.)le ; Marat is the implacalile. Take care, Gau-
vain. These names are necessary. They are worth as much as armies
to us. They will terrify Europe."

"And perhaps the future also," said Gauvain.

He checked liimself, and resumed:

" For that matter, my master, you err; I aci-use no one. Accord-
ing to me, the tru(^ point of view of the Revolution is its irresponsi-
bility. Nobody is innocent, iKjbody is guilty. Louis XVI. is a sheep
thrown among lions. He wishes to escape, he tries to flee, he seeks
to defend liimself; he would bite if he could. But one is not a liou
at will. His cra/,e 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 In'ute."

"And the lions, what are they ? "

This retort set Oimourdain thinking. He raised his head, and
answered :

"These lions are consciences. These lions ai'e ideas. These lion*
are principles."

"They produce the reign of Terror."

"One day, the Revolution will be the justification of this Terror."

"Beware lest the Terror become the calumny of the Revolution."

Gauvain continued :

"Liberty, Equality, Fraternity! these are the dogmas of peace and
harmony. A\nry give them an ahn-ming aspect ? What is it we want '?
To firing the peoples to a uni\ersal repulilic. Well, do not let i;s make
tliem afraid. What can intimidation serve ? The ])eople can no more
l)e attractecl by a scarecrow tliaii bii'ds can. <.>ne nnist not do evil to
liring aliout good. One does not overturn the throne in order to leave
the gil)b(>t standing. Death to kings, and life to nations ! Strike off
the crowns; spare flie heads. The Revolution is concord, not fright.
Clement ideas ai'c ill serveil liv cruel men. Aninestv is to me the most

iY IXE T Y - THREE.

beaiitifiil word iu hiunau lauo'uao-e. I will only shed blood in riskiue
my own. Besides, I simply know how to fight ;" I am nothing but a
soldier. But if 1 may not pardon, victory is not worth the tron))le it
costs. During Ijattle let us be the enemies of our enemies, and after the
victory their brothers."

" Take care ! " repeated CinK)urdain, for the third time. " Oam-ain,
you are more to me than a sou ; 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.

CHAPTER VIII

]M)I,u |;(ISA

X tlio nieanwhilo tho iiK^tlitH- wa.s seeking lier little ones.

She Aveut straight forward. How did she live .' It is
impossible to say. She did ii(>t kn(jA\' herself. She walked
day and uight; she Ijegged, she ate herbs, she lay ou the
grouiKl, she slept iu the open air, in the thickets, nuder the stars, some-
times iu the rain and -wind.

She wandered from village lo village, fnun farm to farm, seeking a
clew. She stopped on the thresholds of the peasants' cots. Her dress
vras in rags. Sometimes she Avas welcomed, sometimes she was di'iveu
away. When she could not get into the houses, she went into the
woods.

She did not know the district; she was ignorant of every tlihig
except Siseoiguard and the parish of Azé ; she had no route marked out ;
she retraced her steps ; traveled roads already gone over ; made useless
jonrneys. Sometimes she followed the highway, sometimes a cart-
ti-ack, a-^ often the paths among the copses. In these aimless wander-
ings she liad W( )rn out her miseraljle garments. She had shoes at first,
then she walked Ijarefoot, then with her feet bleeding.

She crossed the track of warfare, among gun-shots, hearing nothing,
seeing nothing, avoitling nothing — seeking her children. Revolt was
everywhere; there were no more gendarmes, no more mayors, no
authorities of any sort. She had only tr» d(>a] with chance passers.

She spoke to them. She asked :

"Have you seey three little children anywhere?"

Those she addressed would look at her.

"Two boys and a girl," she would say.

Then she would name them :

" Ikcné-.Tean, (iros-Alain, Georgette. You liaA'e not seen them?"

NIXE T Y - THREE.

She would ramble ou thus :

" The eldest is four years aud a half old ; tlie little girl is tweuty
mouths."

50 .V / T ET Y- TEL' E E.

Then would eome the c-ry :

" Do you kuow Avliero tliey are ? Tliey liave been taken fVoni me."

The listeuer.s would stare at her, and that was all.

When she saw that she was not understood, she would say :

" It is because they 1 leloug to me — that is why."

The people would pass on their way. Then she Avould stand still,
uttering no further word, but diggiug at her lireast with her uails.
However, one day, a peasant listened to her. The good man set him-
self to thinking.

" Wait, nuw," said he. '' Three children ? "

" Yes."

" Two boys ? "

" Aud a girl."

" You are hunting for them ? "

" Yes."

"I have heard talk of a lord wlio liad taken three little children
aud had them with him."

'' Where is this man ? " she ci-ied. '" AVhere are they ? "

The peasant replied :

" Go to La Tom-gue."

" Shall I find my children there ? "

" It may easily be."

" You say ? "

" La Tourgue."

"What is that— La Tourgue :'"

" It is a place."

" Is it a "siUage — a castle — a farm ? "

" I never was there."

"Is it far I"

" It is not near."

"In which direction .*"

" Towar< 1 F< mgères."'

" AVbich way nuist I go .' "

" You are at Yentortes," said the peasant ; " you nuist leave Ernée
to the left and Coxelles to the right ; you will pass Vty Lorchamps and
cross the Leroux." He pointed his finger to the west.

"Always straight before you and toward the sunset."

Ere the peasant had drop])ed his arm, she was hurrying on.

He cried af1er lie)-:

" But take care. They are lighting over tliere."

81ie did not answer or lurn roiuid; on she went, sli'aii;iit before
her.

LA TUURGUE.

CHAPTEE IX

A tTiOVIN'CIAL 1ÎASTILE

LA T O I- R G T^ E

ÏSûT^P^ ORTY years ago, a travelei- wlio entered the forest of Fou-
•i^^^^ gères from the side of Laiguelet, and left it toward Parigné,
f^Ef^^I^ was met on the border of this vast old wood by a sinister
j'MtrfJK^l s2"teetaole. As he came out of the thickets, La Tonrgue rose
abruptly l:>efor(> him.

Not La Tourgue living, but La Tourgui! dead. La Toui'guc cracked,
battered, seametl, dismantled. Tlic ruin of an edifice is as much its
ghost as a phantom is that of man. No more lugubrious vision could
strike the gaze than that of La Tourgue. What the traveler had before
liis eyes was a lofty round tower, standing alone at the corner of the
wood like a malefactor. This tower, rising from a perpendicular I'ock,
was so severe and solid that it looked almost like a bit of Roman archi-
tecture, and the frowning mass gave the idea of strength even amid its
ruin. Tt was Roman in a way, since it was Romanic. Begun in tlie
ninth century, it had been finished in the twelfth, after the third Cru-
sade. The peculiar ornaments of the mouldings told its age. On
ascending the height, one perceived 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 partitions, no ceilings, no floors; there were
places Avhere arclu's and chimneys had l)een torn away; falconet embra-
siires were seen; at different heights, rows of granite corl)els and a few
transverse beams marked where the different stories had Ijeen ; these
beams were covered with the ordure of night birds. The colossal wall
was fifteen feet in thickness at the l)ase and twelve at the smnmit; here

XIXETY- THREE.

and tliere were cliiuks and holes which had been doors, through which
cue canght glimpses of staircases in the shadowy interior of the wall.
The passer-by who penetrated there at e^•ening• heard the cry of the
Avood-i)wl, the goat-suckers, and the Ijats, and saw beneath his feet
l:)ra,nibles, stones, reptiles, and, above his head, across a black circle
which looked hke the mouth of an enormous well, he could perceive the
stars.

The neighborhood kejit a tradition that in the upper stories of this'
tower there were secret doors formed like those in the toml:)s of the
kings of .Tudah, of great stones tiirning on pivots ; opening by a spring,
and forming part of the Avail when closed; an architectural mystery
winch the Crusad.ers had ])n)Ught from the East along with the pointed
arch. When these doors were shut, it was impossible to discover them,
so ac(!urately 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.

XIXE TY-THRE E. 55

THE BREACH

The breach by which oue eutered the ruin had been the oijeniiig
of a miue. For a couiioissenr, familiar with Errard, Sardi, and Pagan,
this mine had been skillfully ^ilauned. The fire-chamber, shaped like
a mitre, was proportioned to the strength of the keep it had been
intended to disembowel. It must have held at least two hundredweight
of powder. The channel was serpentiue, which does better service than
a straight oue. 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 eutei-. This tower had e^•idently sustained at different periods
real sieges conducted according to i-ule. 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 century
to the iron ones of the eighteenth.

The breach gave admittance into what must have been the gTound-
floor. In the wall of the tower oinposite the breach there opened the
gateway of a crj^jt cut in the i-ock and stretching among the founda-
tions of the tower under the whole extent of the ground-floor hall.

This crypt, tlnvc fourths filled up, was cleared out in 185.") under the
dii'ection of Monsieur Auguste le Prévost, the antiquary of Beruay.

Ill

THE OUBLIETTE

This crypt was the oul^liette. Every keep had one. This crypt,
like many penal prisons of that era, had two stories. The upper floor,
which was eutered by the wicket, was a vaulted chamber of consider-
able 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 vaiUt 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. Formerly, in feudal
days, victims were torn limb from limb in this chamber by a method

NINETY-THREE.

less noisy than dvaggiiig tlicui at the tails of horses. There had been
two wheels so immeuse that they touched the walls aud au arch. To
each of these wheels au arm aud a leg of the vietiui were attached, theu
the wheels were turned in the inverse direction, which crushed the man.
It required great force, hence the ftirrows which the wiieels had worn

• in the wall as they grazed if. \ cliauilier of this kind may still be seen
at Viandeu.

Below this rooiu there was another. That Avas the real dungeon.
It was not entered by a dour; one i)enetrated into it liy a hole. The
victim, strijiped uaked, was let down l>y means of a rope placed under
his arm-pits into the dungeou, thi-ougli an oj^ening left in tlie centre of
tli(! flagging of the upper rhamber. If he persisted in living, food was
Hinig to him through this apertttre. A hole of this sort may yet be seen
at Bouillon.

XIXETY-THREE. 57

The wiud swept iip through this opeuiiig. The lower room, dug-
out beueath the groiind-tioor liall, was a well rather than a chaml)er.
It had Avater at the liottoiu, and an icy wind filled it. This wind, which
killed the prisoner in the depths, preserved the life of the captive in the
room al;)ove. 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 ijrisoner in the upper room a prisoner in the dungeon below. That
was his affaii'. 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 dun-
geon ; the lower, the tomb. A superposition Avliich resembled Society
at that period.

It was wliat our ancestors called a moat-dungeon.

The thing having disappeared, the name has no longer any signifi-
cance in our ears. Thanks to the Revolution, we hear the words pro-
nounced 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
othei- looi^hole, from which hung an iron grating bent and loosened.

THE BRIDCiE -CASTLE

On the opposite side from th(^ breach a stone bridge was connected
with the tower, having thi'ee arches still in almost perfect preservation.
This bridge had supported a building of which some fragments re-
mained. It had evidently been destroyed by fire ; there were left only
portions of the framework, between whose blackened ribs the daylight
peeped, as it rose beside the tower like a skeleton lieside 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 lîuild.

La Tourgue is a rustic ablareviation for La Tour-Gauvain, jiist as
L(i JupcJhi stands for La Jupellière, and Pinson-le-Tort, the nickname
of a hunchbacked leader, is jnit for Piuson-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 Gau-
vains; toward tlie west guarding the entrance to the forest of Fougères,
a forest which is itself now hardly a grove.

58 KIXETY- THREE.

Tliis citadel had been l)uilt (Hi one of the great bloeks of .shife whieli
alionnd between IMayenne and Dinaii, seattered everywhere anion^- the
tluekets and heaths hke missih^w that liad been tînng in some contliet
between Titans.

The tower made up the entire forti-ess; l)eneath tlie tower was the
rock ; at the foot of tlie roek one of those water-courses which the month
of January turns into a torrent, and which the month of June dries up.

Thus protected, tliis fortress was in the Middle Ages ahiiost inipreg-
nalJe. The bridge alone weakened it. The Gothic Crauvains had built
A\'ithout l.iridge. They got into it by one of those swinging foot-bridges
Avhich a blow of an axe suthccd l<> lircak away. .Vs long as the (lauvains
remained A-iscounts they contented themselves Avith this, but when they
became mar(|uises, and h^ft 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 seventeentii century, and the marquises of the eight-
eenth, no longer wished to be iuq)regnable. An imitation of Versailles
replaced the traditions of their ancestors.

Facing the tower, on the western side, there was a high plateau
which ended in two plains; this plateau almost touched the tower, only
separated from it by a xerj' deep I'avine through which ran the water-
course, which was a tril)utary of the Cotiesnon. The Ijridge Avhidi joined
the fortress and the plateau was built up Idgh on piers, and on these
piers was constrttcted, as at Chenonceaux, an edifice in the Mansard
style, more habitai )le than the tower. But customs were still very ritde ;
the lords e(^ntinned to occupy cluunbers in the keep which were like
dungeons. The Iniilding i:)n 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; aljove this hall of the guards, which was a kind
of entresol, a library was Ijuilt; aliov<' the library, a granary. Long-
windows, vnWi small panes in Bohemian glass ; pilasters between the
windows; medallions sctili»tui-e( I on the Avail ; tln-ee stories; l.ieloAV, bar-
tizans and muskets; in the middle, Itooks; on high, sacks of oats; the
whole at once somcnvhat saA'age and A-ery ])i-incely.

The toAver rose gloomy and sti.'i'ii at the side.

Tt oA^ei'looked this co((uettish l)itilding Avith ad its lugubrious height.
From its ]>latfoi'm oiu^ could destroy the bi-idge.

Tlie two ('(lifices, the one rude, tlie other elegaid, clashed rather
than contrasted. The tvs^o styles had nothing in keeping with one
anothei-. Although it should seem that two semicircles ought to l)e
identical, nothing can be less ;dike than a Romanic arch and the classic
archivaidt.

Kl WE TY-TH It E E. 59

Tliat towei', in keejiiug with tlie forests, made ,a strang-e neighbor
for that bridge, worthy of Versailles. Imagine Alain Barbt'-Torte giving
his arm to Louis XIV. The jnxtaiDosition Avas sinister. These two
majesties thus mingled made up a whole which had soni(*thing inexpres-
sibly menacing in it.

From a military point of view, the liridge — we must insist ui)on
this — was a traitor to the tower. It embellished, Init disarmed ; in
gaining ornament the fc^rtress lost strength. The bridge put it on a
level with the plateau. Still impregnalih^ on the side toward the forest,
it beoam(^ vulneralih^ toward the plain. Formerly it commanded the
jilateau; now it was commanded there! )y. An enemy installed there
would speedily become master of the bridge. The liljrary and the gran-
ai'v would be for the assailant and against the citadel. A library and a
granary resemble each other in the fact that both bot)ks and straw are
combustible. For an assailant who serves himself liy fire, to burn
Homer or to burn a bundle of straw, jirovided it make a flame, is all the
same. The French proved this to the (Termaus by biu"ning the library
at Heidellierg, and the (lermans jn-oved it to the French l)y burning the
liljrary of Strasburg. This-ljridge, added to the Tourgue, was, therefore,
sti'ategieaUy, an error ; but in the seventeenth century, under Colbert
and Lonvois, the Gauvain princes no more considered themselves
Ijcsiegable 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 foresetMi the possibility of conflagration : l)elow 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 equaled the height of the two first stories of the
bridge, a height which surpassed that of three ordinary stories. Sec-
ondly, they had guarded against assault. They had cut ofï 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 plact^ known to the master
alone, and, once closed, this door could defy a batteriug-ram and almost
brave a cannon-ball.

It was necessary to cross the l)ridge in order to reach this door, and
to pass through the door in order to enter the tower. There Avas no
other entrance.

60 NI^^E T Y - THREE.

THE I R O X DOOR

The second story of the castle on the hvid^'e ■^as raised hy the
arches, so that it corresjionded witli 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 towai'il the liln-ary on the bridge side, and
toward a grand vaulted hall, witli a j'ilhir in the centre, on the side to
the tower. This liall, as has already been said, was the second story
of the keep. It was cirrular, like tin- tower; long loojihoies, looking
out on tlie fields, iiglited it. Tlie rude wall was naked, and hothing hid
the stones, which were, however, sjnnmetrically laid. This hall was
reached by a winding staircase built in the wall, a very simple thing
when walls are fifteen feet in tliickness. In llie Middle Ages a town
had to be taken street by street, a street house hy liouse, a liouse room
by room. A fortress was besieged story by story. In this respect La
Tourgue was very skillfully disposed, and was intractable and difïieult.
A spiral staircase, at first very steep, led from one floor to the other.
The doors were askew, and were not of the height of a man. To pass
through it was necessary to liow the head; now a head liowed was a
head cut off', and at each door the l)esieged awaited the besiegers.

Below tlie circular hall with the ]iillar were Iavo similar chainbers,
which made the first and the g]-onnd Hour, and above were three. Upon
these six chamljers, iilaced one u[ion another, the t(.wi>r was closed by a
lid of stone, which was the platform, and \vhi(di could only be reached
by a narrow watch-tower. The fifteen feet thickness of wall which it
had been necessary to jiiei'ce in order to place the iron door, iuid in the
middle of which it was set, imljedded it in a long arch, so that the door
when closed was, both on the side toward the Ijridge and the side
toward the tower, under a, i)orch six or seven feet deep; when it was
open, these two porches joini'il ;nid made the eutrauce-arch.

Tn the thickness of the wall of the porch toward the bridge o])ened
the low gate of a Saint (lilles's sci'ew-stairway, which led into the
coi-)-idoi' of the first story beneath the library. This offered another
dirticulty to besiegers. The small castle of the bridge showed, on the
side towai'd the plateau, only a i)eriiendicular wall; and the In-idge was
cut there. A draw-bridge put it in communication with the plateau;
and this di'aw-bridge (on account of the lieight of the plateau, never

KIJS'^E T Y - THE EE. 61

lowered except at an inclined plane) allowed access to the lon.o- corridor,
called the guard-room. Once masters of this corridor, besiegers, in
order to reach tlic iron door, would have been obliged to carry by main
force the winding staircase which led to the second story.

Y I

T H K L I R n A R T

As for the lilirary, it was an olilong room, the width and length of
the bridge, with, a single door — the iron one. A false leaf-door, himg
with green cloth, which it was only necessary to push, masked in the
interior the entrance-arch of the tower. The liljrary wall from floor to
ceiling was filled with glazed book-eases, in the beautiful 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 sculp-
tiu-ed oak : Hermolaiis, of Byzantium ; Athenfeus, the grammaiian of
Naucratis; tSuidas; Casaubon; Clovis, King of France ; and his chan-
cellor, Auachalus, who, for that mattei-, 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 gi-eat letters; and for second title,
'■''Gospel uecoriliufi to Saii/t llarthohnicw, livcccâcd h// a dlsscrtatum hij
Panfdnins^ Clir'isfmii phUosoplici^ as to ichcfhcr tli'is gospd ouf/lit to he con-
sidered (ipocrjiplud., (Did ichether Saint Barfholonauv ivns the same as
Xaflianiel.'''' This book, considered an unitjue copy, was i)laced on a
reading-desk in the middle of the library. In the last century, people
came to see it as a cuiiosity.

VII

THE GRANARY

As for the granary, which took, like the liljrary, the oblong form
of the bridge, it was simply the space beneath the woodwork of the
roof. It was a great room filled with straw and hay, and lighted Ijy six

(j2 y J y E T Y - Til R E E.

Mansanl windows. There w-^s no onuunent, except a fignre of Saint
Bartliulomew carved on the door, with this Une beneatli :

•■ Banuibus saiii/tiis falrrm juljt't iiv per lirrliaiii."

Thns it was a lofty, wide tower, of six stories, pierced here and
there with loopholes, having for entrance and egress a single door of
iron, leading to a bridge-castle, closed ])y a draw-bridge ; behind the
tower a forest ; in front a i>latean of heath, higher than the l)ridge,
lower than the tower; Ijencath the bridge, a deep, narrow ravine full of
brnsliwood; a torrent in winter, a brook in spring-time, a stony moat
in summer. This was the Tower Uauvain, called La Tourgue.

64 KIX E T Y - THREE.

Marat Avith a (lag-,i;-er in his licart, ( 'hai-lotte Corday lieadless. Affairs
everywhere were waxiny formii Uil )k^. As to the Vendée, Ijeaten in grand
8trati>gic seliemes, she took réfugia in little ones — more redonlitaljle, we
have already said. This war was now an iinniens<^ iight, scattered
about among the woods. Th»_i disasters of the large army, called tlie
(Aitholic and Royal, had eonnutmced. The army from Mayence had
been ordered into the Vendée. Eight thousand Veudeans had fallen at
Anceuis ; tliey had been repulsed from Nantes, dislodged from Montaigu,
expelled fi'om Thouars, chased from Noirmontier, flung headlong out
of ( 'liolet, Mortagne, and Saunnu' ; tliey had evacuated Parthi'nay ; they
had aliandoned ( 'lisson ; fallen back from ( 'hâtillon ; lost a flag at Saint-
Hilaire; had been beaten at Pornic, at the Saljles, at Fontenay, Doué,
at the ('hi'deau d'Eau, at the Ponts-de-Cé ; they were kept in check at
Lucon, were retreating from the (Jhataigueraye, and routed at the
Roche-sur-Yon. But on the one hand they wer(^ inenacing Rochelle,
and on the other an English fleet in the (luernsey waters, commanded
liy Ueneral (Jraig, and beai'ing several English regiments and some of
the best oflicer.s of the French navy, only waited ;i signal from the
Manpiis de Lantenac to land. Tliis landing migiit make tli(^ Royalist
revolt agaiu 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. T(_> dishonor his country was to betray it; under
him and through him England waged a Punic war. She spied, she
cheated, she hid. Poacher and forger, she stoiipe<l ;it nothing; she
descended to th(.' very nnnntia' of hatred. She monopolized tallow,
which cost tivti francs a pound. An Englishman was taken at Lille on
whom was found a letter from Piigent, Pitt's agent in Vendée, which
contained these lines : "I beg you to spare no money. We hope that
the assassinations Avill be conunitted with prudence; disguised priests
and women are the persons most fit for this duty. Send sixty thousand
francs to Rouen and fifty thousand to (Jaen." This letter Avas read in
tlic < 'onvi'iitiou iin tlic lirst of August by Barère. The cruelties of Par-
rein, and, later, the ati-ocities of (Carrier, replied to these jiertidies. The
Republicans of ]Metz and the Republicans of the South were eager to
march against the rebels. A decree ordered the formation of eighty
companies of pioneers tVn- bnrning the cop.ses and thickets of the
Bocage. It was <an unhear<l-of crisis. The war only ceased on one
footing to l)egin on another. '" Xo mercy! No prisoners!" was the cry
of bo1li parties. The history of that time is black with awful shadows.

During this niontii of August, La. Tourgue was besieged.

One eveinng, just as tluï stars were rising amid the calm twilight of
the dog-days, when not a leaf stirred in the forest, not a l)lade of grass

XI XE T Y-TH K E E. 65

trembled ou the plain, across the stillness of the night swept th<» sound
of a horn. This horu was blown from the top of the tower.

The peal was answered by the voice of a clarion from below.

On the summit of tlie tower stood an armed man ; at the foot, a
camp spread out in the shadow.

In the obscu^rity about the Tower Claiivain 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, pricking the darkness here and there with luminous points, as
if the earth were studding itself with stars at the same instant as the
sky; ))ut 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
extended into the thicket. La Tourgue was invested.

The oiitstretch of the besiegers' bivouac indicated a numei'ous
force.

The camp tightly e-lasped 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 soiind of the horn, followed l)y another peal
from the clarion.

This time the horn qu.estioned and the trumpet replied.

It was the demand of the tower to the camp : " Can we speak to
you f " The clarion was the answer for the camp : " Yes."

At this period, the Vendeans, not being considered beUigerents by
the Convention, and a decree ha\ing forbidden the exchange of flags of
truce -with " the brigands," the armies sui)plemeuted as they could the
means of communication which the law of nations aiithorizes in ordi-
nary war and interdicts in civil strife. Hence on occasion a certain
understanding between the peasant's horn and the militai'y trumpet.

The first call was only to attract attention ; the second put the
question, " Will you listen f " If on this second summons the clarion
kept silent, it was a refusal ; if the clarion replied, it was a consent.
It signified, " Truce for a few moments."

Tlic 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, stirnamed Brise-
Bleu, because I have exterminated many of yours ; surnamed also Imâ-
nus, because I mean to kill still more than I have alreadj' done. My
finger was cut off by a blow from a sabre on the barrel of my gTiu 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 Marcpiis Gauvain de Lan-

66 N I XIJ TY- T H K E E.

teuac, Visooniit ilc Foiitenay, Bivton piiiico, lord of tlio Seven Forests —
]uy master.

"Learn first that Monseigneur the ^laninis, liefore shutting him-
self in this tower where you hold him l)loeka(l(Ml, distributed the com-
mand among six chiefs, his lieutenants. He gave to Delière the district
between the road to Brest and tlu^ road to Ernée; to Tréton, the district
between Eoë and Laval; to Jac([uet, called Taillefer, the border of the
Haut-Maine; to Gaulier, named Grand Pierre, ('liât eau Gontier; to
Lecomte, Craon ; Fougères to Dubois Guy, and all Mayenne to De
liochambean. So the taking of this fortress will not end matters for
you; and even if Monseigneur the Mai'quis 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. V\'i' are men inhabiting oui- own country, and we fight hon-
estly; we are simjile ;ind pure, beneath the will of God, as the grass is
lieneath the dew. It is the Kepulilic whicli has attacked us; she comes
to trouble us in our fields; she has Imrned our houses, our harvests, and
ruined our farms, whil(_^ otu- women and children were forced to wander
with naked feet among the woods while the winter robin was still
singing.

"You who are down there and who hear me, you have inclosed us
in the forest and STU-i-onnded us in this tower; you have killed or dis-
persed those who joined us; you have cannon; you hav(î 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 soldiers who attack us, and we — we are
nineteen lueu who defend ourselves.

" You have provisions and nnmitions.

"You have succeeded in mining and blowing n\) a comer of our
I'ock and a 1 )it of oui' 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, jMonseigncnr the ]Marquis, who is Prince of Brit-
tany, antl secular Prioi- of the Abliey of Saint Marie de Lantenac, where
a daily mass was established by (^)ucen Jeanne; and, next to him, the
other detendei's of the towel', who are: the Abbé Turmeau, whose mil-

IMANUS.

XIX i: T y - THREE. 69

itary uame is Graud Fraueœur ; my comrade, Clniuoiseau, who is cap-
tain of Camj) ^'ert ; my comrade, Chaute-eii-iliver, wliu is captaiu of
Camp Avoiue ; my comrade. Musette, who is captain of Camp Fourmis ;
and I, peasaut, born in the town of Daon, through which runs tlie
brook Moriaudre : we aU — all have one thing to say to you.

" Men who are at the bottom of this tower, listen :

" We have in our hands three prisoners, who are three children.
These children were adopted l\y one of your regiments, and they lielong
to you. We offer to surrender 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 bj' the bridge, on the
side of th(; plateau. The building on the liridge has three stories; in
the lower story I, Imânus — I, who speak to you — have put six hogsheads
of tar and a hundred fascines of thied heath; in the top story there is
straw ; in the middle story there are books and jiapers ; 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 sloAv-match, one end of which is
in the tar and the other within reach of my hand, inside the tower. I
can tii'e it when I clKiose. If yoxi refus(^ to let us go out, the three
children will l)e placed in the second floor of the In'idge, Ijetween the
story where the sulx>liur-match touches the tar and the floor Avhei-e the
straw is, and the iron door will be shut on them. If you attack by the
bridge, it will be you Avho set the biiilding on fire ; if you attack by the
breach, it Avill be we ; if you attack by the bi-each and the bridge at the
same time, the fire will l»e kindled at tin? same instant Ijy us both, and,
in any case, the three children will perish.

" Now, aecejit 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 ci'ied :

" We refuse."

This voice was alirupt and severe. xVnother voice, less harsh, though
firm, added :

" We give you four-and-twenty hours to surrender at discretion."

There was a 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 :

XIXETY- TRREE.

"Aud then no quarter ! "

ÏO this savage voice another replied from the top of the tower.
Between the two battlements a lofty figure bent forward, aud in the
starlight the stern face of the Marquis de Lantenac could Ite distin-
guished ; his sombre glance shot down into the oljscurity and seemed to
look for some one ; and he cried :

" Hold, it is thou, priest ! "

"Yes, traitor; it is 1," rejilicd the stern voice from below.

7^*^

?S"^^'' XN^a^â^î^

CHAPTER XI

TERRIBLE AS THE AXTIQTE

HE implacable voice was, in tratli, that of Cimoui'daiii ; tho
yoiing'eT and less impei'ative that of Ganvain.

The Mai'(inis de Lantenac did not deceive himself in
fancying that he recognized Cimoni'dain.
As we know, a f(^w Aveeks in this district, made bloody l)y civil war,
had rendered Cimoiu'dain famous ; there was no notoriety more darkly
sinister than his; people said : Marat at Paris, Châlier at Lyons, Cimour-
dain in Vendée. They strip^jed the Abbé Cimoxn-dain of all the I'espect
which he had formerly commanded ; that is the conseqixence of a
priest's nnfrocking himself. Cimonrdain inspired horror. The severe
are iinf oi'tnnate ; those who note their acts condemn them, thongh, \)QV-
haps, if their consciences conld l)e seen, they would stand absolved. A
Lycurgus misunderstood appears a Tiberius. Those two men, the Mar-
quis de Lantenac and the Abbé Cimom'dain, were equally poised in the
balance of hatred. The maledictions of the Royalists against Cimonr-
dain made a counterpoise to the execrations of the Republicans against
Lantenac. Each of these men was a monster to the 02)posing camp; so
far did this ec[iiality 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 Cimonrdain.

