The Reds of the Midi, an episode of the French revolution;

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AN EPISODE

'

)M THE PROVENCAL OF

FELIX Ci

FELIX GRAS.

THE REDS OF THE MID!

AN EPISODE
OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

TRANSLATED FROM THE PROVENCAL OF

FELIX GRAS
»^\

BY
CATHARINE A. JANVIER

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
THOMAS A. JANVIER

NEW YORK

APPLETON AND COMPANY
1896

C

COPYRIGHT, 1896,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION ...... V

PROLOGUE I

I. — IN THE BAD OLD TIMES .... 9

II. — DEATH OR SLAVERY 27

III. — THE REDS OF THE MIDI .... 54
IV. — " THE MARSEILLAISE " . . . . IO2
V. — THE MARCH OF THE MARSEILLES BAT-
TALION 145

VI. — IN THE STRANGE NEW TIMES . . . 227

VII. — THE STORMING OF THE KING'S CASTLE . 284

INTRODUCTION.

IN all French history there is no more in-
spiring episode than that with which M. Gras
deals in this story: the march to Paris, and the
doings in Paris, of that Marseilles Battalion
made up of men who were sworn to cast down
"the tyrant" and who "knew how to die."
And he has been as happy, I think, in his
choice of method as in his choice of subject.
Had his hero been a grown man, or other than
a peasant, there would have been more reason-
ing in the story and less directness. But this
delightful peasant-boy Pascalet — so simple and
brave and honest and altogether lovable —
knows very little about reasoning. To him
the French Revolution is but the opportunity
that he has longed for to avenge the wrongs
done to his peasant father; and he is eager to
capture "the King's Castle" and to overthrow
"the tyrant" because he understands — though
vaguely : for the Castle he believes to be only a

vi (Jlje &eb0 of tl)e ittibi.

day's march across the mountains from Avi-
gnon, and the tyrant is a very hazy concept in
his little mind — that somewhere along these
lines of spirited action harm will come to the
particular Marquis against whom his grievance
lies. And so he joins the Marseilles Battalion
and goes with it on its conquering way; and
through his uninstructed, but very wide open,
eyes we see all that happens on, and all that
flows from, that heroic march. Nor are the
standards and convictions which accompanied
the action changed in the narration. Pascalet
has become old Pascal ; but he still is a peas-
ant, and he still regards the events which he
tells about from the peasant's point of view.

It is this point of view, with its necessarily
highly objective scheme of treatment, which
gives to M. Gras's story a place entirely apart
from all the fiction of the French Revolution
with which I am acquainted. Ordinarily — be-
cause it is so much easier to do — writers of
stories of this period prefer to make them with
Aristocrats for heroes and heroines; and, done
that way, it certainly is very easy indeed to ex-
cite sympathy and to achieve lurid dramatic
effect. But the more difficult way that M.
Gras has chosen, and in choosing has cast
aside deliberately so much of the easily-manip-

Jntrobnction. vii

ulated machinery of ordinary romance, seems
to me to lead to far more realistic and also to
far more artistic results. His epitome of the
motive-power of the Revolution in the feelings
of one of its individual peasant parts is the
very essence of simplicity and directness; and
equally simple and direct is his method of pre-
sentment. Old Pascal goes straight ahead with
his recital of personal incident and of the scraps
of historic fact which have come, more or less
accurately, to his personal knowledge because
he was a part of them himself; and his rare
attempts at explanation of the undermeaning
of events is but the echo of the popular senti-
ment of the time in which he lived. The
author always is out of sight in the back-
ground. Even in the instances when a side-
light is necessary it comes with an absolute
naturalness in the shape of question or com-
ment from the chorus — from one or another of
the delightful little company in the Shoemak-
er's shop to which the story is told. This
method has the largeness and the clearness of
the Greek drama. The motives are distinct.
The action is free and bold. The climax is in-
evitable. Even allowing for my natural preju-
dice in favour of the work of a very dear friend,
I think that I am right in holding this story in

viii ®lje ftebs of tlje Xttibi.

high esteem as an unusual and excellent work
of art.

A leading motive with the author has been
to do justice to a body of men that history has
treated very unfairly. For more than a century
the Battalion that marched from Marseilles to
Paris, and there took so large a part in precipi-
tating the French Revolution, has been very
generally slandered. French and English his-
torians, with few exceptions, have united in
describing it as a band of cut-throats and
thieves : in part made up of runaway galley-
slaves from Toulon, and in part of international
scrapings from the slums of Marseilles. Car-
lyle, in his time, was almost alone in doing
partial justice to this company of hot patriots.
" Forcats they were not, neither was there
plunder nor danger of it," he wrote; but
added, hedgingly: "Men of regular life or the
best filled purse, they could hardly be." Yet,
lacking full knowledge in the premises, his
Scotch shrewdness withheld him from com-
mitting himself. "These Marseillese," he con-
cluded, "remain inarticulate, undistinguisha-
ble in feature; a black-browed mass, full of
grim fire, who wend there in the hot sultry
weather: very singular to contemplate. They

Jntrobuction. ix

wend; amid the infinitude of doubt and dim
peril; they not doubtful: Fate and Feudal Eu-
rope, having decided, come girdling in from
without; they, having also decided, do march
within. Dusty of face, with frugal refresh-
ment, they plod onwards ; unweariable, not to
be turned aside. Such march shall become fa-
mous. They must . . . strike and be struck;
and on the whole prosper, and know how to
die." But he felt that he had not uncovered
all the truth, and that what remained hidden
was worth digging for. Before parting with
these vaguely-defined heroes he offered the
suggestion : " If enlightened- Curiosity ever get
sight of the Marseilles Council-Books, will it
not perhaps explore this strangest of Municipal
procedures ; and feel called to fish up what of
the Biographies, creditable or discreditable, of
these Five hundred and Seventeen (sic), the
stream of Time has not irrevocably swallowed."
Nearly fifty years passed before Carlyle's
suggestion was carried out in its entirety; and
the two men who then completely cleared up
this obscure passage in history, Messieurs Jo-
seph Pollio and Adrien Marcel, did much more
than explore the Marseilles Council-Books.
They carried their search for facts deep and far;
and the result of their investigations was the

ftebs of tije Ittibi.

documentary history, " Le Bataillon du 10
Aout" (Paris. Charpentier. 1881), that has
placed the Marseilles Battalion honourably be-
fore the world. As the records show, the five
hundred and sixteen men composing it, drawn
almost wholly from the National Guard of Mar-
seilles, "were carefully chosen as being those
whose civicism and probity were guaranteed
by the twelve Commissioners named by the
Conseil General " ; and the few volunteers from
neighbouring towns — including, in the Third
Company, Louis Vauclair from Avignon — were
accepted under the same conditions. In the
end, having accomplished the purpose for
which it went to Paris, the Battalion returned
to Marseilles ; where it was received with civic
honours (October 22, 1792), and subsequently
was incorporated into the Army of the Pyre-
nees. Other battalions were despatched from
Marseilles, at later dates, which were less care-
fully chosen and which had records by no
means so good. With these the first Battalion
has been confounded, either by accident or in-
tention, and ever since has suffered for their
sins. But the men of Marseilles with whom
Pascalet marched, chanting the Republican An-
them that ever since has been known by their
name because they first gave it currency in

France, were precisely the simple and honest
patriots — stern only in the discharge of the
great duty which they believed was theirs-^
whom M. Gras has described.

The loving touch that is so evident in the
setting of the story comes naturally, for there
the author is writing of his own people and
his own home. It was in the little town of
Malemort, a year worse than half a century
ago, that Felix Gras was born. His charming
Prologue — even his lament that Fate forbade
him to be a shoemaker, and so cut him off
from hearing any more of old Pascal's stories —
is pure autobiography ; and the lightly, and so
delightfully, touched-in portraits — the Grand-
father, Lou Materoun, the Shoemaker and the
rest, including old Pascal himself— are all direct
from life.

I am confident that M. Gras would have
become a very good shoemaker, had he been
permitted to follow the inclination that was so
strong upon him when he was ten years old.
Assuredly, he would have given to the prac-
tice of that gentle and philosophic craft the
same energy (though differently applied) that
has won for him success in law and in litera-
ture. But as the Department of Vaucluse

xii ®l)e Rebs of tl)c itliM.

would have lost an excellent Juge de Paix, and
as the world would have lost a rare poet, it
is fortunate that his shoemaking aspirations
were sapped by the judicious interposition of
the colour-box and the cornet-a-pistons and
the five little blue volumes telling about the
War of Troy.

When his schooling was ended he came
back to his father's farm at Malemort; but as
his passion for hunting (quite as strong now as
then) led him most outrageously to neglect his
farm-work in order to go off with his dog and
gun into the fastnesses of Mont Ventour, he
presently was despatched — being then twenty
years old — to Avignon to begin the study
of the law: from which study farther esca-
pades into the mountains were not practi-
cable.

In his case the ways of the law led into the
ways of literature very directly. The Avignon
notary to whom he was articled, Maitre Jules
Giera, was himself a writer of merit and was
the brother of Paul Giera, one of the seven
founders of the Felibrige: the society of Pro-
vencal men of letters, having for its leaders
Frederic Mistral and Joseph Roumanille, which
has developed in the past thirty years so noble a
literary and moral renascence not only in Prov-

Snlrobtiction. xiii

ence but throughout the whole of Southern
France. With one of these leaders, Rouma-
nille — who had married Rose Ana'i's Gras, his
sister, the winner of the prize for poetry at the
Floral Games at Apt in 1862 — he already was
intimate; and his coming to Avignon. and en-
try into the lawyer's office, therefore, was his
entry into the most inspiring artistic society
that has existed in modern times — that has
had, indeed, no modern parallel in its vigour
and hopes and enthusiasms save perhaps in
the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood; and that has
had no modern parallel whatever in its far-
reaching results. His association with such
companions, with whose aspirations he was
in close sympathy, quickly produced its natu-
ral consequences : he accepted law as his pro-
fession, but he made literature his career.

He has justified his choice. His first im-
portant work, an epic poem in twelve cantos,
"Li Carbounie" (1876), treating of the moun-
tain life for which his affection was so pro-
found, placed him at the head of the younger
generation of Felibres; and his succeeding
epic, "Toloza" (1882), with his shorter poems
collected under the title "Lou Roumancero
Prouvencau" (1887), placed him second only
to the master of all Provencal poetry, Mistral.

xiv ®lje Hebe of tfye HUM.

The theme of " Toloza " is the crusade of Simon
de Montfort against the Albigenses — treated
with a fervent strength that is in keeping with
the author's own fervent love of liberty in per-
son and in conscience, and with the beauty
that comes of a poetic temperament equipped
with easy command of poetic form. It vibrates
with a very lofty patriotism and with strong
martial spirit and with a great tenderness, this
geste provencale in which the gleaming flitting
figures of the two dames and the four trouba-
dours at once enlighten the sombre narrative
and stand out with a clear brightness against
the black back-ground of that unholy war.

His shorter poems have a different and, as
it seems to me, a still richer flavour. But per-
haps I like them best because it was through
them that I first knew him. Of the volume in
which they are in part collected, "LouRou-
mancero Prouvencau," I wrote five years ago:
"We had read no farther than 'Lou Papo
d' Avignoun ' and ' Lou Baroun de Magalouno '
when our minds were made up that here was
a singer of ballads whose tongue was tipped
with fire. They whirled upon us, these bal-
lads and conquered our admiration at a blow.
We knew by instinct — what time and greater
knowledge have shown to be the truth — that

JTntrobnction. xv

of all the Provengal poets whom we soon were
to encounter none would set our heart-strings
more keenly a-thrilling than did this fiery bal-
lad-maker, Monsieur Gras." And after our
meeting had taken place I added: "Our ideal
had not exceeded the reality. As fine and as
sympathetic as his poems is Felix Gras himself.
The graciousness of his person, his gentle na-
ture that is also a most vigorously manly na-
ture, his quick play of wit, his smile, his voice
— all were in keeping with, even exceeded,
what we had hoped to find." That was five
years ago. My appreciation of his work is-
fuller, my feeling toward himself is deeper,
now.

His prose is the prose of a poet, yet racy
and strong. As a leading contributor to the
e/lrmana Prouvenfau — of which annual, the
most important of the periodic publications of
the Felibres, he has been the editor since Rou-
manille's death — he long since won popu-
larity with a public that judges by high stand-
ards and that by nature is nicely critical. But
his finest prose work is included in a volume
of Avignon stories, " Li Papalino " (1891) which
have the ring of the novella of Boccaccio's
time. In these stories his delicate firmness of
touch is combined with a brilliancy and clear-

xvi ®t)e ftefca of llje ittibi.

ness of style that presents his dramatic subjects
with the sparkle and vivacity of the Italian tale-
tellers of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth centuries
— but always with a flavour distinctly his own.
The Papal Court of Avignon is alive again be-
fore our eyes: with its gallantries, its tragedies,
its gay loves and deadly hates, its curious
veneering of religious forms upon Mediaeval
tenderness and ferocity. With this period,
which appeals so strongly to poetic instinct,
he long has been on terms of commanding
familiarity; as not only these stories but many
of his most fiery shorter poems show. And it
seems to me, therefore, that not least to be
commended of the qualities included in his
literary equipment is the flexibility that has
enabled him, in the present work, so entirely
to change his method in order to adapt it to
the vivid treatment of a subject taken from
modern times.

Finally, this prophet is honoured in his own
country. Since August, 1891 — in succession
to Roumanille, who succeeded Mistral — Felix
Gras has been the Capoulie, the official head,
of the Felibrige. In his election to this office
he received the highest honour that can be be-
stowed upon a poet by his brother poets of the
South of France.

Jntrobnction. xvii

The present translation has been made di-
rectly from the Proven£al manuscript, under
the author's supervision and with the benefit
of his advice. The only changes from the
original are a few modifications of expression
which, while proper enough in the case of
country-folk speaking a language of Latin
origin, would jar a little on ears tolerant only
of the nicety of English speech; and these
changes the author has approved. Otherwise
the translation has preserved the letter, and I
think somewhat of the spirit of the original;
and I can venture to say for it, at least, that it
has been made with a faithful and a loving
care.

THOMAS A. JANVIER.

SAINT REMY DE PROVENCE,
September i, 189$.

THE REDS OF THE MIDI.

PROLOGUE.

WHEN our neighbour Pascal, the son of La
Patine, had grown so very, very old that he
had begun to nibble into his ninetieth year, his
dotage came upon him. He, who in the long
winter evenings had told us from thread to fin-
ished seam how he marched with the Marseilles
Battalion up to Paris to besiege King Capet in
his castle; Pascal, who had told us of all the
battles of the Empire, from the famous fight at
the Pyramids to the end of all at Mont-Saint-
Jean; good old Pascal de la Patine was cer-
tainly in his dotage.

Over and over again he kept saying: "I
shall die soon ; I certainly am going to die ; and
when I die my brother Lange will die too —
and then who will take care of the mule?"

Poor Pascal! It was sad to see in such a
plight the man who had dazzled us with his
i

®l)e ftebs of tlje XttiM.

epic tales, lasting the winter long. Sometimes,
even, he would improvise in verse in a slow
rhythm, with only here and there a rhyme.
Through a whole evening he would chant us
an episode of the Revolution; or of some
grand killing of English or Germans or Rus-
sians in the time gone by.

I still can see him: always seated in the
same place, on the middle of the bench that
ran across the whole width of the wall at the
back of the shoemaker's shop — the meeting
place to which all the neighbours came to
spend their evenings.

The shoemaker and his apprentice used be-
tween them a single lamp; but each had his
separate lihole, hanging before him by a
leather thong, and the reddish lamp-light pass-
ing through the globe of clear water cast upon
the sole or shoe on which he was working a
brilliant streak of light as clear as sunlight.
The good stove, as red as a poppy, made the
room oven-hot. We all sweltered there com-
fortably, simmering like a stew in an earthen
tian. And when old Pascal, passing into one
of his bard-like moods, fell to chanting his
story, then even the shoemaker and his ap-
prentice, braving the angry looks of the shoe-
maker's wife, turned their backs to the work-

prologue. 3

t

table and for that evening stopped tap-tapping
on their soles and like the rest of us listened
open-mouthed with eyes as big as barn-doors
and ears like dish-covers.

I know now that the supreme joy of my
life came to me then, when I was nine years
old: when as each evening ended and bed-
time came I longed and longed for the morrow
— that I might hear, as I sat in my corner, on
my little bench with the cat, the end of the
battle left half-fought the night before.

Therefore was it a mortal blow to me when,
being come to ten years, I was sent to the little
seminary of La Sainte Garde to begin my school-
ing. 1 even now can plainly see my father's
cart harnessed to our old sorrel horse — who in
all his long life never once had kicked. I see
it plainly as it bumps over the stony road
through the garrigues, carrying my mattrass in
a blue-and-white checked cover, and my pig-
skin trunk with stiff silky bristles standing out
all over it. I see our pretty blue cart — in
which, in our stable, I often had played see-
saw— standing at last in the seminary court-
yard; while two men, dressed like gentlemen
in frock coats, take out its load.

It was then that my sorrow sharply began.
My father took me up in his arms and gave me

two big kisses (even to-day I can feel his rough
beard against my soft cheeks) ; he put a great
handful of sous into my hand — and then he left
me ! Victor the door-keeper, who had a little
pointed beard on his chin that made him look
like a good-natured goat, came with his great
bunch of keys and, cric-crac, locked the door!

As long as daylight lasted, things went on
pretty well. I counted and recounted my sous,
letting them drop one by one so as to show
them off. I made the acquaintance of a dozen
little fellows shut in like myself that morning.
But after supper, when night fell, when I — alas,
poor me! — had to go to bed all alone, I thought
of my dear mother who when I came home
dead with sleep from the shoemaker's always
helped me untie my shoes ; and I thought of old
Pascal de la Ratine, whom I could plainly see
sitting on the bench telling his beautiful stories.
The tears burst forth, pouring down my cheeks
to my pillow. I cried and cried ; until at last
sleep, the childish sleep that nothing disturbs,
took possession of me and held me softly in
her arms.

When I awoke, the idea that all day long
I could not see my mother, and that again,
when night-fall came, I could not spend the
evening with old Pascal, tormented me and

made me dull and unhappy. The next night
I cried still more, and the next day I was still
more dull.

At the end of a week my father and mother
came to see if I had eaten and slept as I should,
and if I were getting used to my new life.
How 1 dismayed them when I told them that I
could not eat, and that I wanted to go home!

"But, my boy, surely you see that you
must study. You must learn arithmetic and
all the rest, otherwise what will become of you
when you grow up ? " said my father.

" I say I want to go home. I know quite
enough."

"What do you know, child? You know
just nothing at all! "

" I know how to read."

"You can read. yes. Well, what then ?"

" I know how to cipher."

"That's all very well, as far as it goes; but
you must learn latin, greek — how do I know
what more!"

" I don't want to — I want to go home with
you! "

"Now see here, what do you want to be
— a doctor, a priest, or a lawyer?"

"None of them."

"You want to be a farmer? That's a

Ecbs of tl)e ittibi.

poor trade, son. You must get rid of that
notion."

"No, I don't want to be a farmer — I want
to go home! "

All this time my mother said nothing. She
merely nodded her head, while she kept on
peeling chestnuts for me — which I munched
while contradicting my father. Until at last,
fairly out of all patience, my father cried :
"Speak out then ! If you don't want to be doc-
tor, priest, lawyer nor farmer, what do you
want to be?"

"Well, if really you wish me to tell," said
I, looking down, "I want — I want to be a
shoemaker!"

"Oh plague take you!" said my father,
clapping his rough hands together, "a shoe-
maker! That beats all! Don't you know that
shoemakers always smell of shoemaker's wax ?
Come, come, I think the blood in your veins
must be dying out. What could have put it
into your head to be a shoemaker ? "

But I, ashamed of having betrayed my in-
most thoughts, did not dare to answer. I
dared not say that it was because I longed to
listen forever to the stories old Pascal de la
Patine would tell during all the long evenings
to come. What would 1 not have been will-

ing to become, so that I might ever hear such
stories !

Well, my father, knowing that time would
settle all, persuaded me to remain a few days
longer at the school; and promised me that if
I could not get used to the school-life he would
come for me at the end of the month, and that
if then I still was absolutely determined to be-
come a shoemaker I should be apprenticed to
our neighbour, in whose house I had passed
so many happy evenings. But in order to
reconcile me to my new school he said that I
might study painting — which at that time was
my great passion — and also music; and then
and there he ordered for me a colour-box and
a cornet-a-pistons: Mr. Trouchet, the steward,
was to have them brought from Carpentras the
very next day.

Dazzled by the promise of these delights, I
felt as if a great weight were lifted off my
heart; and, rising on tip-toe, I whispered in
my mother's ear: "Please send me the five
little blue books that I read three years ago
when I had the whooping-cough — the books
that tell about Ulysses and Achilles."

"Yes, yes, I know" said my mother,
"the War of Troy. I will send them to-
morrow."

®l)e ftebs of llje HUM.

Then my dear people gave me another
handful of sous, and filled my pockets with
boiled chestnuts. They kissed me; and then,
cric-crac, Victor the door-keeper with the kind
goat's face barred the door behind them — and
thoughtfully I returned to my lessons.

Nevertheless, the paint-box, the cornet-a-
pistons, and my promised five little blue books,
filled my heart with joy: and it is to those
three things that I owe my escape from having
become a cobbler for the rest of my days.
Naturally, I grew accustomed to the seminary;
and great Homer with his War of Troy drove
old Pascal out of my mind.

And yet — often I ask myself: Would it not
have been better to have persisted ? Had 1 be-
come a shoemaker, how many good stories
might I not have told! And now I can tell
you only one: the one that I heard in the
happy year which ended when I put on
trowsers with suspenders and began my school-
ing— and so left shoemaking forever behind!

CHAPTER I.

IN THE BAD OLD TIMES.

THAT evening the party was complete. I,
in my corner on the little bench with the cat,
said not a word; but 1 thought to myself: " If
only some one would ask old Pascal to tell a
story! Yesterday he finished telling us the
battle of Mont Saint-Jean; to-day, perhaps, he
will tell us nothing."

Just then Lou Materoun, as he pressed with
his thumb into his clay pipe a piece of amadou
that smelt sweet as it burned, said: "I've
always wanted to ask you, Pascal, how it was
that you, a peasant from Malemort, happened
to be in the Battalion from Marseilles that went
up to Paris the year of the Revolution ? That
always has puzzled me. "

"It was poverty, young fellow," old Pascal
answered in his rich clear voice ; "it was just
poverty. But if you have the patience to listen
I'll tell you about it from first to last."

We knew then that a story was coming;

9

&ebs of llje ittibi.

and so we all settled ourselves comfortably to
listen, and old Pascal began :

Why are people always grunting, now-a-
days ? They actually grunt because of over-
plenty ! N.ow-a-days each peasant has his own
corner of earth. He who has earth has bread,
and he who has bread has blood. I, who am
speaking to you, was twelve years old before
ever I had seen either kneading-trough, bread-
hutch, oil-jar or wine-keg; things owned
now-a-days by the poorest peasant in the land.
In the one room of my father's hut — it was
more a hut than a cottage — were two cradle-
like boxes filled with oat-straw in which we
slept, the cooking-pot in the middle of the
room hanging from a roof-beam, and a big
chopping-block — and that was all! That was
just all!

We were lodged in this hut, which stood a
little above the village of Malemort and close
to the Chateau de la Garde, because we be-
longed— with the other farm animals — to the
estate of La Garde, owned by the Marquis
d' Ambrun. My father gathered the acorns from
the oaks of the Marquis, and was allowed to
keep the half of them for his pay ; and we also
had the right to till two scraps of land, from

In the I3ab ©Ib ®imc0. n

which we got enough beans and vetches and
herbs to keep us from actually starving to death
—we three and all our fleas. You will know
how we lived when I tell you that not until I
got away from La Garde altogether did I taste
anything as good as a bit of fresh-baked soft
bread dipped in soup made of rancid pork.

My people baked bread but once a year.
When the day for making it came my father
and mother went down to the village and
there, husks and all, kneaded the coarse flour
made of the rye and beans and acorns we had
managed to collect in the course of the year.
It was on the very block that you can see in
front of our stable, the one on which I cut fod-
der for the mule, that each morning my father
with his big axe chopped up our food for the
day. By the end of the year the bread was so
hard that it nicked the edge of the axe.

The first bit of white bread that ever I
tasted was given me one day as I passed in
front of the Chateau by Mademoiselle Adeline,
who was of the same age as myself. And for
giving it to me she got a round scolding
from her mother, the Marquise.

"Adeline, Adeline!" cried the Marquise,
" Why do you give your white bread to that
little wretch ? You must not teach him what

®|)e ftcbs of tlje ittiM.

white bread is, or the day may come when he
will snatch it out of your mouth! " and then
turning to me, she went on : "Get out of here,
little beast! Get out ! Hurry — or I will set
the dogs on you!" And I, gripping fast my
bit of bread, scampered off to our hut as fast
as I could go. That piece of bread was the
most delicious thing I have eaten in all my life.
And yet the cruel words of the Marquise made
it bitter with a drop of gall.

Another time I was worse served. I was
coming home from a hunt for some magpies'
nests that I knew of in the poplars in the valley
of the Nesque. It was ten o'clock; and, as I
had eaten nothing that day, hunger was twist-
ing my empty insides. As I passed behind
the Chateau, skirting the stables and sheep-
folds, I saw in the gutter a fine cabbage-stalk.
My mouth watered and I ran to pick it up ; but
the Marquis's sow with her litter also saw it at
the same time, and ran as quick as I did. The
swine-herd, a cruel fellow, when he saw me
stretch out my arm gave me such a whack
with his stick that he took away my breath.
I left the cabbage-stalk to the pigs and ran as
hard as I could run, for the brute would have
beaten me to a jelly; and as 1 made off I heard
the Marquis calling from his window: "Well

In the Bab ©ifc Simes. 13

done! Well done! What is that little rascal
doing there ? Does he want to take the food
out of the mouths of my pigs ? Vermin that
they are, those peasants ! If they could but get
at us, they would eat us up alive! "

That day another great drop of bitterness
fell into my heart.

So, too, when Monsieur le Marquis, Ma-
dame le Marquise and Monsieur Robert, their
son — who was Cavalier du Roy — chanced one
day to pass before our hut and I saw my old
father and my old mother kneel down on the
threshold, just as if the Host were going by,
shame devoured me; and it seemed as if a red
hot iron were pressing into the pit of my stom-
ach— it hurt me so to keep back my rage.

"You wretched boy," called out my father
as he rose from his knees, " the next time I'll
take good care that you kneel to our kind mas-
ter!"; and to know how good and how sim-
ple my father was made the fire, not of God,
burn the more fiercely within me.

The only one of those living in the Chateau
whom I could look upon with pleasure and
salute with respect was little Adeline, the
young lady who gave me the piece of white
bread. She had gentle eyes, and smiled at me
each time that we chanced to meet. But as

14 ®l)e ftcbs of tlje ifliM.

she grew up it seemed to me that little by little
her smiles grew fainter. Her eyes, I know,
were just as gentle, only I dared not look at
her any more.

One November evening during All Saint's
week, while we were in our hut around a pot
of dried beans — the last left from our store for
the year — my father said: ''To-morrow, son,
we must begin to gather our acorns in the
Nesque for the winter. Times are going to be
hard with us. I don't know all that is taking
place, but I have been told that in Avignon
people are killing each other off like flies; and
there is the Revolution in Paris, and Monsieur
le Marquis and all the family are going to help
the King of France, who is in great danger."

This was the first time I had heard of the
King of France, but instantly the thought came
to me: " If I could only fight him, this King of
France whom the Marquis is going to defend! "
How old was I then ? I don't know. I never
knew exactly — the records of baptism, you
see, were burned; but I must have been thir-
teen, perhaps fourteen years old. Certainly,
my father's words astonished me — but as
much, perhaps, by their number as by what
he told. He always had a short tongue, poor
man.

0Mb ®imes. 15

The next morning I had forgotten all about
the King of France when, before day-break, we
started to gather our harvest of acorns. It was
fearful weather. The ground was frozen two
spans deep; a cutting wind was blowing;
from time to time snow-squalls burst out of
the sullen sky. The dawn was just breaking
when we reached the ravine of the Nesque,
bordered by great oaks: through which the
wind blew sharply and tossed hither and
thither their leaves — that looked as if they had
been turned into red copper by the cold. Ex-
cepting the red oak-leaves, everything on the
earth and above it was grey. The sky was
one mass of even grey cloud, stretching from
east to west just like a piece of grey felt.
Flocks of linnets, red-breasts, yellow-hammers,
and other little birds came down from the
mountains — flying close to the ground or, with
feathers all fluffed up, huddling together in the
stubble or bushes. When the poor little things
act that way, it always is bitter cold.

Let any one try to gather acorns in cold
weather with numb hands! Among the peb-
bles in the dry bed of the river the shining
acorns, no bigger than olives, so slide and slip
through your fingers that it takes a whole big
half day to gather two pecks of them. My
3

1 6 iEtje ttebs of tlje iflibi.

poor father, I can see him now ! As he crouched
down and leaned forward he left between his
skimpy greenish stuff-jacket and his buckled
breeches a great gap, where the sharp edge of
his lean spine showed plainly through his
coarse worn-out shirt; and his rough woollen
stockings were full of holes, and so worn off
at the heels that his feet were naked in his
wooden shoes stuffed with dry grass.

The furious cold wind, which whipped
about and whirled the copper-red leaves,
whistled in the osiers ; and in the hollows of
the rocks it howled and roared like some great
fearful horn. I hugged myself close, my skin
all cracked with the cold, and thought of the
good time to come when, sheltered behind a
rock, we could eat, with our hunger for a
sauce, the hard nubbin of black bread which
my father that morning had chopped off for us
on the block with the big axe.

We were working hard in silence — for the
very poor never have much to say — when all
of a sudden I heard the hounds of the Marquis
in full cry. They were at the other end of the
ravine, on the slope of the mountain. I jumped
up and stared with all my might. When one
is young there is nothing so delightful as to see
a hare chased by a pack of dogs. I saw them

In fye JBab <2M& ffiimes. 17

a long, long way off: the hare, light as smoke,
was far ahead. From time to time she would
squat on her haunches, listening, and then
would be off again ; and at last I saw her run
down toward the dry bed of the stream. The
hounds, in full cry, came tearing after her. '
When they over-ran the scent, they quickly
tried back and found it again. Where the
hare had stopped to listen, they snuffed around
and yelped the louder. The pack was spread
all across the slope. In front were the large
black-and-tan hounds, their ears a span long,
who easily over-leapt bushes and openings in
the ground. Then came the smaller and
heavier dogs, slower but surer. Then, away
behind the rest, the beagles with their short
sharp cry — good beasts for taking the hare in
her form, but slow-going, because their little
twisted legs are no good for jumping and they
have to go round even the bunches of wild
thyme.

I held my breath, for the hare was almost
on us and was going to pass right in front of
me. But just as I picked up a stone — sbisto !
she saw me! She doubled like a flash, with
one spring she was over the Nesque, and with
another she was up the mountain side and safe
in the woods — so good-bye to my hare ! The

i8 &!)<> Rebs of the HUM.

dogs came on quickly, overrunning the scent
at the point where she had doubled, but pick-
ing it up again in no time. And then the
whole pack in full cry swept on down the hill-
side until they were lost in the forest far off
among the ravines, and only their cry came
ringing back to us faintly from the distance.

My father had not noticed any part of all
this. Without even lifting his head he had
kept on gathering the acorns with his stiff fin-
gers. As I still stood there, open-mouthed,
all of a sudden on the slope of the mountain
behind me I heard a noise of rolling stones. I
turned and saw Monsieur Robert, the Cavalier
du Roy, running down toward us; holding in
one hand his dog-whip and in the other his
gun. He rushed down on us like a wounded
wild boar— it is the only thing I can think or
as savage as he was then ! My poor father at
once dropped down on his knees to him, as
was the peasant habit of those times; but the
brute, without a word, gave him such a blow
across the face with his dog-whip that he
knocked him to the ground. Seeing this,
I ran to the side of the ravine and, kicking
off my sabots, began to climb up the rocks
— clinging with my hands and with my feet
too. I heard every blow that lashed my poor

Jfn ttye Baft ®lb ®ime0. 19

father, and I heard the brute calling out to
him : ' ' Dirty beast of a peasant ! I'll teach you
to spoil my hunting! " — and then more blows.

In the mean time the game-keeper had
come up: a huge man who could only speak
very bad French. Folks said he was a German.
He had a name no one could say — a Dutch
name fit to drive you out of the house — and,
as he had to be called something, we called
him Surto. This beast also began to hammer
my poor father, who was writhing on the
ground like a half crushed worm.

I had stopped on a high rock from which I
could see the two monsters at their cruel work.
I picked up a stone as big as my head and
threw it. The stone whistled through the air,
just brushing against the game-keeper's ear,
and fell hard and heavy on Monsieur Robert's
toes.

"Ai'e!" he yelled, and turning saw me.
Off went both barrels of his gun. The shot
whizzed round me, but I plunged into the
wood — and then it was: Catch me who can!

I was only a child — but I understood my
danger. I hid myself in the depths of the
woods and did not dare go back home. Shiv-
ering, almost dead with the cold, 1 ate my bit
of bread crouching in a thicket and a little shel-

20 ®l)e ftebs of lljc

tered behind a rock. The bread was so hard
that I had to break it with a stone. I softened
it with my tears; for while eating it I was
thinking of my father as I had seen him with
his face all covered with blood, and dreading
that he had been killed. And my mother,
what would she think when I did not come
back to the hut ? And when she saw her poor
man, her Pascal, crushed and bleeding ?
"Ah!" sighed I, looking at the stone I held,
"Ah, how happy this stone is. How I would
like to be this stone, for then I would not suffer
any more " — and my heart hurt me as if it was
cut with a knife.

Twilight was coming on. In winter it does
not last long; the night comes all at once.
The wind blew sharper and sharper. Far off
on the edge of the sky a long red line streaked
the grey clouds and showed that the sun was
setting. Then the sky and plains and moun-
tains, which all day long had been dull grey,
turned to a violet; while the trees and the
naked bushes and the rocks took on a reddish
tone. The wind dropped a moment, paying
honour to the setting sun ; a fox barked on the
opposite slope — and then suddenly all was
dark.

I ventured out of my lair and climbed the

In tlje Bab (33H& ®imee. 21

bushy side of the ravine. Just as I reached the
top, brrrou ! a covey of partridges flew off from
right under my feet with a sound like a load of
cobblestones tumbling out of a cart. The start
they gave me was soon over; and then, shiv-
ering and blue with the cold, I went down
into the plain.

At almost every step I halted and looked
around. The smallest rock, a tuft of thyme, a
live-oak bush, seemed a crouching man on the
outlook — perhaps Surto with his gun !' I was
more afraid of that man than of all the wolves
on the mountains put together. Although the
wind still roared and howled, the stones rattling
under my feet seemed to me to make a tremen-
dous noise. The night was very dark — not a
star to be seen ; the dull grey sky still spread
over everything. Yet I could see pretty well
around me. We the poor, the very poor, can
see in the dark. The flocks were all in their
folds, it was so cold. But as 1 went along the
slope above the Nesque, not far above the Cha-
teau, it seemed to me that I could hear the
pigs grunting; and I certainly could see the
light carried by the swine-herd — so it must
have been about pig-feeding time.

I had but a few steps more to take in order
to reach the high rock from which 1 had thrown

Hefts of tlje ittibi.

the stone at Monsieur Robert. I was burning
to get there, that I might know whether or not
my father was lying dead at the bottom of the
ravine, beaten to death by those two beasts.
I walked softly along, but the little stones still
made too much noise under my feet and I got
down and crawled silently on all fours. I
reached the overhang of the rock and craned
over into the ravine. I stared and stared until
I could see no more, but all that I could make
out was a long black line and a long white line
coasting the foot of the mountain. The giant
oaks which bordered the Nesque made the
black line, and the white line was the dry bed
of the watercourse with its smooth white
stones.

When I was quite certain that my father
was not lying there, to be food for the wolves,
I drew softly back on hands and knees. Still
filled with dread, I went down into the ravine
through the holly and thorny scrub-oak bushes ;
pushing through the thickets, for I did not
want to follow any beaten path to the Nesque.
I was afraid of that great monster of a game-
keeper who somewhere, I was sure, was
watching for me as if I had been a fox — and I
thought that the whistling of the wind and
the rattling of the whirling leaves would keep

In th.e Bab (2Mb ®imes. 23

any one from hearing the noise of the holly
and the thorny oak bushes which caught hold
of me, and of the stones which rattled down
under my feet.