Let us add, these two men, the man^uis and the priest, were up to
a certain point the same man. The bronze mask of fivil war has two
profiles, the one turned toward the past, the other set toward the future,
but Iwth equally tragic. Lantenac was the first of these profiles, Cimonr-
dain th(> second; only the bitter sneer of Lantenac was full of shadow
and night, and on the fatal l)row of Cimonrdain shone a gleam from
the morning.

And now the besieged of La Tourgue liad a respite.

72 WIXE T y - Til R E E.

Thanks to the intei-veiitiou of Oaiivain, a sort of truce for twenty-
four hours had been agreed upon.

Imânus had, indeed, been weh informed; tlirough the requisitions
of Cimour<hiin, (Tauvain had now four thousand five hundred men
under his eomniand, jiart national guards, part troops of the line; with
these he had surrounded Lantenac in La Tourgue, and was a])le to level
twelve cannon at the f\irtress : a masked Ijattery of six pieces on the
edge of the forest toward the tower, and an open battery of six on the
plateau, toward the biidge.

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 plafeau and in the forest were four thousand tive hundred
men.

In the tower, nineteen !

History might tind the names of those liesieged 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 Avished Clauvain to allow him-
self to be made Adjutant-Cleneral. Clauvain refused, saying, " AVhen
Lantenac is taken, we will see. As yet, I have merited nothing."

Those gi-eat connnands, 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.

The Tower (lauvain had a sti'ange destiny : a (laiivain attacked, a
Gauvain defended it. From that fact rose a certain reserve in the
attack, but not in the defense, 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 Ijecause he had no other asylum — that was all. He
woidd have demolislied it witliout scruple. (.Tauvain 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 assaidt took
place on that side, the burning of the bridge would bo inevitable; to
burn the archives seemed to (lauvain like attacking his forefathers.
La Tourgue was the ancestral dwelling of the Gaii vains; in this tower
centred all their fiefs of Brittany, just as all the fiefs of France centred
in the towcM- of the Louvre; the home associations of Gran vain were
there ; he liad Ijeeu boi'n within those walls ; the tortuous fatalities of

THE GAUVAIN TOWER.

NIN£ T Y -TU KEE. 75

life forced him, a mau, to attack this venerable pile which had sheltered
him wheu a ehild. lîovdd he be guilty of the impiety of reducing this
dwelliug to ashes ? Perhaps his very cradle was stored in some corner
of the granary above the library. Certain reflections are emotions.
Gt-auvain felt himself moveil in the presence of this ancient house of his
family. That was why he had spared the bridge. He had confined
himself to making any sally or escape impossible by this outlet, and
had guarded the liridge Ijy a l)attery, 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 (rothic relics,
and he no more believed in pity for buildings than for men. Sparing a
castle was a beginning of clemency. Now clemency was Gauvain's
Aveak 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 reseen
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 Gau-
vain read. He had been the priest of the neighboring 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 alphal)et ; it was within those four old walls
that he had seen grow this well-l)eloved pupil, the son of his soul,
increase iihysically 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
remorse.

He had allowed Gauvain to open the siege from the ojiposite point.
La Tourgue had its savage side, the tower, and its civilized side, the
librarj^ Cimourdain hfid allowed Gauvain to Ijatter a breach in the
savage side alone.

In truth, attacked by a Gauvain, defended l^y a Gauvain, this old
dwelling returned in the height of the French Revcilution to feudal
customs. Wars between kinsmen make up the history of the Middle
Ages : the Eteocles and Poljaiices are Gothic as well as Grecian, and
Hamlet does at Elsinore what Orestes did in Ara'os.

CHAPTER XII

POSSIBLE ESCAPE

ITE whole night was consumed in preparations on tlie one
side and the other.

As si)on as tlie sombre parley which W(^ hav»^ just heard
liad ended, Gaiivain's tirst act was to call liis lieutenant.
(iiKM'hamp, of whom it will lie necessary to know somewhat, was a
man of second-rate, honest, intrepid, mediocre, a better soldier than
leader, rigorously intelligent i;p to the point where it ceases to be a
duty to understand ; never softened ; inaccessible to corruption of any
sort, whether of venality, which corrupts the conscience, or of pity,
which corrupts justice. He had on soul and heart those two shades —
discipline and the countersign, as a horse has his Ijlinkers on both eyes,
and he walked unflinchingly in the space thus left visil>le to him. His
Avay was straight, but narr< >\\\

A man to be depended on ; rigid in command, exact in obedience.
Gauvain spoke rapidly to him.
" G-uéchamp, a ladder."
"Commandant, we have none."
" One must l.)e had."
" For scaling I "
■ " No ; for escape."
Guéchamp reflected an instant, then answered:
" I understand. But for what you want it must be very high."
"At least three stories."

" Yes, commandant, that is pi-etty nearly the height."
" It must even go beyond that, for we must be cei'taiu of success."
" Without doubt."

" How does it hapy)en that yf)u have no ladder ? "
" Commandant, you did not think best to besiege La Tourgue by

XIXUTY- THREE.

the plateau; you couteuted youi'self with IjUx-kading it on this side;
you wished to attack, uot by the bridge, but the tower. So we ouly
busied ourselves with the miue, aud the escalade was given up. That
is why we have no ladders."

" Have one made innnediately."

"A ladder three stories higli can not be improvised."

" Have several short ladders joined together."

" One must have them in order to do tliat."

" Find them."

" There are none to be found. All tlirough the comitry the peas-

78 XIXU T r - THR Ë E.

auts destroy the ladders, just as tliey l)r(:'ak u]i the carts aud cut the
bridges."

"It is true; they try to paralyze the Eepuhhe."

"They want to niauage so that we can neither transport baggage,
cross a river, nor cscahide a Avail."

" Still, I must have a ladder."

" I just remember, commandant, at Javcne, near Fougères, there is
a large carpenter's shop. They might have (_)ne there."

"There is not a minute to lose."

" When do you want thc^ ladder?"

"Tt)-niorrow at this houi-, at the latest."

" T will send an express full speed to Javené. He can take a requi-
sition. There is a post of cavalry at Javené which will furnish an escort.
The ladder can 1)6 hei-e to-morrow before sunset."

" It is well ; that will answer," said Gauvain ; " act quickly — go."

Ten minutes after (luéchamp came l)ack and said to Gauvain :

" Connnandant, 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-1 iridge, faced the escarpment of the ravine. In
order \o reach the arches of the bridge from the i)lateau, it was neces-
sary to descend this escarpment, a feat possible to accomplish by cling-
ing to the l)rushwood. But once in the moat, the assailants would be
exposed to all the }irojectiles tliat might rain i\\m\ the three stories.
Gauvain finished by convincing himself that, at the point which the
siege had reached, the veritaljle 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
( "imourflahi divided the investment of the fortress between them. Gau-
vain reserved the forest side for himself, and gave Cimoni'dain the side
of the plateau. It Avas agreed that while Gauvain, seconded by Gué-
champ, conducted the assault thi-ough the mine, Cimourdain should
iruard the bridiic aud ravine \vith everv match of the o])en l)atterv
lighted.

CHAPTER XIII

WHAT THE JIARQTIS WAS DOING

HILE without every preparatiou for the attack was going on,
within every thing was ]irepariug for resistance. It is not
\vithont II i-cal analogy tliat a tower is caUed a " donve," and
sometimes a tower is Ijreaclied liy a mine as a cask is liored
by an auger. The wall opens like a Imngliole. This was what had hap-
pened at La Tourgue.

The great blast of two or three huudredweight of powder had burst
the mighty wall through and through. This breach started from the
foot of the tower, ti-aversed 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 practicaVjle for assault, had enlarged
and finished it off by cannon-shots.

The gTOund-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 com-
posed of a similar room, but smaller, with guards to the embrasures of
the loopholes. The ground-floor chand)er had neither loojdioles nor air-
holes; there was aljout 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 a staircase which led to
the iijiper cliaml)ers. All the staircases were contrived in the iutei'ior 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 l)e the tower
to take.

It had always been impossible to breathe in that hall for any

80 XIXIJ T Y - THREE.

length of time. Koliody ever piissed twenty-four hours theve withotit
sutt'ocatiiig. Now, thauks to the breach, one could exist tliere.

That Avas why tlie besieged had not closed the breach. Besides,
of what service would it have beenf The cannon would have re-
opened it.

They stuc-k 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 l;)e easy, Itut useless. A retirade would
Ije of more service. A retii'ade is an iutrenchment with a re-entering
angle ; a sort of rafted 1 )arricade, which admits of converging the fire
upon the assailants, and while leaving the breach open exteriorly,
blocks it on the insi<le. Materials were not lacking. They constructed
a retirade with fissures for the passage of tlie gun-barrels. The angle
was supported liy the centi'al pillar; the wings toiiched the wall on
either side. The marquis directed e\-ery thing. Inspirer, commander,
guide, and master — a terrible spirit.

Lantenac belonged to that race of wan-iors of the eighteenth (.-entury
who, at eighty years, saved cities. He resembled that Count d'Alberg,
Avho, almost a centenarian, drove the King of Poland from Riga.

" Courage, friends," said tlie marcpiis; "at the connnencement of
this ceutui'y, in 171.">, at Bender, (Jharles 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, battle-
mented the alcoves, suppoited the doors with joists driven in by blows
from a mallet ; and thus formed a sort of buttress. It Avas necessary to
leaA'e 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
Avould liaA^e been to close it against themselves. The defense of any
]>lace has thus always some weak side.

The marcpiis, indefatigable, rotiust as a young man, lifted beams,
carried stones — set an example — ])ut his hand to the work, commanded,
aided, fraternized, laughed Avitli this ferocious clan, l)ut remained always
the noble still — haughty, familiar, elegant, savage.

He permitted no reply to his orders. He luul said: " //' ///r Indf of

l/oil sIioh/iI ri'/'olf, J /rii/lld l/iirc tlnill s]i<it hij flic oilier holf, Oltd iJc/rl/d fill'
j)liicr iritli lliosr Hint irrrc Irftr Sncli things make a leatler adored.

While tlie marquis occupied himself with tlie
v,ip^^-{-:^^- ■•<y.y breach and the tower, Imâiuis was busy with the
fife ■•i^'irf^lt''^ bridge. At the beoinniiis,' of the siege, the escape-
.,.-<,->.. ^f^%- ladder which huno' transversely below the wiu-
' "^ '-'' flows of the second story had l)een removed by
the marquis's orders, and Imânus had ]iTit it in the
library. It was, perhaps, the loss of this ladder which

82 yi^'ETY-THUEE.

(iauvaiu wished to supply. The windows of the lower tioor, called the
guard-room, were defended Ijy a triple braeiug of irou Ijars, set in the
stone, so that neither ingress nor egress was possiljle by them. The
library windows had no liars, lint they were very high. Imânus took
three men with him, who, like himself, possessed capabilities and
resolution that would carry them through any thing. These men
were Hoisnard, called Branche dM )r, and the two l:)rothers Pique-en-
Bois. Imânus, carrying a (hirk lantern, opened the iron dooi- ami
carefully \'isited the three stories of the bridge-castle. Hoisnard,
Brani'lii' d'(_)r, was implacaUe as Imânus, having had a brother killed
by the IJcpulilicans.

ImâuTis examined the upper room, filled with hay and straw, and the
gr()und-rtoor, where he had several tire-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 suliilnu'-match, of which
one end was in the bridge and the other in the tower. He spread over
the floor, mider the tuns and fascines, a pool of tar, in which he dipjted
the end of the sulphur-match. Then he brought into the library,
between the ground-floor where the t:ir was and the garret filled
with straAv, the threi» cribs in which lay Ivené-Jean, Gros- Alain, and
Georgette, buried in deep sleeyi. They carried the cradles very gently
in order not to awaken the little ones.

They were simple village cril)s, a soi't of low <isier basket which
stood on the floor so that a child coidd get out unaided. Near each
cradle Imânus placed a porringer of soup, with a wooden spoon. The
escape-ladder, unhooked from its ci-amjnng-irony, had been set on the
floor against thi> wall; Imânus arranged the three cribs, end to end, in
front OÎ the ladder. Then, thinking that a current of air might be use-
ful, he opened wide the six windoAvs of the library. The sunnner night
was warm and starlight.

He sent the brothers Picpie-en-Bois to open the windows of the
upper and lower stories. He had noticed on the eastern façade of the
buiMing a great dried old ivy, the color of tinder, Avhich covered one
Avhole side of the Ijridge from top to bottom, and framed in the win-
dows of the three stories. He thought this ivy might be left. Imânus
took a last watchful glance at every thing; that done, the foui- men left
the châtelet and retiu-ned 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 sul]ihur-match which passt>d thi-ough the
hole 111' li,-iil (Irilhvl, and was now the sole communication lietween the
tower and the Taidge. This train or wick started from the round cham-
ber, passed beneath the irou door, entered under the arch, twisted like

KINETY-THREE.

a snake doAvu the spmil staircase leading to the lower story of the
bridge, crept over the tioor, and ended in the heap of dried fascines laid
on the pool of tar. Imâuus 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 lire to the pool of tar under the library. These arrange-
ments all concluded, and every work carefully inspected, he carried the
key of the iron door back to the marquis, who jjut it in his pocket.

It was imj^ortaut that every movement of the besiegers should be
watched. Imânus, M-ith 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 lialls, and some old newspapers, which he tore up for
wailding.

When the sun rose it lighted in the forest eight battalions, with
sabres at their sides, knapsacks on their Ijacks, and guns with fixed
bayonets, ready for the assault ; on the plateau, a battery with caissons,
cartridges, and boxes of case-shot ; ^vithin the fortress, nineteen men
loading several guns, muskets, blunderbusses, and pistols — and three
children sleeping in their cradles.

THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

BOOK III

THE MASSACRE OF SAINT BARTHOLOMEAY

HE ohildven woke. The little o-ivl was the first to
open her eyes.

The waking- of children is like the nnclosiug
of flowers, a perfnme seems to exhale from those
fresh yonug sonls.

Georgette, twenty months ol<l, the youngest
of the three, who was still a nu^rsing baby in the
-fp month of May, raised her little head, sat np in her
ci-adle, looked at her feet, and began to chatter.
A ray of the morning fell across her cril); it
wonld have l:)een difificnlt to decide which was the rosiest, Georgette's
foot or Aurora.

The other two still slept — the slnml)er of l>oys is heavier. Geor-
gette, gay and happy, began to chatter.

Rene-Jean's hair was brown, Gros- Alain's was auburn. Georgette's
blonde. 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 ill his eves. 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 EoiTge had worn to shreds; they had not even a shirt

88 XI XE TY-TH K E E.

l)etweeu them. The two l>oys were ahnost naked; Geoi-o'ette was muf-
fled ill a nig- whieh had once been a ]>etticoat, but was now little more
than a jacket. Who had taken care of these children I Imi)08sible to
say. Not a mother. These savage 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 everylwdy for
master, ami nobody for father. But even about the rags of childhood
there hangs a halo. These three tiny creatui'es were lovely.

Georgette prattled.

A ]>ii'd sings — a rhild ]irattles — l)ut it is the same hymn; hyniu
indistinct, inarticulate, but full of jirofound meaning. The child, unlike
the bird, has the sombre destiny of humanity l)efore it. This thought
saddens any man who listens to the joyous song of a child. The most
sul)lime j^salm that can lie heard on this earth is tlie lisping of a human
soul from the lips of childhood. This confused murmur of thought,
which is as yet oidy instinct, holds a strange, unreasoning ajipeal to
eternal justice; p<'ndiance it is a protest against life while standing on
its threshold ; a protest unconscious, yet heart-rending ; this ignorance,
smiling at infinity, lays upon all creation the Ijurden of the destiny Avhich
shall be offered to this feeble, unarmed creature. If unhappiness comes,
it seems like a betrayal of confidence.

The babille of an infant is more and less than speech; it is not
measured, :nid yet it is a song; not syllal)les, and yet a language; a
murmiu- that began in heaven, an<l will not finish on earth; it com-
menced l)efore human birth, and will continue in the sphere lieyond !
These lispings are the echo of what the child said when he Avas an angel,
and of what he will say when he enters eternity. The cradle has a Yes-
terday, just as the grnve has a To-morrow; this morrow and this yes-
terday join their double mystery in tli;it incomprehensible warbling, and
there is no such proof of God, of eternity, and the duality of destiny, as
in this awe-inspiring shadow flung across that flower-like soul.

There Avas nothing saddening in (ieorgette's prattle; her Avhole
loA^ely face was a smile. Her mouth smiled, her eyes smiled, the dimples
in her cheeks smiled. There' was a serene acceptance of the moniing in
this smile. The soul has faith in the sunlight. The sky Avas blue, Avarm,
beautiful. Tliis frail creature, who knew nothing, A\ho comprehended
nothing, softly cradled in a di'eam Avhich was not thought, felt herself
in safety mnidst the loveliness of n.-iture, these stui'dy trees, this \m\'e
A-erdure, this landscape fair and jieaceful, with its noises of l)iixls, brooks,
insects, leaA'es, al;)ove Avhich glowed the brightness of the sun.

After Georgette, René-Jean, the eldest, Avho Avas past four, aAvoke.
He sat ^\]\ jmnjied in a manly way over the side of his cradle, found out

XI xi: t y -thbe e.

the povringei', considered that iiuite natui-ul, imd so sut ilowu ou the
floor aud begau to eat his soup.

Georgette's prattle had uot awakeued G-ros-Alaiu, but at the sound
of the spoon iu the porringer, he tiu-ned over with a start, and opened
his eyes. Gros- Alain was the one of 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 Rene-Jean's examj)le, seized the sjjoou 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 di\ine. No matter how dark the ceiling in the vault above a
child's head. Heaven is reflected in its eyes.

When René-Jean had finished his portion, he scraped the bottom of
the bowl ^\'ith his spoon, sighed, and said A\-ith dignity, " I have eaten
my soup."

This roused Georgette from her i-everie.

" Thoup ! " said she.

Seeing that René-Jean liad eaten, and that Gros-Alain was eating,

KIKETY-THKEE.

she took the porringer whieh was placed Ijy her cradle, and began to eat
iu her tnrn, not without carrying tlie spoon to her ear niueh oftener
than to her month.

From time to time she renonneed civilization, and ate with her
fingers.

When (Iros-Alain had scraped the bottom of his porringer too, he
leaped ont of lied and ji lined his lirother.

tir

\. f u

' 1 J

i I V I % ' 5

.111 \ , ;

hi ^ /'<

M .

TDDEXLY from without, down below, on the side of the
forest, came the stern, loud ring of a trumpet.

To this clarion-blast a horn from the toi» of the tower
replied.

This time it was the clarion wliich called, and the horn whidi made
answer.

The clarion blew a second sTunmons, 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 mar of a, wild animal, responded
from the summit of the tower :

"Attack ! "

The voice from below resunied:

"A cannon will Ije fired, as a last warning, half an hour lief ore the
assault."

The voice from on high repeated:

"Attack ! "

These voices did not reach the children, Ijut the trumpet 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 h(.irn, she
dropi)ed her spoon into the porringer ; at the second blast of the trum-
pet, she lifted the little forefinger of her right hand, and, raising and
depressing it in turn, marked the cadences of the flourish which i)i'o-
louged the blast. "When the trumpet and the horn ceased, she remained
with her finger pensively lifted, and nmrnnu'ed, in a half-voice,
" Muthic."

We suppose that she wished to say, " Music."

The two elders, René-Jean and Gros-Alain, had ]>aid no attention to

<)Z

XIX ETY- THREE.

the trumpet and horn; they were absorl)e<l l;)y s(jmething- elh^e; a Avood-
louse was just making a journey aeross the lil)rary-tl<j(.)r.

G-ros-Alain i)erceived it, and cried:

" There is a httle creature ! "

Eené-Jean ran up.

Gros- Alain continued :

" It stings."

" Do not hurt it," said Eené-Jean.

And both remained watching tlie traveler.

Georgette proceeded to linish lier souji; that done, she looked aliout
for her brothers. Eeué-Jeau and (rros- Alain were in the recess of one
of the windows, gravely stooping over the wood-louse, theii' foreheads
touching, their curls mingling. They held their lireath in Avouder, and
examined the insect, which had stopped, and did not attempt to move,
though not appreciating tlic ailmiration it received.

Georgette, seeing that her brothers were watching something, must
needs know what it was. Tt was not an easy matter to reach them —
still she undertook tlic journey. The way Avas full of difficulties; there
were things scattered over the floor. There were footstools overturned,
heaps of old papers, jiacking-cases, forced open and empty; trunks, rub-
bish of all soi'ts, in and out of which it was necessary to sail — a whole
arclii]ielago of reef's — but Georgette riske<l it. The first task was to get
out of her ci'ib; tlien she entered the chain of reefs, twisted herself
through the straits, i)ush(>(l a footstool aside, crept lietween two coffers,
got o\'(M' ndieap of pa])ers. cliinliiiig up one side ;ind rolling down the
other, regardless of the exposniv t<.> liei- ]ioor little naked legs, and sue-

NINETY-THREE. 93

ceeded iu veachiug what a sailor would have called an o\)e\\ sea, that is,
a sufficieutly wide sjjace of the floor which was uot littered over, aud
where there were no more perils ; then she Ijounded forwui'd, traversed
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 brothei-s a
sort of cape, which must be crossed. She stopped and meditated ; her
internal monologue ended, she came to a decision. She resolutely
twisted her rosy fingers about one of the rungs, which were vertical, as
tiie ladder lay along its side. She tried to raise herself on her feet, and
fell back ; she Ijegau again, and fell a second time ; the third effort was
successful. Then, standing up, she caught hold of the rounds in succes-
sion, and walked the length of the ladder. When she reached the
extremity there was nothing more to support her. She tottered, Ijut
seizing iu her two hands the end of one of the great jsoles, which held
the rungs, she rose again, douljled the promontory, looked at Eené-Jeau
and Gros- Alain, aud began to laugh.

Ill

T tliat instant, René-Jeau, satisfied with tlie result of liis
investigations of the wood-louse, raised his head, and an-
nounced, "'Tis a she-ereature.''

( leovgette's laughter made René-Jean laugh, and Rene-
Jean's laughter made Gros- Alain laugh.

Georgette seated herself besidi^ her 1 irothers, the recess forming a

\ -I I

sort of little reeepti(^n i-hainhcr, hut their guest, the wood-limsi', had
disa]>pear('d.

He had taken advantage of (re^irgettc's laughter to hide himself in
a crack of th(^ floor.

Other incidents followed the wood-lonse's visit.

First, a flock of swallows passed.

They proliahly had their nests under the edge of the overhanging
roof. They flew close to the window, a little startled hy tlie sight of
the children, descril)ing great circles in the air, and uttering their melo-
dious spring song. The sound made the three little ones look up, and
the wood-louse was forgotten.

XI KE T Y- THREE. 95

Georgette pointed her finger toward tlie swallows, and cried,
" Chicks ! "

René-Jeau reprimanded her. " Miss, you must not say ' cliicks ' ;
they are birds."

" Birz," repeated (jeorgette.

And all three sat and watched the swallows.

Then a bee entered. There is nothing so like a soul 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 have first been to see the
roses, now I come to see the children. What is going on here I "

A bee is a housewife — its song is a grumble. The children did not
take their eyes ofï the new-comer as long as it staid with them.

The bee explored the library, rummaged in the corners, fluttered
about Avith the air of l)eing at home in a hive, and wandered, Aviuged
and melodious, from l»ook-case to book-case, examining the titles of the
volumes through the glass doors as if it had an intellect. Its exi)lora-
tion finished, it departed.

" She is going to her own house," said Eené-Jeau.

" 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 Avind-mill of the string, watching its
whirls with profound attention.

96 Xl^ETY-TEEEE.

On lier side, Georgette, having turned into a quadruped again, and
reeommeneed her capricious course back and forward across the floor,
discovered a venerable tapestry covered arm-chair, so eaten by moths
that the hurse-hair stuck nut in several places. 8he stopped before
this seat. 8he enlarged thi' holes, and diligently pulled out the long
hairs.

Suddenly she lifted one hngcr; that meant, "Listen !"

The two Ijrotlu'rs turned their heads.

A vagiie, distant noise surged up from without ; it was probably
the attacking cam^) executing some strategic manceuvi'e in the forest ;
horses neighed, drums beat, caissons rolled, chains clanked, ndlitary
calls and responses; a confusion of savage sounds, whose mingling
formed a sort of harmony. The children listened in delight.

"It is the good (lod Avho does that," said liené-Jean.

I K noise ceased.

René-Jean remained lost in a dream.
How do ideas vanish and reform themselves in the
Drains of those little ones I What is the mysterious motive
of those memories at once so troubled and so brief f There was in that
sweet, pensive little soul a niinnling- 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 Oros- Alain.

" Mamma ! " cried Georgette.

Then René-Jean l)egan to leap. Seeing this, Gros-Alain leaped
too. Gros-Alain repeated every movement and gesture of his brother.
Three years copies four years, bi;t twenty months keejis its iudeiiend-
ence. 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 monosyllabic.

StiU, after a little, example proved infectious, and she ended Ijy
trying to imitate her brothers, and these three little i)airs of naked feet
began to dance, to run, to totter amidst the dust of the old jiolished
oak floor, beneath the grave aspects of the marble busts toward wliicli
Georgette from time to time cast an unquiet glance, murnuiriug
" Momommes."

Probably in Georgette's language this signified something which
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 Ijrothers,
but her favorite mode of locomotion was on all-fours.

Suddenly René-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 liy the projecting window recess. He had just caught sight of a

98 KIXE TY-THR ËE.

man lookiug at him. It was a soldier, from the encampment of Bhies
on tlie i^latean, who, profiting by the truce, and perhaps infringing it a
little, had ventured to the very edge of the escar^iment, from whence
the interior of the library was \'isilile. Seeing René-Jean liide him-
self, Gros- Alain hid too; he crouched down beside his brother, and
Georgette hurried to hide herseh' Ijehind them. So they remained,
silent, motionless. Georgette pressing her finger against her lips. After
a few instants, René-Jean ventured to thri;st out his head ; the soldier
was there still. René-Jean retreated quickly, and the three little ones
dared not even breathe. This suspense lasted for some time. Finally
the fear began to bore (Tcorgette; she gathered courage to look out.
The soldier had disappeared. They began again to run aliout and
jilay.

Gros-Alain, althougli the imitator and admh'er of René-Jean, had a
specialty — that of discoveries. His brother and sister saw him suddenly
galloping wildly aliout, dragging after him a little cart, which he had
luiearthed behind some box.

This doll's Avagon had lain forgotten for years among the dust,
li\dng amical)]y in the neighborhood of the printed works of genius
and the busts of sages. It was, perhaps, one of the toys that Gauvaiu
had played with when a. eliild.

Gros-Alain had madi^ a whip of his string, and cracked it loudly;
he was A'ery pr(_)ud. Such are discoA'erers. The child discovers a little
wagon, the man an America — the spirit of adventui'e is the same.

But it was necessary to share the godsend. René-Jean wislied to
harness himself to the carriage, and Georgette Avished to lide in it.

She succeeded in seating herself. René- Jean was the horse. Gros-
Alain Avas the coachman. But the coachman did not understand his
Imsiness ; the horse began to teach him.

René-Jean shouted, "Say, 'Whoa,!'"

" Whoa," repeated Gros-Alain.

The carriage upset. Georgette rolled out. ("îliild-angels can shriek;
Georgette did so.

Then she had a A'ague Avish to weej).

" Miss," said René-Jean, " you are too big."

" Me l)ig ! " stammered Georgette.

And her size consoled lier for her fall.

The cornice of entablature outside the windows was A'ery broad;
the dust lilowing from the ]ilain of heath had collected there; the rains
had hardened it into soil, the wind had brought seeds ; a blackberry-
busli had profited by the shallow bed to grow up there. This busli
belonged to the species calknl fox blackberry. It was August now, and

WINETY- THREE.

the bush was covered Avith liei-ries ; a bvaiK'h passed in by the window,
and hung down nearly to the floor.

Grros-Ahain, after having discovered the cord and the wagon, dis-
covered this brauj.ble. He went up to it. He gathered a berry and ate.

" I am hungry," said René-Jean.

Georgette arrived, galloping up on her hands and knees.

The three between them stripped the l)raneh, and ate all the ber-
ries. They stained their faces and hands with the purple juice till the
trio of little seraphs was changed into a knot of little fauns, Avhich

would have shocked Dante and charmed Virgil. They shrieked with
laughter.

From time to time the thorns pricked their fingers. There is always
a pain attached to every pleasure.

Cieorgette held out her finger to René-Jean, on which showed a tiny
drop of blood, and, pointing to the bush, said, " P'icks."

Gros-Alain, who had suffered also, looked suspiciously at the
branch, and said :

" It is a beast."

" No," replied René-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.