When I reached the border of the Nesque
I looked out between two tufts of bushes to
right and to left, but neither saw nor heard
anything out of the way. And, what gave
me still more comfort, lying there where I had
kicked them off, so that I might run the faster,
were my sabots ! Then — believe me or no as
best pleases you — in order to give myself cour-
age, I made the sign of the cross upon my
breast and said the only prayer my mother had
taught me :

Great Saint John of the golden mouth

Watch over the sleeping child.

From harm protect him should he go

To play around the pond.

In forests, too, take care of him

Against the tooth of wolf.

Forever and ever be it so,

Fair Saint John who hast all my heart.

— and then I felt that I would be cared for and
was safe!

With one spring I reached and put on my
sabots, and then flew like lightning through
the stubble and brush and climbed steep slopes

24 ®t)e ftefcs of tlje BUM.

like a lizard. I slipped through the olive-
orchards; carefully keeping away from the
paths, and as far as I could from the Chateau—
the gleaming windows of which I could see
on the heights above. Suddenly all the dogs
at the Chateau began to bark together, and as I
feared that they had heard or scented me I
went off still farther over the hills of the En-
garroui'nes — so that I might be quite safe from
the game-keeper, outside the lines of the estate.

But our hut still was far away, and I knew
that if I went there I should be caught; if not
that night, certainly the next day. Still I longed
to see my father, to comfort my mother. It
seemed as if I could hear her calling me —
" Pascalet! Pascalet ! "

In spite of the dark night, my eyes could
make out far off on the hill of La Garde some-
thing black between the woods and the olive-
orchards; something that looked like a heap of
stones. It was our forlorn hut — laid up of
stones without mortar and roofed with stone
slabs. In my heart I seemed to see inside of it
our one room, our oat-straw beds, the pot
hanging by its pot-hooks and chain from the
beam, the big block behind the door on which
my father chopped the bread and which also
was our table. I longed for our little hut and

In tljc JJair <2M& ®ime0. 25

all in it; but fear, my great fear of the game-
keeper, for a long while held me still.

At last I was able to screw up my courage
and go on. Keeping out of the path, and
taking a big stone in each hand, I went for-
ward slowly and step by step. Now and then
I stopped and listened. Feeling my way, dodg-
ing from one stone wall to another, 1 got at
last behind the hut. Softly I crept up to the
hole stuffed with grass that served us for a
window, and pushing in the grass and leaning
my head forward I called: " Mother! mother! "

No one answered — there was no one there !

Then my blood grew cold within me. I
thought that both my father and my mother had
been killed. I ran round to the door of the hut.
It was wide open. The game-keeper was noth-
ing to me then ! I called out at the top of my
voice: "Mother! Father! Where are you?
It is your Pascalet! " — and my sorrow so hurt
me that I rolled on the ground in such a pas-
sion of crying as I never before had known.

For more than an hour I lay there while I
sobbed and groaned. At last, tired out, des-
perate, raging because I was too weak to re-
venge myself against those who had caused
my bitter pain, I got on my feet again — while
a dark thought came into my mind. The pond,

26 ®l)c Hebs of tlje

the big pond that watered all the fields of the
Chateau, was before me among the olive trees.
Only a month before I had seen the body of
pretty Agatha of Malemort drawn out of its
waters — a girl, not twenty years old, who had
drowned herself there because of some trouble
I could not understand. 1 ran off as if crazy,
my arms spread wide open as though to em-
brace some one; and when, through the trees,
I saw the pond glittering I thought I saw Para-
dise. As I came within a few steps of the
edge I closed my eyes, took three jumps, one
after the other and — pataflou! I was in the
middle of the pond!

Pascal stopped, yawned, and stretched him-
self. "Well, it's getting late — and I haven't
yet watered the mule. I'll tell you the rest to-
morrow. Right about face! March!" — and
he was off.

As I walked home beside my grandfather,
holding his hand, I asked him: "But Pascal
didn't really drown himself, did he?"

" Have patience, little one," my grandfather
answered. "To-morrow we shall know."

CHAPTER II.

DEATH OR SLAVERY.

THE next night I ate my supper on both
sides of my mouth at once — bolting my chest-
nuts and porridge, and all the while in fear
that I might be late at the cobbler's shop and
so lose even a single one of Pascal's words.
And while I was gobbling I kept saying to
myself: "Suppose Pascal should choose this
evening to take his olives to the mill, and should
leave us all gaping with no story at all! "

With my mouth still full, I got up from the
table and went to the cupboard where my
grandfather's lantern was kept and brought it
to him ready lighted for our start. "Well,"
said he, "you are in a hurry, mankin."

"Oh, do come grandfather. Perhaps Pas-
cal already has begun ! " I cried beseechingly,
and at the same time pulled him by the hand.
But there was no need for beseeching, the good
old man would have let me drag him any-
where; he refused me nothing. When I think

27

28 $i)e ftete of tl)e ittibi.

of him, the tears come into my eyes. In a
moment we were off, and we reached the
cobbler's just as Pascal was stepping over the
threshold.

The three of us went in together. Al-
ready the shop was nearly full. Pipes were
getting loaded, ready to be balanced in turn
for lighting over the smoky lamp: beside
which, like two little golden suns, hung the
shining wholes. The lively heat of the stove
in the close room — tight shut all day long —
with its smell of stale tobacco-smoke mingled
with the smells of shoemaker's wax and wet
leather, made an atmosphere so pungent that
it fairly hurt one's nose; but it grew better
when Lou Materoun and the rest lighted their
pipes — each charged at the top with a scrap ot
fragrant amadou, that the fire might catch
easily — and so gave us a fresh smell of burning
that drowned out all the old smells of dead
tobacco-smoke and wax and tan-bark and
greasy leather thongs.

The shoemaker and his apprentice were
hammering away at a pair of soles. They
were hurrying: it was easy to see that they
wanted to get done with their noisy lap-stone
work and so clear the way for the story to go
on. Under the blows of the mushroom-headed

or SlatJorg. 29

hammers the soles curled up and became dark
and shiny. With his big black thumb, all
dotted with pricks from his awl, the shoemaker
turned and returned the leather on his lap-
stone; and presently the work was done. I
was getting very restless. I looked in the
bucket under the table to see if there were any
more soles to be pounded ; but in the bucket,
full of dark water, there were only a few stray
scraps of leather — the pounding was at an end.

I couldn't hold my tongue any longer; and
I, who always kept quiet, said quite boldly:
" Pascal, how did you get out of the pond ?"

And Pascal, who was only waiting to be
started, leaned forward a little and immediately
began :

Well, my big jump ended in my sitting
down in the middle of the pond with a smack
that made me tingle with pain, and with a
shock that went all up through me to the very
roots of my hair — for the pond was frozen as
hard as a stone! Hurt and half stunned, I
crawled as well as I could toward the frozen
bank; and there, in a sort of dazed misery, I
sat down on the cold ground. What would
become of me, what could I do ? I was father-
less, motherless, homeless, left all alone in the

30 ®l)e ftebs of H)e HUM.

fields of a cold winter night. The only idea
in my poor little head was that the one road
out of my trouble was to die. I might go to
the wolves in the mountains, or to Surto and
the wicked Monsieur Robert at the Chateau —
in either way the wild beasts would kill me,
and I would be quit of my sorrow and pain.

But suddenly a good thought came to me.
I remembered that the only time I had gone to
be catechised Monsieur le Cure had said to us :
"My children, never forget that God is your
father. When you are in trouble or pain or
poverty, or when you are nigh unto death,
pray to him and he will listen unto you. And
go often and see him in his own house, which
is the church. Go there just as you would to
some kind and charitable neighbour's house.
You will see that he will help you."

The remembrance of these promises came
back to me, though for three years I had
never thought of them ; and I got up, greatly
comforted. I had often met Monsieur le Cure
— or Monsieur le Prieur, as we called him in
my day — on the road to the Chateau de la
Garde. But because he went there to visit the
Marquis d'Ambrun that did not make him at
all the same sort of man as the Marquis. He
spoke kindly to every one. He even shook

or nuerB. 31

my father's hand when he met him, and would
ask after his wife La Patine and after little Pas-
calet. He laughed, he joked with the poorest
of us. Oh, he was good dough well baked,
that man — good all the way through.

As I went down toward the village of
Malemort in the cold darkness, whipped cruelly
by the freezing wind, I seemed to see quite
plainly our good Monsieur Randoulet: his kind
face, his grey eyes, his long white hair curling
on his shoulders, his fine delicate hands, his
gown so long that the hem always was hitting
against his heels, his black stockings, and his
shoes with their silver buckles; and in my ears
seemed to sound kind words spoken in his
womanly-gentle voice. Of all the people who
came to the Chateau he was the only one who
did not frighten me. He was the only one
who, when I saluted him took off his hat to
me, saying: "Good-day, little man."

It must have been about midnight when I
entered the village. No one was in the streets,
no lights were in the windows; and the only
noises were the roaring of the wind, and now
and then the banging of a badly fastened shut-
ter, and the endless murmur of water spirting
from the fountain into the shell-shaped trough
all hung with icicles.
4

32 (Elje Eefcs of tlje iflibi.

I went on quickly through the lonely streets,
straight to the Curacy beside the church. But
when I found myself in front of Monsieur
Randoulet's door I began to get frightened
again. Would he speak harshly to me ?
Would he take me back to the Chateau ?
Would he give me again to Surto? No (I
answered back to myself, reassuringly), he
would not do these things. Monsieur Randou-
let always had smiled when he spoke to me.
Kindness always shone upon his face. He
was good, he could not do evil. Surely he
would protect me instead of betraying me:
and I raised the knocker thrice and let it fall
again — one! two! three!

And then I began to tremble, in dread that
I had knocked too hard. I waited, listening.
Nothing stirred in the Curacy. I went back
along the church wall and peered up at all the
windows, but all were tightly closed and dark.
I went again to the door, again lifted up the
knocker, waited again a moment and then —
one! two! I did not dare knock the third
time. In a minute I heard the voice of Mon-
sieur Randoulet calling: "Janetoun! Janetoun!
I think I hear some one knocking;" and of
Janetoun answering him from the upper story:
"Monsieur is mistaken — it is only a shutter

or aoerij. 33

rattling in the wind." Then I knocked three
times, boldly; and straightway I heard Mon-
sieur le Cure calling: "I told you so — go see
what it is."

Presently I saw a light in a window far up
under the tiles; and then I heard the click-
clack of Janetoun's wooden shoes as she came
down the stairs. I heard her hand on the lock;
but before she opened the door she called:
" Who's there ?"

" It's me," I answered.

"But who are you?" she called again;
and I answered her: "It's Pascalet de la
Ratine."

Hardly had I finished saying my name when
the door opened and my eyes were dazzled by
the flash of light from the lamp which Janet-
oun carried in her hand; and as I stepped into
the doorway she said crossly: "Monsieur le
Cure is abed and asleep — and if he wasn't
he couldn't go running through the streets in
all this cold. What do you want with him ?
Speak up! What do you want here at this
time of night, anyway ?"

She shut the door behind me, for it truly
was bitter cold, and went up around the turn
of the spiral stairs so as to get out of the
draught; and there stood facing me, waiting

34 &!)£ ftebs 0f

for my answer. But her sharp words had so
upset me that I did not know what to say.
At last, shaking with cold and fear, I managed
to stammer out: "I want to see him."

"You want to see him! You want to see
him! Good gracious, what a box of impu-
dence! Don't you know better than to come
routing people up at two o'clock in the morn-
ing in winter weather like this ? And don't
you know that it is only a death-call that would
take Monsieur le Cure out on such a night and
at such an hour ? Aren't the days long enough
for you ? Come when it is day."

As she spoke, Janetoun came down the
stairs — up which I had crept a step or two — to
send me into the street again. But Monsieur
le Cure had heard all our talk, luckily, and from
above called out to her: "Let little Pascalet
come up — and start a fire in the kitchen so that
he may warm himself. I wish it so."

Janetoun stopped grumbling, and her sabots
went clattering up the stair-case and I followed
her. We entered the kitchen, still warm from
the fire of the night before, and still full of the
smell of the sauces of Monsieur le Cure's sup-
per. This alone was enough to comfort my
poor stomach — as empty as a clapperless bell!
How good Monsieur le Cure's stews must be!

UDeatl) or Slaoerg. 35

I thought — for the smells were like those which
came to me when I passed by the kitchen at
the Chateau. And it was still better when Ja-
netoun, with her face nearly an extra span long
for vexation, broke some light wood across her
knee and filled the fire-place with it and soon
had a fine white crackling blaze. It seemed
as if I had got into Paradise !

Presently I heard the soft flip-flop of Mon-
sieur Randoulet's slippers. But when he came
into the kitchen, muffled up in his long wrap-
per and with a blue-checked handkerchief tied
around his head, I did not know him — until
he spoke to me with his gentle womanly voice.
Then there was no mistaking him. It was in-
deed good kind Monsieur Randoulet himself.

' ' Is it thou, Pascalet ? " he said. ' ' Thou art
a good boy, and thou hast done exactly right
in coming here. Do not be afraid, I will take
thee to see thy father. He is badly hurt, but
he will get over it." And as he spoke he
stroked my cheeks with his soft hand and drew
me gently to his side.

I was filled with wonder. 1 had not even
opened my mouth, and yet Monsieur le Cure
knew all that I desired.

"Where is my father, monsieur?" I ven-
tured to ask.

36 ®t)e Be&s of fye ittibi.

" He is in the hospital, where your mother
is caring for him. I will take you to them
in the morning — this is not the time. 1 am
sure you have not eaten anything to-day.
Janetoun, isn't there something in the cup-
board ? "

"What can there be ?" Janetoun answered
sulkily; and as she opened the cupboard she
added: "There is nothing at all but a stuffed
tomato."

As she said this she put on the table a little
stew-pan in which was a tomato as big as my
fist and browned like a pie. Just to look at it
made my mouth water!

"Would you like that?" asked Monsieur
Randoulet. "Go ahead, then, and eat it. Don't
be afraid. Eat it out of the pan — here is a
good piece of bread — and afterwards you shall
have a good cup of wine and go to bed. When
day-time comes I will take you to see your
father in the hospital."

To know that my father was not dead, that
my mother was taking care of him, that Mon-
sieur Randoulet would stand between me and
Surto — to know all that made me so happy
that I felt sick. When I tried to eat I could
not manage it. My gullet was all drawn to-
gether, my mouth was dry; and my heart still

or Slaters. 37

was so full of the dismal fear of that dreadful
day that there was no room in it for my
joy. I felt queer in my inside, and my legs
got weak under me and my head swam.
Monsieur le Cure saw what was the matter.

"Here," said he, "start your appetite with
this glass of wine," and he poured two fingers of
red wine into a beautiful glass cup that tinkled
like a bell and that had a foot like the chalice
used in the mass. You may be sure I made
no bones about swallowing it down. Friends,
that was wine ! In an instant I no longer was
the same boy. I bit into my bread and began
to cram my hollow inside — my jaws going
like a sausage-chopper.

And I no longer was afraid. I talked to
Monsieur le Cure as I would have talked to a
boy of my own age. I told him all that had
happened that day — the coming of the hare,
my poor father's beating, the flinging of the
stone, my day in hiding, and at last of my leap
into the pond. As he listened to me, Mon-
sieur le Cure sat down in front of the fire and
warmed himself, his arms half raised and his
hands out-spread to the flames as he used to
hold them at mass when, standing in front of
the missal, he sang the Prsefatio. When I had
finished he got up, poured for me another full

38 ®l)e Befcs of ll)e HUM.

glass of wine and said : "You are a good boy.
You have done right in coming here."

Then he turned his back to me to hide his
tearful eyes; and lifting his arms above his
head, his hands clasped as when he raised on
high the Host at the elevation, he exclaimed :
"Oh wicked master! Oh false Christian!
The Son of God shed his blood for great and
small, for marquis and for serf. Wicked mas-
ter! False Christian! To-day art thou mas-
ter, but to-morrow thou mayst be cast down !
Thy hand is raised against thy God, and thou
makest Jesus his Son to weep: for he sees his
people starve. Oh master accursed! Oh false
Christian ! Saint Roch will take from thee the
bread thou ravishest from those who are cry-
ing for food! Thou wilt see the gleaming
sword of great Saint John the Baptist, and thou
shalt feel its sharp edge ! Thy stronghold shall
fall down before thee, the tocsin will forever
ring for thee, and thou shalt see thy fountain
run with blood! Oh wicked lord! Oh wicked
Christian ! On thee rests heavily the curse of
God!"

In repeating these words old Pascal had
risen to his feet and, unconsciously imitating
the gestures of the good cure, had raised his

JOeatl) or Slauers. 39

hands above his head in denunciation — while
we all, overcome by his fervour, listened breath-
lessly and gaped at him with wide open eyes.
For a moment he was silent; and then, re-
seating himself, he continued:

Presently Monsieur Randoulet turned toward
rne, took me gently by the hand, and led me
away; Janetoun following with the lamp. We
went through a beautiful parlour that smelt of
incense like a sacristy; and at the end of it
was a double door which Monsieur le Cure
opened, and there inside, in the alcove, was a
big bed.

"Now then," said he, "you shall sleep
here, in the bed of the Bishop of Carpentras! "
He stroked my cheeks once more with his soft
hand, and again pressed my head against his
side, and then left me alone with Janetoun.

I did not know what to do with my hands,
I dared not touch anything. Janetoun, as soon
as her master had left us, seized me by the
arm and in her rough voice cried: "What are
you gaping at ! Get off your rags and go to
bed! " And turning her back on me she clat-
tered off with the light — leaving me in the
alcove alone in the dark.

Poor little me! I soon got off my coarse

40 ®l)c Uebs of tye iflibi.

wool jacket and breeches and rough stockings.
Feeling my way carefully, I climbed into the
big bed — as soft as feathers could make it. I
buried myself in it, I burrowed down in it.
In the twinkling of an eye I was as warm as a
chick under the hen; and in another twinkling
I was as sound asleep as a top! The bed was
so soft, the white sheets smelt so clean, that as
I dropped off I felt myself among the angels —
I who all my life had gone to sleep hungry and
whose bed had been always a truss of straw.

In my sleep I dreamed that I was floating in
the air on a cloud, and that nothing could reach
me to do me harm. I was in the midst of this
wonderful dream when all of a sudden I heard
loud shrill cries, such as you hear when a pig
is being stuck; and then came a rumbling and
squeaking like a rusty well-wheel, and the
clatter that the bucket makes banging against
the sides of the well; and then, right over my
head, bom ! bom ! bom ! three great claps of a
bell ! My blood turned cold within me and, be-
fore I had time to remember where I was,
again came the screaming and the rumbling and
the squeaking and the banging — and again
bom! bom! bom!