X the meantime René-Joaii, iicrliaps jealous of the dis-
coveries made by liis younger l)rotliei-, liad conceived a
grand project. For some minutes ]_;>ast, while biisy eating
the berries and pricking his fingers, his eyes tui'ued fre-
quently toward tlie cliorister's desk, mounted on a pivot, and isolated
like a monument in the centre of the lilirary. On this desk lay the
celebrated volume of Sdinf I'xirthohnucir.

It was, in ti'uth, a magnificent and ]iriceless folio. It had lieen
pulilished at C'ologiie liy tlie famous publisher of the edition of the
Biljle of 1682, BheuAN', or, in Latin, Co'sius.

It was printed, not on Dutch pa] )er, bi;t upon that beautiful Ara-
bian paper so much admii-ed by Edrisi, which was made of silk and
cotton and never grew yellow ; the Ijinding was of gilt leather, and the
clasjis of silver, the boards of tliat parchment which the parchment
sellers of Paris took an oatli to liuy at the Hall Saint Mathurin, "and
nowhere else."

The volume was full of engravings on wood and cop^ier, with geo-
graphical maps of many countries ; it had on a fly-leaf a protest of the
printers, j^aper-makers, and pulilishers, 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 lie read a dedication to the
Gryphes, who were to Lyons what the Elzevirs were to Amsterdam.
These combinations resulte<l in a famous coyiy, almost as rare as the
Apostol at Moscow.

The book was beautiful; it was for tliat reason René-Jean looked
at it, too long perha])s. Tlie volume chanced to be open at a great
print representing Saint Bai'tliolomew carrying his skin over his arm.
He could see this print where h(> stood. "Wlien the lierries were all
eaten, René-Jean watched it with a feverish longing, and G-eorgette,

100

THE FIRST PAGE.

XIX £ T Y- THREE. 103

following the «liveetiou of her brother's eyes, perceived the engraviug,
aud said " Pio'sure."

This exclamatiou seemed to decide René-Jean. Then, to the utter
stupefaction of Gros- Alain, an extraordinary thing haj^pened. A great
oaken chair stood in one corner of the library; René-Jean marched
toward it, seized, and dragged it unaided np 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 evangelist: he offered Georgette
the other half of the saint aud all his skin. Georgette took the saint,
and observed, " Momommes."

"And I ! " cried Gros- Alain.

The tearing of the first page of a book by children is like the shed-
ding of the first drop of blood by men — it decides the carnage.

René-Jean tiu-ned 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 history might have
noted that Saint Bartholomew, after having been flayed in Aimeuia, was
torn limb from limb in Brittany.

FTE quartering completed, Georgette helil out hov hand to
René-Jeau, and said, " More ! "

After the saint and the commentator followed portraits
of fi'owning glossarists. The first in the procession was
(Tuvaiitus; René-Jean tore him out and put (lavantus into (îeorgette's
hand.

The wholn group of Saint Ba.rtlioloniew's commentators met the
same fate in tiu'n.

There is a sense of superiority in giving. René- 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.

René-Jean, inexhaustible in his magnanimity, offered Fabrieio Pig-
natelli to Gros- Alain, and Father Stilting to Georgette; he followed
these liy the bestowal of Alphons*.' Tostat on Gros-Alain, and Coii/clius
a Lapide upon Georgette. Then Gros-Alain received Henry Hannuond,
and Georgette Father Roberti, together with a view of the city of Douai,
where that father was born, in 1619. Gros-Alain received the protest of
the stationers, and Georgette obtained the dedication to the Gryphes.
Then it was the turn of the maps. René-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 terriltle moment. With mingled ecstasy and fright Gros-
Alain and Georgette saw René-Jean wrinkle his brows, stiffen his legs,
clench his fists, and 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, trj'ing
to balance itself, then crashed down, and broken, crumpled, torn, ripped
from its binding, its clasps fi-acturcd, flattened itself mi.serably upon the
floor. Fortunately it did not faU on the children. They were only
bewildered, not crushed. Victories do not always finish so well.

104

XI XU I r - THREE. 10.5

Like all glories it made a gi-eat noise, and left a elond of dust.

Ha\aug flung the book on tlio ground, Eeué-Jean descended from
the chair.

There was a moment of silence and fright ; victory has its terrors.
The three chULli-en seized one another's hands and stood at a distance,
looking 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, Greorgette dealt a ])low with her little
foot which overset her, though she fell in a sitting position, Ijy wlùch
she profited to fling herself on Saint Bartholomew. The spell was com-
pletely broken. René-Jean pounced upon the saint, Gros- Alain dashed
wpon him, and joyous, distracted, triumphant, pitiless, tearing the prints,
slashing the leaves, pulling out the markers, scratching the binding,
ungluing the gilded leather, breaking oft" the nails from the silver cor-
ners, ruining the parchment, making mince-meat of the august text,
working with feet, hands, nails, teeth ; rosy, laughing, ferocious, the
three angels of prey demolished the defenseless evangelist.

They annihilated Armenia, Judea, Benevento, where rest the relics
of the saint ; Nathaniel, who is, perhaps, the same as Bartholomew, the
Pope Gelasius, who declared the Gospel of St. Bartholomew — Nathaniel
— apocryphal, all the portraits, all the maps, and the inexorable mas-
sacre of the old book, absorbed them so entirely that a mouse ran past
without their perceiving it.

It was an extermination.

To tear in pieces history, legend, science, miracles, whether true or
false, the Latin of the Church ; superstitions, fanaticisms, mysteries, to
rend a whole religion from top to bottom, would be a work for three
giants, but the three children completed it. Houi'S passed in the labor,
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 iiothiiig was left of the book but the
edges of the text and pictures in the skeleton of the binding, René-Jean
sprang to his feet, looked at the floor covered with scattered leaves, and
clapped his hands.

Gros-Alaiu 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, René-Jean and Gros- Alain began 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 ; rent

106

NINETY- TEKEE.

by these little desperate Augers, the eutire aucient volume almost flew
dowu the wiud. Georgette thoughtfully watched these swarms of little
white iiapers dispersed Ijy the Ijreeze, and said :

" Butterf ies ! "

So the massacre ended with these tiny ghosts vanishing in the blue
of heaven !

VII

[lus was Saint Bartholomew for the second time made a
martjT ; he who had heen the first time sacrificed in the year
of oiu- 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 out the 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 Eené-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 mingled with the l)reath of evening ;
nature was calm and pitiful ; every thing beamed, was at peace, full of
love. The sun gave its caress, which is light, to all creation ; everj^where
could be heard and felt that luxrmony which is thrown off from the
infinite sweetness of inanimate things. There is a motherhood in the
infinite; creation is a miracle in full bloom; she perfects her grandeur
by her goodness. It see*ned as if one could feel some in^dsible 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 splendor equaled the gen-
tleness. The landscape that seemed asleep had those lovely hazy effects
which the (diaugings of light and shadow produce on the fields and
I'ivers ; the mists mounted toward the clouds like reveries changing into
dreams ; the birds circled noisily about La Tourgue ; the swallows looked
in through the windows, as if they wished to be certain that tlie children
slept well. They were prettily grouped upon one another, motionless,
half-naked, posed like little Cupids ; they were adoralile and pure ; the
nuited ages of the three did not make nine years; they were dreaming
di-eams of paradise, which were reflected on their lips in vague smiles.

' 107

108

NIXETY- THREE.

Perchauee Clod whispered in their ears ; they were of those whom all
huiuaii languages call the weak and blessed; they were made majestic
hy inuoeenee. All Avas silence about them, as if the breath from their
tender l:)osoms were the care of the universe, and listened to by the
whole ereation ; the leaves did not rustle ; the grass did not stir. It
seemed as if the vast starry world held its l»reath for fear of disturbing
these three huml)le angelic sleepers, and nothing could have been so
sul>lime as that reverent I'espeet of nature in presence of this littleness.

The sun was near its setting; it almost touched the horizon. Siid-
denly, aci-oss this profound peace burst a lightning-like glare, wliich
came fmni the forest; then a savage noise. A cannon had just been
fired. ïh<> 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 liead slightly, lifted lier little finger, and said :

" Boom !"

The noise died away ; the silence swept liack ; Cleorgette laid her
head on (Iros- Alain, and fell asleep once more.

BOOK YT

THE MOTHER

CHAPTER I

DEATH PASSES

HEN this evening came, the mother wliom "ffo saw
wandering ahnost at random had walked the
whole day. This was indeed the history of all
her days — to go straight before her withoi;t stop-
ping. For her slumbers of exhaustion, given in
to in any corner that chanced to be nearest, were
I ! no more rest than the morsels she ate here and
J) there, as the birds pick up crumbs, were nourish-
ment. She ate and slept just what was absolutely
necessary to keep her from falling down dead.
She had passed the previoi;s night in an empty ])ai-n ; civil Avars
leave many such. She had found in a bare field four walls, an open
door, a little straw beneath the ruins of a roof, and she had slept on the
straw xmder the rafters, feeling the rats slip a1)out beneatli, and watch-
ing the stars rise through the gaping wreck al:)ove. She slept for
several hours, then she woke in the middle of the night aiid 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.

She had followed to the best of her ability the brief itinerary the

11-2 MyETY-THIxEE.

peasant of Vautortes liad marked nut for her; she had goue as straight
as possiljle toward the west. Had there been any one near, he might
have heard her ceaselessly mnrniur, half alond, " La Toiu'gue. " Exeept
the names of lier children, this word was all she kn(nv.

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 sul)niitt(^d to, now for a shelter, now for a mor-
sel of bread, sometimes simply to obtain from some one infoi'matiou as
to her route. A wretched woman is more mifortunate than a wretched
man, for she may be a i»rey to lust. Frightful wandering march! But
iiothing mattered to her, provided she could discover her children.

Her first encounter this day had been a ^'illage ; the da■^^l was
beginning to lireak. Every thing was still tinged with the gloom of
niglit; a few doors were already half open in the prim-ipal streets, and
curious faces looked out of the windows. The iidialjitants were agitated
like a disturi:)e(l l)ee-hive. This arose from a noise of wheels and chains
which had been heard.

<_)n the church square, a frigliteiied grouii, with their heads raised,
watched something descend a high hill along the road toward the vil-
lage. It was a four-wheeled Avagon, drawn by five horses, harnessed
with chains. ( )n this wagon could 1)e distinguished a heap like a pile of
long joists, in the middle of which lay some shapeless olgect, covered
with a large canvas, resemliling a pall. Ten horsemen rode in front of
the wagon, and ten othei-s behind. These men Avore three-cornered
liats, and above their shoulders roS(^ Avhat seemed to be the itoints of
naked sabres. This Avliole cortege, advancing slowly, showed black and
distinct against the horizon. The Avagon looked Ijlack; the harness
looked black; the horsemen looked black. Behind them gleamed the
])a11or of the morning.

They entered the A'illage and moved iowa)-d the s(piare. Daylight
had com<' on Avhile the wagon was going down the hill, anil the cortege
could lie distinctly seen ; it Avas like Avatching a iirocession of shadoAvs,
for not a man in the party uttei'ed a Avord.

The horsemen Avere gendarmes; they did in truth carry drawn
sabres. The cover was black.

The Avretched Avandering mother entered the A'illage from the ojtpo-
site side, and approached the moli of peasants at the moment the gen-
darmes and tlie wagon reaclu'tl the scjuare. Among the crowd A'oices

pered ((uesticms and repHes.

"What is it?"

"The Guillotine."

XIXETY- THREE

113

" Wheuce does it come I "
" From Fougères."
" Where is it goiug- ? "

"I do not know. They say to a castle in the neighboi-liood of
Parigué."

" Parigné."

"Let it go where it Ukes, iirovidcil it does not stn]i licre."

This great cart with its lading hidden by a sort of shroud, this

team, these genchirmes, the noise of the chains, the silence of the men,
the gray dawn, all ruade np a whole that was spectral. The group trav-
ersed the square and passed otit of the village. The hamlet lay in a
hollow l)etween two hills. At the end of a quarter of an hour, tlu* peas-
ants, who had stood still as if petrified, saw the higubrious procession
reappear on the summit of the western hill. Tlie heavy wheels jolted
along the ruts, the eliains clanked in the morning wind, the sabres
shone in the rising sun ; then the road turn(^d off, and the cortege dis-
appeared.

It was tlie very moment when Georgette woke in the librai-y by
the side of her still sleeping brothers, and wished her rosy feet good-
moruinii'.

CHAPTER II

DEATH SPEAKS

FIE motliin' watrhcd this mysterious procession, Imt neither
comprehended nor sought t(^ understand; her eyes were
husy with anotlier vision — lier cliildren, h)st amidst the
darkness.

She went out (.)f the vilhige also, a little after the cortege which had
tiled past, and followed the same route at some distance behind the
second squad of gendarmes. Su<ldenly the word " guillotine" recurred
to her. " Guillotine ! " she said to herself. This rude |)easa,nt, Michelle
Flécluii-d, did not kno\v what that was, hut instinct warned her; she
.shivered, without being al)le ti.i tell Avheref ore ; it seemed horri))le to her
to walk behind this thing, and slie turned to the left, (juitted the high-
road, and passed into a wood, which was the forest of Foiigères.

After wandering foi' some time, she iierceived a belfry and some
roofs; it was one of the villages scattered along the edge of the forest.
The went toward it. She was hungry.

It was one of the villages in which the Republicans ha<l established
military posts.

She passed on to the scpiare in front of the may(.iralty. In this
village there was also fright and anxiety. A crowd pressed up to the
flight of steps. On the to}) step stood a man, escorted by soldiers; he
held in his hand a great open placard. At his right was stationed a
drummer, at his left a bill-sticker, carrying a jiaste-pot and brush.

Upon the balcony o\-er the door ajipeared the mayor, wearing a tri-
colored scarf over his peasant dress.

The man with th(^ placard was a i)ublic crier. He wore his shoulder-
belt, with a small Avalh^t lianging from it, a sign that he was going from
village to village, and had something to jniblish throughout the district.

114

yiXS T Y- THREE.

115

At the iiioiiieiit Michelle Fléchard approaclied, lie had imfolded the
placard, aud was Ijegiiuiing to read. He read, iu a loud voice :

The drum beat. There was a sort of movement among the assem-
Lly. A few took oft" their caps; others pulled their hats closer over
their heads. At that time, and iu that country, one couhl almost recog-
nize the political opinions of a man liy his head-gear; hats were

lie XI XE T Y - THREE.

Eoyalist, caps Kepiil)lioaii. The ('onfusod iiiuriuur of A'oiees ceased;
e\-orybody listened ; the eriev read :

"In virtue of tli<' orders we have received, and tlie autliority dele-
ij-ated to us hy the Committee of PulJic Safety "

Tlie drum lieat tlie second time The crier continued :

■'And in execution of tlie decree of the National Convention, wliich
puts beyond the law all rel)els taken with arms in their hands, and
which ordains capital punishment to whomsoever shall give them
sheltei-, ( )r help them to escape "

A peasant asked, in a low voice, of his neighbor:

"What is that — capital pTuiishment f "

His neighbor replied:

" I do n'ot know."

The crier fluttered the jtlacard.

"In accordance with Article 17th of the law of April iJUth, which
gives full power to delegates and sid i-delegates against reljels, Ave declare
outlaws "

Ho made a pause, and resumed :

"Tlie individuals known under the nanies and surnames which
follow "

The Avhole assemblage listened intently.

The crier's voice sounded like thunder, lie read :

" Lautenac, brigand."

"That is monseigneur," nini'mured a jieasant.

And through the whole crowd went the whisper: "It is mon-
seigneur."

The crier I'esumed:

"Lantena<', ci-devant mai'ipiis, brigand; — Imânus, lirigand "

Two peasants glanced sideways at each other.

" That is Gouge-le-Bruant."

" Yes ; it is Brise-Bleu."

The crier continued to read the list:

"Grand Francœur, l)rigand "

The assembly murmured:

" Ho is a priest."

"Yes; the Abl.ié Turnieau."

"Yes; lie is curé somewliere in tlie neighborhood of the wood of
Chapelle."

"And brigand," sai<l a, man in a, cap.

The crier i-ead :

" Boisnouveaii, brigand: — The two bi-others, Pi(|ue-en-B()is, bi'ig-
ands; — Hou/.ard. brigand "

NINETY- THEJEK 117

" That is Monsieur de Qiieleu," said a peasant.

" Pauier, brigand "

" That is Mousieui- Sepher."

"Place Xette, brigand "

" That is Monsieur Jaînois."

The crier continued his reading without noticing these commen-
taries :

"■ Guinoiseau, brigand; — Chatenay, styled Eobi, brigand "

A peasant whispered :

"Guinoiseau is the same as Le Blond; ('liutenay 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 Pontorson."

" Yes ; Hoisnard Malonnière."

"A fine young chap of nineteen."

"Attention ! " said the crier. " Listen to the last of the list :

" BeUe Yigue, brigand ; — La Musette, brigand; — Sabretout, brigand;
— Brin d'Amoui', brigand "

A lad nudged the elbow of a young girl. The girl smileil.

The crier continued, " Chante-en-hiver, brigand ; — Le Chat, brig-
and- ^"

A peasant said, " That is Moulard."

" Tabouze, brigand "

Another peasant said :

" That is Gauffre."

" There are two of the Gauffi-es," added a woman.

" Both good fellows," grumbled a lad.

The crier shook the placard, and the drum l)eat.

The crier resumed his reading :

"The above-named, in whatsoever place taken, and their identity
established, shall be immediately put to death."

There was a movement among the crowd.

The crier went on :

"Anj' one aiïording them sheltei-, or aiding their escape, will be
brought before a court-martial and i^ut to death. Signed "

The silence grew profound.

" Signed : The Delegate of the Committee of Public Safety, CmouR-

DAIX."

"A pi-iest," said a peasant.

118 XIXETY- THREE.

" The former eiu'é of Parigué," said auotlier.

A towusmau added, " Turmeau and Oiinoiirdaiu. A Blue priest aud
a White."

" Both black," said another townsman.

Tlie mayor, who was on the Ijaleony, lifted his hat, and eried :

" Long Uve the Kepublie ! "

A roll of the drum auiuaniced 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 Government i)roclamation. They
are signed liy the Chief of the exploring column of the North Coasts,
Commandant (lauvain."

"Listen!" exclaimed the voices of the crowd.

Aud the crier read :

" Under pain of death "

All were silent.

" It is forljiddeu, in pursuance of the above order, to give aid or
succor to the nineteen rebels above named, at this time shut up and sur-
rounded in La Tourgue."

" What f " cried a voice.

It was the voice of a woman ; of the mother.

CHAPTER III

MFTTEEINCJS AMONG THE PEASANTS

I< 'HELLE FLÉCHARD had mingled with the crowd. She
had Usteued to nothing, but one hears certain things without
hstening. She caught the words La Tourgue. She raised
lier head.

" AVhat .' " she repeated. " La Tourgaie ! "

People stared at her. She appeared out of lier mind. She was in
rags.

Voices murmureil, " She looks like a hrigand."

A peasant woman, Avho 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 under-
stood 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
shoidd stare at her in this way f

But the drum had beat for the last time; the l)il]-sticker posted up
the placard ; the mayor retii'ed into the house ; the crier set out for
some other village, and the mob dispersed.

A group remained before the placard ; Michelle Fléchard joined
this knot of people.

They were commenting on the names of the men declared outlaws.
There were peasants and townsmen among them ; that is to saj', Whites
and Blues.

A peasant said :

"After all, they have not caught everybody. Nineteen are only
nineteen. They have not got Riou, they have not got Benjamin Mou-
lins, nor Groupil of the parish of Andouillé."

lin

120 NINETY- THREE.

" Nov L(-)ri(nil of Moujoan," said auotlier.

Othei'8 added, " Nor Brice Deuys."

" Nor François Dudouet."

" Yes, liim of Laval."

" Nor Huet of Luuuey Villiers."

" Nor Grégis."

" Nor Pilon."

" Nor Filleul."

" Nor Méuieent."

" Nor Guéliarrée."

"Nor the three brotlicrs Logerais."

" Nor Monsieur Lechandelier de Pierreville."

"Idiots!" said a stern-faeed, wliite-haired old man. " They have
all if they have Lantenae."

"They have not got him yet," murmured one of the young men.

The old man added :

" Lautenac taken, the soul is taken. Lantenae dead, La Vendée is
slain."

" Who, then, is this Lantenae I " asked a t(.)wnsnian.

A townsman re])lied: "He is a ci-devant."

Another added :

"He is one of those who shoot women."

Michelle Fléehard heard and said:

" It is true."

They tnrn('(l towanl 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 oliject ; trend iling at every thing, scared,
quaking, showing a sort of wild-animal troulde, so frightened that she
was frightful. There is always something terrible in the feebleness of
a despairing woman. She is a creature who has reached the furthest
limits of destiny. But p(*asants have not a habit of noticing details.
One of them muttered :

" 81h^ might easily Ite 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 Fléehard ivplied:

"I am doing no harm. I am looking for my childnm."

The good woman glanced at those Avho were staring at Michelle,
touched her forehead with one finger and winked, sa\nug:

yiXJ'J T y- THREE. Ul

" She is a simpleton."

Then she took her aside and gave lier a Ijiseuit.

Michelle Flechard, without thanking her, began to eat greedily.

"Yes," said the peasants, "she eats like an animal — she is an.
idiot."

So the tail of tlic molt dwindh'd away. Tliey all went away, one
after another.

When Michelle Flechard had devoured her biscnit, she said Id the
peasant woman :

" Good ! I have eaten. Now, where is La Tonrgiie ! "

" It is taking her again ! " cried the peasant.

" I must go to La Tom-gue ! Show me the way to La Tourgue ! "

"Xever!" 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, yoTi look tired. Will you come to my
house and rest yourself ? "

" 1 uever rest," said the mother.

"Aud her feet are torn to pieces ! " murmured the peasant.

Michelle Flechard resumed :

" Don't I tell you that they have stolen my children f A little girl
and two boys. I come from the caruichot in the forest. Yoii can ask
Tellmarch the(*aimand about me. And the man I met in the field
down yonder. It was the Caimand who cured me. It seems I had some-
thing broken. All that is what happened to me. Then there is Ser-
geant Radoub Ijesides. You cau 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 — René-Jean — I can prove all that. The
other's name is Gros-Alain, and the little girl's is Georgette. My hus-
band is dead. They killed him. He was the farmer at Siseoignard.
You look like a good womau. 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 aU. 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 l)elong to the neighborhood. I
was shot, but I do not know Avhere."

The i)easaut shook lu'r head, and said :

"Listen, traveler. In times of revolution you mustn't say things
that can not l)e understood ; you may get yourself taken \\\) 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.

122 KINE T Y - TER, EE.

madame, I eu treat you, I conjure y<:>u, 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
jilace. People do not go there."

" But I am going," >^i^i'^ tlie mother.

And she set forth again. The woman watched her depai't, mutter-
ing, " Still, she must have something to eat."

She ran after Michelle Fléchard and put a roU of black bread in her
hand.

" There is for yoTU' supper."

Michelle Fléchard took the buckwheat bread, did not answer, did
not turn her head, liut walked on.

She went out of the village. As she reached the last houses she
met three ragged, barefooted little childi'en. 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 ^dunged into the foi'est.

CHAPTER lY

A JI I S T A K E

N the same movniug, before the dawn appeared, this hap-
pened amidst the obscurity of the forest, along the cross-road
which goes from Javené to Lécousse.

All the roads of the Breage are between high banks, but
of all the I'outes, that leading from Javené to Parigné by the way of
Lécousse is the most deeply imliedded. Besides that, it is winding. It
is a ravine rather than a I'oud. This road comes from Vitré, and had
the honor of jolting Madame de Sévigné's carriage. It is, as it were,
waUed 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 froiu 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 i-emaiued to be set on fire. Those who had guns were sta-
tioned at the two sides of the road in watchful positions. Anybody who
could have looked through the leaves would have seen ever\^vhere fin-
gers on triggers and guns aimed toward the openings left by the inter-
lacing branches. These men were on the watch. All the guns con-
verged toward tlie road, which the first gleams of day had begun to
whiten.

In this twilight low voices held converse.

" Are you sure of that ? "

123

124 NINETY- THREE.

" Well, they say so."

" She is about to jiass ? "

"They say she is in the neighlKirhond."

" She must Dot go out."

" She must be burned."

"We are three villages who have come out for that."

" Yes ; but the escort ">. "

" The escort will be killed."

" But will she pass Ijy this road ? "

" They say so."

"Then she comes from Vitré?"

" Why not ? "

"But somebody said she was coming from Fougères."

" Whether she comt.-s from Fougères or ^^itré she comes from the
devil."

" Yes."

"And ivmst go back to liini."

" Yes."

" So she is going to Parigne ?"

" It appears so."

" She Avill 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 horse! )ack,
and something on the wagon, coming toward them along the high-
banked road.

"There she is," said one, who ap})eared to be the leader.

"Yes," said one of the scouts; "with the escort."

" How many men ? "

" Twelve."

" We were told they were twenty."

"Twelve or twenty, we must kill tlie whole."

"Wait till they get within sure aim."

A little later, the Avagon iind its escort appeared at a turn in the
road.

" Long live tlic king !" cried the chief peasant.

A hiiiidi'cd guns wci-c fii'cd at the same instant.

Wlicn the smoke scattered, the escort was scattered also. Seven

^^ -t

THE SURPRISE.

NIJfJE T Y - TER EE. 127

horsemen had fallen; five had fled. The peasants rushed up to the
wagou.

" Hold ! " cried the chief ; " it is uot the guillotiue ! It is a ladder."

A long ladder was, iu fact, all the wagou carried.

The two horses had faUeu wounded; the driver had been killed,
but not iutentioually.

"AH the same," said the chief; "a ladder with an escort looks sus-
picious. 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 burued the ladder.

As for the funereal wagou 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

A'OX IN DESEIJTO

HEN JMiclielle Fléehai-d left the three children to whom she
had giveu her bread, she took her way at random through
the wood.

Siuee nobody would point out the road, she must tind it
out for lierself. Now and then she sat down, then rose, then i-eseated
herself again. She was borne down Ijy that terrible fatigue which first
attacks the muscles, then jiasses into the bones — weariness like that of
a slave. She Avas a slave in ti'utli. The slave of her lost children. She
must find them ; each instant that elapsed might 1)e to their hurt ;
whoso has a duty like this woman's has no rights ; it is forbidden even
to stop to take l;)reath. But she was very tired. In the extreme of
exhaustion Avliich 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 luiuse. She took first tlie right path, then a wrong
one, ending by losing herself amidst leafy lal.)yrinths, I'esembling one
another precisely. Was she approaching her goal? Was she Hearing
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 I There came a moment when to advance farther seemed
iiniK)ssible 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 (fod. She liegan to call; no voi(.'e answered.

Sh<^ looked about; she ])erceived an opening in the bi-anehes,
turned in that direction, and fonnd herself suddenly on the edge of the
wood.

She had Ix'fore her a valley, narrow as a trencth, at the bottom of
which a clear streamlet ran along over the stones. She discovered then

SHE WALKED TOWAIiDS TTIE TOWER.

Kl WE T Y - TR R E E. 1 IJ 1

she was burning with thii'st. She went down to tlic stream, knelt by
it, and tb-ank.

Slie took advantage of her kueeUng position to say her pi-ayers.

When she rose she tried to decide upon a course.

She crossed the brook.

Beyond the Uttle vallej* stretched, as far as tlie eye could reach, a
plateau covered with short underlirush, which, starting from the brook,
ascended in an inclined jilain, and lilled the whole horizon. 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,
nothing met her gaze. A few birds, which seemed frightened, were
flying away over the heath.

Then, in the midst of this awful abandoniuent, feeling her knees
give way under her, and, as if gone suddenly mad, the distracted 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 pi'oceeded 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 voi(;e 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 j ust drank and prayed ; her strength came back ; she
began to ascend the plateau in the direction whence she had heard that
vast and far-off voice.

Siiddenly she saw a lofty tower start u[i on the extreme edge of
the horizon. It was the only oliject visilde amidst the savage land-
scape; a ray from the setting sun crimsoned its sunnnit. It was more
than a league away. Behind the tower spi-ead a great sweep of scat-
tered verdure lost in the mist — it was the forest of Fougères.

This tower appeared to her to be the point whence came the thun-
dering which had sounded like a summons in her ear. Was it that
which had given the answer to her cry I

Michelle Fléchard reached the top of the plateau ; she had nothing
but the plain before her.

She walked toward the Tower.

CHAPTER VI

THE SITUATION

[IE moment luul eome.

The inexorable held the pitiless.
Cimoui'dain had Lanteuae 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 mar-
quis .should be beheaded hei'e — u]H)nhis()wn territory — his own lands —
on this very spot — in sight <if liis ancestral dwellintj-place, that the
feudal stronghold might see the head of the feudal lord fall, and the
example thus be made memoralile.

It was with this intention that he had sent to Fougères for the
guillotine which we lately saw upon its r<)ad.

To kill Lantenac was to slay the Vendée; to slay the Vendée was
to save France. Cimoui-dain did not hesitate. The conscience of this
man was quiet; he was urged to ferocity by a sense of duty.

The mar(piis appeared lost; as far as that Avent Cimourdain was
tran(|uil, l)ut there was a consideration which trouljled him. The
struggle must inevitably be a terril )le <)ne. Grauvaiu would direct it,
and perhaps would wish to take part ; this young chief was a soldier
at heart ; he was just the man to fling himself into the thick of this
l^ugilistie comliat. If he sliovdd 1 >(• killed ? Gauvain — his child ! Tlie
uui( pie affection he possessed on eai'th ! 80 far fortune had iirotected
the youth, but fortune might grow weary. Cimourdain treiidjled. His
strange destiny had jilaced him liere between these two Gfiuvains, for
one of whom he wished fleath ; for the other life.