And then suddenly I remembered that I
was in the Bishop's bed in the Curacy, and my

IBeatl) or Siauerij. 41

fright left me as I understood the meaning of
all these strange sounds: that the bell-tower
of the church was right above me, and that the
bell-rope ran up through the alcove and rubbed
against the tester of my bed. It was the morn-
ing Angelus that was ringing; the same An-
gelus that sounded so clearly and so beauti-
fully in the early morning far off in our hut of
La Garde.

Just as the last stroke of the Angelus rang I
heard Janetoun's sabots clattering; and then
the alcove door opened creakingly and I saw
her standing in the grey morning light. She
put a bundle on my bed and said in her rough
voice: "Get up, little boy! Here, put on this
shirt, these breeches, this jacket, these shoes
and this cap. Do you understand?" and so
saying she spread out the clothes on the bed.

I gazed, gaping like a clam, at all this
brand-new outfit; but before I had time to say
a word Janetoun had turned on her heel, and
from the parlour door was calling back to me
that I must get up at once or I would keep
Monsieur le Cure waiting.

That warning was enough. I jumped out
of my high bed with a single bound ; and in
no time I had scrambled into the white shirt,
the new breeches, the warm jacket, the hole-

42 ®l)c Eebs of tl)e fflibi.

less stockings, the pretty little buckled shoes,
and the little three-cornered hat. When I saw
myself in my fine clothes, I did not know what
to do with my hands — and indeed could
scarcely walk! But I would not for the world
have kept Monsieur le Cure waiting; and so,
timidly tip-toing along, taking care not to slip
on the shining tiles, I went down to the
kitchen.

Monsieur Randoulet already was seated at
the table, and before him was a steaming cup
of something black. When he saw me, he
could not help laughing. "Oh look at the
little scamp of a Pascalet, why he might be the
consul's son! Sit down here and get your
breakfast.

•''Do you like this?" he added, and gave
me a cup of black steaming stuff, just like his.
He took a spoonful of brown sugar from a dish
and stirred it into my cup. "There, that will
warm up your little stomach," he said — and
gave me a big fougasse with its crusty horns.

He ate and drank; and then, doing just as
he did, I sipped at my cup of black water and
dipped in it a horn of my fougasse. Not until
seven years later did I know that that black
stuff was coffee — for the next time I tasted it
was at Jaffa, after the battle of the Pyramids,

UDeatl) or Slaoerj). 43

when Bonaparte gave us coffee to keep us
from the plague.

"Well," said Monsieur Randoulet, wiping
his lips, ' ' did you like it ? "

"Yes, Monsieur le Cure."

"And now do you want to see your fa-
ther?"

" Yes, Monsieur le Cure."

" Up then, and we'll be off. Button your
jacket, it is cold." And we went down into
the street.

By that time it was broad day ; and as we
passed by the church we saw before it, on the
pavement, a big pool of blood. Monsieur
Randoulet stopped short. "Ah, the wicked
ones," he cried, " to fight, to knife each other
in this way! Children of the people — eating
the same black bread, dragging the same chain
after them, tanning their skins at the same
work, burning in the same hell, slaves of the
same master! Ah poor people, poor peo-
ple! They unite their strength and they
sweat blood only for the profit of their execu-
tioners! "

We kept on to the hospital, but a few steps
away, and entered without knocking — for the
doors of the House of Charity always are wide
open — and so passed up the stairs. At the

44 ®be ftcbs of tlje iltiM.

stair-head, to the left hand, was the room for
the sick, into which Monsieur Randoulet led
me; and as we entered Sister Lucy, who was
the sister in charge, came forward to meet him
with a reverent greeting. On each side of the
room were narrow white beds. In the first
four to the right were four wounded men
whose wives were taking care of them. But
at the far end of the room, to the left, I saw
my poor mother at the head of a bed ; and I
made but one jump to her and threw myself
into her arms. And my mother, weeping,
gave me a kiss ! The poor do not kiss often —
their children not at all. I cannot recollect
that any one had ever kissed me before. When
my mother kissed me it seemed as if in that
moment I lived over all the days of my life,
while my heart within me swelled with joy.
And then, turning, and leaning over the bed,
I covered my old father's wounded face with
tears; while he kept saying, over and over:
"Pascalet! Pascalet! Art thou indeed Pasca-
let, my son Pascalet?"

But when 1 stood up again and saw my
father's face; when I saw the red swollen
welts, a finger thick, that Monsieur Robert's
and Surto's whips had raised on his cheeks
and forehead; when I saw his poor swollen

or 0lat)erB. 45

eye, almost starting out of his head — then I
began to tremble with a burning rage. My
face was on fire and my ears rang. My teeth
were eager to bite, my nails to rend. I longed
to burn the Chateau, to poison the wells!

But I was so helpless! All that I could do
was to weep. I clinched my hands and said
within me: "Oh, when I am big!"

My old father began to move about rest-
lessly ; and then to push down the coverings
with his thin hairy hands.

" Why art thou moving about that way ? "
my mother asked, covering him again with the
white sheets.

"I want to say something, La Ratine.
Come forward, thou and Pascalet. Listen.
You are not in the way, Monsieur le Cure.
Now that Pascalet is here, I want to say this
to you: You must both go, toward mid-day,
to the Chateau to see our lord Monsieur le Mar-
quis, and our lady Madame le Marquise, and
Monsieur Robert; and you must tell them that
as soon as I am well I will go and ask their
pardon. You will fall at their knees, at their
feet, and you will beg them to have pity on
you and on me. Tell them that our lives are
in their hands. Dost thou hear, wife ? Pasca-
let, dost thou hear ? You must not fail."

46 ®l)e Kebs of tlje JttiM.

Here Monsieur Randoulet cut him short:
"No, no, Pascal, this is not the moment for
that ; when you are well, we will see about it.
Believe me, I know."

"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" said my old
father. " What will ever our good master the
Marquis think of us, and Monsieur Robert also,
if we do not ask their forgiveness ? But, Mon-
sieur le Cure, if you think it is not suitable —
not suitable now ? "

"No, no, this is not the moment. I will
look after it all, do not be uneasy. And now
good-bye, Pascalet. Come this evening and
sleep at the Curacy. You understand, Pas-
calet ? "

"Yes, Monsieur le Cure," said I, looking
at him with reverence — for it seemed to me
that in him I really saw the good God.

But when he turned to leave us my father's
words came back to me: " You must go and
ask forgiveness!" /ask forgiveness! I was
red with shame, the blood boiled in my veins
— and the wicked thought came to me: Why
have I such a father ? I was ashamed of him.
Not only would 1 disobey him, but I did
not know what I would do if he tried to
force me.

I was drawn away from these bitter thoughts

or Slaoerg. 47

by hearing Monsieur le Cure, as he passed be-
side the other beds, speaking to the poor
women who, weeping, were taking care of
their wounded men. One had his cheek laid
open by the bottom of a bottle so that all his
teeth showed; another had both legs broken
at the knees by a blow from an iron bar; into
the back of the third a knife had been plunged
up to the hilt; and the fourth had been almost
disembowelled by a blow with a ploughshare.
This last, though so frightfully wounded, had left
the tavern and had managed to stagger as far
as the church before he fell. It was his blood
we had seen.

"But how has this happened? Who are
the wretches who have wrought this misery ?"
Monsieur le Cure asked again and again.

"They will not speak out," cried the four
women together. "They will not tell. They
will only say that it was the Papalists — who
called them Liberals and then fell on them and
wounded them as you see! "

"Ah, if/ dared but speak out! " said one
of the women.

"What good would speaking out do?"
said another. "The rich are always the rich
— they never are in the wrong."

"Come, come, this has nothing to do with

5

48 ®ljc ftebs of tlje ittiM.

the rich," said Monsieur le Cure. " Rich peo-
ple don't kill off poor people like flies."

"When you go up to the Chateau, mon-
sieur," said one of the women, turning her
head away and speaking in a low voice, "just
ask big Surto what took place. He knows all
about it. Could stones speak out and tell all,
that man wouldn't keep his head on his shoul-
ders for long! "

"Then all this has come from a quarrel be-
tween Liberals and Papalists ? "

"That is all, Monsieur le Cure. Are we
the kind of people to do harm ? "

Monsieur Randoulet turned away from them
for a moment, while his eyes filled with tears.
When he spoke again he said gently: "Take
good care of these poor fellows. I will not for-
get you and your children — you shall not
want."

Before he left the hospital he tried to get a
word from the wounded men. But their hurts,
and the fever that was beginning to come on,
kept them from answering — and so he went
away.

Surto's name, spoken by one of the women,
gave me goose-flesh. To my mind that man,
that monster, that German, was ready for any
crime. He frightened me more than wolves or

or Sloocrg. 49

tigers, or the very devil himself ! I was sure
that he was looking for me; that he wanted to
kill me in some dreadful way to revenge his
master, Monsieur Robert, whose foot I had
mashed with the stone — and I saw myself torn
to pieces with the whip, and then strung up to
one of the oaks on the avenue of the Chateau.

And so I stayed close-hidden all day long
in the hospital; where — with my father and
my mother and the Sisters — I thought that I
was as safe as in the Curacy itself. And yet it
was in the hospital that the danger was to
come.

I waited until black night shut down close
upon the village — until not a light showed in a
single window and I was sure that everybody
was in bed — before I dared to stir toward the
Curacy. But in the very moment that I turned
to go we heard faintly the sound of men's voices
singing the ''Range Lingua," and with this
the tinkling of a little bell. Sister Lucy opened
the window and looked out, and said as she
closed it again: "They are the White Peni-
tents. They must be escorting the Holy Sacra-
ment to some sick man. But where can they
be going ? Who can it be ? "

The tinkling of the bell and the singing
came nearer and nearer, and at last reached the

5° ®l)e ftebs of ll)£ HUM.

hospital ; then they stopped, and we heard the
sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. The
door opened, and in came six White Penitents:
spectre-like creatures in long white gowns,
with their heads hidden in pointed cowls —
cagoules, as the Penitents call them — which
came down to their shoulders and had two
staring round holes for their eyes.

When I saw these six ghosts with their
stretched-out heads pointed above and below,
without any mouth and without any nose,
with only two black holes where the eyes
ought to be — and still more when I saw the
biggest of them glancing at me fiercely with
his hollow eyes — I trembled with fright and,
holding my breath to make myself smaller,
squeezed down in hiding between my father's
bed and the wall.

In that very instant the six Penitents drew
each a great knife out from his long hanging
sleeve, and without a word they went up to the
four wounded Liberals and so larded them with
thrusts and cuts that their blood soaked through
the straw mattresses and streamed upon the
floor! The women screamed for help, and
Sister Lucy ran beseechingly from one execu-
tioner to the other — until a sidewise kick in
her ribs sent her reeling against my father's

or 0lat)er|j. 51

bed, breathless and sick. My mother fell over
against me, in a swound from fear.

All this happened quicker than I am telling
it you. When the Liberals were dead, stabbed
through and through, five of the Penitents, all
bloody, ran four steps at a time down the
stairs. But one, the biggest one, stayed be-
hind. He came straight to my father's bed
and stooped and looked under it — so that I
saw his eyes flashing through the holes of his
cagoule. Then, stooping, he reached out his
arm and caught my wrist and so dragged me
out.

I screamed at the top of my voice. But no
good came of screaming. There was no one
to help me. Only my poor old father and the
weak women and the dead were there — and
the monstrous great Penitent, dragging me
with him from the room, hustled me down
the stairs and so into the street. Whether or
no, I had to follow him. He held me like a
vice. When I called for help he turned and
cuffed me; and by the time that a window
opened — as happened once or twice — we were
far away. So we passed beyond the skirts of
the village; and at last, tired of struggling,
more dead than alive, I followed him quietly —
as an unhappy dog follows one who drags him

52 ®l)e Bcbs of tl)c ittibi.

at the end of a thong to throw him over a
bridge.

What could that murderous wretch want
with me ? From the moment that he had come
into the hospital I had guessed who it was;
but when we turned, after leaving the village,
into the road leading to the Chateau there was
no room left for hoping that my guess might
be wrong. I knew for certain that this man
who was dragging me after him, who held me
with his big strong hand — red with the blood
of murdered men — was Surto; and I felt that
since it was Surto who had me fast — there in
the darkness of night, and on that lonely road
through the fields where there was no chance
for me of rescue — I was as good as lost.

Pascal, who was a born story-teller, paused
at his climax; while we, greedily listening,
bent forward open-mouthed and eager for him
to go on. And just at that very moment the
shop door flew open with a bang, and in
rushed La Mie, the shoemaker's wife, like a
malicious whirlwind !

" What are you all doing ? What are you
thinking about ? " she cried angrily. " Here it
is eleven o'clock — in another moment it will
be midnight. And you have been chattering

SDcatl) or SlatJerg. 53

about nothing for a good two hours! The oil
is wasting, and my miserable cobbler of a hus-
band is losing his time like a child. And as
for you, you lazy dog, " she added, turning to
the apprentice, " not a stitch have you set the
whole night long. It is enough to drive a
saint crazy. Begone, all of you!" And La
Mie, in a towering passion, blew out the
lamp.

"You hard-tongued slut," cried the shoe-
maker through the darkness, grinding his teeth,
" I'll serve you out for this! "

As for the rest of us, we groped our way
along the walls to the door, got out into the
street, and set off for our homes and beds.
But we hardly had taken ten steps when we
heard the sound of the shoemaker's strap
whacking La Mie's back with sounding blows.

CHAPTER III.

THE REDS OF THE MIDI.

DURING the whole of the next day the one
thing that was talked about in our village — at
olive-mill, washing-place and bake-oven — was
La Mie's tremendous whacking; which had
lasted, it was rumoured, until well on toward
morning. And when I heard all this gossip I
wondered if that evening the shoemaker's shop
would be open for the meeting.

But I felt reassured when my grandfather,
as he swallowed his last mouthful of supper,
snapped his knife together, put it in his pocket,
and said: "Come on, little man, light the lan-
tern. You will see she has had enough to
make her behave herself for a fortnight! "

Well, he was right. The shop was open
just the same as usual; shoemaker and appren-
tice were tapping away as cheerily as ever;
and what was more, there was La Mie in per-
son, smiling and agreeable, seated close to the
light knitting her stocking. She talked of va-

54

ftebs of tlje ittiM. 55

rious things and made herself pleasant to every-
body. " Good evening, Dominic" (that was
to my grandfather). "Pray take this chair.
And you, my dear, put down that saucy cat
who has jumped up on your little bench."
And then, turning to her husband, she added :
" Why, see there, your lamp is burning badly,"
and so saying she took her scissors and
trimmed the lamp. And in the tone of her
voice, all the while, there was a ring of su-
preme satisfaction and content.

I did not understand her good humour. But
all the neighbours smiled, and then La Mie
smiled too — for every one knew that after the
shoemaker and his wife had quarrelled and
made up again they always were the best of
friends. And so, when Pascal came, she said
with all possible cordiality: "Ah, we have
been waiting for you. Draw up to the stove.
I heard that you were telling a story, and I
said to myself that I would come and listen
with the rest — because your stories always are
so good. Begin right away."

And I, fearful that Pascal might have for-
gotten just where he left off, and that we might
lose a part of the story, ventured to strike in :
"You know, Pascal, you stopped where the
big White Penitent was dragging you through

56 ®l)c Befcs of tl)e 4JUM.

the black night along the road to the Cha-
teau."

"Yes, yes, I remember," Pascal answered.
And then, after waiting a minute or two
until we all were comfortably settled, he
went on:

I certainly thought that I was lost. Every
time that I hung back, or tried to break away,
Surto gave me a buffet; and when he changed
me from one hand to the other he swung me
around so rapidly that it seemed as if he would
jerk loose my arms. All this time he was
walking fast — and never for an instant did he
let me go free.

Up on the heights, at the end of the road,
I could begin to make out the black row of
oaks in front of the Chateau — and I knew that
once beyond those oaks it was all up with me.
Yet if only I could get loose for so much as a
second I felt sure that I would be all right — for
a single spring aside would take me out of the
road and into safety. I knew every hand's
breadth of the country thereabouts — the steep
hill-sides, the tufts of bushes, the ditches, the
walls, the paths; and then, too, in the black-
ness of night a start of two steps is worth
more than a long run by day. But the first

licfcs of ll)C JttiM. 57

thing to do was to get my start by making
him let go of my hand.

At first I thought of biting him — of biting
off his finger, perhaps; but I saw that wouldn't
do, for I couldn't bite him at once in both
hands. And then my great danger sharpened
my wits and gave me a better notion : making
me remember the trick that often had been put
upon me by the little wild creatures — crickets,
beetles, cigales, the praying-mantis — which
sometimes I caught in the fields. As I touched
them they would always — either from fear or
by cunning — gather themselves into a little
heap, moving neither foot nor leg, so that they
seemed quite dead. I could turn them as I
pleased; blow on them; shout at them — yet
they never stirred. But did I for a single mo-
ment look aside — off would scuttle my crickets,
and my cigales and beetles instantly would fly
away ! It always was a fresh surprise to me,
this trick; and the good thought that came to
me was that I should play it in my own behalf.
There was no time to be wasted, and the very
minute that I had this notion I acted upon it —
dropping like a dead creature and hanging limp
from Surto's huge hand.

" Vat, you vont valk any more ? " he cried.
"Veil, take that then!" — and he gave me a

58 ®l)e Hebs of tlje ittibi.

kick in the ribs that seemed to crack every one
of them and that knocked all the wind out of
me. But I set my jaws hard and made no
sound; nor did I give any sign of life when he
followed up the kick by a cuff with his great
paw that made my teeth chatter. He seemed
to suspect a trick, for all this while he never
let loose his grip on my wrist; and when he
found that neither kicks nor cuffs could make
me walk he dragged me along behind him, my
body bumping on the rough ground. This
was not good going for me; but it also was
bothersome for him. He had not taken ten
steps — to every one of which he swore a big
German oath — before he stopped again. By
that time he must have begun to believe in my
trick, for I heard him mutter: "I'll haf you
any vay, tead or alife! " — and then he tried to
swing me up on his shoulders.

Luckily for me, his Penitent's dress was in
the way and he couldn't manage it. The big
sleeves caught him in his arms, and the cagoule
flapped about so that the holes no longer were
before his eyes. It was as though he had his
head in a bag. Still holding me, he tried to
throw off the cagoule with one hand. But it
would not come loose; and at last, entirely
tricked by my limp deadness, he let me drop

0f tlje JttiM. 59

on the ground while he went at it with both
hands. My chance had come! In an instant,
while he still was fumbling at the cagoule, I
was on my feet; and before his head was clear
of it I had jumped the ditch by the roadside
and had bounded in among the brushwood—
and so was well away!

"Te tevil! Ten tousand tevils! I'll haf
you yet, you little peast!" he cried out after
me ; and I heard him crashing into the brush-
wood as he leaped the ditch and then came
pounding along heavily in my wake. But he
might as well have been chasing thistledown!
I had the start of him ; I knew my way ; the
darkness covered me. Presently, when I was
a long way ahead, I heard him whistling for
the dogs at the Chateau. Dogs were another
matter. They could get along even better
than I could in the dark. I ran harder than
ever. But the dogs were slow in coming. I
am not sure that they came at all. Faintly,
far behind me, I heard Surto's strong Dutch
curses as I came in sight of the outlying houses
of Malemort. I was saved !

It was after midnight when I entered the
village; yet the streets were full of people and
all the houses were alight. The kniving of the
four Liberals had turned the whole place upside

60 ®f)e Eefcs 0f ttye IttiM.

down. As I crossed the Rue Basse I heard
the cries and moans of the women, up in the
hospital, wailing over their dead; and the
murmurs and curses of the crowd standing
about the hospital door. Still all of a tremble
with fear, 1 dared not enter the crowd. It
seemed to me that only with Monsieur le Cure
would I be safe — and I went to the Curacy
without a halt. Janetoun had not gone to bed,
and at my first little knock I heard the clatter
of her wooden shoes.

"Who is there ?" she called out.

"I, Pascalet."

Then Janetoun quickly swung the door
open. "Well, I never!" she cried. "It is
Pascalet, sure enough. Where did you get
away from the White Penitent ? "

"Up by the Chateau. I played him a trick
that made him let me go — and then I ran off
from him in the dark."

" But what did he want with you ? "

" He wanted to kill me."

"Kill you! K\\\you— little Pascalet! The
monster! Do you know who it was ?"

" Oh yes, I know very well. It was Surto."

"The game-keeper of Monsieur le Mar-
quis ? That fine handsome big man ? What
are you talking about ? It is impossible! "

0f tl)e ittiM. 61

"No, it is not impossible. I know him
very well. It was he."

"You are crazy, child. Be careful not to
speak that wild thought to any one else. Have
you had your supper ? "

" Yes — Sister Lucy gave it to me."

"Very well. Then you shall go to bed.
Monsieur le Cure has not come home yet.
They sent for him to bring the holy oil to the
hospital — but the men there are past holy oil-
ing, from what I hear. When he comes back
I'll tell him you're here. But you'd better get
to bed, so come on."

Janetoun led me to the big parlour, opened
the doors of the alcove, and showed me again
the great soft bed of the Bishop of Carpentras ;
and as she was closing the doors of the alcove
upon me she said: " At least make the sign of
the cross before you go to sleep."

I groped my way to bed. But when I
was between the sheets, in among the soft
feathers, I could not sleep. I had one shiver-
ing fit after another; and the White Penitent,
with his cagoule that made his head seem like a
kite, always was before my eyes. I would see
him standing up straight and tall at the foot of
the bed ; then his long arms would reach out
over me ; his grasp would settle tight on my

62 ®l)e Ec&0 0f tl)e HUM.

foot ; and when I tried to cry out for help he
would clutch my throat with his blood-stained
hands. When sleep did come to me he still
kept with me and lashed me in my dreams;
until at last he brought out his long knife and
was making ready to pin me with it to the
bed, as he had done with the men at the hos-
pital. And then, suddenly, there was a loud
creaking noise ; the door of the alcove opened ;
a blinding light shone upon me — and there,
beside my bed, was Monsieur le Cure with a
lamp in his hand.

"Don't be afraid, Pascalet," he said. "It
is I — Monsieur Randoulet. You must get up
now. Day will soon be breaking. You must

go-"

"Monsieur," I said, "I cannot go back to
the hospital. I am afraid."

" You are not to go to the hospital, Pasca-
let. You are to go quite away from here, to a
place where you will be in safety. And now
you must get up quickly. Before the daylight
comes you must be off."

Without another word I was out of bed
and sliding into my clothes. But when I
looked for my cocked hat it was not to be
found.

"Ah, it is your little hat you are looking

Hebs

for," said Monsieur Randoulet. "Here it is.
You left it at the hospital;" and then he led
me quickly to the kitchen, where Janetoun
already had a glowing fire. Janetoun was
greatly excited. She was going to and fro in a
hurry exclaiming: "Oh Heaven! Oh Heaven!"
and between whiles heaving great sighs.

Monsieur Randoulet brought out a blue
cloth wallet into which she put two double-
handfuls of figs, two more of almonds, some
apples, and a loaf of bread. Then, with a
comfortable gurgling sound, she filled for me a
little brown flask made out of a brown gourd
— so polished that it shone like a chestnut —
from the great jar of wine.

When all was finished, Monsieur Randoulet
took my hand in both of his and said to me:
"My child, we are fallen on evil times. The
men about us, worse than wolves, seek to de-
vour their own kind. Our streets run red with
blood. Even thou, my child, even thou, they
seek in order to make thee perish — and, withal,
thou art a good boy. Therefore it is well that
thou shouldst go far from here, even to the city
of Avignon ; so far away that they no longer
can do thee harm. In the flask and wallet
which Janetoun has filled are food and drink
enough to suffice thee for two days — double

64 ®l)* ftefcs of tl)e Jttibi.

the time that thou needst to be upon the road.
Here is a letter which thou must keep by thee
carefully until thou art come to Avignon, where
thou art to present it to Monsieur le Chanoine
Jusserand. He will find honest work for thee
to do, so that thou mayst gain thy livelihood
with clean hands. And remember always, my
child, that no man ever regrets the good that
he has done ; and that to every man, sooner or
later, comes retribution for his evil deeds.
Kiss me and promise me that thou wilt never
render evil for evil ; but for evil, good — even as
our blessed Lord has taught us from the height
of his cross."

And I, my heart hurting me because of
Monsieur le Cure's goodness and the pain of
going out alone from my home, answered:
"Yes, Monsieur le Cure, I promise. But —

"What is it?"

"My mother — who will take care of her?"

" Do not trouble thyself, my child. Neither
thy father nor thy mother shall suffer want."

He hung the bag full of victuals about my
neck, and thrust into the pocket of my coat
the shining flask filled with good wine. ' ' Come
now," he said, "I will start thee in the right
road " — and he led the way down the stairs,
and so to the outer door.

of tl)* 4JUM. 65

The stars were still in the sky when we
reached the street. No one was stirring. The
only noise was the gurgling of the fountain.
We went on together in silence until we were
outside the village and fairly upon the high
road to Avignon. Then Monsieur Randoulet
took me in his arms, kissed me, and said:
" Remember, Pascalet, all that I have told
thee. I will take care of thy father and thy
mother; and as for thee, so thou be a good
boy, Monsieur Jusserand, the Canon, will see
to it that thou hast a chance to gain thy bread.
Do not lose the letter. By sunrise thou wilt
be half way on thy journey. Ask the first peo-
ple whom thou meetest if thou art on the road
to Avignon. Walk on like a man — and at
mid-day thou wilt sight the Palace of the
Popes."

Again he embraced me, and I felt him slip
something into the pocket of my jacket; but I
could not guess what it was, nor could I think
much about it, because just then my heart was
so full. "Thank you very, very much, Mon-
sieur Randoulet " was all that I could find to
say. And then I started on the road to Avi-
gnon.

I walked and I walked — on and on over the
white road and through the black night. The

66 ®l)e fUbs of tlje HUM.

farmhouse dogs came out barking from as far
off as they could scent me. Some even tried to
bite me. And I, poor little miserable boy,
made myself as small as I could and walked
on and on! Once I almost turned back. I
was frightened not less by the darkness than
by the silence — which every now and then
was made keener by the hooting in some elm
or willow by the roadside of a screech-owl : a
dismal bird.

But at last, as I walked on steadily, day-
break came; and all of a sudden the beautiful
clear sun sprang up over Mount Crespihoun —
sending my shadow far ahead of me on the
white road and cheering and comforting me
with his warm rays. My long shadow amazed
and delighted me. " It is not possible,'' I said
to myself, "that you are as big as that; that
you are so well dressed ; that you have a cocked
hat! Why, you look like a man!" And I
grew almost happy to feel myself suddenly so
grown up, and free, and my own master out
in the world. Just then I remembered that
when Monsieur Randoulet had left me he had
slipped something into the pocket of my jacket;
and when I fetched it out to look at it, behold !
wrapped tight in a blue paper I found three
beautiful white silver crowns! This was too

of tl)e JttiM. 67

much! Three whole crowns! What could I
ever do with such a sum ? Then indeed I felt
myself a big strong man. In that moment I
do not think that even Surto would have fright-
ened me.

I strode along the road as proud as Lucifer;
and presently, looking up, I saw before me a
great city with houses having many windows —
quite unlike our little houses at Malemort — while
rising still higher in the morning sunlight were
noble towers: "What, Avignon already?" I
said to myself. " Well, you have come a good
pace! " But just then I met a lame old peasant
on his way to hoe his vineyard, and his answer
to my question if it were Avignon took a little
of the conceit out of me.

"Well, my lad," he answered, "it's plain
that you're not from around here. That's not
Avignon — that's Carpentras. The city of Avi-
gnon, God be thanked, is far enough from here.
If you keep right along your road you'll hardly
get there by sunset."

The old man put down his hoe from his
shoulder as he spoke; and then, leaning on its
handle as shepherds lean on their crooks, he
looked hard at me and added: "Tell me, my
lad, is the matter very important that is taking
you to Avignon just now ? If it is not, you

68 $!)<> ftcbs of tjje iflibi.

had better turn right around and go back to
the place you came from. They say that
things are happening in Avignon fit to make
your blood run cold. And it isn't surprising,
either. They are a bad lot, down there —
jealous, envious, deceitful, cowardly — bad all
the way through. Brigands, people call them ;
and that's what they are." He was silent for
a moment; and then, coming close to me and
speaking in a low voice in my ear, he went
on: "They are worse still. They are working
for what they call the ' Revolution ' ; for some
sort of a new government in France, and
against the Pope. They want to get rid of the
Pope's government — brigands that they are!
And, do you know, twice they have tried to
besiege our town of Carpentras ? That shows
what wretches they must be. I need say no
more, my lad. Good-bye!" and off he went
up the road. When he had gone a little way
he turned again and called: " I have a piece of
good advice to give you: Go back whence you
came!" and then, his hoe on his shoulder, he
went hobbling away.

But I, having my orders from Monsieur le
Cure, was not to be put about by the chance
warnings of a lame old man. I went forward,
steadily and stoutly, as though I had not heard a

of ll)e ittifci. 69

single word. The sun rose higher and higher as
I walked on and on. I passed long stretches of
garrigues, whence came to me the sweet clean
smell of thyme growing wild there on the
rocky hills ; and then longer stretches of
meadow land dotted with -vejados — the little
sod-heaps capped each one with a stone which
are set up to warn away shepherds with their
flocks. And so noon-tide came and passed.

It was in the early afternoon that first I saw
the Rhone, one of the biggest rivers in the
world. I have seen the Rhine, the Danube, the
Berezina: they all are smaller than the Rhone.
I don't know how to make you see it better
than by saying that it is as wide as Monsieur
Veran's twenty-acre field. Only suppose that
instead of seeing the brown wheat stubble
you saw a great ditch full of water running
from away off down to the very sea — and then
you would have the Rhone!

At last I came within sight of the Pope's
City. Saints in Heaven ! What a beautiful town
it was! Going right up two hundred feet
above the bank of the river was a bare rock,
steep and straight as though cut with a stone-
mason's chisel, on the very top of which was
perched a castle with towers so big and high
— twenty, thirty, forty times higher than the

70 ipe ftefcs of tl)e ittibi.

towers of our church — that they seemed to go
right up out of sight into the clouds! It was
the Palace built by the Popes; and around and
below it was a piling up of houses — big,
little, long, wide, of every size and shape, and
all of cut stone — covering a space as big, I
might say, as half way from here to Carpentras.
When I saw all this I was thunderstruck. And
though I still was far away from the city a
strange buzzing came from it and sounded in
my ears — but whether it were shouts or songs
or the roll of drums or the crash of falling houses
or the firing of cannon, I could not tell. Then
the words of the lame old man with the hoe
came back to me, and all of a sudden I felt a
heavy weight on my heart. What was I going
to see, what was going to happen to me in the
midst of those revolutionary city folks ? What
could I do among them — I, so utterly, utterly
alone ?

In order to scare up a little courage I felt in
my pocket to make sure that I still had the
letter that Monsieur Randoulet had given me.
There was the good letter, and as I touched it
I seemed to feel the kind Cure's hand; and
there, too, were the three beautiful white
crowns, each one of them worth three francs.
And then, my spirits rising until I was as light

Eebs of ll)c fftibi. 71

as a bird, I marched on again until I came to
the gate of Saint-Lazare in the walls of Avi-
gnon.

Oh what sights I saw there and what a
crowd ! How many shall I say ? I don't
know — at least ten thousand. The people
were jumping, dancing, laughing, clapping
their hands, hugging each other, until you
might have thought they all were merry-mad.
I found myself, I scarcely know how, mixed
in with this crowd — which was spread out
along the base of the ramparts and was going
in and out of the wide open gates. All of a
sudden some one raised the cry: "The faran-
dole! The farandole!" — and the tambourins
began to buzz, pipes began to squeal, and I
saw coming toward rne a swaying line of
dancers hand in hand: an endless farandole
stretching as far as I could see.

And what a farandole! There in line were
bare-footed ragamuffins hand in hand with
well-to-do well-dressed citizens each with his
watch on. There were soldiers, washwomen
and hucksterwomen in their Catalan caps,
dandies with silk-tied queues, porters, ladies in
lace dresses. There was a Capuchin monk,
red as a peony, and a brace of priests; and
there were three nuns kicking up their heels

72 ®l)e ftefcs of

and showing their fat calves. Then followed
a long line of girls, of children, of everything.
And all these people capered and danced
and sang in time to the pipes and tabors scat-
tered along the line. There was no end to it
all — and the crowd clapped hands and ap-
plauded and from time to time sent up a great
shout of "Vive la Nation!" Presently I too
caught the madness — and away I went with
the others in the farandole, shouting ' ' Vive la
Nation! " at the top of my lungs.

It was so long, that farandole, that neither
beginning nor end could be seen to it. Before
the last of the dancers had come out by the
Porte Saint-Lazare the leaders had entered the
city again by the Porte du Limbert; while the
crowd pressed close behind, squeezed together
like a swarm of bees. Utterly bewildered,
gaping like an oyster, I followed my leaders;
and so entered Avignon by the Porte du Lim-
bert and went on through the Rue des Tein-
turiers, the street of the Water Wheels.

What a queer street that is! Half of it is a
paved street and the other half is the bed of
the river Sorgue; and on the side of the river
huge black wheels, dipping down into the
swiftly-running water, stick out from the cali-
co-mills and dye-houses and turn the machin-

Eefcs of tlje JUibi. 73

ery that is inside. As that day was a great fes-
tival, the weavers and dyers were not at work.
Everywhere the buildings were hung from
roof to ground with great pieces of party-col-
oured calico — red, blue, green, yellow, with
big bunches of flowers all over them — and
from drying lines stretched across the street
there floated thousands and thousands of the
pretty bright-coloured neck-kerchiefs which
our girls wear: so that the whole place seemed
to be ablaze with flags and festoons and ban-
ners shimmering in the sunlight as they flut-
tered in the cold air. And all these fluttering
waving things, and the buzzing roar and the
surging and swaying of the crowd, with the
sparkling Sorgue water falling with a tin-
kling drip in the sunshine — like cascades of au-
tumn leaves — from the great slowly turning
wheels which seemed like huge snails moving
backwards ; all this sparkle and glitter and tu-
mult and turmoil, I say, was enough to dazzle
a man and make him mad with joy!

The press in the narrow street was so close
that the farandole dancers could not caper with
any comfort at all. Every now and then I
could catch sight of their heads far in advance
bobbing up and down above the level of the
crowd — as they vainly tried to keep time to

74 ®l)e tt*&8 ^ tlje ittibi.

the squealing of the pipes and the quick tap-
ping of the tambourins. And so on we went
— some of us lifted off our feet at times in the
tight squeeze — up through the street of the
dyers and the street of the hosiers, and then
out through the Rue Rouge to the Place de
1'Horloge in front of the Hotel de Ville; where
there was room to spread out again and the
farandole dancers once more could skip it and
jump it as they pleased. Again I saw pass and
repass that strangely linked human chain.
There were the bearded Capuchin and the pot-
bellied burghers, the nuns red as poppies, the
soldiers, the priests, the washwomen, the fine
ladies, the loafers, the children, the porters — in
a word, there was all Avignon dancing the
farandole: while up on the Rocher des Doms
cannon thundered, and all the crowd, dancers
and on-lookers, roared "Vive la Nation!";
and high in the clocktower of the Hotel de
Ville wooden Jacquemart and Jacquemarde,
who keep the time for Avignon, beat upon the
great bell and sent its loud clangour booming
above us in the clear air.

From the Place de 1'Horloge we went
onward, the crowd keeping with us and fol-
lowing us, to the open square in front of the
Pope's Palace: where all the merry-making

®l)e ftebs of tl)e ittiM. 75

•was to come to a climax in a People's Festival.
In the middle of the square was a platform on
which already were seated the Commissioners
who had arrived the evening before from Paris
to make formal proclamation of the reunion of
Avignon to France. The crowd soon spread
over the Rocher des Doms, and increased con-
stantly. People were squeezed and pressed
together like wheat in a hopper. They were
piled up everywhere — the windows, the bal-
conies, the very roof-tiles were black with
heads. The circling dancers with joined hands
made a great swaying curve which took in
both the square of the Pope's Palace and the
Place de 1'Horloge. The mass of the crowd
was surrounded by this huge farandole; and
in the midst of the balancing dancers the on-
lookers clapped their hands and stamped their
feet in time to the drumtaps and shouted:
"Vive la Nation! Down with the Pope's
Legate! Vive la France!"