The canuou-shot whicli had roused Georgette in her cradle and
sunniioued the mother in the depths of her solitude, had done more
than that. Eithei' liy iiccident, or owing to the intention of the man
who lii'ed the pieee, the ball, iiltliough only meant as a Avarning, had

XIXETY- THREE.

133

struck the guard of irou bars which protected the great loop-hole of
the first floor of the tower, l)rokeu it and half wreuohed it away. The
besieged had uot had time to repair this damage.

The besieged had beeu boastful, but they had very little ammuuiti. )ii.
Their situation, indeed, was nnieh more critical than the besiegers sup-
posed. If they had had powder enough they would have blown up La
Tourgue when they and the enemy should be together within it ; this
had been their dream ; Init tlieir reserves were 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 husl)and. That was the difficulty. Fortunately,
sinister fortune, the sti'uggle would ])e mostly man to man; sabre and
poniard would lie more needed than fire-arms. The c()nflict would be
rather a duel with knives than a ])attle with guns. This was the hope
of the besieged.

1:J4 NIKE T Y - THREE.

The interior of the tower seemed inipregnaljle. In the lower hall,
which the mine had breached, the retirade so skillfnlly constructed
guarded the entrance. Behind the retirade Avas a long table covered
with loaded weapons, blunderbusses, carbines, and muskets; sabres,
axes, and poniards. Since tliey had no powder to blow up the tower,
the crjqit of the oubliettes could not be utilized; therefore the marquis
had cliised tlic duor of tiie dungeon. Above the ground-tloor hall was
the round chamlier which could only be reached l)y the narrow, winding
staircase. This chamber, in which there also set a taljle covered with
loaded weapons ready to tli(^ hand, was lighted tiy the great loop-hole,
the grating of which had just been liroken by the cannon-ball. From
this chamber the s^nral staircase ascended to the circular room on the
second iioor, in which was the iron door communicating with the bridge
castle. This cliamlier was called indifferently the room iv'ifh the iron
door, or the Hiirror-room, from numerous small looking-glasses hung to
rusty old nails on the naked stones of the wall — a fantastic mingling of
elegance and sa\'age di-solation.

Since the a,partments on the upper floor could not be successfully
defended, this mirror-room became what Manesson Mallet, the lawgiver
in regard to fortified places, calls " the last post where the besieged can
capitulate." The struggh^ as we have already said, would be to keep the
assailants from reaching this room.

This second-floor round chamlier was lighted liy loo]i-lioles, still a
torch liunied tliert'. Tliis torch, in an iron holder like tlie one in the
hall Ijelow, had been kindled by luiànus, and the end of the sulphur-
match placed near it. Terril )le carefulness !

At the end of the ground-floor hall was a boar<l placed ui)on trestles,
which held food, like the arrangement in a Homeric cavern ; great dishes
of rice, furmety of black grain, hashed veal, hotchpotch, l)iscuits, stewed
fruit, and jugs of cidei'. Whoever wished could eat and drink.

Tlir <-annon-shot set tlicm all on the watch. Not morr than a lialf-
lionr of (juiet renuiined to them.

From the toi? of the tower Inuinus watched the approach of the
besiegers. Lantenac had ordered his men not to fire as the assaUauts
came forward. He said :

"They are four thousand five hundred. To kill outsid<! is useless.
Wlien they try to enter, we are as strong as they."

Then he laughed, and added, "P]quality. Fraternity."

Tt had l)een agreed that Imânus should sound a warning on his horn
when the enc^ny began to advance.

The little troop, posted behind the retirade or on the stairs, waited
with one hand on their mnski-ts, the other on their rosaries.

NINETY-THREE.

135

This was what the situation had resolved itself iuto :
For the assailauts a breach to mount, a barricade to force, three
rooms, oue above the other, to take in succession l)y main strength, two
winding staircases to be carried step by step under a storm of bullets •

for the besieged — to cUe.

CHATTER YII

PKELIMINAEIES

AUVAIN on his side aiTauged the oixlev of attack. He gave
his hist iiistmctions to Cimourdaiu, whose part in the action,
it will be remembered, was to guard the plateau, and to
(xuéchamp, who was to wait with the main body of the army
in the forest eamp. It was understood that neither the masked battery
of tlie wood nor tlie open battery of the phxteau would fire ludess there
should lie a sortie or an attempt at escape on the 2)art of the besieged.
Gauvain had reserved for himself the conniiand of the storming column.
It was that which troubled Cimourdaiu.

The suu had just set.

A tower in an open counti'y resembles a ship in open sea. It must
be attacked in the same manner. It is a Ijoarding rather than an assault.
No cannon. Nothing useless attempted. What would be the good of
cannonading walls fifteen feet thick? Ajiort-hole; men forcing it on
the one side, men guarding it on the (ithci-; 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 com-
batants look into one another's eyes. He had lived in this tower when
a child, and knew its formidable recesses by heart.

He meditated ])rofoundly. A few paces from him his lieutenant,
Guéehamp, stood with a s]iy-glass in his hand, examining the horizon
in the direction of Parigné. Suddenly he cried :

" Ah ! at last ! "

This exclamation aroused Ganvaiii from his reverie. " What is it,
Guéehamp?"

"Commandant, flie laddei' is coming."

"The escape-ladder?"

136

KIXE I Y - TER E E.

137

"Yes."

" How I It has not yet g'ot here ! "

" No, commaiidaut. Aud I was troubled. The express that I sent
to Javené came back."

" I know it."

"He told me that he had found at the carpenter's shop in Javeué a
ladder of the requisite dimensions — he took it — lie had it put on a cart,
he demanded an escort of twelve horsemen, aud 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 having taken i^lace about two o'clock in the
morning, the wagon would be here Ijefore sunset."

"I know all that. Well?"

"Well, commandant, the sun has just set, and the Avagou whicli
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."

1;î8 XIXU T y - THREE.

''But we liavo not got it."

" We have it."

" How I "

" It was that made me say, 'Ah ! at hist ! ' The wagon did not
arrive; I took my telescope, aud examined tlie route from Parigné to
La Tourgue, and, (■ommaudant, I am satished The wagon aud the
escort are coming down yoiKh'r; tliey are descending a hill. You can
see them."

Gaiivain toolv tlie glass, aii<l looked.

"Yes-, tlieri^ it is. There is not light enough to distingiiish very
cleai-ly. But I can see the escort — it is certainly that. Only the escort
appears to me more numerous than you said, (_Tuécluinip."

" And to mo also."

" They are about a quarter ( )f a league off."

" Commandant, the escape-ladder Avill be here in a ipiarter of an
hour."

" We can attack."

It was indeed a- wagon which they saw approaching, but not the
one they l)elieved. .\.s (xauvain turned, he saw Sergeant I\ad<nib stand-
ing behind him, upriglit, his eyes. downcast, in the attitu(h:' of military
salute.

"What is it. Sergeant Kadoub?"

"Citizen commandant, we, th(^ men of the Battalion of the Bonnet
Rouge, have a favor to ask of you."

"Whatf"

" To have us killed."

"Ah! "said (lauvain.

" Will you have that kin(biess ? "

"But — that is according to circumstances," said (lauvain.

"Listen, connnandant. Since the affair of Dol, you are careful of
us. We are still twelve." .... -

"WeU?" ' - •

"That humiliates us."

" You are the reser\'e."

" We would rather be the advance-guanh"

"But I need you to deci(h_^ success at the close of the engagement.
I keep you l)ack foi' that."

" Too much."

"No. You iirc in tiie column. You march."

"In the rear. Pai'is has a right to march in ft'ont."

"I will think of it, Sergeant Kadoub."

"Think of it to-day. my commandant. There is an opportunity.

NIX ETY-TRKE E. 13'.J

There are going to bo liard blows to give or to take. It will Ije lively.
La Toiirgue will burn tlic fingers of those that toiioh her. We demand
the favor of being iu the party."

The sergeant paused, twisted his nuistache, and added, in an altered
voice :

"Besides, look you, my eommaudaiit, our little ones are in this
tower. < >ur children are there — the children of the battalion — our three
children. That abominable beast called Brise-l>leu and Iniânus, this
Grouge-le-Bruant, this Bouge-le-Gruant, this Fouge-le-Truant, this thun-
der-clap of the devil, threatens our children. Our children, — our pets,
commandant ! If all the earthquakes should mix in the liusiness, we
can not have any misfortune happen to them. Do you hear that —
authority ? "We will have none of it. A little while ago I took advan-
tage of the truce, and mounted the plateau, and looked at them thnmgh
a window — yes, they are certainly 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 thotisand names of everything sacred, I,
Sergeant Radouli, that I will have revenge out of somebody. And that
is what all the l)attalion say; either we want the liabies saved or we
want to Ije all killed. It is ottr right — yes — all killi-d. .Vnd now, salute
and respect."

Gauvaiu held out his hand to Kadoub, and said:

"You are brave men. You shall have a place in the attacking col-
umn. I will divide you into two parties. I will put six of yoti in the
vanguard to make stire that the troops advanc(\ and six in the rear-
guard to make sure that nobody retreats.''

" Will I command tlie twelve, as ttsual ! "

" Certainly."

" Then, my commandant, thanks. For I am of the vanguard."

Radoub made another military salute, and went back to his com-
pany.

Clativain drew out his watch, spoke a few words iu (luécliamp's
ear, and the storming colunni began to form.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WORD AND THE ROAR

OW, Cimoiirdiiin, who had not yet gone to his post on the
plateau, api:>i'oaolie(l a trumpetoi'.

" Soniid your trnmpet ! " .said he.

The ehiiion sonuded ; the liorn I'eplied.

Again the trnmpet and the horn exchanged a hlast.

" What does that mean :' " Ganvain asked Guéehamx). " What is
it Cimourdaiu wants f "

Cimourdain advanced toward the tower, holding a wliite handker-
eliief in his hand.

He spoke in a lond voice :

" Men who are in the tower, do you know me f "

A voice — tlie voice of Iniànns — replied from the summit:

" Yes."

The following dialogU(^ between tlic two voices reached the ears of
those about.

" I am the Envoy of the Rei>nl)lic."

" Yoi; are the late Curé of Parigné."

"T am the delegate of the Committee of Pul)lic Safety."

" You are a priest."

"I am the representative of the law."

" You are a renegade."

"I am the commissioner of the Revolution."

" You are an apostate."

" I am Cimourdaiu."

" You are the demon."

" Do you know me ! "

"We hate you."

" Would vol! In- content if yon had me in your power?"

140

■THE Y KNELT DOWN.

NINETl'-TRREE. 143

" We are here eighteen, wlio would give our heads to have youi'S."

" Very well ; I come to deliver myself up to you."

From the top of the tower raug a burst of savage laughter, aud this
cry :

"Come!"

The eamp waited in the breathless sileuce of expectancy.

(jimourdaiii resumed:

" Ou oue couditiou."

" What ! "

" Listen."

" Speak."

"You hate me?"

" Yes."

"And I love you. I am your brother."

The voice from the toji of the tower replic(l :

"Yes, Cain."

Cimourdain went on in a singular tone, at once loud and sweet:

" Insult me ; but listen. I come here under 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 tlic 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 Revolution 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 ])it3" on
your darkness f I come to you; I offer you my head; I do more I
hold out my hand to you. I demand of you the favor 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, l:)ut the jn-iest implores you. Listen to
me. Many among you have wIa'cs and children. I am defending youi-
children and your wives — defending them against yourselves. Oh, my
brotluu's "

" (to on ! Preach ! " sneered Imanus.

" My brothers, do not let the terrible hoi'u sound. Throats are to be
cut. j\Lany 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 use-
less ? Why kill so many men, when it would suffice to kill two ?"

144

XIXETY- TRBEE.

"Two!" repoated Inu'iuus.

" Yes. Two."

"Who?"

" Lauteuac and myself."

C'imoiirdaiu sjioke more lciuiU>'.

Two iiii'u ari> too many. Laiite-

nae for us; I for you. This is wliat I propose to you, and you will all

have your lives safe, (lix-c us Lanteuae, and take me. Lanteuao will
be .<i,-uillotined, and you shall do what you choose with me."

"Priest," howled linânns, " if we had thee we would roast thee at a
.slow fi re ! "

"I eousent," said ( 'iiiiourdain.

He went on :

"You, the eondenuied who are in this tower, you eaii all in an hour
he livinii', and free. I liring' you safety. l)o you acoei^t?"

liiiànus hurst forth :

'■ ^'ou ai'c not onlv a \illain, vou ai'e a mad.inan. Ah ! why do vou

NIIi^E T Y - THB EE. 145

come here to distuii) us Ï Who begged you to come aud speak to lis ?
We gi\e up mouseigueur I What is it you want f "

" His head. Aud I offer -"

"Your skin. Oh, we would Hay you like a dog, Curé Cimourdain !
Well, uo ; your skiu is uot worth his head. Get away with you."

" The massacre Avill be horrible. For the last time — reflect."

Night had come on during this strange colIo(piy, Avhicli could be
heard without and within the tower. The Marquis de Lautenac kept
silence, and allowed events to take their course. Leaders jjossess 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 propositions 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
childi'en, aud you will allow liberty and life to us all."

" To all, yes," rephed Cimourdain, " except one."

" And that Î "

" Lautenac."

" Monseigneur ! Clive up monseigneur ? Never ! "

" We can only treat with you on that condition."

" Then begin."

Silence fell.

Imanus descended after having sounded the signal on Ids horn ;
the marquis took his sword in liis 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, kueeUug, aimed their guns and blunderbusses across the open-
ings of the barricade, and one of them — G-rand-Franeoeur, who was the
i:)riest Turmeau — raised himself, 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.

CHAPTER IX

TITANS A(;AINST (HANTS

1 1 E eneountor was friii'litful.

This li;ui(l-t()-liaii(l coiitost went lieyonil tlie power of
faucy in its awfulness.

To find any tiling similar it woulil bo necessary to go
back to the great dnels of ^Eseliylns, or the ancient feudal butcheries, to
"those (iffdcliS irifli sliort-aniis^'' which lasted down to the seventeenth
century, when men penetrate(l into tVirtitied jilaces by concealed breaches ;
tragic assaults, where, says the old sergeant of the province of Aleutejo,
"when the mines had done their work, the besiegers advanced bearing
planks covered with sheets of tin, and armed with round shields, and
furnished with grenades, they forced those who held the iiitreuchments,
or retii'ades, to abandon iliciii, and thus InM-ome masters, they vigorously
drove in tli(^ besieged."'

The ])lace of attack was terrilile; it was what in military language
is calle(l "a covered breacli" — that is to say, a crevasse 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 explosion
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 practi-
cable rent which served as a lireach, and gave admittance into the lower
hall, resembled a thrust from a lance, Avhich pierces, rather than a l)low
from an axe, wliii-h gashes. It was a puncture in the flank of the tower;
a long cut, something like the mouth of a well, a passage, tAvisting and
mounting like an intestine along th(^ wall fifteen feet in thickness; a
misshapen cylinder, encumbered with obstacles, traps, stones broken by
the explosion, where any one entering struck his litMid against the
gi'anite roci<, his feet against the rubbish, while the darkness blinded him.

The assailants saw before them this black gap, the mouth of a gulf,

KINETY-THREE.

149

Avhifli had for upper and lower jaws all tlio stones of tlie 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 encoimters of sappers in covered gidlenes when the oounter-
mine succeeds in cutting the mine, the Initclieries in the gun-decks of
vessels boarded in a naval engagement, alone have this ferocity. To
fight in the Ijottom of a grave — it is the supreme degree of horror. It is
friglitful 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
bla/.(^d with liii'htnings — it was like a thimder-bolt bursting under-
ground. The thunder of the assailants replied to that of the ambuscade.

150 XIN ETY-THRE E.

The (lotôiuitioiis answered oue another; Ganvain's voice was heard
sht lUting, " Drive them back ! " Theu Lauteuac's cry, " Hold firm against
the enemy ! " Then Imânus's yell, " Here, yon men of the Main ! " Theu
the clash of sabres clashing against saljres, and echo after echo of ter-
rible discharges that killed right and left. The torcli fastened against
the wall diml_y lighted the hoiiible scene. It was impossiljle clearly to
distinguish any thing ; the combatants struggled amidst a lurid night ;
whoever entered Avas suddenly struck deaf and blind ; deafened l)y the
noise, blinded l)y the smoke.

The comliatants trod upon th(» corpses; they lacerated the wounds
of tlie injured men lying helpless amidst the rubbisli ; stamped recklessly
uiioii limbs ah'cady 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 dreatlfid than the tumult.
The foes collared each other; the hissing sound of their breath could he
heard; the gnashing of teeth, death-groans, curses ; then the thunder
would recounnenc(\ A stream of blood flowed oiit from the tower
througli the brea<-h and spread away across the darkness, and formed
smoking pools njiou llic grass.

(.)ne might have said that the tower liad been woundcil, and that
the giantess was bleeding

Strange thing, scarcely a sound of the .struggle coidd l)e heard
Avithout. Tht^ night was very l)lack, and a sort of funereal calm reigned
in ]>lain and forest altout tlie beleaguered fortress. Hell Avas Avithin, the
sepulclire Avithout. This shock of men exterminating one another
amidst the darkness, these nmsket A'olleys, these clamors, these shouts
of rage, all that din, expired l)eneath that mass of Avails and arches ; air
Avas lacking, and suffocation added itself to the carnage. Scarcely a
sound reached those outside the toAver. Tlie little children slejit.

The desperates strife grew madder. The retirade hehl fir-m. Nothing
more difficult than to force a Ijarricade Avith a re-entering angle. If the
liesieged had nund)ers against them, they had at least tlie ])Osition in
their favor. Tlie storming-cobimii lost many men. Stretched in a long
line outside the tower, it forced its way sloAvly in through the ojieniiig
of the breach like a snake twisting itself into its den.

GauA^ain, Avith the natural imprudence of a youthful lejnlei-, Avas in
the hall in the thickest of the mêlée, Avith the Imllets flying in every
ilirection al)out his head. Besides the imprudence of his age, he lind
the assurance of n m.iii who has neA^er been Avounde<l.

.\s ]\r turned .-iliont to give an oriler, the glaix' of a A'olley of mus-
k<'try lighted u]> a, face close beside him.

" (Jimourdain ! " he cried. " "What are vou doini;- here "? "

THE BREACH.

.Y / y ETY-THRE E. 153

It "was iudeed Cimourdain. He replied :

" I have come to be ucai- 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 uuist be here too."

" No, my master."

"Yes, my child!"

And Ciuiourdaiii remainc^d near Gauvain.

The dead lay in heax)s on the pavement of the hall. Although the
reth'ade 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 Ijesieged, but the besiegers were constantly
renewed. The assailants increased, and the assailed grew less.

The nineteen besieged were all behind the retii'tide, 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 stair-
case, and reached the chamber of the first floor, hoping to be aljle to say
a prayer there and die.

He Ijacked himself against the wall near the loop-hole in (_>rder to
breathe a little fresh air.

Beneath, in front of the barricade, the butchery became more and
more horrible. In a pause between the answering discharges, Cimour-
dain raised his voice :

" Besieged ! " cried he. " Why let any more blood flow ! You are
beaten. Surrender ! Think — we are four thousand five hundred men
against nineteen — that is to say, more than two hundred against one.
Surrender ! "

" Let us stop these babblings," retorted the Marquis dc Lantciiac.

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 ? "

" 1 ! " said Sergeant Radoub.

cil APT EE X

iia])ot;]i

HEX a sr)vt of stupor .seized tlie assailants. Radoub had
entêr(Ml the lirc^aeli at the head of the cohimii, aud of those
men of the Parisian battalion of which he made the sixth,
four had alread}' fallen. After he had uttered that shout —
" T ! " he was seen to reeoil instead of advance. Stooped, bent forward,
almost creeping l>etwoen the legs of the comljatants, he regained the
opening of the breach and rushed out. Was it a l^ight ? A man like
this to fly ! AVhat did it mean ?

Wlieii lie was outside, Padtiuli, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed
his eyes as if ti) clear them from the horror <:)f 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."

lîadoub liad Jioticed that the deep craek made by the exjilosion of
the mine extended aljove thelireaeli to the loop-hole of the i;pper story,
whose iron grating had l)een shattered, and by a ball. The net-work of
bi-oki'u bars hung loosely down, so that a man could enter.

A man could enter, l)ut could he climb up! By the crevice it
might have l)eeu possible for a cat to mount. That was what Eadoub
Avas. He l)elonged to the race which Pindar calls " the agile athletes."
<^)ne may l:)e an old soldier ami a young man. Eadoub, who had
lielonged to the French guards, was not yc.'t forty. He was a nimlile
Hei'cules.

Eadoub threu- his nuisket on the ground, took off his shouldei-
belts, laid aside his coat and jacket, guarding his two i)istols, which he
thrust in his trowsers'-belt, and his naked sal)re, which he held between
his teeth. The butt-ends of the ])istols protruded above his belt.

Thus lightened of every thing useless, and followed in tlie obscur-
ity by the eyes of all such of the attacking column as had not yet

1:4

entered tlie In-eacli, he be.e;an to climb
tlie stones of the ei-aeked wall as if
they had been the steps of a staircase.
Ha\'in,2; no shoes was an advanta,a;e —
nothing can cling like a naked foot— he
twisted his toes into the holes of the
stones. He hoisted himself with his
fists, and l:)ore his weight on his knees.
The ascent was a hazardons 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 stoiy, else I should not l)e
allowed to climb u]» like this."

TI(^ had not more than forty feet
left to mount. He was somewhat en-
cumbered by the projecting butt-ends

156 XIXE I Y - THREE.

of his pistols, au(l as lie cliuil.KMl the erevice uari'owed, rendering- the
ascent more and more difficult, m > that the dangci- of falling- increased
as he went ou.

At last he reached the frame of the loop-hole and pushed aside the
twisted and broken grating, so that he had sjjace enough to i)ass through.
He raised himself for a last powerful effort, rested his knee on the cor-
nice of the ledge, seized with one hand a har of the grating at the left,
with the other a bai- at the right, lifted half his l)ody in front of tlu^
e-mln-asure of the loop-lKilt', a)id, saljre between his teeth, hung thus
suspended by his two lists over the abyss.

It only needed one spring more to land him in the chamber of the
first floor.

But a face ajipeared in a loop-hole.

Eadoub saw a frightful spectacle rise suddenly before him in the
gloom ; an eye torn out, a jaw fi-actured, a bloody niask.

This mask, which had only one eye left, was watching him.

This nrask had two hands : these two hands thrust themselves out
of the darkness of this loop-hole and clutched at Eadoulj ; 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 inclined plane
of the cornice; his two lists, {-ramped about the liars of the grating-,
barely sufficed to sn]ipoi-t him, and beiieatli was a slu'cr descent of
f(_)rty feet.

This mask and tliesi/ hands belonged to Chante-eu-hiver.

vSuffocated 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 tlie night had con-
gealed the blood, and his strength had in a measure coine back. Sud-
denly he perceived the torso of TJadoub ris(^ in front of the endjrasure.
Radoub, having his hands twisted al)ont the bars, had no choice but to
let himself fall or allow himself to l;)e disarme(l; so Chante-en-hiver,
with a horrible tranquillity, had taken the two iiistols out of his belt
and the sabre from between his teeth.

Then commenced an unheard-of duel — a duel between the dis-
armed and the wounded. Evidently the dying man had the A'ictory
in his own hands. A singl<' shot would snf'fici> lo hurl Radouli into
the yawning gulf l>eneath his feet.

Luckily for Radoul), Chante-en-hiver held both pistols in tlie same
hand, so that he could not fire either, and was forced to make use of
the sabre. He struck Radoub a lilow on tlie shoulder with th(> ]ioiiit.
The sabre-stroke wounded Radoub, but saved his life.

yiyETY-TllREE. 157

The soldier was iiuarmed, but in full possession of his strength.
Eegardless of his woiiud, which indeed was only a flesh-cvit, he swung
his Ijody vigorously forward, loosed his hold of the bars, and bounded
through the loop-hole.

There he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiv(>r, who had
thrown the sabre behind him and was clutching a pistol in either
hand.

Chante-en-hiver had Radoub close to the muzzle as he took aim
upon his knees, but his enfeel)led arm trembled, and he did not fire at
once.

Radoub took advantage of this respite to bm-st out laughing.

" I say, ugly-fai'e ! " cried he, " do you sujipose you frighten me with
your bloody bullock's Jaws f Thunder and Mars, how they have shat-
tered your features ! "

Chante-en-hiver took aim.

Radoub continued :

"It is not polite to mention it, but the grape-shot has dotted your
mug very neatly. Bellona has disturbed your physiognomy, my lad.
Clime, come; spit out yom" little pistol-shot, my good fellow!"

Chante-en-hiver fired ; the ball passed so close to Radoub's head
that it carried away part of his ear. His foe raised the second pistol
ill liis other hand, but Radoul) 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 Avhizzed against the
ceiling. He seized his enemy's broken jaw in l:>otli hands and twisted
it about. Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of i^ain and fainted. Radoub
stepped across his body and left him lying in the emlirasui-e of tlie
loop-hole.

" Now that I have announced my ultimatum, dou't you stir again,"
said he. "Lie there, you ugly crawling snake. You may fancy that I
am not going to amuse myself massacring you. Crawl al)Out on the
ground at yoiu' ease — under foot is the place for you. Die — you can't
get rid of that. In a little while you will learn what nonsense your
priest has talke<l to you. AAvay with you into the great mystery,
peasant ! "

And he liurri(^d forward into the i-oom.

" One can not 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. Radoub turned back.

" Hold your tongue ! Do me the favor to be silent, citizen, without

1.58 KIXETY- THREE.

knowing it. I eau not tronljlo niyisclf fnrtliov witli you. I s^hould scoru
to make an end of you. Just let nie have quiet."

Then hf thrust his hands into his liair as he stood watching Cliante-
eu-hiver.

" But here, wliat am I to do now .' It is all very fine, hut I am dis-
armed. I had two shots to fire, and you have rolil)ed me of them,
animal. And with all that, a smoke that would hlind a dog! "

Then his hand touched his wounded ear.

"Aïe ! " he said.

Then he went on :

" You have gained a great deal by (/onfiscatiug one of my ears !
However, I would rather have one less of them than any thing else —
an ear is <:)nly an ornament. You have scratched my shoulder, too; hut
that is nothing. Expire, villager — I forgive you."

He listened. The din from tlic lower room was fearful. Tiie coni-
liat had grown more furious than ever.

" Things are going well down there," he muttered. " H(nv they
howl ' Live the king ! ' One must admit that they die bravely."

His foot striick against the sabre. He picked it up, and said to
Chaute-en-hiver, who no longer stirred, and wlio might indeed be dead:

"See here, man of the woods, I will take my sal)re; you have left
me that, any way. But I needcnl my jiistols. The devil fiy away with
you, savage! Oli, there, what am I to do! I am no good whatever
here."

He advanced into the hall trying to guide his steps in the gloom.
Suddenly, in the shadow behind the central pillar, he perceived a long
table upon which something gleamed faintly. He felt the objects.
They were l)lun(lerbusses, carl lines, jiistols, a whole row of fire-arms laid
out in order to hishaml; it was the reserve of weapons the besieged
had jirovided in this chamber, which would be their second place of
stand, a whole arsenal.

"A sideljoard ! " cried Radoub.

And he clutched them right and left, dizzy with joy.

Thus armed, he l)ecame formidal)le.

He could see l;)ack of the taljle the door of the staircase, which
comnuinicated with th(^ I'ooms above and below, standing wide open.
Radouli seiz(>d two ]iistols, and (iivd tht^m at random through the (U)or-
way; then Ik^ snatched a lilunderbuss, and fired that; then a blunder-
buss, loaded with buckshot, and discharged it. The blunderbuss,
vomiting forth its fifteen balls, sounded like a volley of grape-shot.
He u-ot his lireath back, and shouted down the staircase, in a, voice of
thunder, " I^ong live Paris!"

NINETY- THREE.

ir.9

Theu seiziug a second blunderbuss, still bigger than the first, he
aimed it toward the staircase and waited.

The confusion in the lower hall was indescribable. This unexpected

160 XIXIJ T Y - TER EE.

attack from boliiud i)avalyzed the l)esiege(l with astoiiishtiiciit. Two
balls from Radoub's triple tire had takeu effect ; one had killed the elder
of the l)rothers Pique-eii-Bois, the other had killed De Quéleu, nicknamed
Houzard.

" They are on th(i tloor abov(^ ! " cried the marcinis.

At this cry the men abandoned the retirade ; a tlock of birds could
not havo il('(l more «inickly; they plunged madly towanl tlic staircase.
The marquis enc(mraged the tliglit.

"Quick, quick!" he cxclaimt/d. "There is most courage now in
escajie. Let us all get up to the second tloor. AVe will begin again
there." He left the retirade the last. This l)rave act saved his life.

Kadoub, ambushed at the top of the stairs, watched the I'etreat,
finger on trigger. The tirst who appeared at the turn of the spiral steps
received the discharge of his gun full in their faces, and fell. Had the
mar(piis been among them, lie Avould have been killed.