Presently one of the Commissioners stood
up on the platform and made signs for quiet;
and when, little by little, the drummers and
pipers had stopped playing and the noise of
the crowd slowly had ceased, the Chief Com-
missioner, the formal delegate from the Na-
tional Assembly at Paris, read out the great

76 ®l)c ftefcs of fyt ittiM.

decree: which declared Avignon and the Com-
tat Venaissin severed from the dominions of
the Pope and once more united to France.
And then the crowd burst forth into such a
shouting of "Vive la Nation!" and "Down
with the Pope's Legate!" that it seemed as if
their cries never would have an end.

But quiet came suddenly when the Com-
missioners' were seen to turn toward the Pope's
Palace and to make signs to some workmen
posted up on the roof, and as the workmen
obeyed their order a solemn silence rested on
the crowd. On top of the Palace, sticking up
above the battlements, you still may see the
little stone gable where hung for I know not
how long the silver bell that to most people
was almost the same thing as the Pope him-
self. It rang when the old Pope died ; it rang
when the new Pope was blessed and crowned
— and people said that it rang all by itself,
without touch of human hand. In Avignon,
the ringing of that sweet-toned little silver bell
seemed to be the Pope's own voice; and to
see it gleaming in the sunshine up there in the
gable above his Palace made one understand,
somehow, his greatness and his glory and his
riches and his power.

And there before our eyes, obeying the

0f tl)£ 4JUM. 77

order of the Commissioners, the workmen
were taking that bell away forever — because
the Comtat was a part of France again, and
the power of the Popes over Avignon was
gone!

In the dead silence we could hear the click-
ing of pincers and the tapping of hammers
and the grating of files; and then a single
sharp sweet clang — which must have come
when the bell, cut loose from its fastenings,
was lifted away. Having it thus free from the
setting where it had rested for so long a while,
the workmen brought it to the battlements;
and in plain sight of all of us, down the whole
great depth of the Palace walls, lowered it by
a cord to the ground. And the poor little bell,
glittering like a jewel in the sunshine, tinkled
faintly and mournfully at every jar and jerk of
the cord as though it knew that its end had
come : now giving out, as it swayed and the
clapper struck within, a sweet clear sound;
and again, as it jarred against the wall, a sound
so harsh and so sad that to hear it cut one's
heart. All the way down those great walls it
uttered thus its sad little plaint; until we
seemed to feel as though it were a child some
one was hurting; as though it were a living
soul. And I know that the pain that was in

78 Orije ftefcs 0f tl)e

my heart was in the hearts of all that crowd.
The silence, save for the mourning of the bell,
was so deep that one could have heard the
flight of a butterfly — and through it, now and
then, would come from some one a growling
whisper: " Liberty and the Rights of Man are
all very well, but they might have left our little
bell alone!" And it is certain that for an
hour or more after the funeral of the little bell
was ended no one shouted " Vive la Nation! "
or "Down with the Pope's Legate! " or " Vive
la France! "

But quickly enough tambourins and fifes
began to play again; the farandole again got
going; again there sounded the buzz and mur-
mur of the crowd. And then the men began to
bring the victuals for the Festival : great baskets
of freshly baked white bread, fat jars of olives,
and baskets of nuts and of golden winter
grapes. All these good things were arranged
in front of the platform where the Commis-
sioners were standing, and whoever pleased
was free to go up and draw a fixed portion : a
loaf of bread, seven olives, six filberts or wal-
nuts, and a bunch of grapes.

Getting to the baskets through the crush
that there was around them was no easy mat-
ter. But I managed it, though pretty well

Hebs of tlje HUM. 79

banged and bruised by the way; and when
my rations were secured I looked about me for
a place where I could munch them in some
sort of comfort and at the same time see what
was going on.

The steps leading up to the portico of the
Pope's Palace seemed to be just the place for
me, as from there you see over the whole big
square. A good many other people had had
the same notion and were seated or standing
on the steps eating away ; but a soldier of the
National Guard, who was there with his wife
and little boy, moved up and made room for
me so that I found myself very well fixed in-
deed. The soldier was a good-looking fellow
—fair and rosy and with blue eyes, a kind you
don't often find in these parts — and under his
big fierce yellow moustache he had a very
friendly smile. At first he didn't say anything
to me, but when he saw me cracking my
walnuts with my teeth he could not hold his
tongue. "The deuce!" he cried. "You've
got a pair of iron nippers in those jaws of
yours, youngster, and no mistake!"

He went on cracking his own walnuts with

a Rhone cobble-stone, smiling pleasantly and

giving the kernels to his wife and little boy.

As for me, I was both abashed and pleased by

7

8o ®l)e ftcbo of

his taking notice of me. I grinned foolishly,
and looked down, and did not dare to answer
him. His big plumed hat, his blue coat with
its red facings, his long sword — curved like a
partly straightened sickle — upset me and filled
me with admiration. I couldn't help thinking
how splendid it would be to have such a man
for a father — even for a cousin, a friend!

Suddenly he stood up and looked over the
crowd. "They're tapping the barrels," he
said, and held out his hand to his wife for a
straw-covered bottle that was lying by her
side. Then, seeing my little brown gtmrd, he
said: " If that's empty, give it to me and I'll
get it filled for you."

Empty it was, for I had drained it on the
road, and without daring even to say thank
you I gave it to him ; and off he went through
the press up toward the end of the square,
where the crowd was packed close around six
big wine-casks ranged beneath the wall of the
Cardinal's palace in a row. The casks had
just been tapped — and I can tell you the crowd
went for them ! For a moment we saw our sol-
dier shouldering his way in among the people;
then we saw only his hat; and at last we saw
only his red feather, as it went bobbing up and
down among the heads in the distance.

of tl)e ittiM. 81

In ten minutes or so he got back to us — his
bottle and my gourd as full as they would hold.
His moustache was all wet, and little red drops
of wine hung from the tip of each of its hairs.

" Father," called out the little boy as soon
as he saw him, " I want some more grapes."

"There are no more grapes. You shall
have some wine."

"No, I want grapes."

" But I tell you they are all gone."

"Come, darling, drink the nice wine,"
said his mother, holding the full bottle to his
lips.

"No, no, I want grapes."

I had not yet eaten my grapes. I got up
and handed my bunch to the child, saying:
" There, little fellow, eat these," and I felt my
cheeks getting red again.

"What, deny yourself for that little glut-
ton! I really can't have it," said the soldier.

" Please," said I, " let him eat my grapes.
He is such a dear little boy."

"You are very kind," said the mother,
smiling at me. And then, taking the grapes
and giving them to the child, she made him
thank me for them with a little bow.

"You don't seem quite like one of our Avi-
gnon people," the soldier said as he handed

82 ®j)e Eebs 0f tl)e HUM.

me back my gourd. "I don't want to know
what isn't my business, but do you belong
here ? "

"No," I answered, "I am from Male-
mort."

"And what do you come here for ? "

" I don't know exactly. But I have a letter
for Monsieur le Chanoine Jusserand, who is to
find me some way of getting a living. Could
you tell me where he lives ? "

At this my soldier frowned, and looked at
me so hard that he frightened me. "What! "
he cried. " A letter to Canon Jusserand! Then
you must be an Aristo, a Papalist ! "

"I? I don't know just what you mean.
But I don't think that I'm a Papalist."

"Then what do you want with Canon Jus-
serand?"

"I was told he would give me some work
to do."

"Why, don't you know that Canon Jus-
serand is an Aristo ? He won't find work for
any but Papalists, that's sure. But you seem to
be a nice sort of a boy, and I'll tell you what to
do if the Canon receives you badly. Come and
look for me in the guard-room in the Hotel de
Ville on the Place de 1'Horloge, and I will see
that you get into the National Guard. I'll

Eeba of tlj* ittiM. 83

take you in my own company. How old are
you ?"

" I must be sixteen, more or less," said I —
adding on at least a year.

" That's all right. You can be enrolled if
you're sixteen. Then that's settled, is it ? Now
I'll show you how to go. Take that narrow
street over there, just in front of us. Keep
down it and turn to the left and you'll be in
the Rue du Limas. There you will see a house
with a balcony, and that is where the old
Canon lives."

As he said this he turned toward his wife
and I saw him winking and making a sign to
her. She answered him by laughing a little;
and then, getting up and coming in front of
me, she unfastened a tricolor cockade from her
Catalan cap as she said: "Now that you are a.
good Patriot and hate the Papalists, I will give
you my cockade." And when she had fas-
tened it into my hat she turned to her husband
and added: " See how jaunty he looks ! You
are right, he will make a pretty National
Guard."

And then the soldier slapped me on the
back and shouted, and I shouted after him:
" Vive la Nation! Down with the Legate! "

"Now," said he, "go find your Canon.

84 ®l)e Ecbs of lt)e 4BiM.

But don't forget what I said. You know where
to look for me if he turns you off. Ask for
Sergeant Vauclair."

" Thank you very much," I answered. " I
won't forget." And, so saying, I left him—
all upset, and not knowing whether it were
fear or joy that made something leap so in my
breast.

It was very hard work getting across the
crowded square, as I had to squirm through
the crowd and break the farandole. But as
soon as I reached the narrow way that led to
the Rue du Limas there was no one to be seen
but a few old men, and in the Rue du Limas
itself there was not even so much as a cat.
This was the quarter of the Whites, the Aristo-
crats. Every door, every shutter, was tightly
barred. But I knew that there were people in
the houses for I could hear voices; and in some
that I passed women loudly telling their beads.
I went straight to the house with the balcony
and knocked. In a moment a little window
was opened over head ; but before I could look
up it was clapped to again, and I did not see
any one.

Then I heard doors open and shut inside
the house and the sound of footsteps in the
corridor, and then the creaking of the two

tUbs of tlje JttiM. 85

bolts as they were drawn back and the grating
of the big key as it was turned twice in the
lock. At last the latch was raised and the
great door was opened the very smallest bit.

A sour-faced old woman, yellow as saffron,
peeked at me through the crack and in a sharp
voice asked: " What do you want ?"

"I want to see Monsieur le Chanoine Jus-
serand," I answered.

Then she opened the door wider, and I took
a step forward. But before I could cross the
threshold she gave a scream as if I had been for
killing her, snatched off my hat, and fell to
yelling: ''Help! Jesus Maria, help! A brigand
in the house! Help! Help! We're all lost! "

The old fury jerked the tricolor cockade
out of my hat and tore it to pieces with her
crooked fingers; spit on my hat, and flung it
into the street; and then, still howling for help,
she trampled on the scraps of my cockade
while she held up her petticoats as if she were
crushing a scorpion. Finally she gave a fierce
yell out of her big mouth — as big as an oven,
and the single fang in it as long as the tooth of
a rake; pushed me so hard that I almost fell
down, and then clapped the door to with a
bang. In another second the two bolts grated
again as they were shot back into their places,

86 ®[)e ftebs of U)e iflibi.

and the big key locked and double-locked the
door.

I was struck all of a heap by this outburst.
I couldn't make head nor tail of it. But by
this time all the windows in the neighbour-
hood were open and from everywhere women
were screaming: "There's a brigand in the
street! To the Rhone with him! To the
Rhone!" — and as I stooped to pick up my hat
from the gutter a shower of brickbats and tiles
and stones came down around me. I was only
too glad to get out of that Rue du Limas —
where, without in the least meaning to, I had
kicked up such a row.

I felt as silly as a soused cat as I went back
to the square of the Palace; and there I mixed
in with the crowd and stared at the farandole
till nightfall. I turned over and over in my
head all that had passed, trying to make sense
of it. I had spoken politely to the lady in the
Rue du Limas. Why then had she treated me
as if 1 were a robber or a murderer ? Why
had she torn off my cockade ? Why had all
her neighbours called out: "To the Rhone
with him! To the Rhone with him!" I had
done no harm to anybody. Then why should
I be hooted at and stoned ?

I looked around me and thought bitterly:

0f tlje HUM. 87

"Here are all these people, eating, drinking,
dancing, singing. Each one has a home and a
bed to go to. I am the only one here who has
no shelter for the night, no relations, no friends.
In the only place where I had any right to go,
I was treated like a robber. " I found myself
wanting to get back to the old times when the
sow took the cabbage-stalk from me. What
was I good for anyway ? What would become
of me ?

Then I began to think of the Rhone, the
great Rhone, just as I had thought of the pond
at La Garde. There was, to be sure, the sol-
dier Vauclair, who had spoken kindly to me
and who seemed to be a good man. But
most likely he had but made fun of me when
he said I should be enrolled in his company of
the National Guard.

Night was coming on fast. The Palace
square was emptying rapidly, only one or two
tambourins were left and the farandole was
breaking up. I saw one of the three nuns
going off arm in arm with two soldiers. A
few tipplers still hung around the wine-casks,
standing them up on end so as to drain out the
very last drop.

I went on the Place de 1'Horloge. People
there were stepping out briskly, for the cold

®i)e ttcfcs of tlje iUiM.

began to nip. Only a single lamp was lighted,
the one over the entrance to the Hotel de Ville
— where people were coming out and going in
all the time. I did not dare to enter to ask for
my National Guardsman. I was afraid that I
would only be laughed at and turned away.
Up and down I walked in the dark, thinking
what I had better do. At last I made up my
mind. The kind-looking soldier certainly had
told me to ask for him ; and, after all, if things
went wrong I still had the Rhone to fall back
on. And so, plucking up courage, I ventured
within the entrance and peered through a glass
door into the lighted up guard-room in the
hope that I might see my friend.

As I stood there, staring, the Porter came
out of his room and clapped his hand on my
shoulder: "Now then, what are you after
here ? " he asked.

"I want to see Monsieur Vauclair," I an-
swered. "Is he inside there ? "

"There are no 'monsieurs' here; we are
all citizens," said the Porter. "This smells of
treason," he went on. "It must be looked
into." And holding fast to my shoulder, so
that I felt his five fingers digging into me
like claws, he called out: " Sergeant, Sergeant
Vauclair! "

ftefcs 0f tlje ittiM.

The glass door of the guard-room opened
instantly and out came my handsome Guards-
man— bare-headed, his moustache twirled
up and his pipe in his mouth.'

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Look here," said the Porter, "do you
know this sprout ? To my mind he has the
mug of an Aristo. Maybe he's a spy. He
asked for 'Monsieur' Vauclair."

"Oh, it's you, youngster, is it? You're
pretty late," said Vauclair kindly. "And so
the Canon wouldn't have anything to do with
you, eh ? Well, you'll be better off here.
Come, I'll enroll you right off. Vive la Na-
tion! "

He took me by the hand, while the Porter
said doubtfully: "Oh, you know him, do
you ? All the same, look out for him. I haven't
any use for people who say ' monsieur'! "

The Porter went back into his quarters,
still grumbling, and Vauclair led me into the
guard-room. It was a long narrow room,
lighted by a big lamp hung from the ceiling
by a chain, and in its middle a good stove
was roaring away. Along the walls were
benches on which the men of the Guard were
sitting, smoking and talking; and at the far end
were rough wooden bunks in which they

go ®|)e Hebs of tfye iflibi.

slept. Guns and swords and cocked hats were
hanging on the walls; and the walls were
pretty well covered with all sorts of fool-pic-
tures of soldiers done with charcoal, and with
scribblings which 1 suppose were writing — but
I didn't know what writing was, in those days.
The pipe-smoke was thick enough to cut with
a knife. Everybody was smoking — except
one man who had laid his head down on his
arms on the table and was sound asleep.

"Comrades, here's a new recruit for the
Revolution — a volunteer for our Company,"
said Vauclair as we entered the room. And
then, turning to me, he added: "That's so,
youngster, isn't it ? Now then, speak out —
Liberty or Death ! Vive la Nation ! "

I was beginning to get the hang of things a
little by this time. Standing on the tips of my
toes to make myself taller, and swinging my
hat above my head, I shouted: "Vive la Na-
tion! Liberty or Death! " and all the National
Guardsmen cried after me: "Liberty or
Death!"

The noise woke up the soldier who was
snoring on the table. Rubbing his eyes and
looking around him sleepily he called out:
"Why the devil are you all making such a
row ? "

Hebe of tt)e ittiM. 91

"Here's a new volunteer," said Vauclair,
leading me up to the table. " Get the roster
and we'll enroll him right off."

" Good for him! " the man answered.

By this time he was quite awake and had
brought out from the drawer of the table the
roster of the Company and the form of enlist-
ment that was to be filled in. Spreading the
papers out before him and dipping his pen in
the ink-bottle, he turned to me and said :

''Your name, Citizen ?"

" Pascalet"

" Your father's name ? "

"Pascal."

" Hasn't he any other name than Pascal?"

" I never heard any."

" Your mother's name ? "

"La Patine."

"La Patine? Isn't she called also Gothon
or Janetoun or Babette ? "

"1 don't know. I never heard her called
anything but La Patine."

"Well, we'll put it down La Patine, any-
way. Where were you born ? "

"At Malemort in the Comtat."

" That's all right. Now sign your name."

I had to tell him that I couldn't; that I
didn't know how.

92 ®l)e Hebs of tljc Iftibi.

"No matter," said Vauclair taking my
hand. "You don't know how to write with
black ink, but we'll teach you to write with
red! Where is the quarter-master? Ah, there
you are, Berigot. Take this man to the equip-
ment-room, and fit him out so that he may be
ready to present himself properly under arms."

An old grumbler got up from the bench,
shook out his pipe, lighted a lantern and
nodded to me to follow him. We climbed up
into Jacquemart's clock-tower by a winding
stair-case as steep as a ladder and so narrow
that only one person could pass at a time. We
went up and up and up. At last we reached
a square room crammed full of soldier-clothes
and cocked-hats and guns and swords. The
quarter-master took a careful look at me and
then, turning to the heap of clothes, rummaged
all through it and finally dragged out a coat.
"There, that will fit you," said he. "Try
it on."

Oh what a lovely coat it was! To be sure
it had been worn a good deal and was a little
thread-bare — but what difference did that make !
It was of dark green cloth with a large turned-
back red collar, and it ha"d beautiful gilt buttons,
and fine long tails that flapped against my
calves. It certainly was very much too big

®i)e ftebs of tlje 4SUM. 93

for me all over, and the sleeves were so long
that they came down to the tips of my fingers.
But I held my tongue about its bigness and
quietly turned up the sleeves; and, as the coat
was lined with red. this gave me a pair of red
cuffs like my collar.