Before Kadoub liad tinu^ to seizin another weajion, tlu3 otlicn's passed
him; the marcjuis beliind ;ill tlu^ rest, and moving more slowly.

Believing the first-lioor chambers filled with the besiegers, the men
did not i)ause there, l)ut i'ushe<l on and gained the room above, wdiich
was the hall of the mirrors. There was the iron door; there was the
sulphur-mat(_'h ; it was there they must capitulate or die.

(lauvain had l>een as nuich astounded as tlie besieged by tlie deto-
nations from the! staircase, a.nd was unalile to understand how aid could
have reached him in that, (piarter; but he biok advantage without wait-
ing to comprehend. He leaped over the retirade, followed by his men,
and imrsued the fugitives up to the first fiooi'.

There lie found Radcmb.

The sergeant saluted, and said :

"One minute, my conunandant. I did that. I rememl)ered Dol. I
followed your plan. I took the enemy between two fires."

"A good scholar," answered (lauvain, 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 Radoub was covered with blood.

" But you are wounded, comrade ! " he exclaimed.

" Never mind that, my commandant ! What difference does it make
— an eai- more or less ! I got a sal)re thrust, too, Imt it is nothing. One
always cuts one's self a, little in breaking a window. It is only losing a
little !)lood."

The Ix'siegers made a halt in the iirst-llooi' chamlier, which had been
concpiered by RadoxU). A lantern was brought. Cimourdain rejoined
(ianvain. They held a council. It was time to reflect, indeed. The

NINETY-TRKEE. 161

besiegers were not in the secrets of tlieir foes ; tliey 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 eonld be made ; the assailants could not tell but the staircase
might l)e 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. Lautenae 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 possil)le in this last assault. The risk of this final attack would
be gTeat. Tlie first fire would without doubt be a hot one.

The combat was interrupted. Tlie Ijesiegers, masters of the ground
and first floors, waited the orders of the eonnnander-in-chief to renew
the conflict. Gauvain and Cimourdain were holding counsel. Eadoub
assisted in silence at their deliberation. At length he timidly hazarded
another military salute.

" Commandant ! "

" Wk-At is it, Radoulj ? "

" Have I a right to a little recompense ? "

" Yes, indeed. Ask what you like."

" I ask permission to mount the first."

It was impossible to refuse him; indeed, he would have done it
without permission.

CHAPTER XI

Dr.Sl'EltAÏE

HILE this cousultatiuii took ^ilm-e on the first Hoof, tho be-
sieged were barricading the second. Success is a fury ; defeat
is a madness. The encounter between the foes Avould be
frenzied. To l)e chise on victoiy intoxicates. Tlie men
liclow were inspired by liope, which would be the most powerful of
human im-cntives if desjiair diil not exist. Des^iair was ab(,)ve. .V calnu
cold, sinister despair.

When the besiegers readieil the hall of refuge, beyond whirh they
had no i-esource, no hope, theii' tirst care had been to bar the «Mitrance.
To lock tlie 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 light, Avas worth more than a closed door.

Tlie torch which Imânus had jilantcd in tin.' wall neai- the sulplnir-
matcli lighted the room.

There Avas in the <-hanibi'r one of those great, heavy oak cliests,
wiiii-li were used to hold clotln's and linen before the invention of chests
of drawers.

They dragged this chest out, and stood it on en<l in the door-way of
the staircase. It fitted solidly and closed the entrance, leaving open at
the to]i a narrow space by whii-h a man could pass; but it was scarcely
probable that the assailants would run the risk of being killed one aft(>r
another by any attempt to jiass the barrier in single file.

This obstruction of the eiitraiic<' afforded them a respite. They
numl)ered their company. ()ut of tlie nineteen, only seven renudned, of
whom Imânus made one. AVitli the exception of Imânus and tho
mai-(juis, they were all wounded.

The five wounded men (aclive still, for in the heat of combat any
wound less tlian mortal lea\'es a man alile to mo\'e about) were ( "ha-
lf;--'

MXETl-IUREE. 1(13

tenay, called Eol)i; Guinoiseau, Hoisnard Bvaueho d'Or, Bviu d' Amour,
aud ( rrand-Fi'aucœur. AU the others were dead.

They had uo mimitious 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 ])ass where nothing remained Imt to fall.
They had retreated to tJie pivcipice; it yawned l)lack 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
cannons, with every match lighted. By the upper chambers f To what
end ? They gaze on the i>latform. The only resource when that was
reached Avould be to fling themseh'es from the top of the tower.

The seven survivors of this Homeric band found themselves inex-
orably inclosed and held fast by that thick wall which at once protected
and betrayed them. They were not yet taken, Imt they were already
prisoners.

The marquis spoke :

" My friends, all is finished."

Then, after a silence, he added :

" Grand-F rancœur, become again the Abbé Turmeau."

All knelt, rosaiy in hand. The measured stroke of the muskets
sounded nearer.

Grand-Francœur, covered with blood from a wound which had
gi-azed his skull, and torn away his leather cap, raised the criicifix in his
right hand. The marcpiis, a skeptic at bottom, bent his knee to the
ground.

■'Let each one confess his faidts aloud," said Grand-Franc(eur.
" Monseigneur, speak."

The marquis answered, "I have killiMl."

" I have killed," said Hoisnard.

"I have killed," said Guinoiseau.

"I have killed," said Brin d'.Vnioui-.

" I have killed," said Chatenay.

" I have killed," said Imânus.

And Grand-Francœur i-eplied :

"In the name of the most Holy Trinity- I absolve you. ^lay your
souls depart in peace» ! "

"Amen," replie(l all the voices.

Themar(iuis raised himself.

164 XIX£ T Y - THREE.

" Now let us die," he said.

"And kill," added Imâiius.

The blows from the butt-eud of the besiegers' miiskets began to
shake the chest which barred the door.

"Thiuk of Grod," said the x>riest ; "earth uo longer exists for you."

" It is true," replied the marquis ; " Ave are in the tomb."

All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The niai'(|uis and
the priest were alone standing. The priest prayed, keeping his eyes
east down; the peasants prayed; the nuirquis retiected. The coti'er
echoed dismally, as if i;nder the stroke of hammers.

At this instant a ra})id, strong voice sounded suddeidy liehiml
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, Init not cemented, and
ha.vàng a iiivot above and a pivot lielow, had just revolved like a turn-
stile, 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, narroAv, l)ut leaving space enough to allow a man to
pass. Beyond this door, so unexpectedly opened, could be seen the first
steps of a spiral staircase.

A face appeared in the opening. The marquis recognized llcdmalo.

TUE 8 E C K E T . E .

CHAPTER XII

DELIVERANCE

S it yon, Haluialo ?"

" 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 you will l>e in
the heart of the forest."

" Grod is gi'eat," said the priest.

" Save yoiu-self, monseigneixr ! " cried the men in concert.

" All of you go first," said th(> marquis.

"You must go first, nionseigneiu'," returnccl the Abbé Turmeau.
" I go the last."

And the niai-(iuis added, in a severe tone :

" No struggle 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 forest. 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 ])e there."

" And we will liegin the war anew," said the marquis.

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 I can not shut it."

107

168 JVIJ^E T Y - THE EE.

The stone, in faet, luul Ix-c-unie deadened, as it were, on its hinges
from long disuse. It was imjiossible to make it revolve hadv into its
place.

"Monseigneur," resumed llalmalo, "I had hoped to close the pas-
sage, so that the Blues, wlicn they got in and found uo one, would think
you must have flown off in the smoke. But the stone will not Ijudge.
The enemy will see the ( )utlet open, and can follow. At least, do not
let us lose a second. (^)uick ; everyliody make for the staircase ! "

Imânus laid his hand on Ilalmalo's shoulder.

" CVnnrade, 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 (fuartcr of an hour will be enough."

"Go," said Innmus; "if the enemy can be kept out of here for a
(quarter of an hour "

" They may follow ; they can not overtake us."

"But," said the marquis, "they will be here in live minutes; that
old chest can not hold out against them any longer. A few blows from
their muskets will end the Imsiness. A (|uartcr of an lionr ! "Who can
keep them back for a (juarter of an liour ;' "

" L," said Imânus.

" Y( )U, ( nnrge-le-Bruant '. "

" r, mouseigneiu'. Listen. Five out of six of you are wounded. I
have not a scratch."

"Nor I," said the mar([nis.

" Yon are the chief, monseigneur. I am a soldier. ( 'Idef and soldier
are t ■\\"< >."

'• 1 know we have each a- dift'erent iluty."

"No, monseigneur, we have, you and 1, the same duty; it is to save
you."

Imânus turned towar<l his companions.

"Comrades, the thing necessary to be done is to hold tlie enemy in
check and retard the pursuit as long as possible. Listen. I am in pos-
session 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. 1 will make good use of them. I take it on
myself to stop the enemy for a good lialf-lionr. IIoav many loaded
pistols ar(* there t "

" Four."

" Lay them on the floor-."

His connnand was oljeved.

NINETY-THREE. 1G9

" It is well. I stay here. They Avill tiud somebody to talk with.
Now — quick — get away."

Life and death huug iu the balance ; there was uo time fur 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 — fur 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 gajjing 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 E X E C r T I () X E E

HE four pistols had beeu laid on the flags, for the ehamher
had no flooring. Imânus grasped a jiistol in either hand.
He moved obliqnely toward the entrance to the staircase
which the chest obstructed and masked.

The assailants evidently feared some siirprise — one of those final
explosions which involve conciueror and conquered in the same catas-
trophe. This last attack was as slow and prudent as the first had been
impetuous. They had not been aide ti» jiush the chest backward into
the chamber — perhaps would not have done it if they could. They had
broken the bottom with Itlows tVom their muskets, and pierced the top
with Ijayonet holes ; by these holes they Avere trying to see into the hall
before entering. The light from the lanterns with which they had illu-
minated the staircase shone through these chinks.

Imauus 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 followed the report. The ball had entered the eye
and i:)assed through the brain of the soMier, who fell liackward 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 ball must have reliounded, for he heard several cries
as if three or four were killed or wounded, then there was a great tramp-
ling and tumult as the men fell back. Imânus threw down the two pis-
tols 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 twisting of the spii-al
staircase only allowed him to look down three or four steps ; the men he
had shot lav writhing there in the death-a<i-onv. Imânus waited.

1:0

y I XE T Y - THE E E.

171

" It is so much time gained," thought he.

Theu he saw a mau Hat 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 sph'al wound. Imâuus aimed at this
head and fii-ed. A cry followed, the soldier fell, aud Inuinus, while

watching, threw away the empty pistol and changed the loaded one
fr()m his left hand to his right.

As he did so he felt a horriV)le i)ain, and, in his tiu-n, uttered a yell
of agony. A sabre had traversed liis bowels. A fist— the list of the
man wId liail crept up 1lif stairs— had just been thrust through the
second Iiole in the bottom of the chest, and this fist had plunge<l a
sabre into Imânus's body. The wound was friiihtful ; the abdomen was
pierced through and through.

172 NIKE I Y - TJl R EE.

Iinâmis (lid not fall. He ^?et his teeth together ami muttered,
" Good ! "

Theu he dragged liiniself, tottering along, and reti-eated to the iron
door, at the side of which the torch was still Inirniug. He laid his
pistol on the stones and seized the torch, and while with his left hand
he held together the terrihle wound through which his intestines pro-
truded, with the right lie lowcrcd the torch till it touched the snli)hur-
ruatcli.

It caught fire instantaneously — the wick Mazed. Iniânus dropped
the torch — it lay on the ground still Inirning. He seized his pistol
anew, dropped forwar<l upon the flags, and with what lireath he had
left blew the wick.

The flame ran along it, passed l^'ucath the iron door, and reached
the Ijridge-eastle.

Theu seeing that his exécrai ilc exploit had succeeded — prouder,
perhaps, of this crime than of the courage he had l)efore shown — this
man, who had just yproved himself a hero, only to sink into an assassin,
smiled as he stretched himself out to die, and muttered :

" They will rememher me. I take vengeance on their little ones for
the fate of our little one — the king shut up in the Temple! "'

CHAPTER XIV

IMANUS ALSO ESCAPES

T tliis iiionient there was a great noise — the chest was hurled
violently back into the hall, and gave passage to a man who
rnshed forward, sabre in hand, crying, " It is I — Radoub —
what are yon going to do I It bores me to wait. I have
risked it. Any way I have just disemboweled 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 Avas indeed Radoub, and he was alone !

After the massacre Imânus had caused upon the stairs, Gauvain,
fearing some secret mine, ha<l drawn liack his men and consulted with
Cimourdain.

Radoub, standing saljre in hand upon the threshold, sent his voice
anew into the obscurity of the chamber across which the nearly extin-
guished torch cast a faint gleam, and repeated his question, " I am
one. How many are you f "

There was no answer. He stepped forward. (_)ne of those sudden
jets of light which an expiring fire sometimes sends out, and wliich
seem like its dying throes, liurst from the torch and illuminated the
entire chamber. Radoub caught sight of himself in one of the mirroi-s
hanging against the wall — approached it, and examined his bleeding
face and woiinded ear.

"Horril:)le mutilation !" said he.

Then he turned about, and, to his utter stupefaction, perceived that
the hall was empty.

" Xobody here ! " he exclaimed. " Not a creatui-e."

Then he saw the revolving stone, and the staircase beyond tlie
opening.

"Ah ! T undei'stand ! The key to the fields. Come up, all of you !"

I *•!

174 XjyiJTY- THREE.

li(! slioutod. *' Coinrudes, roinc up! Tlicy have run away. They liave
filed off — dissolved — evaporated — cut their lucky. This old jug of a
tower has a crack iu it. There is the hole they got out by, the beggars.
How is auybody t<> get the better of Pitt and Coliurg while they are
able to play such comedies as tliis! The very devil himself came to
their rescue. There is nobody licre."

The report of a })istol cut his W(_)rils short — a ball grazed his cll)ow
and flattened itself against the w;dl.

"Aha!" said he. "80 there is somel)ody left. Who was good
enough to show me that little }ioliteness ?"

"I," answered a. voice.

Kadoub looked about and caught sight of Imànus 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.

l-îadoul) 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."

" What is it you are holding in your right hand ? "

"A pistol."

"And in your left li.-md ;' "

" My entrails."

"You are my prisoni'r."

" I defy you': "

Imânus boweil his head ow.v the burning wick, spent his last breath
ill stirring the flame, and expired.

A few seconds after, Grauvain and Cimourdain, followed l)y the
Avhole troop of soldiers, were in the hall. They all saw the opening.
They searched the corners of the room an<l explored the staircase; it
had a passage at the bottom which led to the ravine. Thii besieged had
escaped. They raised Imânus — he was dead, (lauvain, 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 Ik^ saw some lines written in pencil on the mas-
sive block; he held tlie lantern closer, and read tiiese words:

''''All rrro'ir, Vision iit.
" Lan'tenac."

(iuéchaïup was stan<liiig liy his comman<lant. Pursuit was utterly
useless; the fugitives had the whole country to aid them — thickets —
ravines — copses — the inhabitants. Doubtless tlmy were already far

XIXE TY- THREE.

175

away. There would be uo possibility of diseoveriug them — they had
the entire Forest of Fougères, with its couutless hidiug-phiees, for a
refuge. AVliat was to ije done ? The whole struggle must begin anew.
Gauvaiu and (luéchamp exchanged conjectures and expressions of dis-
appointment.

(.'imourdaiu listened gravely, but did not litter a worth

"And the ladder, Gruéehamp '? " said Gauvain.

" Commandant, it has not come."

" But we saw a wagon escorted by gendarmes."

Oueeharap only replied :

" It did not bring tlie ladder."

" What did it bring, then ? "

" The guillotine," said Cimourdain.

CHAPTER XV

NEVER PUT A "WATCH AND A KEY IN THE SAME POCKET

'fpBs^l [IE Marquis de Lauteiiac was not so far away as they be-
^^B^J lieved. But lie was none the less in surety, and completely
^(11^^ out of tlu'ir reach. He had followed Halmalo.
^^AvS J I The staircase by which they descended in the wtike of

the otlier fugitives ended in a- narrow vaulted passage close to the ravine
and the arches of the bridge. This passage gave upon a deep natural
fissure which led into the raviu<' on one side and into the forest on the
other. The windings of the patli were completely hidden among the
thicki^ts. 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 opening from the staircase into the secret passage
was so completely obstructed by liramliles that the builders of the pas-
sage had not thought it necessary to close the way in any other manner.
The mar<iuis had only to go forward now. He was not i)laced in
any difficulty by lack of a disguise. He had not thrown aside his peas-
ant's dress since coming to Brittany, thinking it more in character.

When Halmalo and the marquis passed out of the passage into the
cleft, the five other men, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Oi-, Brin
d'Amour, Chatenay, and the Al)]>é Turmeau were no longer there.
"They did not take nmcli time to get away," said Halmalo.
" Eollow their exam|ile," returned the nuuvpiis.
" Must I leave, monseigneur ? "

"Without doubt. I have alrcndy told you so. Each nuist escape
alone to be safe. One man passes where two can not. We should
atti-act attention if we Avere togetlu-r. You would lose my life and I
yours."

"Does monseigneiu' know the district?"

" Yes."

1:0

l.ANTKNAC IN TIIK FOREST.

:\'/ .V E T 1-111 E ËE. 179

" Monseigueuv still gives the rendezvous for the Pierre Gauvaine?"

" To-morrow. At iiooii."

" 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 yon, that you were
my master, that you coidd have told me so, and that you did not speak!
What a man you are ! "

The marquis replied :

" England! There is no other rosoiirce. 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 f "

" 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.

"jNIonseigneur," said Halmalo, "at your right is the ravine; at your
left, the forest."

" Very good. Leave me. Go your own way."

Halmalo obeyed. He hurried off through the darkness. 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 Hal-
malo. This forest of the Bocage was the fugitive's auxiliary. He did
not flee — he vanished. It Avas this facility for disappearance which
made our armies hesitate liefoi-e this ever-retreating Vendée, so for-
midable as it fled.

The marquis remained motionless. He was a man who forced him-
self to feel nothing, but he could not restrain his emotion on breathing
this free ah* after having been so long stifled in blood and carnage. To
feel himself comjiletely at liberty after having seemed so uttei-h- lost ;
after having seen the gi-ave so close, to be swept so suddenly beyond its
reach ; to come out of death liack 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 sonl
under this.

He acknowledged to himself that he was content. Biit he quickly
subdued this emotion, which was more like joy tliaii any feeling he had
known for years.

He drew out his Wcitch and strui'k the hour. What time was it ?

180 NINE T Y - TER EE.

To hi.s great astonishment, he found that it was only ten o'eloek.
When cue has just passed through some terrible convulsion of exist-
ence in which every hope and life itself were at stake, one is always
astounded to find that those awful minutes were no longer than ordi-
nary ones. The warning cannon had been fired a little before sunset,
and La Tourgue attacked ])y the storming-party half an hour later —
between seven and eight o'clock — just as night was falling. The colos-
sal combat, begun at eight o'clock, had ended at ten. This whole epopee
had only taken a hundred and twenty minutes to enact. Sometimes
cattistrophes sweep on with the rapidity of lightning. The climax is
overwhelming 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 numl)er
against so large a force was extraordinary ; and c-ertainly it had not
been short or quickly finished, this battle of nineteen 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 vest, but not into the same
pocket, for he «liscovered that the key of the iron door given hini by
Imânus was thei'e, and the crystal might lie liroken against the key.
Then he moved toward the forest in his turn. As he tm'ned to the left,
it seemed to him that a faint gleam of liglit penetrated the darkness
where he stood.

He walked l»ack, and a.<'ross the underbrush clearly outlined against
a red backgi'ound and become visible in their tiniest outlines, he per-
ceived a great glare in the ra\'ine. Only a few paces separated him
from it. He hurried forAvard, then stopped, remembering what folly it
was to expose himself in that light. WhateA'er 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 racine. The mar-
quis raised his eyes and stood still.

BOOK Y

IN D.EMONE DEUS

CHAPTER I

FOUND, BUT LOST

T \ho moment Michelle Fléohard caught sight of
the tower, she was move than a league away.
She, who could soarcely take a ste}), did not hesi-
tate before these miles which must be traversed.
The woman was weak, but the mother found
strength. She walked on.

Tlie sun set; the twilight came, then the
-jg) night. Always pressing on, she heard a bell afar
off, hidden liy the darkness, strike eight o'clock,
then nine. The peal pi'ol)al)ly cann^ 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 sharj) 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, mysteritms glow to the tower amidst the surround-
ing gloom. This light became more distinct when the noise sounded
louder, then faded suddenly.

The vast plateau across which Michelle Fléchard jdinMU'yed was

is;j

184 KIXETY- THREE.

covered with grass aud heath ; not a house, not a tree appeared. It
rose gradually, aud, as far as the eye could reach, stretched in a straight
hard line agaiust the sombre hori/du wher« a few stars gleame<l. She
had always the tower betVire Ikt eyes — the sight kept her strength from
failiug.

'She saw the massive pile grow slowly as she walked on.

We have just said tin? smothered reports and the piile gleams of
light starting from the tower were intermittent; they stoj^i^ed, then
began anew, offering an enignux 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 trauipiillity.

It was just at this moment that Michelle Fléchard reached the edge
of the plateau.

She saw at her feet a ravine whose Ijottom was lost in the wan
indistinctness of the night ; at a little distance, on the top of the plateau,
an entanglement of wheels, metal, and harness, which was a battery ;
aud before her, confusedly lighted l)y the matches of the cannon, an
enormous edifice that seemed liuilt of shadows l)lacker than the shadows
which surrounded it. This mass of Imildings was composed of a bridge
whose arches were imbedded in the ravine, and of a sort of castle which
rose upon the l)ridge ; Ijoth bri<lge and castle were supported against a
lofty circular shadow — the tower toward which this mother had jour-
neyed from so far.

You could see lights come and go in the loop-holes of the tower, and
from the noise which surged up she di\'ined that it was fiUed Avith a
crowd of men — indeed, now and then their gigantic shadows were flung
out on the ni.uht.

Near the battery was a camp whose out})osts ^Michelle Fléchard
might liave perceived through the gloom and the underbnish, 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 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 she could not have told, for her min<l,
absorbed in her mute contemplation of this gaping ravine and this
shadowy edifice, took no note of time. "What was this Ijuilding f What
was going on within ? ^Vas 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 starting-point of a terrible joiirney. She asked
herself why she was there.

She looked ; she listened.

NIXE T Y -THREE.

185

Siiddeuly a great blaokuess shut out every object. A cloud of
smoke sweiJt up between her and the pile she was watching ; u sharp
report forced her to close her eyes. Scarcely had she done so, wlien a
great light reddened tht» lids. She opened them again.

It was no longer the night she had before her ; it was the day — Imt
a fearful day — the day born of fire. She was watching the beginning of
a conflagration.

From lilaek the smoke had become scarlet, tilled with a miglity
flame, which appeared and disappeared, writhing and twisting in ser-

i i i'

pentine coils. The flame 1 jurst <^ut like a tongue from something which
resembled blazing jaws ; it was the embrasure of a window filled with
fire. This window, 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 ^dsible except this window. The smoke covered even the
|)lateau, leaving only tlio mouth of the ravine black against the vermilion
flames.

Michelle Fléchard stared in duml) 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 ?
There was nothing real enough for any definite decision to steady her
mind.

18G NINETY -THREE.

A wind swept up and burst the 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 liuilt on the bi-idge was l)urning.

X^IKU T Y - THREE. 187

Above rose tlie other two stories, still imtoui-heil, Init as it were
supported ou a corbel of flames.

From the edge of the plateau where Michelle Fléehard stood, she
could catch brokeu glimpses of the iiiterioi- betweeu the clouds of smoke
and fire. The windows were all open.

Through the great casements of the second story, Michelle Fléehard
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
fixeiUy in this direction.

What was that little grouj) 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 giv-
ing way to a sort of hallucination which she had still reason enough
to struggle against. Still her eyes fixed themselves ever more steadily
upf)n that one jjoint ; she could not look away from that little heap
upon the floor — a mass of inanimate objects, doulitless, that had been
left in that room below which the flames roared and l)illowed.

Suddenly the fire, as if animated by a will and purpose, flung
downward a jet of flame toward the great dead ivy which covered the
façade whereat Michelle Fléehard was gazing.

It seemed as if the fire had just discovered this outwork of dried
branches ; a spark darted greedily upon it, and a line of flame spread
iipward 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 oTit 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 terril)le cry.

That cry of iudescribaljle 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 seti-wolf cries thus,
you seem to hear the voice of a woman.

This cry of Michelle Fléehard was a howl. IIecul)a howled, says
Homer.

It was this cry which reached the Manpiis de Lantenac.

When he heai-d it he stood still.

The marquis was between the outlet of the passage through which

ISS S^INETY-TEUEE.

lie had l^eeu guided liy Ilaluialo aud the raviue. Across tlie brambles
wliicli iuelosed liim lie saw the bridge in flames aud La Tourgue red
with tlie refleotiou. Looking u}>ward through the opening which the
branches left above his head, he perceived close to the edge of the pla-
teau on tlie opposite si<le 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 (lor-
gou's. She was appalling in her agony. The peasant woman was
transformed into one of the Eumenides. This unknown villagei-, vul-
gar, ignorant, unreasoning, had I'isen suddenly to the epic grandeur of
despair. Great sufferings swell the soul to gigantic ^iroportions. This
was no longer a simple mother — all maternity's voice cried out through
hers ; whatever sums up and Ijecomes a type of humanity grows super-
human. There she towered on the edge of that rabane, in front of that
conflagration, in presence of that crime, like a power from beyond the
grave; she moaned like a Avild Ijcast, but her attitude Avas that of a god-
dess ; the mouth, which uttered imprecations, was set in a flaming
mask. Nothing coifld have l:)eeii more regal than her eyes shooting
lightnings through her tears. Her look blasted the conflagration.

The marquis listened. Her voice flung its echoes down upon his
head : inarticulate, heart-rending — sobs rather than words.

"Ah, my God, my children ! Those are my children ! Help! Fire!
Are ! fire ! Oh, you brigands ! Is there no one here f My childi'en are
burning up ! Georgette! My babies! Gros- Alain — René- Je an ! ^yhat
<loes it mean ? Who jiut my children there f They are asleep. Oh, I
am mad ! It is impossible ! Help, help ! "

Still a great bustle and movement was apparent in La Tourgue
and ujion the plateau. The whole camp rushed out to the fire which
had just Ijurst forth. The liesiegers, after meeting the grape-shot, had
now to deal with the conflagration. Gauvain, Cimourdain, and Gué-
champ were giving orders. What was to be done ! Only a few Imckets
of water could l)e drained IVoiu the half-dried brook of the ravine. The
consternation increased. The whole edge of the plateau was covered
with men Avliose troubled faces watched the progress of the flames.

What they saw was terril ile. They gazed, and could do notli-
ing.

The flames had spread along the ivy and reached the toi)most
story, leaping greedily u])on the straw Avith which it was filled. The
entii'e granary was burning now. The flames wreathed and danced as
if in fiendish .i()y. A cruel breeze fanned tlie pyre. One could fancy

F U UNI), YET 1. < ) !5 T •

KINETY-THREE. VM

tlie evil spirit of Imânus nrniiio- on the five, and vejoieiiig in the destnic-
tiou wliich liad been his hist eartlily crime.

Tile lihrary, tliongh between the two Imi'iiing stories, was not yet
on tire ; the height of its eeiling and the thickness of the walls retarded
the fatal moment — but it was fast approaching ; the ilames from Ijelow
licked the stones — the flames from above whirled down to caress them
with the awful embrace of death : l:)eueath, a cave of lava — aV)ove, an
arch of embers. If the floor fell first, the children would l»e iiung into
the lava stream ; if the ceiling gave w^ay, they would l>e buried beneath
liurning coals.

The little ones slept still; across the sheets of flame and smoke
whicli now hid, now exposed the casements, they were visible in that
fiery grotto, within that meteoric glare, peaceful, lovely, motionless, like
three confideut cherubs slumbering in a hell ; a tiger might have wept
to see those angels in that fm-nace, those cradles in that tomlj.

And the mother was wringing h<'r hands.

" Fire ! I say, tire ! Are ihej all deaf, that nobody comes ? They
are burning my childi'en ! Come — come — you men that I see yonder.
Oh, the ihiys and days that I have hunted — and this is where I find
thiMii ! Fire! Help! Three angels — to think of three angels biu'ning
there ! What had they done, the innocents ? They shot me — they are
buruing my little ones. Who is it does such things ? Help ! Save my
children ! Do y< )U not hear me ? A dog — one would have pity on a dog !
My children — my children ! They are asleep. Oh, Georgette — I see her
face! Eené-.Jcan ! Oros-Alain! Those are their names. You may
know I am their mothei-. (_)h, it is horrible ! I have traveled days and
nights ! Why, this very morning I talked of them with a woman !
Help, help ! Where are those monsters ? Horror, horror ! The eldest
not live years old — the youngest not two. I can see their little l)ai'e
legs. They are asleep. Holy Virgin ! Heaven gave th(^m to me, and
devils snatch them away. To tliiid< liow far I have journeyed! My
children, that I noiu'ished with my milk ! I, who thoTight myself
wretched because I could not find them ! Ha^'e pity on me. I want my
childi-en — I must have my children ! And there they are in the fire !
See, how my poor feet bleed ! Help ! It is not possilde, if there are
men on the earth, that my little ones will be left to die like this. Help !
iMurder ! Oh, such a thing was never seen ! Oh, assassins ! What is
that dreadful house there ! They stole my children fi-om mo in order to
kill them. God of mercy, give me my children ! They shall not die!
Help — help — heli) ! Oh, I shall curse heaveu itself, if they die like that ! "'

While the mother's awful supplications rang out, other voices rose
ujiou the ]ilateau and in the ravine.

193 XI XE I Y - THREE.

"A ladder ! "
" ïhei-e is no ladder ! "
" Water ! "

" There is no water ! "

" Up yonder — in tlie tower — on the second story, there is a door."
"It is" iron."'
" Break it in ! "
" Impossible ! "

And the mother, redonbling her agonized appeals :
" Fire ! Help ! Ilnrry, I say — if you will not kill me ! My chil-
dren, my children ! Oh, the hovriljle fire ! Take them out of it, or throw

me ni

In the interval between those clamors the tiiumjjhaut crackling of
the flames could be heard.

The marquis put his hand in his pocket and touched the k(>y of the
iron door. Then, stooping again beneath the vault through which he
had escaped, he turned back into the passage from whence he had just
emerged.

CHAPTER II

FROM THE DOOR OF STONE TO THE IRON DOOR

WHOLE ai'iiiy distracted l)y tho impossibility of giving aid ;
four thousand men nnaljle to succor three children; such
was the situation.

Not even a ladder to be had ; that sent from Javené had
nut 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 Avater on a volcano.

Cimourdain, CTuéchamp, and Radoub had descended into the ravine;
Gauvain remounted to tlie room in the second story of the tower, where
were the stone that turned, the secret passage, and the iron door leading
into the liljrary. It was there that the sulphur-match had been lighted
by Imanus ; from these the conflagration had started.

Gauvain took with him twenty sappers. There was no possible
resource except to break open the iron door — its fastenings were ter-
ribly secure.

They began by l)]ows with axes. The axes bi-oke. A sapper said :

" Steel snaps like glass against that iron."

The door was made of double sheets of wroiight ii'on, 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 ! " said one of the sappei's.

Gauvain murmured gloomily :

"Nothing l)ut a ball could ojx'n that dooi'. If we could only get a
cannon up here."

" But how to do it !" answered the sa])]ter.

There was a moment of overwhelment. Those powerless arms
ceased their efforts. ]\Iute, conquered, dismayed, these men stood star-

1 !i:i

194

XIXETY- THREE.

iug at the immovable door. A red rellectiou v\\^\\\ from beneath it.
Behind, the conflagration 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 f There was not a liope left.

Gauvain, with his eyes fixed ( m the turning-stone and the secret
passage, cried furiously :

Hif'"'

III ?i 'V

^^^0^ft

^ ^'^y

" It was by that the Marqiiis de Lantenae escaped."

" And returns," said a voice.

Tlie fa(î0 of a white-haired man apjieared in the stone frame of the
secret opening.

Tt was the marquis !

Many years had passed since (iauvain had seen that face so near.
He recoiled.

The rest all stood petrified with astonishment.

The niaiviuis held a large key in his hand ; he cast a haughty glance

KIX ETY- THREE. 195

upon the sappers standing before him, •vrallv;ed straight to the ivou door
beut beueath the arch, and put the key iu the lock. The iron creaked,
the door opened, revealing a gulf of flame — the marquis entered it. He
entered with a firm step — his head erect. The lookers-on folloAved him
with their eyes.

The marquis had scarcely moved half a dozen paces down th(* l)laz-
ing 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 disappeartxl in the smoke.
Nothing more could be seen.

Had he been able to advance farther I Had a new gulf of fu"e
Oldened beneath his feet ! Had he only succeeded iu destroying him-
self ? They could not tell. They had before them oidy a wall of smoke
and iianie. The inanpiis was l)eyond that, living or dead.

CHAPTEK III

WHERE WE PEE THE CHILDREN WAKE THAT WE SAW do ASLEEP

IIK little niies opt'iicd tlicir eyes at last.

Tlu' coiifia.nTation liad not yet eiiteveil the library, Imt
it east a rosy glow aeross the ceiling. The children had
never seen an aurora like that ; they watched it. (leorgette
was in ecstasies.

The conflagration unfurled all its splendcn's; the hlack hydra and
the scarlet dragon appeared amidst the wreathing smoke in awful
darkness and gorgeous vermilion. Long streaks of flame shot far out
and illuminated the shadows, like ojiposing comets pursuing one an-
other. Fire is recklessly jirodigal with its treasiires; 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 emljers poTired like cascades of jewels ; the heaps of straw and oats
burning in the granary l:>egau to stream out of the windows in an ava-
lanche of g()lden rain, the oats turning to amethysts and the straw to
carbuncles.

"Pretty!" said (ieorgette.

They all three raisetl themselves.

" Ah ! " cried the mother. " They have wakened ! "

Keué-Jean got up, then Gros-Alain, and Georgette followed.

René-Jean stretched his arms toward the window and said, " 1 am
warm."

"Me wann," cooed Cieorgette.

The mother shrieked :

^\y ehil

ilren

l.'eiié! Alain! (leorgett.'!"

The little ones looked about. They strove to comprehend,
men are frightened children are only curious. He who is easily

10(

When
aston-

XI XE I Y - THREE. 197

ished is difficult to alarm ; iguorauce is intrepidity. Cliildren have so
little claim to pm-gatory that if they saw it they would admire.

The mother repeated :

" Bene ! Alaiu ! Georgette ! "

René-Jeau turned his head ; that voice roused him from his reverie.
Children have short memories, but their recollections are swift; the
whole past is yesterday to them. Eené-Jean saw his mother, found
that perfectly natural, and feeling a vague want of support in the midst
of those strange surroiindings, he called :

" Mamma ! "

" Mamma ! " said Grros- Alain.

" M'ma ! " said Georgett(\

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.

" Tum, m'ma," repeated Georgette.

The mother, with her hah" streaming about her face, her garments
torn, her feet and hands bleeding, let herself roll from bush to bush '
down into the ravine. Cimovu'dain and Guéchamp were there, as pow-
erless as Gauvaiu was above. The soldiers, desperate at being able to
do nothing, swarmed aliout. Tlie heat was insupportable, but nobody
felt it. They looked at the Ijridge — the height of the arches — the differ-
ent stories of the castle — the inaccessible windows. Help to be of any
avail nnist come at once. Three stories to climb. No way of doing it.

Radoub, wounded, with a sabre-ci;t on his shouldei* and one ear
torn ofif, rushed forward dripping with sweat and blood. He saw
Michelle Fléchard.

"Hold!" cried he. "The woman that was shot! So you have
come to life again î "

" My children ! " groaned the m( )thtn-.

"You are right," answered Radoul); "we have no time to occupy
om-selves about ghosts."

He attempted to climb the bridge, but in vain ; he dug his nails in
between 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

198 NINETY -THREE.

Aviudow. Ill liis frenzy Eadoub shook his eleiic'lu-d hjiiid at tlio sky,
and shouted, " Is there no mercy yonder ! "

The mother, (in her kners, chin,»;' tn one of the }iiiM-s, cryini;-,
" Mercy, merey ! "

The hollow sound of eracking timbers rose above tlie roar of the
flames. The j)aiies of glass in the book-eases of the lil jrai'y 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! nuunma!"

The whole crowd was paralyzed with horror. Suddenly, at the
casement near that where tlio children stood, a tall form appeared
against the crimson backgi'ound of the flames.

Every head was raised — e\'ery eye fixed. A man was above there
— a man in the library — in the furnace. The face showed black against
the flames, but they could see the Avhite hair — they recognized the
Manpiis de Lantcnac.

He disappeared, then apjieared again.

Tlie indomitable olil 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 w-indow. He
held it by one end — with the marvelous agility of an athlete he slipped
it out of the casement, and slid it along the wall down into the ravine.

Kadoub folded his arms about tlie ladiler as it descended within his
reach, crying, "L<nig live the Republic!"

The manpiis shouted, "Long live tlie King!"

Radoub nuittered, "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 estaljlished
between the burning floor and the ground. Twenty men rushed up,
Badoub at theii- lieail, and in the twinkling of an eye they Avere 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
jimong the heath and along the sides of the ravine^ i)ressed forward, o\er-
eome by contending emotions, upon tlie ]ilateau, into the ravini>, out on
the platform of the tower.

The marquis disap])eari>(l again, then re-ap[ieared bearing a child in
his arms. There was a tremendous clapping of hands.

The marquis had seized the first little one that he found within
reach. It was (Iros-Alain.

(li-os-.Vlain criecl. " 1 am afraid."

The marquis gave the boy to Jîadoub; Fiadoub ])assed him on to

'THEY ARE ALL SAVED!"

XIXi: T 1- THREE. 201

tlie soldier behind, who passed him tu auother, aud just as Gros-AUiiu,
gi'eatly frighteued and sobbing loudly, was given from hand to hand to
the bottom of the ladder, the marquis, who had been absent for a moment,
retui-ned to the window mth René-Jean, who struggled and wept and
beat Radoub with his little fists as the marquis i^assed him on to the
sergeant.

• The marquis went back into the chamlx'r that was now filled with
flames. Cleorgette was there alone. He went u[) to her. She smiled.
This man of granite felt his eyelids grow moist. He asked, " What is
your name I "

" Orgette," said she.

He took her in his arms ; she was still smiling, and, at the instant
he handed her to Radoub, that conscience so lofty, and yet so darkened,
was dazzled by the beauty of innocence ; the old man kissed the child.

"It is ÛW little girl !" said the soldiers; and Oeorgette in her turn
descended from arm to arm till she reached the ground, amidst cries of
exultation. They clapped their liauds ; they leaped ; the old grenadiers
sobbed, and she smiled at them.

The mother stood at the foot of the ladder bi'eathless, mad, intoxi-
cated Ijy this change — flung, without transition, from hell into paradise.
Excess of joy lacerates the heart in its own way. She extended her
arms ; she received first Gros- Alain, then René-Jean, then Georgette.
She covered them witli frantic kisses, then liurst 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 window-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 indeeil and jiroudly,
he stepped over the window-sill, and erect, upright, his shoulders against
the rungs, ha'S'ing the conflagration 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 olï ; 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 marble 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 darkn(\ss, he seemed to tower higher, the ladder shook
and echoed under his firm tread — one might have thought him the statue
of the Comineiidatorc descending anew into his sepulchre.

302 iV/X/; T Y - THE E E.

As the mavquis reached the bottom, and his foot left the hist rung
aud planted itself on the groiiud, a hand seized his shoulder. He turned
about.

" I arrest you," said Ciniourdain.

"I approve of what you do," said Lantenae,

AFTER THE VK^TORT THE COMBAT BEGINS.

BOOK YI

AFTER THE VICTORY THE COMBAT BEGIÏTS

CHAPTER I

LANTENAC TAKEN

HE marquis had indeed descended into the tonil).
He was led away.

The c'l'vpt (hingeon of tlie ground-floor of La
Tourgue was immediately opened under Cimour-
dain's lynx-eyed superintendence. A lamp was
placed within, a jug of water and a loaf of sol-
dier's bread ; a bundle of straw was flung on the
f^ ground, and in less than a quarter of an hour from
the instant when the priest's hand seized Laute-
nac the door of the dungeon closed upon him.
This done, C'imourdain went to fiml Gauvain; at that instant eleven
o'clock sounded from the distant church-clock of Parigné. Cimoui'dain
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 lie his judge ; I blame Égalité 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 Ra-
(hrnlt, and myself — I shall preside. Nothing of all this concerns you
any longer. We will conform to the decree of the Convention ; we will

205

206 iY / N E T Y - Til H E E.

cuiitiue ourselves to ;[iro\'iii;j,- the iileiitity <>t' the ei-ilev;int Marquis de
Lauteuac. To-iuorrow the ruurl-niartial — day after to-iuorrow the .miil-
Idtine. The Veudée is dead."

(îauvaiu did uot auswer a word, and Ciiuourdaiu, preoeeupied l.)y
the final task which remained for liini to fulfill, left the young man
alone. Cimoi;rdain had to decide uin)n the hour and choose the place.
He had, like Lequiuio at (Tranville, like Tallien at Bordeaux, like Ohâ-
lier at Lyons, like Saint-Just at Strasliourg-, the hahit of assisting ^per-
sonally at executions; it was considere(l a good example for the judge
to come and see the headsman <lo his W()rk — a custom Itorrowed Ijy the
Terror of '93 from the parliaments of France and the In(iuisition of
Spain.

Gauvain also was preoccupied.

A cold wind moaned up from the forest; G-auvain left (luéchamp
to give the necessary orders, went to his tent in the meadow which
stretched along the eilge of the wood at the foot of La Tourgue, took
his hooded cloak and enveloped liimself tlierein. This cloak was bor-
dered witli the simple galoon which, according to the Repul)lican cus-
tom, (diary of ornament, designated the commander-in-chief. He began
to Avalk about in this bloody field where the attack had commenced.
He was alone there. Tlie fire still continued, Imt no one any longer
paid attention to it. liadoub was beside the children and their mother,
almost as maternal as she. The briilge-castle was nearly consumed—
the sappers hastened tlie destraction. The soldiers w(n-e digging-
trenches in order to bury the dead; tlie wounded were being cared for;
the retirade had been demolislied; tlie chaml)ers and stairs disencum-
bered of tlie dead ; the soldiers were cleansing the scene of carnage,
sweeping away the terrilile rubbish of the victory; with true military
rapidity setting everything in order after the battle. Oauvaiu saw
nothing of all this.

So profound was his reverie that he scarcely cast a glance toward
the guard about the tower, douViled liy the orders of Cimourdain.

He could distinguish th(» brea<-li through the obscurity, perhaps two
hundred feet away from the corner of the field where he had taken
refuge. He could see the black opening. It was there the attack had
commeiK^ed three hours ])efor(> ; it was l)y this dark gap that he — Gau-
vain — had penetrated into tlie 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 dungc^on.

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-moi-row, the guillotine."

XIXE T Y - TU EEE.

207

The couflagratioii, whieli liucl beeu isolated, aud iipou which the
sappers had throwu all the water that could be procured, did not die
away without resistance; it still cast out iutermitteiit flamos. At
moments the cracking of the ceilings could be heard, and the crash one
upon another of the different stories ;is they fell in a common ruin-

then a whu'hvind 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, aud the shadow of La Tourgue, growing suddenly
colossal, spread out to the edge of the forest.

(xaux'aiu walked slowly to and fro amidst the gloom in front of the
breach. At intervals he clasped his two hands at the liack of his head,
covered with his soldier's hood. He was thiidving.

CHAPTER II

GAUVAIX'S SELF-ylTESTIOXING

rS reverie was fathomless. A seemiugiy impossible change
had taken place.

The Mar(|uis de Lauteuac had l)een transfigured.
Ganvaiu had been a witness of this transfiguration.

lie ^\•(_>uld never have believed that snch a state of affairs would
arrive from any complication of events, whatever they might ]je. Never
would he have imagined, even in a dream, that any thing similar would
be possible.

The iinexpected — that inexyilicablc i)ower whicli jJays with man at
will — had seized (fauvaiu, and held liini fast.

He had before him the impossible liecome a reality, visible, ]iali)able,
inevitable, inexorable.

"Wliat did he think of it — he, (Tauvain ?

There was no chance of evasion : the decision must be made.

A question was put to him ; he could not avoid it. Put by wliom f

By events.

And not alone l)y events.

For wlien events, wliieh are mutable, address a question to our
souls. Justice, which is unchangeable, summons lis to reply.

Above the cloud which easts its shadow upon us is the star that
sends toward us its light.

We can no more esca])e from the liglit than from the sliadow.

Gauvain was undergoing an interrogatory. He had been arraigned
before a judge.

Before a terrible judge. His conscience.

(rauvain felt every ](ow<'r of his soul vacillate. His resolutions the
most soHd, his promises llie most]>iously uttered, his decisions the most
irrevocalde, all tottered in this lei'ril.de overwliebni'nt of liis-will. There

A^IA'E T Y -THRE E. 209

are moral earthquakes. The more he reflected upon that which he luid
lately seeu, the more confused he became.

Gauvaiu, Republican, lielieved himself, aud was, just. A higher
justice had revealed itself. Above the justice of revolutions is that of
humanity.

What had happened cnulil not l»e oUkUmI; the case was grave;
Gauvain made part of it; h(.' could not withdraw himself, and, although
( 'imoiu'daiu had said, " It concerns you no further," lie felt within his
sold the pang which a tree may feel when torn upward from its roots.

EA'ery man has a basis ; a disturbance of this base causes a profoimd
troul>le — it was what Gauvaiu now felt. He pressed his head between
his two liands, searcliing for the truth. To state clearly a situation lLl<;e
his is not easy; nothing could be more painful; he had l)efore him the
formidable ciphers which he must sum up into a total ; to judge a hiunau
destiny liy mathematical rules : his head whirled. He tried ; he endeav-
ored 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 inter-
rogate himself in some supreme circumstances upon the route which
must be followed, whether to advance or retreat?

Gauvaiu had just been witness of a miracle. Before the earthly
combat had fairly ended, there came a celestial 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, luiwholesome obstinacy, ])ride, egotism — Gauvain had
just witnessed a miracle.

The victory of humanity over the man.

Humanity had con<xuered the inhuman.

And by what -means f In what manner I How had it been al)le to
overthrow that colossus of wrath and hatred ? What arms had it em-
ployed ? What implement of war f The cradle !

Gauvain had been dazzled. In tln' nddst of social war, in the very
blaze of all hatreds and all vengeances, at the darkest and most furious
moment of the tunuilt, at the hour when crime gave all its tires, and hate
all its blackness — at that instant of conflict, when every sentiment
becomes a projectile, when the nu'lee is so fierce that one no longer
knows what is justice, honesty, or truth, suddenly the Unknown — mys-
terious Warner of kokU — sent the gi-and rays of eternal truth resplendent
aci'oss human light and darkness.

210 XI^ETY- THBUU.

Abov(^ that somlire duel l)ot\voeu tlio false and tin.' ivla.tivcly true,,
there, iu the dejiths, the face of truth itself uhruptly a^ipeared.

Suddenly the force of the feeble had interposed.

He hîxd seen three poor creatures, almost new born, i;nreasoning,
abandoned, orphans, alone, lispino-^ smiling, having against them civil
war, retaliation, the horri))le logic of reprisals, murder, carnage, fratri-
cide, rage, hatred, all the (lorgons — triuniiili against those powers. He
had seen the defeat and extinction of a, horriljle contlagration charged
to commit a crime; he had seen ati-ocious j^remeditations disconcerted
and brought to naught; lie liad seen ancient feudal ferocity, inexorable
disdain, ;[:)rofessed experiences of the necessities of war, reasons of State,
all the arrogant resolves of a, saA'age old age, vanish before the clear gaze
of those who had not yet li\-ed ; and this was natural, for he who has
not yet lived has done no e\-il : he is justice, truth, purity, and the high-
est angels of Heaven hover a.l)out tiiose souls of little children.

A useful spectacle, a. counsel, a lesson. Tlie maddened, merciless
condiatants, in face of all the jirojects, all the outrages of war, fanat-
icism, assassination, revenge kindling the fagots, death coming torch iu
hand, had suddenly seen all-powerful Innocence raise itself above this
enormous legion of crimes.

And Innocence had coinpiered.

One could say: No, civil war does not exist; barliarism does not
exist; hatred does not exist; crime does not exist; darkness <loes not
exist. To scatter tliese specti'es it only needed that divine aiiroi'a — In-
nocence.

Never in any contlict lia.d Satan and Crod been moi'c ]ilainiy visiljle.

This conflict had a human conscience for its arena.

The conscience of Lantenae.

Now the battle began again, more despi^rate, mor(> decisive still
}ierhaps, in another conscience.

The conscience of (lau\'ain.

What a battle-ground is the soul of man ! We are given uj) to those
gods, those monsters, those giants — our thoughts. Often these terrible
l)ellig(M'ents trample our A-<>i'y souls down in their mad conflict.

(xauvain )ueditat(Ml.

The Mar<|uis de I jinitciiac, suri-ounded, doomed, condemned, out-
kiwed, sliiif ill like liic wild licasi in tlu! circus, held like a nail in the
]iincei-s, inclosed in his refuge become Ids prison, bound on ev(M'y side
by a wall of ii-on and lire, had succeeded in stealing away. He had per-
formed a miracle^ in esca)iing. He had accomi>lish(^d tliat master-])iece
— tlu^ most diffictdt of all in sudi a war — flight. He had again taken
possession of the forest, to intrench himself tlicrcin — of the district, to

NINETY- THREE. ail

fight there — of the shadow, to disappear vrithiii it. He had once more
become the formidable, the daugerous wauderer — the captain of the
inA-incibles — the chief of the under-ground forces — the master of the
woods, (xauvaiu had t lie victory, but Lautenae had liis liberty. Hence-
forth Lantenae had security before 1dm, limitless freedom, an inexliaust-
ilile choice of asylums. He was imliscernible, luiapproachable, inacces-
sible. The lion had been taken in the snare, and had broken through.

Well, he had re-entered it.

The Marquis de Lantenae had voluntaiily, spontaneously, l»y his
own free act, left the forest, the shadow, security, liberty, to return to
that horrible peril ; intrepid when Gauvain saw him the first time plunge
into the conflagration at the risk of lieing ingulfed therein; intrepid a
sec<nid time, wlicn 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 maul

Guillotine him.

Had these three childi-en been his own ? No. Ofhisfannlyf No.
Of his rank ? No. For three little beggars — chance children, found-
lings, uid-cnown, 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 j)roudly broiight his own head, and this head, hitherto terrible, but
now august, he offered to his foes.

And what were they aliout to <lo ?

Accept the sacrifice.

The Marquis de Lantenae had had the choice between the life of
others and his o\vn: in this superb option he had chosen death. And it
wiis to be granted him. He was to be killed.

'Wliat a reward for heroism ! Resjjond to a generous act Ity a bar-
barous one ! "Wliat a degrading of the Revolution ! What a belittling
of the Repuljlic !

As this man of jirejudice and servitude, suddenly transformed,
returned into tlie circle of humanity, the men who strove» for deliverance
and freedom elected to cling to the horrors of civil war, to the roTitine
of l)lood, to fratricide !

The divine law of forgiveness, abnegation, redemption, saci'ifice,
existed for the comltatants of error, and did not exist for the soldiers
of truth !

What ! Not to make a struggle in magnanimity ? Resign them-
selves to this defeat? They, the stronger, to show themselves the

213 NINETY- THREE.

weaker t They, victorious, to become as.siissiiis, and cau.se it to be said
tliat there were those ou the side of luouarchy wlio saved cliildren, and
those on the side of the IJcpulilic who slew old men !

Tlie. world would si'c this great soldier, this powerful octogenarian,
this disarmed warrior, stolen rather than cajitured, seized in the i)er-
formauce of a good action, sei/(><l by liis own jiermission willi the sweat
of a noble devotion still upon his lirow, 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 wldch Avould circlt>, as supi)liants,
the souls of the three little angels he had saved! ^Vnd before this
punishment — infamous for the luitchers — a smile would be seen on the
fa-ce of that man, and the blush of shame on the face of the Repul>lic !

And this would be accomplished in the presence of (biuvain, the
cllief.

And he who might hinder this would abstain, lie would rest con-
tent under that haughty absolution : '' This concerns thee no longer."
And he was not even to say to himself tliat in such a case abdication
of authority was eomiilicity ! He was not to perceive that of two men
engaged in an action so hideous, he wIk) iiermits the thing is Avorse
than the man who does the woi'k, l)ecause he is the cowanl !

But this death — ]i;id he not promise<l it ? Tlnd not he, (lauvain,
the inerciful, declared that Lantenac should ha-ve 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 '!

Hitherto (xauvaiu had seen in Lantenac only the barbarous war-
rior, the fanatic of roynlty and feudalism, the slaughterer of j^risoners,
an assassin whom wnr had let loose, a man of blood. That man he had
not feareil ; he had proscribed that proscriber ; the implacaljle would
have foTuid him inexorable. Nothing more simple; the road was marked
out and terri])ly plain to follow; every thing foreseen; those who killed
must l)e killed; the path of horror was clear and straiglit. ("uex-
pectedly that straight line had been liroken; a sudden turn in the way
revealed a new hoi-i/,on ; a mc'tamorphosis had taken pl;ice. An un-
known Lant(^na,c ent(M'c(l upon the scene. .V hero spi'aiig up from the
monster; moi'e than a, hero — a man. More than a soul — a. heart. It
was no longer a- nnu'derer thatdauvaiu had before him, but a savior.
(lauvain was flung to the earth by a flood of celestial radiance. Lante-
nac had struck him with the tlmnder-bolt of generosity.

Ami jjaiitenac transfigured could not transfigure (lauvain !

What! Was this sti'okc» of light to produce no counter-stroke!
Was the man of tlie Past to push on in front, and the man of the

X / \ E T Y - TU K E E. ;J13

Futni'e to fall liack ? Was the man of barbarism and superstition sud-
denly to nnfold 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 riit of the Past, M'hilo 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 (Tauvain's ? His grand-
father 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 into it I Would
he not conuuand his grandson henceforth 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 f

Was, then, the aim of the Eevolution 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 cpieen-bee who creates her i)eople, and who, l)eing
mother, is ([ueen ; hence the absurdity of the king-man, who, not being
father, can not be master. Hence the suppression of the king ; hence
the Repul)lic that comes from all this ? Family, humanity, revolution.
Revolution is the accession of the ]ieoples. 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 sliould
meet again in a higher light, or Avhether the nephew's recoil should reply
to the uncle's progress.

The (piestion in this pathetic debate between Gauvain and his con-
science had resolved itself into this, and the answer seemed to come of
itself — he must save Lantenac.

Yes; but France I

Here the dizzying prol;)lem siiddenly changed its face.

What ! France at bay I France betrayed, flung open, dismantled ?
HaA-ing no longer a moat, Germany would cross the Rhine ; no longer a
wall, Italy woidd leap the Alps, and Spain the P\Tenees. There would
remain to France that great abyss, the ocean. She had for her the gulf.
She could l)ack hei-self against it, and, giantess, supported by tlio entire

214 XIXETY- THREE.

sea, could eom])at the wliole earth. A position, after all, impregna])le.
Yet no; this position wonld tail lier. The ocean no lon.^er Ijelonged to
her. In this ocean was England. True, England Avas at a loss how to
traverse it. Well, a man wonld iling her a I) ridge ; a man ^Yould extend
his hand to her; a man would go to Pitt, to C'raig, to Cornwallis, to Dun-
das, to the pirates, and say, "Come!" A man would cry, "England,
seize France ! " Ami this man was the Marquis de Lantenac.

This man Avas noAv held fast. After three months of chase, of pur-
suit, uf frenzy, he had at last been taken. The hand of the Eevolution
had just closed upon the accursiMl ()n(^ ; the clenched fist of 'Do had seized
this Koyalist murderer hy tlic tliroat. Tlu-ough that mysterious })re-
meditation from on high whirh mixes itself in human affairs, it was in
the dunge(_)n belonging to liis family that this parricide a\vaite(l his
punishment. The feudal lord was in the feudal oul)liette. The stones
of his own castle rose against him and shut him in, and he who had
sought to betray his country had lieen betrayed by his own dwelling.
God liad visibly arranged all this; the hour had sounded; the Revolu-
tion had taken prisonei' this i>nbli(' enemy; he could no longer tight, he
could no loîiger struggle, lie eoidd no longer harm; in this Vendée,
whieh o\vne(l so many arms, his was the sole brain; Avith his extinction,
civil war would be extinct. He was held fast ; tragic and forttmate con-
clusion. After so many massacres, so much carnage, he was a captive,
this nuin who had slain so pitilessly, and it was his turn to die.

And if Some one sliouM lie found ti> save him !

( 'iinourdain, that is to say, 'lt;i, liel<l Lantenac, that is to say, Mon-
arcliy, and could any one be found to snat(di its prey from that hand of
l)i'onze ? Lantenac, the man in whom concentrated that sheaf of scourges
called the Past — the Manjuis de Lantenac was in the tond) — the heavy
eternal door had closed upon him — would some one come from without
to draw back the bolt ? This social nmli^factor was dead, and with him
dietj rcN'olt, fratricidal contest, bestial wai-; ami would anyone be found
to resuscitate him .'

(_)h, how that death's-head would laugli !

That spectre would say, "It is well; 1 live again — the idiots!"

How he would onci' more set himself at his hideous work; how
joyously and imphicahly tiiis Lantenac would plunge anew iido the
gulf of war and hatred, and on the morrow would be seen again houses
biii'ning, prisoners massacred, the woumled slain, women shot.

And, after all, did tiot (lau\-ain exaggerate this action which had
fascinated him ;'

'I'hi-ee children were lost ; lianteiiac saved them. lîut who had
flimg them into that pcfil .' Was it not Lantenac.'

XI XE T Y - TER E E. 215

Who Lad set those three oradles in the heart of the eouflagratiou f
Was it not Imâuns? Wlio was Iniâuus? Tlie heuteuant of tlie
marquis.

The one responsible is the ehief. Hence the ineendiary and the
assassin Avas Lauteuae. What had he done so admirable 1 He had not
persisted — that Avas all.