Having got my coat, I had next to get a
hat; and this bothered me badly. I must have
tried on between twenty and thirty — and they
all came down to my ears. At last the quarter-
master lost all patience and called out: "Te!
Put on that red cap : then you'll be rigged like
the Marseilles Federals."

I put on the pretty red cap. Its tip fell
over well down to my shoulder, and on its
side was stuck a full-blown cabbage of a
cockade! I was delighted with it; and with
the fine pair of blue breeches and the snowy
white gaiters which the quarter-master tossed
over to me, saying that I needn't bother about
trying them on as breeches and gaiters always
fitted everybody. "And now," said he, "you
want a sword and a gun. Pick out what you
like and let's get through."

It didn't seem possible that I really was to
have a sword and a gun, and I was so upset
that I took the first gun that I laid my hands
on. But about the sword I was more careful.

94 ®l)e Befcs of tlje ittibi.

I wanted a long curved sword, like Vauclair's;
and those in the heap seemed to be all straight
and short. I turned the heap topsy-turvy with-
out finding what 1 wanted ; and as I was fuss-
ing altogether too long over it old Berigot
called out to me: "What are you making
such a to-do about ? Don't you see one is as
good as another ? With a touch of the whet-
stone any of 'em '11 cut like razors. Take one
and come along." And so I had to be satisfied
with a short straight sword, after all.

Berigot fastened the door behind us, and
down we went. I had more than a load to
carry; and my gun kept catching against the
wall, and my sword all the while was sliding
in between my legs and tripping me — so that
two or three times I nearly pitched head over
heels down the narrow stairs — and, altogether,
I was as bothered as a donkey in a cane-brake.
And then when we got back to the guard-
room all the men came around me and every
one had something to say. "The cap doesn't
fit badly," said one; "He'll grow up to his
sword," said another; "The coat is only a
span or two too long," said a third.

"Oh, come now," Vauclair broke in, " don't
bother the boy with your nonsense. He's all
right Come along, Pascalet, you shall sleep

of tl)e ittiM. 95

in my quarters to-night; and before you are
up in the morning my wife will have your coat
to fit you like your skin. All it needs is a tuck
in the sleeves and a little shortening. Come,
we'll go now. You must be about used up
by this time. You shall have a bite and a sup
with us and half of my little boy's bed; and to-
morrow I'll take you to the drill outside the
ramparts — and I tell you we'll rattle the Aris-
tos later on!"

He loaded me up with my sword and gun
and gaiters and all the rest, and together we
left the Hotel de Ville; and then went on
through one crooked street after another to the
little Place du Grand Paradis. Here we en-
tered a tidy little house, at the corner of the
Rue de la Palapharnerie, and found ourselves in
the dark at the foot of a spiral stair.

"Lazuli! Lazuli!" Vauclair called, but no
one answered. "She must be at the club,"
he said. "No matter, we'll find the door
somehow."

We groped our way up the narrow stairs,
where my gun and sword again bothered me,
and so to the second floor and into a little
room that was kitchen and living-room and
bedroom all in one — though the bed was hid-
den away in an alcove at one side.

96 &l)e ftefcs of

Vauclair got out the flint and steel and tin-
der, and when he had a spark going he started
a flame on a sliver of hemp-stalk dipped in
sulphur, and with that lighted the candle. All
this time he was storming away at his wife.

" And so Lazuli must needs go to the club,"
he growled. "I should like to know if clubs
are women's business! As if men were not
strong enough to defend Holy Liberty and our
beautiful Revolution ! " This started him on
another tack, and away he went on it: "We
must have our Republic. We want it, and
we mean to get it. We'll show King Capet,
the traitor, that when we ask for figs we won't
take thistles. Didn't he try to make us believe
that he was on his way to get help for us when
we stopped him at the frontier ? And all the
while, traitor that he is, he meant to put him-
self at the head of the nation's enemies. He is
about a span too tall, that rascal King! He
needs shortening — and if the stomachs of the
Paris folks give out in that matter we and the
Marseilles Federals will go up and do the work
for them. Yes, we'll bleed him finely — just
under his jowls! And as to his wife, his Aus-
trian carrion of a wife, we'll give her a donkey-
ride back-foremost — as she deserves. She's
the real traitor; it's she who's always egging

of ll)* ittiM. 97

on the King. And then we'll attend to the tail
the King drags around after him, the counts
and the marquises and the court-followers,
and we will shorten every one of them by the
same good span!"

All the time that Vauclair was ranting
away, while I was standing stiff and watching
him and drinking in his words, he was busy
getting the supper ready: setting the little
table with three places, getting out a big loaf
of bread and a jug of wine, and then bringing
from the fire-place an earthen dish in which
was simmering gently a most delicious-smell-
ing stew. When all was ready he looked into
the inner room and then said to me: "Clair-
et's asleep; and as to Lazuli, we won't wait
for her. Come, sit down and eat your sup-
per; and then get to bed and asleep as fast
as you can. You'll be started out early to-
morrow, you know."

But just as we were beginning on the
bread and stew in came Lazuli, quite excited
and very much out of breath. " You mustn't
blame me for being late," she said. "Of
course you know, you good Vauclair, that I've
only been at the club. I've just left there.
And you'll never guess what's happened, I'm
sure."

98 ®l)e fleb0 of tl)e IfliM.

' ' Then I won't try, " said Vauclair. ' ' What
is it ? "

But instead of answering him Lazuli looked
toward me and said: "And so you've got a
companion. Isn't it the little mountain boy
who was with us on the steps of the Pope's
Palace ? And doesn't he make a nice-looking
soldier, to be sure ! His coat's a trifle too big
for him — but I'll fix that in no time. Sit down
now, my dear, and you too, Vauclair, and I'll
tell you the news."

"Well, crack away then," said Vauclair, as
he helped the stew and then cut a chunk of
bread off the loaf for each of us. "What is
your news, anyway ? "

"It's bad news," Lazuli answered. "It's
a letter from the Deputy Barbaroux up at Paris
to the Federals at Marseilles, his own people.
It was read out to us at the club. It says that
the Aristos at Paris are having things all their
own way. That the King won't allow the
battalions of Federals come up from the coun-
try to camp inside Paris. That the Paris men
are no better than capons and are turning
around to the King's side, and that the Na-
tional Guard of Paris can't be made to do any-
thing because it is rotten to the marrow of its
bones. And so Barbaroux says that it's good-

of tl)e 4HiM. 99

bye to the Revolution unless something is done
right off— and he says that the Reds of the
Midi must do it; that our Federals, our sans-
culottes, down here in the South, must get out
their swords and their guns and come up to
Paris with the war-cry of Liberty or Death! "

I had taken three or four mugs of wine — for
I was very thirsty, and as fast as I emptied my
rnug Vauclair filled it again — and when I heard
Liberty or Death ! that way, it was too much
for me. " Liberty or Death ! " I cried, standing
up and flourishing my knife in the air. "Lib-
erty or Death ! That Barbaroux — whoever he
is — is right. / am one of the Reds of the
Midi! / am a sans-culotte! / am a Federal 1
/ am one of those he wants in Paris — and I'll
go! I'll get my revenge on the Marquis and
on Monsieur Robert, and on that devil of a
Surto; and I'll revenge the Liberals who were
stabbed to death in the hospital, too. Now I
understand why my father said that the Mar-
quis and Monsieur Robert were going to Paris
to help the King. But I'll go there too — now
that I have a gun. We'll all go there with our
guns. Liberty or Death! "

While I shouted I seemed to see ever so
many lighted candles dancing on the tables.
Lazuli looked lovelier than the golden angels on

ioo ®|)e ftcfcs of tlje JJUM.

the altar of our church at Malemort. Vauclair
seemed as tall as one of our poplars on the
Nesque — and the room seemed to be tipping
up on end !

"Bravo, bravo!" cried Vauclair.

"Bravo!" cried the handsome Lazuli.
"Thou wilt indeed be a good Patriot! Yes,
we'll all go to Paris singing the 'Carmagnole';
and all of us, all the good Patriots, will join
hands together and dance around in a great
brande! "

I don't remember well what happened after
that. But I know that we three — all by our-
selves— made a brande by joining hands and
dancing around the table while we sang at the
top of our voices the famous song of the free
montagnards about dancing a farandole and
planting the wild thyme that grows on the
mountains and is the symbol of liberty.

Planten la ferigoulo,

Arrapara.

Fasen la farandoulo
E la mountagno flourira,
E la mountagno flourira.

And when the song and our dance was ended,
Lazuli led me into the inner room, to the straw
bed where her little boy was sleeping, and told
me to lie down there. And my head had no

0f tle ittibi.

more than touched the pillow than I was sleep-
ing like a log.

Old Pascal stopped short and gave La Mie
a smack on the shoulder that made her jump.
"You're as sleepy as a little cat, yourself," he
said. "Get up and go to bed. To-morrow
we'll go at the story again."

The clock in the church steeple began to
strike twelve. " Gosh! " cried Lou Materoun,
jumping up. "It's midnight! What will my
wife say to me ? I'll catch it for a week! "

"Never mind, Lou Materoun," said La Mie,
as she held the light for us in the doorway.
"We all know what your wife is. You have
a hard road."

"Viper tongue! " muttered my grandfather
as we went off together in the dark.

CHAPTER IV.

"THE MARSEILLAISE."

THE next day, being Sunday, there was no
meeting at the shoemaker's; for on Sundays
the neighbours spent their time elsewhere.
The old and the middle-aged folk went to the
Cabaret Nou, where they played a sober game
of bourro and drank each one his little jug of
white wine. The young and gay-minded folk
ostensibly went off for a stroll in the secluded
valleys of our mountain, where they surrepti-
tiously gambled away their sous in playing a
new-fangled game of chance called vendome.
And I, who was too little for any such doings,
went to bed when night came feeling as flat as
a quoit; and saying to myself: "Suppose the
shoemaker should take a fancy to make a holi-
day of Monday too and shut up his shop! "

Monday morning early I took the longest

way to school, so that I might pass in front of

the shop; and I was greatly reassured and

heartened when, from a long way off, I saw

102

Marseillaise.1' 103

the shutters open and heard the tap-tapping of
hammer on sole. "All right!" thought I.
"To-night old Pascal will go on with his
story."

That evening, in good time, I was seated
on my little bench in the warm little shop —
which smelt as usual of shoemaker's wax and
soaking leather, while overhead floated the
usual bluish cloud of pipe-smoke.

Presently old Pascal stepped over the thresh-
old, and without waiting for any one to ask
him to begin he broke forth into one of his
declamatory chants:

All laws are the work of the rich for the hurt of the needy;
Always the rich have too much, and always the poor have

too little;
And I say that the man who has more than his share is a

robber!
I say that of right belongs bread to him who is faint and

an-hungered;

That his is the right to seize it wherever he finds it —
And the day in which bread is too scarce shall sharp knives

be too plenty !

"What do you mean? What are you
driving at with all that gabble, anyway?"
spoke up Lou Materoun.

"What I am driving at," Pascal answered
as he sat down, "is to tell you that I can not
understand how for century after century men

104 ®l)e ftebs of tlje ittibi.

went on starving and took no thought of re-
venge. You can not even fancy, you who live
now-a-days, what was the lot of a poor man,
a man of the people, less than a hundred years
ago. But I, who have felt it in my body and
who have seen it with my eyes, do know
what it was; and that is the life I am telling
you about now. And now that you know
what I am driving at, I'll go on with my
story."

I went to bed beside Vauclair's little boy
and made but one nap of the night, sleeping
as sound as a top until morning came. I was
tired out, my mind was easy, and I had drunk
a good deal of strong wine — and all that joined
together to give me the blessed soft sleep that
does one so much good and that is, perhaps,
the best thing in life.

My sleep had been so deep that at the first
flowering of day, when I saw the window-panes
whitening with the morning light, it was a little
while before I could tell where I was — or be
sure that all that had passed the day before
had not been a dream. But I knew it was no
dream when, through the half-opened door-
way, I saw Lazuli in the kitchen hard at work
needle in hand; a thin fine short needle that

"®l)e Marseillaise." 105

flashed and glanced like a star-ray between her
fingers as she busily made over my National
Guard coat, spread out upon her knees.

Vauclair, seated beside her, was cleaning
my gun and changing the flint in it; and both
of them were as quiet as mice so as not to wake
me. But though they said nothing, every now
and then Lazuli would turn toward her husband
and would show him the coatsleeve with the
alterations she had made; and he, with a nod
of his head, would answer: "Yes, yes, that's
all right." Then Lazuli, biting short the thread
with a sharp snap, would go to work again.
She ended off by polishing up the buttons —
the pretty gilt buttons, as bright as those on
the coat of Monsieur le Marquis d'Ambrun.

I couldn't bear to let them think I was still
asleep; and, as I did not venture to speak, 1
began to cough.

"Eh," said Vauclair, greatly pleased, "so
he's awake " — and came on tip-toe to the door
of the room ; and when he saw the gleam of
my open eyes he added: "Well, bad boy, and
so you're already awake. It's a little too
early ; but no matter, get up and try on your
coat."

Try on my coat! That made me jump out
of bed and into my so longed-for coat in a

106 ®l)c Ucbs of ll)C

flash ; and I swore it fitted me like a ring fits
the finger. Lazuli, smiling as she looked crit-
ically at me, smoothed down the wrinkles
with her hand ; for although she had taken it
in everywhere it still was big enough for all
out of doors! She buttoned it and unbut-
toned it.

"Perhaps I had better take it in a little
more under the arms," she said doubtfully.

"It fits, it fits!" I cried, afraid that she
would make me take it off.

Vauclair, accepting the matter as settled,
hung over my shoulders the yellow strap sup-
porting my short straight sword — shaped ex-
actly like the tails of those green crickets which
swarm after harvest — and as the strap was a
large one the sword hung pretty low and
banged against my calves. I got into my blue
breeches, and buckled on my gaiters — which
were a little too long and too wide and so came
well down over my pretty shoes. As the final
touch, Vauclair took up my cap with its red
white and blue cockade. He held it open with
his outspread fingers and walked solemnly
toward me, carrying it in front of him rever-
ently as it had been the Host. Still holding it
open he fitted it on my head, carefully arrang-
ing the tip so that it should fall over just in the

fttaraeiUaise." 107

way it is represented in the busts of the Re-
public. Then he stepped back and gazed at
me. Delighted with his work, he clapped his
hands as he exclaimed : " There's a sans-culotte
fit to fight in the Heavenly Host! There's a
fellow to take to Paris when we go to make
the King cry mercy ! "

Lazuli handed me my stuff jacket saying,
" Look and see what there is in your pockets."
I timidly drew out the letter Monsieur Randoulet
had given me for Monsieur le Chanoine Jusse-
rand and stuffed it into my coat pocket so as to
hide it away ; for the letter made me feel con-
fused and ashamed. I did not know exactly
why, but it seemed to me as if this bit of paper,
which had been my only hope, now might
be the cause of my perdition. And yet I could
not help valuing it. I felt that I must keep it,
so as to touch it from time to time ; for then it
would seem as though I touched the soft kind
friendly hand of good Monsieur Randoulet.
Out of the other pocket I took the three pretty
white crowns of three francs each. These I
did not wish to keep. I gave them to Lazuli,
saying, "Keep them for me, please." And
Lazuli, putting them in the little box that held
her ornaments and locking them safe in the
drawer of her cupboard, answered: "There,

io8 ®|e flefcs of

you see where they are — when you want them,
you have only to ask for them."

From that day on I became one of the little
family in the Place du Grand Paradis.

I should tire you out were I to tell in detail
all that I saw and all that I did during the five
or six months that I spent in Avignon. Each
day at early morning I was drilled with the
others outside the city walls, with street-boys
playing tip-cat and old people sunning them-
selves around us. By day or by night, in all
weathers, 1 took my turn in mounting guard :
at the door of the Pope's Palace, in front of the
Hotel de Ville, on the banks of the Rhone, at
the Escalier de Sainte-Anne, or — and this I
liked best of all — by the semaphore on the top
of the Rocher des Doms. Hour after hour I
gaped at that semaphore, never tired of watch-
ing its two black arms whirling about so
strangely up there in the air; arms which shut
themselves up, spread out, folded together, un-
folded again, and opened and closed like two
big razors.

And I saw good times and bad times, stab-
bings and embracings, murders and makings
up, excitement and sorrow, sad doings and
gay doings, scrimmages, farandoles, and sol-
emn processions. Now the deep chant of the

ittarseillaise." 109

Te Deum rang out, now the gay notes of the
"Carmagnole." The De Profundis would be
solemnly intoned while the " £a ira " was
howling out from excited throats.

Sometimes one party, sometimes the other,
would get the upper hand ; one day it was the
Reds, the Patriots, another day the Whites,
the Anti-Patriots. We often had to hurry to
separate them — in one or another parish the
alarm-bell was ringing all the time. And
whenever we came back to barracks from drill
or from guard-mount or from quieting a row,
whether by day or by night, each man had his
little flask of cordial-wine and his three ounces
of massopain ; and so wild were the times, so
often were we out on service, that we fairly
could count on getting our three flasks a day
— so we were pretty well pampered with our
cake and wine. And always in the evenings
those of us who were off duty spent our time
at the club — where we could hear the last
news from Paris and Marseilles.

One day I was stationed at the Porte du
Rhone on guard over the Liberty Tree planted
there by the Reds, which the Whites from the
streets of the Fusterie had tried to pull down.
It was about the end of June, right in the
midst of the harvest. I am sure of the season

no ®|je Bcbs of the IHiM.

because the Liberty Tree was full of cigales,
who were making a deafening noise — as is
their custom in mid-harvest — with their song:
"Sego, sego, sego! Sickle, sickle, sickle!"
I was watching for a chance to catch a cigale
for Lazuli's little boy, when suddenly the alarm-
bell rang out from the bell-tower of the Augus-
tines; and a minute later a man pale as plaster
came tearing down the Rue de la Fusterie
shouting as he ran: "Save yourselves! Save
yourselves! The Marseilles brigands are com-
ing! Call home your children! Bar your
doors and windows! The robbers and mur-
derers and galley-slaves are coming! We're
all lost!" and, still shouting, the pale man ran
round into the Rue du Limas and disappeared
in the direction of the Porte de 1'Oulle.

It was a sight to see the washwomen, who
were at work on the banks of the Rhone, all
scamper away! They left behind them their
bundles of linen, their shirts outspread to dry.
They left aprons, baskets, jugs and buckets.
Frightened as though a mad dog were after
them, or as if a wild bull had got loose, scream-
ing, flourishing their arms, they tore into their
houses — and for a moment, in the whole
quarter of the Porte du Rhone, nothing could
be heard but the noise of doors and win-

ic Marseillaise." m

dows banging to and of clattering bolts and
bars!