After having conceived the crime, he had recoiled before it. He
ha<l liecome horrified at hims;'lf That mother's cry had wakened in
him those remains of Imman mercy Avhich exist in all souls, eA'en the
most hardened. At this cry he had retui'ued upon his stejas. Out of
the night Avhere he had buried himself, he hastened toward the day.
After liaAdug lirought 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 free-
dom, tlie fields, the plains, air, day, restore to him the forest, which he
would employ to shelter his ijandits ; restore liini lil)erty, which he
woidd use to Ijring aljout slavery ; restore life, which he would devote
to death.

As for trying to come to an understanding with him, attempting to
treat with that arrogant sold, propose his deliverance under certain con-
ditions, demand if he would consent, were his life spared, henceforth to
abstain from all hostilities and all revolt — Avhat an error such an oflîer
woidd l)e — what an advantage it would give him — against Avhat scorn
would the proposer woiind himself — how he woidd freeze the questioner
by his response, "Keep such shame for yourself — kill me!"

There was, iu short, nothing to do with this man liut to slay or set
him free. He was ever ready to soar or to sacrifice himself; his sti'ange
soul held at once the eagle and the abyss.

To slay him .' What a pang ! To set him free t What a respon-
sibility !

Lantenac saved, all Avas to begin anew Avitli the Vendée, like a
struggle with a hydra Avhose heads had not been severed. In the
twinkling of au- eye, Avith the rapidity of a meteor, the flame extin-
guished by this man's disappearance would blaze up again. Lantenac
would neA^er stop to rest until he had carried out that execrable plan
— to fling, like the coA'er of a tomb, Monarchy upon the Repuldic, and
England upon France. To saA'e Lauteuae was to sacrifice France. Life
to Lantenac Avas death to a host of innocent beings — men, Avonien, chil-
dren, caught aueAv in tliat domestic Avar; it Avas the landing <>f the
English, the recoil of the RcA^olution; it was the sacking of the villages,
the rending of the people, the mangling of Brittany; it Avas flinging the
prey back into the tiger's claw. And Grauvain, in the midst of uncer-

316 XI XI] T Y - THE EE.

tain gleams aud rays of introverted light, beheld, vaguely sketched
across his reverie, this problem rise : the setting the tiger at liberty.

Aud then the question re-aj^peared under its tirst aspect ; the stone
of Sysiphus, Avhioh is nothing other than the combat of man Avith him-
self, fell back. Was Lantenae that tiger ?

Perhaps he had been; but was he still? Gauvain ^vas dizzy beneath
the whirl and conflict in his sold ; his thoughts turned aud circled ujiou
themselves with serpentine swiftness. After the closest examination
could any one deny Lantenac's devotion, his stoical self-abnegation, his
superb disinteresteduess I What ! To attest his humanity in the i:)res-
euce of the open jaws of civil war! What! In this contest of inferior
truths, to liring the highest truth of all ! What ! To prove that above
royalties, above revolutions, above earthly (juestions, is the gi-and ten-
derness of till' human soul, tin' recognition of the ^u'otection due to the
feeble 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 pi'ove these magnificent truths by the gift of his head! To
be a general, and renouure strategy, liattle, ri'veuge ! What! To be a
Royalist, and to take a bahmce and put in one scale the King of France,
a monarchy of fifteen centuries, old laws to re-establish, ancient society
to restor<', 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. Wliat! was all
that nothing ? What! Could he who had done this remain a tiger!
Ought he to be treated like a wild l.ieast ! 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 liad again become the celestial
Lucifer. Lantenae had atoned for all his liarbarities by one act of
sacrifice; in losing himself materially he had saved himself morally;
he hail Ijecome innocent again, he had signed ids own pardon. Does
not the right of self-forgiveness exist ? Henceforth he was ven-
erable.

Lauteiiac liad just shown himself almost superhuman. It was now
Grauvain's turn. Gauvain was called upon to answer him.

The struggle of good and evil passions made the world n chaos at
this epoch; Lantenae, dominatiiig the chaos, had just brought liumanity
out of it; it now remained foi- * îamaiii to bring foi'tli their family there-
from.

What was he aliout to do ;' Was (iauvain about to ])etray the trust
Providence had shown in him ?

No. And he murniin-ed witliin liimself, "Let us save Lantenae.'"

NINETY-THREE. 217

And a voice answered, "It is well. Go on; aid the Euglish.
Desert. Pass over to the eueiuy. Save Lantenac and betray France."

And Gauvain shuddered. " Thy solution is no solution, oh
di'eanier!" Gauvain saw the Sphynx smile bitterly in the shadow.

This situation was a sort of formidable meeting -gi-ound where hos-
tile truths confronted one another, and where the three highest ideas of
man — humanity, family, country — looked in each other'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 i)()int where wisdom and
justice met, and said, " Do this ! " Was that the thing he ought to do I
Yes. No. Eeasoning said one thing, and feeling another; the two
counsels were in direct opposition. Reasoning 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 hesitated.

Maddening perplexity. Two abysses opened before him. Should
he let the marquis perish I Sliould he save him ? He must plunge into
■one depth or the other.

Toward which of the two gulfs did Duty point I

CHAPTER III

THE COJIMAXDANT'S MANTLE

T was, after all, with Duty tliat tinsse victor.s had to deal.
Duty raised herself — stern to Ciuiourdaiii's eyes — terrible to
those of ( Tau vain. Simple before the one ; eomi^lex, divtn-se,
tortuous, before the other.

Midni.ylit sounded; then one o'clock.

Withotit being conscious of it, (lauvain 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 visible for an instant, tlu'ii disappeared from
view as the smoke swept over the flames. This glare, revi^-ing in jets
and cut l)y sudden .shadows, dispi-o^iortioned ol:)jects, and madt^ the sen-
tinels look like phantoms. Lost in his reverie, Gauvaiu mechanically
watched the strife between the flame and smoke. These appearances
and disapi^earances 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 brasier, illunnnated vividly the sitnimit of the pla-
teau, and bro tight out the skeleton of a wagon against the vermilion
l)ackground.

(i-auvain stared at this wagon ; it was surrounded Ijy horsemen
wearing gendarmes' hats. It seemed to him the wagon which he had
looked at through Guéchamp's glass several hours Ijefore, when the sun
was setting ami the wagon away oft" <in the verge of the horizon. Some
men were motmted on the cart and a{)p(^ared to lie unloading it. That
which they took oft" seemed to be hea\y. and now and then gave out the
sound of clanking iron. It would have been difiicnlt to tell what it was;
it looked like beams foi- a frame-work. Two of the men lifted between

218

XIX £ I Y- THREE. 219

them and set upon the grcinud a Ijox, which, as well as he could judge
Ijy the shape, coutaiued a triaugular object.

The flcime sank; all was agaiu bui-ied iu darkuess. Ganvaiu stood
"with fixed eyes lost iu thought ui)on that which the darkuess liid.

Lanterns were lighted, men came and went on the plateau ; but th<>
forms of those moving about were confused, aud, moreover, Ganvaiu
was below and on the other side of the ravine, aud therefore could see
little of what was passing. Voices spoke, l)ut he could uot 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
sharpeniug of a scythe.

Two o'clock struck.

81owly, and like one who strove^ to retreat and yet was forced by
some iu\-isible power to advance, Gauvaiu approached the Ijreaeh. As
he came near, the seutiuel recognized in the shadow the cloak aud
braided hood of the commaudaut, 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 uijon the soldiei's who lay, most
of them asleep, upon the straw.

There they lay ; they liad Ijeen fighting a few hours liefoi'e ; the
grape-shot, partially swept away, scattered its grains of iron and lead
over the floor and troubled their repose somewhat, but they were wear}',
aud so slept. This hall had been the battle-ground — the scene of fren-
zied attack ; there men had groaned, howled, ground their teeth, struck
out l)lindly in their death-agony, and expired. Many of these sleepers'
companions had fallen dead ui)on tlds floor, Avhere they now lay down
in their weariness; the straw which served them for a pillow had drunk
tlie blood of their comrades. Now all was ended; the blood had ceased
to flow; the saln-es were dried; the dead were dead; these sleepers slum-
bered peacefully. Such is war. And then, perhaps to-morrow, the
slumber of all will be the same.

At Gauvaiu'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 YII

FEUDALITY J^NT> REVOLUTION"

CHAPTER I

THE ANCESTOR

LAjMP was plaeed on the flag's of the eiypt at the
side of the air-hoU> in the oubHette. There could
also 1)6 seen on the stones a jug of water, a loaf
of army bread, and a truss of sti'aw. The crypt
being cut out in the rock, the prisoner wh(^ had
conceived the idea of setting tire to the straw
would have done it to his own hurt ; no risk of
f'-^'^ conflagration to the prison, certainty of suffoca-
tion to the prisoner.

At the instant the dooi' turned on its hinges
the marquis 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 lamj) which set on the floor between Gauvaiu and the
marcjuis, struck full upon the faces of botli men.

They looked atone another, and somethhig in tin
kept the two motionless.

At length the marquis liurst out laughing, and exclaimed :
" Good-evening, sir. It is a long time since I have had the pleasure
of meeting you. You do me the favor of paying me a visit. I thank

dance of either

2U Kl NE T Y - TH B EE.

yoii. I ask uothiug better tliau to eouverse a little. I Avas Ijegiuuiug
to Itore myself. Your friends lose a great deal of time — jiroofs of
identity — roui-t-martials — all those ceremonies take a long while. 1
conld go mueli quicker at net'(l. Here I am in my liouse. Take the
trouble to enter. Well, Avhat d( > you say of all that is haxipeniug î
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 Eobespierre ; this gentleman and
that lady have a daughter named Guillotine, with whom it appears
that I am to make acquaintance to-morrow morning. I shall be de-
liu'hted — as I am to see \o\\. Did you come about that ? Have you
risen in rank ? Hhall you be the headsman ? If it is a simple visit of
friendship, I am touched. Perhaps, A'iscount, you no longer know
what a nobleman is. Well, you sec one — it is T. Look at the speci-
men. It is an odd race; it believes in God, it ))elieves in tradition, it
believes in family, it believes in its ancestors, it believes in the example
of its father, in lidelity, loyalty, duty toward its prince, respect to
ancient laws, virtue, justice — and it would shoot you with pleasm^e.
Have the goodness to sit down, I pray you. On the stones, it must be,
it is true, for I have no arui-i-hair in my salon ; but he who lives in the
mire can sit on the ground. 1 do not say that to offend you, for Avhat
we call the mire you call the nation. I fancy that you do not insist I
shall shout Liberty, E(iuality, Fraternity f This is an ancient chamber
of my house ; formerly the lords imprisoned clowns here ; now clowns
imjn-ison the lords. These stupidities are called a Eevolution. It
ap])ears that my head is to l»e cut oft' in thirty-six hours. I see nothing
inconvenient in that. Still, if my captors had been polite, they W(_)uld
have sent me my snutt'-ljox ; it is iip in the chamlier of the mirrors,
whei'e you used to play Avhen 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,
l)y Heaven, the same that runs in mine ; yet the Ijlood that made me a
man of honor makes you a I'ascal. 8ucli 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. Ziuuids! 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 Revolution is guilty
for the whole world, and all your great criminals are great innocents.
What blockheads ! To begin with yomvself. Permit me to admire you.
Yes, I admire a youth like you, wlio, a man of quality, well j^laced in
the State, having nolile l)lood to slied iu a nol)le cause, Viscount of this
Tower-(iauvain, Princi' of lîriltany. able to be duke by right, and ]ieer

XIXETY- THREE.

â25

of France In' lieritage, which is alxnit all a man of good sense could
desire here below, annises himself, being what he is, to be what you
are ; plajdng his part so well tliat he produces iipon 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 noth-
ing, in his polite society voice, his eyes clear and tranquil, his hand in
his waistcoat-pocket. He broke off, drew a long breath, and resumed :

22G XIXJJ T Y- THR E E.

" I do not conceal fvom you that I liave done wliat I could to kill
you. Such as you see me, I have luyself, in person, three times aimed
a cannon at you. ^\. discourteous proceeding — I admit it, hut it Avoidd
be giving rise to a had example to suppose that in war your enemy
tries to make himself agTeeal)le to you. For we are in war, monsieur
my nephew. Every thing is init 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 w< mid have happened
if Voltaire had Ijeen hanged and Rousseau sent to the galleys ! Ah,
those men of nnnd — Avhat scourges ! But there, what is it you reproach
that mouar(.'hy with I It is true that the A])bé Pucelle was sent to his
Abbey of Portigny with as nuich time as he i^leased for the journey,
and as for your Monsieur Titon, who had l»een, begging your pardon,
a terrible deljauchee, and had gone th(^ rounds of the loose women
before hunting after the miracles of the Deacon Paris, he was trans-
ferred, from the Castle of Yinceunes to the Castle of Ham in Picai'dy,
which is, I ccnifess, a suiïiciently ugly })lace. There are wrongs for
you ! I I'ecoUeet — I cried out also iu my day. I was as stupid as
you."

The marquis felt iu his pocket as if seeking his snuff-box, then
continued :

" But not so wicked. We talked just for talk's sake. There Avas
also the naitiny of demands a:il petitions, and then up came those gen-
tlemen the i)hilosophers, and their writings were burned instead of the
authors; the Court ealials mixed themselves in the matter; there were
all those stui^id fellows, Turgot, Quesnay, Malesherbes, the i)hysioerat-
ists, and so forth, and the quarrel began. The whole came from the
scribblers and the rhymsters. The Encyclopedia! Diderot! D'Alem-
bert ! Ah, the wicked scoundrels I To think of a well-born man like
the King of Prussia joining them. I would have supjiressed all those
paper-scratchers. Ah, we were justiciaries, our family ! You may see
there on the wall the marks of the (puirtering-wheel. We did not jest.
No, no; no scribblers! ^\niile there are Arouets, there will be Marats.
As long as there are feUows who scriljble, there will be scoundrels who
assassinate ; as long as there is ink, there will be black stains ; as long
as men's claws hold n goose's feather frivolous stupidities wiU engender
atrocious ones. Books cause crimes. The word chimera has two mean-
ings ; it signifies dream, and it signifies monster. How dearly one i:)ays
for idk; 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, A-isionary enough, sufficiently void of sense? When I say,

XIXETYTHREE. 227

Havoise, the sister of Couan II., brous^lit tlie countj' of Brittaiaj' to Hoel,
Count of Nantes and Coi-nouailles, who left the throne to Ahiiu Fergaut,
the nnele of Bertha, who espoused Alain-le-noir, Lord of Roohe-sur-Yon,
and bore him Couan the Little, grandfather of Guy, or Gau\aiii de
Thouars, our ancestor, I state a thing that is clear, and there is a )-ight.
But your scoundrels, your rascals, your wretches — what do they call
their rights ? Deicide and regicide. Is it not hideotis ? Oh, tln^ clowns !
I am sorry for you, sir, but you lielong to this i)roud Brittany blood;
you and I had CTau\-ain de Thouars for our ancest(jr ; we had for another
that great Duke of Montbazon who was peer of France and honored
with the Grand Collar of the Orders, who attacked the suburb of Tom"s,
and was wounded at the Battle of Ai'cpies, and died Grand Himtsman of
France, in his house of Couzières in Touraine, aged eighty-six. I could
tell you still fui"ther of the Duke dc Laudunois, son of the Lady of Gar-
naehe, of Claude de Loi'raine, Duke de (lievi-ettse, and of Henri de
Leuoucottrt and of Françoise de Laval-Boisdauphin. But to what pur-
pose f Monsieur has the honor of Ijeing 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 your superior as I was then. As you
grew \\\) you found means to belittle yourself. Since we ceased to see
one another each has gone his own Avay — I followed honesty, yoti went
in the opposite direction. Ah, I do not know how all that will finish —
those gentlemen, your friends, are full-blown wretches ! ^"erily, it is
fine, I grant you — a marvelous step gained in the cause of progi'ess ! To
have suppressed in the army the punishment of the pint of water inflicted
on the drunken soldier for three consecutive days ! To have the Max-
imum — the Convention — the Bishop Gobel, Monsieur ('haumette, and
Mon.sieur Hébert — to liave exterminated the Past in one mass, from the
Bastile to the peerage. They replace the saints by vegetables! So be
it, citizens; you are masters ; reign; take yoiu' 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 nol)ility are loftier than you, even with their heads oft".
As for your ca\'iling over the historic rights of royal races, we shrug our
shoidders at that. Chili)eric, in reality, was only a monk named Daniel ;
it was Rainfroi who invented Chilperic, in order to annoy Chailes Mar-
tel; we know those things just as well as you do. The (p;estion does
not lie there. The question is this: to be a great kingdom, to be the
aucit'ut France, to be a country perfectly ordered, wheivin were consid-
ered first the sacred person of its monarehs, absolttte loi'ds of the State;
then the pi-inces; then the officers of the crown for the armies on land
and sea, for the ai'tillery, for the direction and suiierintendence of the

2-28 XIXETY- THREE.

flnaiiees. Aftov that oaiiio the ofReei's of justice, great and small ; those
for the mauagenieut of tcixes and general receipts ; and, lastly, the police
of the kingdom in its three orders. All this Avas fine and nobly regu-
lated; you have destroyed it. You Imve destroyed the provinces, like
the lamentably ignorant creatures you are, without even suspecting
what the i:)ro'sdnces really wer(\ The genius of France held the genius
of the entire continent ; each iirovince of France represented a virtue
of Europe ; the frankness of (lermany was in Picardy ; the generosity
of Sweden in Champagne; the industry of Holland in Burgundy; the
activity- of Pohind in Langi;edoc; the graA'ity of Spain in Grascony; the
Avisdcjni of Italy in Provence; the subtlety of (Ireece in Normandy; the
fidelity of Switzerland in Daujihiny. Ton 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
lialadins, no more heroes. Say good-night to the ancient grandeurs.
Find me a D'Assas at })resent ! 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 Avill have no juore plumes floating
past like meteors ; yoii are a people finished, come to an end ; you Avill
siifi'er the outrage of invasion. If Alaric II. could return, he would no
longer find himself confronte(l by Clovis; if Alideraman could come
back he would not longer find himself face to face with Charles Martel;
if the Saxons, they would no longer find Pepin l)efore them. You will
have no more Agnadel, Rocroy, Lens, Staffarde, Neerwinden, Steinkirke,
La Marsaille, Rancoux, Lawfeld, ]\Iahon ; you will have no ]\Iarignan
with Francis I. ; you will have no Bouvines -w-ith Philip Augustus taking-
prisoner with one hand Renaud, Count of Boulogne, and with the other,
Ferrand, Count of Flanders. You will have Agincourt, but you will
have no more the Sieur de Bac<iueville, gran<l l>earer of the oriflamme,
enveloping himself in his lianner to die. do on — go on — do your work !
Be the new men ! Become dwarfs ! "

The mar(juis was silent for an instant, then began again :
"But leave us great. Kill the kings; kill the nobles; kill the
priests. Tear down; rain; massacre; trample :mder foot; crush ancient
laws beneath your heels; overthrow the throne; stamp upon the altar of
God — dash it in i)ieces — dance above it! On with you to the end.
You are traitors and cowards — incapable of d(>votion or sacrifice. 1
have spoken. Now have me guillotined, monsiem- the viscount. I have
the honor to be noui- very humble servant."
Then lie added:

yiXE T y - TiiiiEE. n%

"Ah! I do uot hesitate to set the truth i)hiiiily before yon. What
difference cau it make to me ? I am dead."

" You are free," said CTau^■aiu.

lie uufastened his eommaudcint's cloak, advanced toward the mar-
quis, 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 f " the marquis asked.

Gauvain raised his voice, and cried :

"Lieutenant, open to me."

The door opened.

Gauvain exclaimed :

" Close the door carefuUy behind me ! "

And he pushed the stupefied marquis across the thresliold. Tb.e liall
tmnied into a guard-room, was lighted, it will be remembered, Ijy a horn
lanteru, whose faint rays only broke the shadows here and there. Such
of the soldiers as were not asleep saw dindy a man of lofty stature,
^Tapped in the mantle and hood of the connnandei-in-chief, pass
through the midst of them and move toward the entrauci'. They made
a military salute and the man passed on.

The marquis slowly traversed the guard-room, the lircach — uot
withoiit hitting his head more than once — and went out.

The sentinel, believing that he saw Gauvain, 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 sjiace, 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 advantage 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 thimd) and middle finger, and said, "My faith!"
And lie hurried on.

The door of the dungeon had closed again. Gauvain was within.

CIIAPTEE II

THE COUKT-MAETIAL

T that period nil coni'ts-niai-tial were very nearly discretion-
ary. Dumas Lad ottered in the Assembly a rough plan of
military legislation, improved later by Talot in the Council
(if the Five Hundred, l)ut the definitive code of war-councils
was only drawn up under the Emi>ire. Let us add in parenthesis, that
from the Empire dates the law imposed on milittiry trilmuals to com-
mence receiving the votes by the lowest grade. Under the Revolution
this law did not exist.

In 1793 the president of a military tribunal was almost the tribunal
in himself. He chose the membei'S, classed the order of gi'ades, regu-
latf'd tlic nuiuner of voting; was at once master and judge.

Cimourdain had selected for the hatl of the coiirt-martial that very
room on the ground-floor where tlu^ retirade had been erected, and Avhere
the guard was now established. He wished to shorten every thing; the
road from the prison to the ti-ibunal, and the passage from the tribunal
to the scaffold.

In conformity with his orders tho court began its sitting at midday
with no other show of state than this: three straw-bottomed chaii's, a
pin(^ table, two lighted candles, a stool in front of the table.

The chairs were for the judges, a-nd the stool for the accused. At
either end of the table also stood a stool, one for the commissioner
anditor, who was a quarter-master; 1lie oilier for tin; registrar, who was
a corporal.

On the table were a stick of red sealing-wax, a brass seal of the
Republic, two inkstands, some sheets of white paper, and two printed
placards s])read open, the first containing the declaration of outlawi'y,
the second the decree of the Convention.

'I'lie tri-cojored Hag liung on llie !iacl< of the middle cliair; in tliat

2:jU

THE COURT-MARTIAL.

XIXETY- THREE. 233

period of rude simplicity decorations were quickly arranged, and it
needed little time to change a guard-rdom into a court of justice.

The middle ehaii-, intended for the president, stood in face of the
piison 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 Cap-
tain Guéchamp, first judge, and at his left Sergeant Eadoub, second
judge.

Cimourdain wore a hat witli a tri-colored cockade, his sabre at his
side, and his two pistols in his belt. His sc;ir, of a Anvid i-cd, added to
his savage ap2:)earancc.

Radoub's wound had Ijctui only partially staunched. He had a
handkerchief knotted about his head, upon which a blood-stain slowly
widened.

At midday the court had not yet opened its proceedings. A mes-
senger, whose horse could l:»e heard stamping outside, stood near the
table of the triljunal. 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 calh^d in a loud voice :

" ()iK'n the dungeon."

The two gendarmes drew back the bolts, opened the door of the
dungeon, and entered.

Cimoui'dain lifted his head, folded his arms, fixed his eyes on the
<loor, and cried :

" Bring out the prisoner."

A man appeared between the two gendarmes, standing l)eneath 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?"

" J «

"And Lantenac ? "
" He is free."
" Free f "
" Yes."

2U NIXE T Y -Til R UU.

" Escaped I "

" Escaped."

("iinourdaiu ti'embled as ho stainniered :

" In ti'uth the castle belougs to hiiu — he knows all its outlets. The
dungeon may conununicatc with some secret opening — I ought to have
rememberiHl that he would tind means to escape. He woiild not need
any person's aid for that."

" He was aided," said (Tauvaiu.

" To escape Î "

" To escape."

"Who aided him I"

14 T V

"Tliou?"

"I."

" Thou art dreaming ! "

" I went into the dungfon ; I was alone with the prisoner; I took
off my cloak; I put it al)out 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 doit!"

" I did it."

" It is impossiljle ! "

" It is true."

" Bring me Lantenac ! "

" He is no longer here. The soldiers, seeing the commandant's
numtle, 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. (Jimourdaiii stammcred :

"Then thou hast meritrd "

" Death," said (lauvaiu.

Cimourdain Avas pale as a corpse. He sat motionless as a man wlio
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:

" CTondarmt^s, seat the accused."

Gauvain placed himself on tlie stool.

Cimourdain added :

"Gendarmes, draw your sabres."

Gimourdain's voice had got l)ack its oi'dinary tone.

" Accused," said he, " you will stand Tip."

He no longer said thee and thoii to Gaiivain.

CHAPTER 111

T H E Y ( ) TEK

AT^VATN rose.

"What is your name?" demanded ('imounlaiii.
The answer came unhesitatingly — " (lauvain."
Cimonrdain continued the intervogat(jry :

'■ Who are you !"

"lam Cominande]--in-Chief of tlie Expeditionary Cohinui of the
Côtes-du-Nord."

" Are you a relative or a conui^-tion of the man who has escaped ?"

" I am his grand-neiihew."

"You are acquainted with the decree of the Convention ?"

" I see the placard lying on your talile."

" What have you to say in I'egard 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 whidi is my
name."

" Choose a defender."

" I will defend myself."

" You can speak."

Cimoiu'dain had become again impassible. But his imjiassiliiHty
resembled the sternness of a rock rather than the calmness of a man.

Gauvain remained silent for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts.

Cimonrdain spoke again :

"What have you to say in yonr defense!"

Gauvain slowly raised his head, but Avithont lîxiiig 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 ])etween me

236 NIXE T Y - THREE.

and dut}'. I forgot tlio burned villages, the ravaged fields, the butch-
ered prisoners, the slaughtered wounded, the women shot; I forgot
France betrayed to England; I set at liberty the murderer of our
country. I am guilty. In speaking tlius, I seem to speak against my-
self; it is a mistake. I sjieak in my own Ijehalf, When the guilty
acknowledges his fault, he saves the only thing worth the trouble of
saving — honor."

" Is that," returned ( 'iniuurdain, " all you have to say in your (jwn
defense i "

"I add, that being the chief, I owe(l an exampl<'; and that you in
your turn, being judges, owe one."

" What example do you demand f "

" My death."

" You find that just i "
■ '' And necessary."

" Be seated."

The quarter-master, who was auditor commissioner, rose and read,
first, the decree of outlawry against the ci-devant Mar<iuis de Lantenac;
secondly, the decree of the Convention ordaining capital itunishment
against whosoever should aid the evasion of a rebel prisoner. He closed
with the lines printed at the bottom of the placard, forbidding "to give
aid or succor to the below-named reliel, under penalty of death;" signed,
" Conini(iii(lcr-in-Chi('f of tJie E.rpedlfioiuir// ColmiDi — GtAuvain." These
notices read, the auditor eommissioner sat down again.

Cimourdain folded his arms and said :

"Accused, i)ay attention. Pul)lic, listen, look, and be silent. You
have before yon th(Ua\v. TIk^ votes will now be taken. The sentence
will be given ac<'ording to the majority. Each judge will aimounce his
decision aloud, in presence of the accused, justice having nothing to
conceal."

CimoTU'dain continued :

"The first judge will give liis vote. Speak, ('aptain Guéchamp."

Captain Cluéchamp seemed to see neither Cimourdain nor Clauvain.
His downcast liils concealed his eyes, Avhich remained fixed upon the
placard of the decree as if tliey were staring at a gulf. He said :

" Tlie 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 aman
IxH-ause he holds the sword of justice. In the 414th year of Eome,
jManlius jint his son to death for the crinu' 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 Iiighei- than discipline.
Thnmgli an emotion of pity, the (.•<)untry is again endangered. Pity

XIXU T Y - THREE. 037

may wear the proportions of a crime. Commandant (riiuvain has

helped the rebel Lantenac to escape. Gauvaiii is guilty. I vote

death."

" Write, registrai-," said Cimourdain.

The clerk wrote, " Captain (juéchamp : death."

Gauvain's voice rang- out, clear and firm.

"Guéehamp," said he, "you have voted well, and I thank vnu."

Cimourdain resumed :

" It is the turn of the second judge. Speak, Sergeant Eadoub."

Radoub rose, tui-ned toward Gauvain, and made tlit> accused a mili-
tary salute. Then he exclaimed :

"If that is the way it goes, then guillotine niu ; fur I give, here,
before God, my most sacred word of honor that I would like to have
done, first, what the old man did, and, after that, what my commandant
did. "When I saw that old feUow, eighty years of age, jump into the
fire to pull three 1 )rats 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 lieast of a guillotine, I say, ' ]My commandant, you oiight to
be my general, and you are a true man, and, as for me, thunder ! I
wovdd 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 jaresent f
If it was for these sort of things that we gained the Battle of Jenimapes,
the Battle of Valmy, the Battle of Fleurus, and the Battle of Wattig-
nies, then you had better say so. What ! Here is Commandant Gau-
vain, who, for these four months past, has Ijeen driving those asses of
Royalists to the beat of the drum, and saving the Republic 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 saj^ it is
enough to make a fellow throw himself off the Pont Neuf head fore-
most! You, yourself, Citizen Gauvain, my conunandant, if you were
my corporal instead of Iteing my sujierior, 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 l)al)ies 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 have it done as not. Just
suppose! If the children had lieeii killed, the battalion of the B<mnet

2;ScS NINE T Y - TH R E E.

Rouge would have beeu dislionored ! Is that -what was wished for I
Wliy, then, let us eat each other up and l»e done. 1 uuderstaud politics
as well as any of you — I belonged to the Club of the 8ectiou of
Pikes. Zounds, we are coming 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 j^uzzling you don't know any longer where you stand.
What the devil is it we get ourselves killed for t In order that some-
body may kill our chief ! Xone of that, Lisette ! I Avant my chief. I
will have my chief. I love him better to-day than I did yesterday.
8end him to the guillotine ! Why, you make me laugh ! Now we are
not going to have any thing of that sort. I have listened. People may
say what they please. In the first i)lace it is not possiljle ! "

And Radouli sat down again. His woixnd had re-opened. ^V thin
stream of blood exuded from under th(> kerchief, and ran along liis neck
from the place where his ear had 'been.

( 'imourdain turned toward the sergeant.

"You V(.ite for the acrputtal of the ac-cused ? "

" I A'ote," said Radoub, "that he l)e made general."

"I ask if you vote for liis acquittal."

" I vote for his lieing made head of tlu^ Repultlic."

"Sergeant Radouli, do you A'ote tliat (Jommandnnt (iauvtun l>e
ac( quitted — yes or no ?"

"I A'ote that my head lie cut off in i)la('e of his."

"Acquittal," said ( 'imoui'dain. " Write it, registrar."

The clerk wrote, " Sergeant liadoub: acquittal."

Then the clerk said :

"One vt)ice for death. One voice foi- aci|uittal. A tie."

It was (Jimourdain's tiu-n to vote.

He rose. He took oft' his hat and laid it on the table.

He was no longer pale or livid. His face was the color of
clay.

Had all the spectators been corpses lying there in their Avinding-
sheets, the silence could not have hoini more profound.

Cimourdain said, in a solemn, sloAV, firm A'oice:

"Accused, the case has l)een heai'd. In the name of tli(> Republic,
the court-martial, by a maj(_)rity of twt) A'oices "

He broke off; there was an instant of terrible suspense. Did he
hesitate before pronouncing the sentence of death? Did he hesitate
before granting life? EA'ery listener lield his breath.

('inioui'(Iain continued :

"Condemns you to death."

His face exjjressed the tortun'of an awful triumph. Jacoh, Avhen

N^INE T Y - THREE. 239

lie forced the angel, whom he had overthrown in the darkness, to bless
him, ninst have worn that fearful smile.

It was only a gleam — it passed. Cimourdain was luai'ltie again.
He seated himself, \mi on his hat, and added :

" Clauvain, 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 ; Gauvain
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.

CHAPTER I Y

AFTER CIMOFEDAIX THE .It'DGE COMES CniOUEDAIX THE ilASTEE

('AMI* is a A\ asp's uc^st. In re volutiuiiary times above all.
The civic sting which is in tlie soldier moves quickly, and
does not hesitate to pvick the chief after having chased
away the enemy. The valiant troop which had taken La
T<.>nrgu(' was filled with diverse commotions; at first against (Com-
mandant riauvain when it learned that Lantenac had escaped. As Gan-
vain issned from the dnngeon which had l)een helieved to hold the mar-
quis, the news spread as if hy electricity, and in an instant the whole
iirmy was informed. A murmur hurst forth; it was: " They are trying
Gauvain. But it is a sliani. Trust ci-devants and priests ! We have
just seen a viscount save a marquis, and now we are going to see a
priest al)solve a nol )le ! "

When the news of ( iauvain's condenuiation came, there was a second
murmur :

" It is horrible ! (_)ur chief, our brave chief, our young commander —
a hero ! He uiay be a viscount — very well ; so inueh the more merit in
his being a Republican. What, he, the lil^erator of Pontorson, of Ville-
dieu, of Pont-au-Beau ! The conqueror of Dol and La Tourgue ! He
who makes us invincilile! lie, the swoi'd of the Republic in Vendée!
The man who, for five months, has held the ( 'liouans at bay, and repaired
all the blunders of Léchelle and the others! This Gimourdain to dare
condemn him to death! For what? Because he save(l an old man
who had saved three children ! A ]>riest kill a soldier ! "

Thus muttered tlie Aictorious and discontented camp. A stern rage
surrounded Cimourdain. Four thousand men against one — that should
seem a ]>ower; it is not. These four tliousand men were a crowd;
( 'inu)U)-d;iiii was a will. It was known that ( "imoui'dain's frown came
easily, and nothing more was needed to hold the ai'iiiy in respect. In

■.'40

NINE T Y- THREE. ui

those stem days it was sufficient for a man to have behind him the
shadow of the Committee of Public Safety to make that man formi-
dable, to make imprecation die into a whisper, and the whisper into
silence.

Before, as after the uuirmurs, Cimourdain remained the arbiter of
Gauvaiu's fate as he did of the fate of aU. They knew there was
nothing to ask of him, that he would only obey his conscience — a super-
human voice audible to his ear alone. Every thing 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 Gauvaiu 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.

CHAPTER V

T][F. 1iTX(;K()N

IIFj liall of jiistict" had lioconic again a guai-d-room ; the guard
was doidilt'd as upon the ]ii-i'vious evening; two sentinels
stood on duty before the rloscd door of tlie prison.

Towai'd niiduiglit, a man wlio held a, lantern in liis hand
traversed the liall, nunlc himself known to tlie sentries, and ordered the
dungeon open. It was Ciniounlain.

He enter(>d, and the door remained ajar behind him. The dungeon
was dark and silent. Cinnmrdain moved forward a step in the gloom,
set the lantei-n on the ground, and stood still. He could hear amidst
the shadows the measured breath of a- sleeping man. Oimonrdain lis-
tened thoughtfidly to this ]ieaeeful sound.

(lauvain layon a Imiidleof straw at tlie farther enil of the dungeon.
It was his ])reathing A\-liicli i-aught the new-comer's ear. He was sleep-
ing profoun<lly.

Cimoui'daiii advam-ed as noiselessly as possible, moved close, and
looked down upon (lauvain ; the glance of a mother watching her nurs-
ling's slumber <m)u1(1 not have been more tender or fuller of love. Even
( 'imourdaiu's will could not control that glance. He jiressed his clenched
liaiids against his eyes with tlie gestur(^ one sometimes sees in cliildren,
and remained for a moment niotionh'ss. Then he knelt, softly raised
Gauvain's hand, and pressed his lips upon it.

(iauvain stirred. He opened his eyes full of the wonder of sudden
waking. He recognize<l ( 'imom-daiii in the dim light which the lantern
cast about the cave.

"Ah," said he, "it is you, my mastei-."

And he added :

" I dreamed that Death was kissing my hand.'"

Cimourdain started as one does sometimes under the sudden rush

243

THE DUNGEON.

.Y IXETY-IHRE E. 245

of a flood of thouglats. Sometimes the tide is so lii.nl i .-ind so stovmy
that it seems as if it would dro-s\Ti the soul.

Not an echo from the overcharged depths of Cimourdaiii's iicart
found vent in words. He could only say, " Gauvain ! "

And the two gazed at one another ; Cimoui-(hiiii with his eyes full
of those flames which burn uj) tears; Gauvain with his sweet t^st smile.

Gauvain raised himself on his elbow, and said :

" That sear 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 Pro\àdence had not placed you near my cradle, where
should I l;)e to-day 'i In outer darkness. If I have my conception of
duty, it is from you that it conies 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 Avould have been an abortion you put a
conscience. Without you I should have grown uji 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. Dh, my master ! I thank jon. It is you who
have created me."

Cimourdain seated himself on the straw beside Gauvain, and said :

" I have come to sup with thee."

Gauvain broke the black bread and handed it to him. Cimourdain
took a morsel ; then Gauvain offeriMl 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 terriljle reigneil in this dungeon.
The two men conversed.

Gauvain said:

"Grand events are sketching themselves. What the Revolution
does at this moment is mysterious. Beliind the visible work stands the
invisible. One conceals the other. The visible work is savage, the
invisible sublime. In this instant I perceive all very clearly. It is
strange and beaiitiful. It has been necessary to make use of the mate-
rials of the Past. Hence this marvelous '93. Beneath a scaffolding of
barbarism, a temple of ci\'ilization is building."

04G KIXE T Y - TH R EE.

" Yes," replied Chuonrdaiu. " Fi'oni this provisional will rise the
detiuitive. The definitive — that is to say, right and dnty — are j)arallel ;
taxes proportional and progressive ; military service obligatory ; a level-
ing Avithont deviation; and aliove the whole, making part of all, thnt
straight line, the law. The Repulilic of the absolute."

" I prefer," said ( ninvain, " the ideal Republic."

He paused for an instant, then continued:

" Oh, my master ! in all which you have just said, where do you place
devotion, sacrifice, abnegation, the sweet interlacing of kindnesses, love I
To set all in eciuililiriuni, it is Avell ; to jmt all in harmony is better.
Above the Balance is the Lyre. Your Republic weighs, measures,
regailates man ; mine lifts him into the open sky ; it is the ditïerenee
between a theorem and an eagle."

" You lose yourself in the clouds."

" And you in calculation."

" Harmony is full of dreams."

" There are such, to(\ in algebra."

" I would have man made by the rules of Euclid."

"And I," said Gauvain, " would like him l)etter as pictured by
Homer."

Cimourdain's seveiv smile remained fixed upon Uauvain, as if to
hold that soul steady.

" Poesy ! Mistrust i:)oets."

" Yes, I know that saying. Mistrust the zephyrs, mistrust the sun-
shine, mistrust the sweet odors of spring, mistrust the flowers, mistrust
the stars ! "

"Nouf of tliese things can feed man."

"How do you know? Thought is nourishment. To think is to
eat."

"No abstractions! Tlie Republic is the law of two and two make
four, ^^^l(■n I have given to each the share Avhich belongs to him "

"If still remains to give the sliare whi<-h do(>s not belong to
him."

"Wliat do you understand liy 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 every thing."

" I only se(î justice."

" And T— I look higher."

"What can there be above justice'?"

" Equity."

XIXE T y - THR EE. U1

At certain instants they paused as if liglituing ilaslies su(l<lciily
ehilled them.

Cimouvdain resumed :

" Particularize ; I defy yovi."

" So be it. You wish military service made obligatory. Against
whom ? Against other men. I — I would have no military service. I
want peace. You wish the wretched succored ; 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 Ijy the social surplus."

" What do you understand by tliat ?"

''This: tirst suppose parasitisms — the parasitisms of the ])riest, the
judge, the soldier. After that turn your riches to account. You tling
manure into the sewer ; east it into the furrow. Three parts of the soil
are waste land; clear np France; suppress useless pastm-e-grounds ;
divide the communal lands. Let each man have a farm and each farm
a man. You will increase a hundred-fold the social ^n'oduct. At this
moment France only gives her peasants meat four days in the year;
well cultivated, she would nourish three hundi-eil millions of men- — all
Em'ope. Utilize nature, that immense auxiliary so disdained. Make
every wind toil for you, every water-fall, every magnetic effluence. The
giolje has a sul>terranean net-work of veins ; there is in this net- work a
prodigious circulation of water, oil, tii-e. 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 rt-flux, the elib
and flow of the tides. What is the ocean ? An enormous power allowed
to waste. How stupid is earth not to make use of the sea ! "

" 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."

" What f "

"That man shall Ije the servant of woman."

"Can you think of it?" cried Cimourdain. "Man a servant?
Never! Man is master. I admit only one royalty — that of (Ik; fireside.
Man in his house is king ! "

"Yes. On one condition."
■ "Wliat?"

That woman shall lie (p;een there."

.4 rni

248 NINE T Y - THREE.

"That is to say, you \visli inau and ■woman "

"E(iuality."

"Equality! Cixii you dream of it? The two creatures arc dif-
ferent."

"I said equality; 1 did not say identity."

There was auother pause, like a sort of truce between two spirits
flinging lightniugs. Cimourdaiu Ijroke the silence: "And the oft'spriug?
To Avhom do you consign them .' "

"First to the father who engenders, then to the motlier wlio gives
hirth, tlicn to the master who rears, then to the city that civilizes, then
to the country which is the nn)ther supreme, then to Innnanity, wlio is
the great ancestor."

"You do not speak of dod ?"

"Each of those degrees — fathei-, mother, master, city, country, liu-
nianity — is one of the rungs in the lad(h'r which leads to (lod."

Cimourdaiu was silent.

Gauvain contiiu;ed :

" When one is at th(> t(ip of the ladder, one has reached (lod.
Heaven opens — one has only to enter."

('imourdain made a gesture like a man calling another back.

" (Tauvain, return to earth. We wish to realize the possilile."

" Do not commence l)y rendering it inq)OssiV)le."

"The possilile always realizes itself."

"Not always. If one treats l^topin liarsldy, one slays it. Nothing
is more defenseless than th(^ ^'i^iX-^

" iStill it is nei_'.essary to seize I'topia, to put the yoke of the real
upon it, to frame it in tlie actual. The abstract idea must transform
itself into the concrete ; Avhat it loses in beauty, it will gain in useful-
ness ; it is lessened, but made better. Right must enter into law, and
Avhen right makes itself law, it becomes absolute. That is what I call
the possible."

"Tlie i)ossible is more than that."

"Ah ! tliere you are in dream-land again ! "

"The ]}ossible is a mysterious bird, always soaring above man's
head."

" It nuist be cauglit."

"l.iving."

Crauvain <'on1imied :

"This is my thouglit: Constant progression. If God had meant
man to rc^trograde, he would Iiave placed an eye in the back of his head.
IjcI us look always tow^ard the dawn, the blossoming, the birth; that
Avhich falls encoiii'ages that which mounts. The cracking of the old tree

XI XE T Y - THREE. W.)

is au appeal to the ne"vr. Eaeli contm'j' must do its work ; to-day civie,
to-moi'vow humau. To-day, tlie questiou of right; to-morrow, th(^ quos-
tiou of salary. Salary and rii;ht — the same word at hottoin. ^laii docs
uot live to 1)6 paid nothiug. lu giviug life, God contracts a délit. J\ig]it
is the jiaymeut in])orn; ^payment is right acquired."

Gauvaiu spoke with the earnestn(\'<s of a i)rophet. Cimourdaiii Us-
tened. Their rôles were chauged ; now it seemed the pupil who was
master.

Cimourdain murmuivd :

" You go rapidly."

"Pei"haps because I am a, little pressed for time," said (Tanvaiii,
smiling. And he added, "Oil, my master! behold the ditïerence between
our two Utopias. You wish the garrison obligatory, I the school. You
dream of man, the soldier; I dream of man, the citizen. You want liim
terrible; I want him a thinker. You foiind a Repnljlic xipon swords;
I foimd "

He interrupted himself :

"I would found a Republic of intellects."

Cimourdain bent his eyes on the jiaveinent of the dungeon, and
said :

'"And while Avaiting for it, what would you have!"

" That which is."

"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. Brit could it do otherwise than it does? It is charged with a
dititicult task. Before the horror of miasma, I comprehend the fury of
the l)last."

(xauvain continued :

"Moreover, why should I fear the tempest if I have my conqiass?
How can events affect nie if I have my conscience ?"

And he added, in a low, solenni voice :

" There is a power that must always l)e allowi>d to guide."

"What?" demanded Cimourdain.

Gauvain raised his finger above his head. Ciniourdaiu's eyes fol-
lowed the direction of that uiilifted finger, and it seemed to him that
across the dungeon vault he beheld the starlit sky.

Both were silent again.

Cimourdain spoke first.

O50 XIXE T Y - Til U EE.

"Society is greater tliau Nature. L tell you, tliis is no longer pos-
sibility — it is a dream/'

"It is the goal. Otherwise of what use is Society f lîciiiaiu iu
Nature. Be savages. Otaheite is a paradise. Only the inhaliitants of
that paradise do not think. An intelligent hell would be preferable to
an imbruted heaven. But no — no hell. Let us be a human society.
Greater than Natm-e I Yes. If you add nothing to Nature, why go
beyond her! Content yourself with work, like the ant; -with honey,
like the bee. Remain the working drudge instead of the queen intelli-
gence. If you add to Natin-e, you necessarily become greater than she;
to add is to augment ; to augment is to grow. Society is Natiu-e sub-
limated. I want all that is lacking to bee-hives, all that is lacking to
ant-hills— monuments, arts, i)oesy, heroes, genius. To l:)ear eternal
burdens is not the destiny of man. No, no, no; no more pariahs, no
more slaves, no more convicts, no more danuied ! I desire that each of
the attriljutes of man should Ije a symbol of civilization and a patron
of progress; I Avould place lilierty l)efore the spirit, equality l)efore the
heart, fraternity before the soul. No more yokes ! Man was made not
to drag chains, but to soar on wings. N(j more of man I'eptile. I wish
the transfiguration of the larva into the winged creature; I wish the
^vov\■a of the earth to turn int( > a living flower and fly away. I wish "

He liroke otï. His eyes l)lazed. His lips moved. He ceased to
speak.

The door had remained open. Sounds from without penetrated
into the dungeon. The distant i)eal of trumpets could be heard, prob-
ably the reveille ; then the liutt-end of nmskets striking the ground as
the sentinels were relieved ; then, (piite near the toAver, as well as one
could judge, a noise like the moving of planks and beams; followed liy
nniffled, intermittent echoes like the strokes of a hammer.

Oimourdain grew pale as he listened. Clauvain heard nothing. His
reverie^ Ijecame more and more profound. He seemed no longer to
l)reathe, so lost was he in the vision that shone upon his soul. Now and
then he started slightly. The morning which illuminated his eyes waxed
grander.

Some time passed thus. Tlieii ( 'imoni'daiu asked :

" Of what are you thinking."

"Of the Future," replied Gauvain.

He sank l>ack into his meditation. Oimourdain rose from the bed
of straw where the two wei'e sitting. Gauvain did not perceive it.
Keeping his eyes fixed upon the dreamer, Oimourdain moved slowly
l)ackward toward the door an<l went out. The dungeon closed again.

CHAPTER YI

WHEN THE SUN ROSE

VY hroke along tlie horizon. And with the day, an olgect,
strange, motionless, mysterious, which the birds of heaven
<lid not recognize, appeared upon the plateau of La. Toui-gnie
and towered above the Forest of Fougères.

it had been placed there in the niglit. 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 like a Hebrew letter or one of
those Egj^itian hieroghqihics which made part of the alphabet of the
ancient enigma.

At tlie first glance the idea which this object roused was its lack of
keeping with the surroundings. It stood amidst the Ijlossoming heath.
One asked one's self for what purpose it could l)e useful t 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 susiiended some triangular object wliich 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 gi'oove, so that it could be hoisted or
lowered at will. For the time, the two crescents, which formed the
circle when closed, were drawn apart. At the foot of the two posts sup-
porting tlie triangle was a })lank 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, a square basket.
The monster was painted red. The whole was made of wood except the

251

252 KIXU T Y - TEREK

triaugie — that was iron. One would have kuowu the thing must have
been constructed hy 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 gitillotine.

In front of it, a few paces off, another monster rose (lut of the ravine
— La Tourgue. A monster of stone lising up to hold companionshii)
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 terrible offspring of the Past, called the Bastile in
Paris, the Tower of London in England, the Spielljerg in Germany, the
Escurial in Spain, the Kremlin in Moscow, the Castle of Saint Angelo in
Rome.

In La Tourgue were coiidensed fifteen hundred years — the Middle
Age — vassalage, servitude, feudality; in the guillotine one year — '93,
and these twelve months made a coiinterpoise to those fifteen centuries.

La Toiirgue Avas Monarchy; the guillotine was Revolution. Tragic
confrontation !

On one side the delator, on the otlier the creditor.

On one side the inextricaljle (iotliic complication of serf, lord, slave,
master, jilebeian, nobility, the complex code ramifying into customs ;
judge and jn'iest in coalition, shackles innumerable, fiscal impositions,
excise laws, mortmain, taxes, exemptions, prerogatives, prejudices, fanat-
icisms, the royal privilege of Ijankruptcy, 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 Tottrgue had long stood alone in the midst of this wilderness.
There she had frowned with her machicolated casements, from whence
had streamed boiling oil, Idaziiig pitch, and melted lead; hei- oubliettes
paved with human skeletons ; her torture-chaml)er ; the whole hideous
tragedy with whicli she was filled. Rearing her funereal front above
the forest, she had j^assed 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 ha<l been the realization
of barljarisni, and suddenly she saw rise before her and against her,
something — more tlian something — as terrible as herself^tlie guillo-
tine.

Ina-nimate olgects sometimes appear endowed "\\ath a strange power
of siglit. A statue notices, a tower watches, the face of an edifice con-
templates. La Tourgue seemed to Ije studying the guillotine. She
seemed to question herself concerning it. What was that object f It

XIXE T Y - THREE. 253

looked as if it had sprung- out of the eartli. It was fi-oin tlinv, in truth,
that it had risen.

The sinister tree had germinated in tlio fatal giouiKJ. (Jut of the
sod watered by so much of human sweat, so many tears, so niurli lilood
— out of the earth in which liad 1)een dug so many trenches, so many
graves, so many caverns, so numy ambuscades — out of tliis 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 mi-
known, this avenger, this ferocious sword-bearer, and '93 had said to
the Old World, " Behold me ! "

And the guillotine had \\\o. right to s;iy to the donjon towei-, "I ain
thy daughter."

And, at the same time, tlie 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 gran-
ite was majestic, but infamous; that iilank with its black triangle Avas
worse. The all-powerful fallen, trembled before the all-powerful risen.
Criminal history was studying judicial history. The Aaolence of l)y-
gone days was comparing itself with the violence of the present; thi'
ancient fortress, the ancient prison, the ancient seigneury where tor-
tiu'ed \'ietims had shrieked out their lives; that construction of war and
miu'der, now useless, defenseless, violated, dismantled, uncrowned, a
heap of stones with no more than a heap of ashes, hideous yet magnifi-
cent, dying, dizzy with the a\vful memovies of all those by-gone cent-
uries, watched the terribh; living Present sweep up. Yesterday trem-
bled before to-day ; antique ferocity acknowledged and bowed its head
before this fresh horror. The jjower which was sinking into nothing-
ness opened eyes of fright upon this new-born terror ; the phantom
stared at the spectre.

Xatin-e is jiitiless ; she never withdraws her flowers, her music, her
fragrance, and her sunlight from before human cruelty or suffering.
8he overwhelms man by the contrast between divine beauty and social
hideousness. She spares him nothing of her loveliness, ucitlicr wing of
butterfly nor song of bird. In tlie midst of murder, veng(îance, barbar-
ism, he must feel himself watched by holy things ; he can not escape
the immense reproach of universal nature and the implacable serenity
of the sky. The deformity of human laws is forced to exhiljit itself
naked amidst the dazzling rays of eternal beauty. ]\Ian lireaks and
destroys; man lays waste; man kills; but the summer remains sununer;
tlie lily remains the lily; the star remains the star.

254 NINETY -THREE.

Never had a nn >i-niii,ii' dawned fresher and more yiorious than this.
A soft Ijreeze stirred tlic hinxtli, a warm haze rose amidst the branches;
the Forest of Fougères permeated by the breath of hidd(Mi Ijrooks,
smoked in the dawn lik(^ a A'ast censer filled with pei'fumes ; the blue of
the fii-mament, the whiteness of tlie clouds, the transparency of the
streams, the verdure, that harmonious gradation of color from aqua-
marine to emerald, the groTips of friendly trees, the mats of grass, the
peaceful fields, all Ijreathed that purity Avhich is Nature's eternal coun-
sel to man.

In the midst of all this rose the horrible front of luinian shameless-
ness; in the midst of all this appeared the fortress and the scaffold, war
and })unishment ; the incarnations of the bloody age and the bloody
moment; the owl of the night of the Past and th(^ bat of the cloud
darkene(l dawn of the Future. And lilossomiug, od(^r-giving creation,
loving and cliarming, and the grand sky golden with morning spread
al)0ut La Tourgue and the guillotine, and seemed to say to man, "Be-
hold my work and yours."

Such are the terrible reproaches of ï\w sunlight !

This spectacle had its spectators.

The four thousand men of the little expeditionary army were drawn
lip in Itattle order upon the plateau. They surroun<led the guillotine on
three sides in such a manner as to form al.)out it the shape of a letter E ;
the l)attery phi('e(l in tlie centre of tlie largest line made the notch of
the E. The red monster was inclosed by these three battle fronts ; a
sort of wall of soldiers spread out on two sides to the edge of the pla-
teau ; the fourth side, left open, was the ravine, which seemed to frown
at La Tourgue.

These arra,ngements made a long sipnire, in the centre of which
stood tlie scaffold, (rradually, as the sun mounte<l higher, the shadow
of 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 lireath of the
expiring conflagration.

This cloud encircL^d without veiling La Tourgue, whose lofty plat-
form overlooked the whole horizon. There was only the width of the
ravine between the platform aiul the guillotine. The one could have
parleyed with the other.

The taille of the tribunal and the chair shadowed by the tri-colored
flags had lieen set upon the platform. The sun rose higher behind La
Tourgue, Itringing out the black mass of the fortress clear and defined,
and ri'v<'aling upon its summit the figure of a man in the chair beneath
the Ijanners, sitting motionless, his ai'ius crossed upon his In-east.

XINETY-THHEE. 255

It was Cimourdain. He avoi-c, as on the previous day, his civil del-
egate's dress; ou his head was the hat with the tri-rolor.'d cockade; liis
sabre at his side ; his pistols in his belt.

He sat sileut. The Avhole crowd Avas mute. The soldiers stood
Avith downcast eyes, musket in hand — stood so cIoscî that their shoulders
touched, but no one spoke. Tlu^y Avere meditating confusedly Tipon this
Avar; the numberless combats, thi^ hedge-fusillades so In-avcly con-
fronted ; the hosts of peasants driven back Ity their might ; the citadels
taken, the battles Avon, tlui victories gained, and it seemed to them as if
all that glory had tui-ned 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 splendor of the
morning filled the sky with its majesty.

Suddenly the sound of nnittled di-ums broke the stillness. The
funereal tones swept nearer. The ranks opened — a (îortége entered the
square and moved toward the scaffold.

Fii'st, the drummers Avith their crape-Avreathed drums; then a com-
pany of gi'enadiers Avith reversed arms; then a platoon of gendai'iues
Avitli draAvn sabres ; then the condemned — (i-auA'ain.

He walked forward Avith a. free, firm step. He had no fettci-s on
hands or feet. He was in ;iii unilr<'ss uniforin, and wor(^ his sword.
Behind him marched another platoon of gendarmes.

Gauvain's face Avas still lighted by that pensiA'e joy wliich luul
illuminated it at the moment when he said to Cimounhiin, " I am tliink-
ing of the Future." Nothing could lie more touching and sulilime ih:iu
that smile.

When he reached tlu^ fatal square, his first glance was directed
toward the sununit of the tower. He disdained the guillotine.

He kneAV that Cimourdain would make it an inq)eratiA'e duty to
assist at the execution. His eyes sought the platform. He saw him
there.

Cimourdain Avas ghastly and cold. Those standing near him coulil
not catch eA'en the sound of his breathing. Not a tremor shook his
frame Avhen he saAv Clauvain.

Gauvaiu moved toward the scaffold. As he Avalked on, he looked
at Cimourdain, and Cimourdain looked at him. It seeuK^d as if Cimour-
dain rested his A'ery S(nil uin)u that clear glance.

GauA'ain reached the foot of the scaffold. He ascended it. The
officer who commanded the grenadiers follo\A'e<l 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 liceu so handsome. His

25G KIXH T Y - THREE.

brown eurls floated in the wind ; at the time it was not the eustom to cut
oft" the hair of those abont to be executed. His wliite neck reminded one
of a woman ; his heroic and sovereign glaucie made one think of an arch-
angel. He stood tliere on the scaffold lost in thought. That place of
punishment was a height too. Clauvain stood upon it, erect, jiroud,
tranquil. Tlie 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 themselves no longer ; the hearts of
those stern warriors gave way.

A mighty sound swelled up — tin- uiiit<Ml sol) of a whole army. A
clamor rose : " Mercy ! mercy ! "

Some fell upon their knees ; others flung away their guns and
stretched their arms toward the platform where ('imourdain was seated.
One grenadier pointed to the guillotine, and cried, "A substitute ! A
substitute ! Take me ! "

All ri^ijeated frantically, " Mercy ! mercy ! " Had a troop of lions
heard, the}' must have l)een softened or territied ; the tears of soldiers
are terrible.

The executioner hesitated, no longer knowing what to do.

Then a A'oice, quick and low, but so stern that it was audible to
every eai*, spoke from the top of the tower:

"" Fulfill the law ! "

All recognized tliat inexoraltle tone. Cimourdain had spoken. The
army shuddered.

The executioner hesitated iid longer. He approached, holding out
tlie cord.

" Wait ! " said Uauvain.

He turned toward Cimourdain, made a gesture of farewell vrith his
right hand, Avhieh was still free, then allowed himself to l)e bound.

When he was tied, he said to the executioner:

" Pardon. One instant more."

And he cried :

" Long live the Rejniltlic ! ''

He was lai<l ujion the plank. That noble head was held by the
infamous yoke. The execution(^r gently parted his hair aside, then
touched tlie spring. The triangle began to move — slowly at first — then
rapidly — a terrible V)low was heard

At the same instant another report sounded. A pistol-shot had
answered the blow of the axe. Cimourdain liad seized one of the pistols
fi'om his belt, and, as (xanvain's head rolled into the basket, Cimourdain

NINETY-THREE.

257

sauk back pierced to the heart l)y a bullet his own baud 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 mdiance of
the other.

THE END

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