But from the other side, that of the Porte
de la Ligne, rose up a great clamour of joyous
cries and songs :

Dansons la Carmagnole!
Vive le son! Vive le son!

Then loud hand-clappings and exclamations
of joy, and tambourins beginning to beat the
farandole; and at the same moment the alarm-
bell rang again.

"Good Heavens !" said I, when the alarm
sounded, "I must be off; " and "One! Two!"
up went my gun on my shoulder. "Right
about, face " — and away I went at a quick-step
to join the Corps de Garde at the Hotel de
Ville.

What an uproar! The whole Place de
I'Horloge, blazing with sunlight, was crammed
full of people, all talking and shouting and
gesticulating at once; while Vauclair, in front
of the Hotel de Ville, was getting into line the
men of the Garde Nationale. Drawn together
by the sound of the alarm-bell, they were run-
ning in from all the streets — some of them only
partly dressed, their straps thrown over their
shoulders, their guns tucked under their arms,

9

of tlC HUM.

buttoning their breeches as they ran; and here
and there was a running woman carrying her
half-breeched husband's gun.

No one seemed to know what had hap-
pened. Some cried: "It's the Whites, the
Papalists, come from Carpentras to fight us."
Others answered: "No, it's the peasants from
Gadagne who have risen against their lord and
are bringing him here a prisoner." I could
make nothing of what I heard' as I pressed
through the crowd to take my place in line.
Vauclair, who was the sergeant on guard that
day, saw me coming and called out sharply :
" Why are you so behindhand ? Hurry, hurry!
Lord's Law, man, hurry!"

"What's it all about ? " I asked as I fell in.

"What's it all about ?" repeated Vauclair.
"It is that the King of France is a traitor!"
— and turning toward the crowd and brandish-
ing his long sabre he cried loudly: " We are
betrayed by our King!" And then, speak-
ing to us of the Guard, he went on: "The
Marseilles Battalion, on its way to Paris, passes
through Avignon. We are going now to wel-
come these brave Federals — Vive la Nation ! "

" Vive la Nation! " answered the Guard.

" Vive la Nation! " rose up the voice of the
swarming crowd in a formidable shout.

113

And then came: "Forward, march!" — and
off we started for the Porte du Limbert, all of
us roaring together :

Dance we the Carmagnole,

Hurrah for the roar, the roar, the roar!

Dance we the Carmagnole,

Hurrah for the roar the cannon roar!

Men, women, children, old and young, with
one voice joined in the chorus — "Dansons la
Carmagnole ! " The windows fairly rattled as
we swept along.

In the narrow streets of the Bonneterie and
of the. Water-wheels there must have been at
least ten thousand people packed so tight that
they were fairly one on top of the other; and
when those near the Porte du Limbert were at
"Dansons la Carmagnole! " from the other end,
up near the Rue Rouge, rang out the words
" Vive le son du canon!" Mixed in with the
words of the chorus were shouts of "Vive la
Nation ! " and ' ' Vive les Marseillais ! " The con-
fusion and uproar were overpowering. When
I looked backward I could see nothing but
open mouths, and eyes starting out of heads
that touched each other.

When this torrent of humanity had poured
itself out of the porch of the Porte du Limbert
we of the Guard ranged ourselves outside the

ii4 ®l)e Uebs of tl)C .fttibi.

ramparts in two lines facing inward, ready to
present arms to the Marseilles Battalion when
it should pass between our files; and scarcely
were we halted and in line when a swarm
of children came running toward us from the
Chemin de la Coupe d'Or screaming: "Here
they are! Here they are! "

And then around the turn of the road, brave
in their red-plumed cocked-hats, appeared
Commandant Moisson and Captain Gamier.
On seeing us they drew their long sickle-like
sabres, faced about upon the Battalion, and
cried: "Vive la Nation!" — and instantly the
men fell into marching-step and all together
burst forth with

Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive!

It was the " Marseillaise " that they were sing-
ing; and that glorious hymn, heard then for the
first time, stirred us down to the very marrow
of our bones!

On they came — a big fellow carrying at
their head a banner on which was painted in
red letters : " The Rights of Man " ; and if any
person looked askance at that banner the big
fellow seized him in a moment and made him
kiss it on his knees! On they came — we pre-

Marseillaise." 115

sented arms and they passed between our files,
still singing the "Marseillaise."

Oh what a sight it was! Five hundred
men sun-burnt as locust-beans, with black
eyes blazing like live coals under bushy eye-
brows all white with the white dust of the
road. They wore green cloth coats turned
back with red, like mine; but farther than that
their uniform did not go. Some had on cocked
hats with waving cock's feathers, some red
liberty-caps with the strings flying back over
their shoulders and the tri-colour cockade
perched over one ear. Each man had stuck in
the barrel of his gun a willow or a poplar
branch to shelter him from the sun, and all this
greenery cast warm dancing shadows over
their faces that made the look of them still
more fantastic and strange. And when from
all those red mouths — wide open as a wolf's
jaws, with teeth gleaming white like a wild
beast's teeth — burst forth the chorus " Aux
armes, citoyens! " it fairly made a shiver run all
down one's spine! Two drums marked step
— Pran! rran! rran! " Aliens enfants de la Pa-
trie!" The whole Battalion passed onward
and was swallowed up in the city gate.

As it disappeared we heard a strange noise
like the clanking of chains or the rattle of loose

u6 <£!)<» ftefcs of tlje JttiM.

iron; and then came four men hauling after
them a rusty truck on which was a cannon.
These men were harnessed to the truck as are
oxen to the plough, and like oxen pulled from
head and shoulders. With every muscle at
full stretch, and with sweat dripping from
them like rain, they bent forward with all their
might to their heavy task. Rumble and bang
went the truck over the cobble-stones and
into the ruts, making a tremendous noise as it
jolted up and down and from side to side.
Following this truck came another and still
another; the last having on it an immense
pair of bellows, a big wooden tub full of
clay, a great thing that looked like a caul-
dron, and pincers, hammers and tongs. This
was the forge — for the repair of the guns, for
the casting of balls, and for heating balls red
hot before they should be fired. It took more
than four men to drag this great mass — all
straining forward like beasts of burden, the
sinews of their calves starting and their feet so
gripping the street that the nails in their shoes
struck out sparks from the stones. Gasping
though they were for breath, and almost
spent with weariness, yet they too as they
passed through our ranks raised their heads
and with hoarse strangled voices shouted

117

with the clipped Marseilles accent: "Vivo la
Nacien!"

The blaze and glitter of sunshine, the
whirlwinds of dust, the smell of thot human
flesh, the rattle of drums, the clanking of iron,
the singing and shouting — all this so dazed and
transported me, so carried me away, that I,
Pascal, though I knew not why, felt tears as
big as filberts rolling down my cheeks as I pre-
sented arms!

When in the wake of the Battalion the
cannon and forge had passed by us, we came
to a shoulder, closed up, and fell in at the rear.
Far off ahead the rattling drums beat the quick-
step; the Marseilles men sang " Allons enfants
de la Patrie " ; and we and all the crowd joined
in the chorus that we already had picked up:
" Aux armes, citoyens! "

Our backward line of march was through
the street of the Water-wheels, the Place du
Change, under the walls of the Palace of the
Popes, and so into the Rue de la Banasterie to
the Place du Grand Paradis — where the Patriots
had their club in what had been the chapel of
the Violet Penitents. But as we were turning
the corner by the Rue des Encans we were
stopped short, and around us we heard the
people exclaiming that there was a halt ahead

ii 8 ®J)e ftcfts of tt)e ittiM.

that no one could understand. Some said that
a Papalist had stabbed the Marseilles Com-
mandant. Under Vauclair's command, a dozen
of us pushed rapidly through the crowd to find
out what was the matter, and to do what-
ever might be necessary to restore order. The
trouble proved to be around the banner of The
Rights of Man.

In the narrowest part of the Rue Sainte
Catherine the procession had met, returning
from his vesper service at the Carmelites, an
old Canon followed by his old serving- woman ;
and when the lean old Canon saw the banner
he turned up his nose at it and drew to a point
his ill-natured muzzle in open contempt; and,
worse than this, he actually cleared his throat
and spit right at the feet of the b'anner-bearer!
Furious at seeing the New Law so despised, its
apostle had caught the poor old Canon by the
nape of his neck, had forced him down to his
knees on the stones and, thrusting the banner
against his face, had tried to make him kiss it
by force ; but old skin-and-bones had struggled
hard against this humiliation, and his servant
had come screaming and scratching to his aid.
The crowd shouted: "To the Rhone with the
Papalist!" "To the Rhone with the Anti-
Patriot!"

"f£l)e Marseillaise." 119

Just as we came on the ground the Federal
snatched up the Canon, who was as dry as a
whip-handle, and tucked him under his arm —
kicking and struggling, with legs and arms
outspread like a frog in a heron's beak. Then
the drums took up the march, and again rang
out "Aliens enfants de la Patrie!" The Fed-
eral marched off in front, one arm holding up
his banner, the kicking Canon gripped fast
under the other like a bundle of foolishness,
and after him the old servant — who hung on
with all her might to her master, trying to set
him free. Why that dried up old man did not
snap like a pipe-stem between them, I am sure
I don't know!

And who was the most astonished person
of all there ? Why I — for the old Canon was
none other than Monsieur Jusserand, to whom
Monsieur Randoulet had given me the letter;
and the old serving-woman was the very
woman who had torn off my cockade the day
I knocked at his door in the Rue du Limas!

On we went until we 'entered the club-
room that had been the chapel of the Violet
Penitents. There the Federal dumped the
Canon on what had been the steps of the main
altar, and then he and Commandant Moisson
and Vauclair all sat down on the altar table

120 ®l)e ftebs of ll)e ittibi.

with their legs dangling in a row. We of the
Guard, with a few Avignon Patriots, formed
our line to keep the crowd back while they
spoke; and there was such pushing and strug-
gling to get into the little chapel that its walls
fairly shook — and all the while the drums went
on beating and thousands of voices sang, or
rather howled : "Auxarmes, citoyens!"

The Federal who carried the banner of The
Rights of Man stood up on the altar — a great
long man, as thin as Pontius Pilate — and he
was a sight to behold standing there in his hob-
nailed shoes, his bare calves, his coat entirely
too tight for him, and his bristling beard pow-
dered white with road-dust! He took off his
hat and feather and roughly stuck it on the
bald pate of poor Canon Jusserand, who was
crouched on the altar steps all in a heap, more
dead than alive. Wiping his forehead with
his coat sleeve, the Federal made a sign that he
was going to read The Rights of Man. The
drums stopped beating and a great silence fell
over all; and then the Federal, with his mincing
Marseilles accent, read out to us the New Law :

All men are born free, and the birth-rights of all men are
equal.

All alike make the laws; all alike are the rulers and gov-
erned.

iJlarsnllaise." 121

Broken the chains are, wide open the doors of the prisons.
Masters exist not. No more are there slaves to be burthened.
Each man has his share of the earth that begot and will

claim him;
Each man sows his crop, and each sower shall garner his

harvest.
In all things to all men is freedom — in acts and in thoughts

and convictions.

Ended the day is of King and of Marquis and lordling.
Who aforetime toiled mole-like in darkness at will of his

masters
Stands erect in the light, and is governed alone by his

reason.
Vive la Nation!

Then the Federal got down from the altar,
seized the Canon by the throat, and this time
fairly forced the banner to his lips. But the
old stock-fish, who was not of the sort to stay
conquered, no sooner felt himself let loose
again than with a look of contempt he once
more spat against the banner — and so pretty
well cancelled his kiss. At this fresh insult
the big Federal was quite beside himself with
rage. Like a flash he pounced upon the Canon,
held him for a moment by the scruff of his
neck and the folds of his long gown, and then
with a tremendous kick sent him flying over
the heads of those nearest the altar into the
thick of the crowd. There was a shout of
satisfaction, and then away went the Canon

122 ®|)e ttefcs of ll)e 4JUM.

through the air from one pair of hands to an-
other: now right side forward, now hind part
before, now spinning around and around.
And so — like a plank in the Rhone, whirling
in the eddies but always going forward — he
was flung hither and thither over the upturned
faces until at last he was shot out of the door.
And I must tell you, strange though it may
seem, that seeing him thus abused hurt me in
my heart — because I still had in my pocket
that letter to him from good Monsieur Randou-
let, and I felt as though an affront had been
put upon bur good Cure at Malemort.

What became of the Canon I don't know.
No one paid any more attention to him; for at
that moment Vauclair stood up on the altar
and began to read out — in order to make the
people more clearly understand how good and
great was the cause of the Revolution — the
laws and ordinances with which the Pope's
Vice Legate so long had tied down and muzzled
the people of Avignon :

The poor man may moan, but the poor man must pay,
Or he goes and he rots on the galley bench —
While he who carries or pistol or dagger
Will have a hemp necklace about his throat.
Whoso speaks of the Legate or the Legate's affairs,
If not by the Legate condemned to die,
Ten years in the galleys with robbers spends.

iHarseiUaise." 123

The man who cries "Rescue!" or "To arms!", or who

dares

By a picture or a carving to offend the Legate,
Will lose his life and forfeit his goods!

"Oh come now, you can't mean us to be-
lieve all that," exclaimed Lou Materoun; who,
unable to keep his feelings to himself, broke
into old Pascal's chanted recital.

"Then I'm a liar, am I ?" snorted old Pas-
cal; and he glared so savagely at Lou Materoun
that the big man, too abashed to venture upon
an answer, made himself as small as he could on
the bench and with eyes downcast flicked the
ashes off his pipe on the floor between his knees.

" It is so true," said Pascal, pacified by Lou
Materoun's meekness, "that I could show it to
you printed in a book. I have heard many of
these laws and ordinances, and I cannot re-
member them all; but some of them I do re-
member — and they were the laws, mark you,
of my own time. It was forbidden to go out
after the curfew had rung; and whosoever
broke this law, and also carried with him a
dark-lantern, was liable to have all his joints
pulled apart in the strappado three times run-
ning — or he might even be outlawed from the
Comtat, at the Vice Legate's will. It was for-
bidden to compose, to write, to sing or to

124 $l)e Ueb0 of

cause to be sung, any songs that had anything
whatever to do with politics; and whoever
broke this law might be sent for ten years to
the galleys and might have confiscated the half
of his estates."

" Whew! " exclaimed the cobbler. " That
wasn't anybody's twenty sous fine — as it is
now-a-days."

Pascal continued: "And what will you all
say when I tell you that did the Vice Legate
still reign we all could be taken out and strung
up in a row for the crime of assembling here
together ? Such was the law — to which always
was added : ' If it be the good pleasure of the
Legate ' ! "

''Lord alive!" put in Lou Materoun, this
time flicking off his ashes properly into the
coal-tub, "I'm glad I waited a while before I
was born ! And do you mean to say that just
for sitting together this way in company the
Pope's soldiers could have come in and jugged
us ? Then in those days men were not men ? "

"They were men, as thou and I are men,"
answered Pascal. ' ' But enough of that — those
times are gone! "

Well, when Vauclair had finished reading
out the Vice Legate's Laws, the crowd went

125

hoarse with its shouting of "Vive la Nation!
Vive la Revolution!" The women — huck-
sters, washwomen, silkweavers — all with
Catalan caps and tricolour cockades, were
more wildly excited and made more noise than
the men. They yelled, they screamed — and
many of them flung themselves on the neck of
the big Federal who carried The Rights of Man
and fairly suffocated him with kisses.

In the thick of this confusion a big coarse
woman, a tripe-seller called La Jacarasse, came
rushing forward — her hair streaming loose over
her shoulders, her cap awry and its untied
strings flying behind her — carrying in one hand
a long knife and in the other a big bag of
coarsely woven straw. She climbed to the
top of the altar like a wild-cat, making a great
display of stockingless legs, and when she had
scrambled to her feet she flourished her knife
and bag screaming: " You see this here knife ?
For fifty years it has ripped up pigs — last year
it ripped up that cursed jade of an Aristocrat
who jabbed her scissors into Patriot Lescuyer's
face when the Papalists were killing him in the
church of the Cordeliers. You see this here
bag ? In it I carried her liver and lights and
hung 'em on the latch of the Vice Legate's
palace — same as the old devil did himself with

i26 ®|)e ftebs of tlje Jttibi.

the innards of Patriots he'd ordered killed."
And then, turning to the Federal who was
holding the banner of The Rights of Man, she
plumped two big kisses on his cheeks. The
crowd applauded loudly; and "Vive la Na-
tion!" shouted the Federal — but holding his
nose, for the tripe-woman smelt vilely of her
trade.

The drums rolled again and Vauclair stood
up straight in the very place where the taber-
nacle had been, and cried out as he flourished
his hat on the tip of his sabre: "To defend
The Rights of Man and to drag down the ty-
rant, I enroll myself as a volunteer in the Mar-
seilles Battalion! "

In a moment we all were crazy with en-
thusiasm, the drums rattled their approval as
if they would burst, every arm was waving in
the air, the Marseilles men shrieked "Long
live the Avignon Patriots ! " and in turn we
shrieked "Long live the Marseilles Federals!"
That was too much for me! For a moment
everything went spinning around and around;
and then, without at all knowing how I did it,
I suddenly found myself standing on top of the
altar, my red cap hoisted on top of my gun,
screaming at the top of my voice: "Death to
the tyrant! I too volunteer into the Marseilles

127

Battalion!" And Zou! the drums, and Zou!
the shrieks "Vive les Patriotes ! " "Vive les
Federes ! "

Far up in a corner of the chapel I caught
sight of Lazuli, her little boy up on her shoul-
der, both clapping hands and screaming:
"Bravo, Pascalet! Bravo!" As I pitched
down from the altar Commandant Moisson
caught me in his arms, and with a kiss on each
cheek accepted my enlistment among his Mar-
seillais. And then, louder than ever, rattlety-
bang went the drums!

The meeting was over. Some good Pa-
triots, they were porters down by the river
gates, called out: "To the Porte de la Ligne!
There is cool wine there! "

"To the Porte de la Ligne! To the Porte
de la Ligne!" shouted the crowd; and the
Battalion, falling into line and followed by the
cannon and the forge, went down to the
Rhone — where there was enough bread and
wine and olives and nuts and garlic for all the
world! We ate, drank, sang and danced I
don't know how long. The great heat of the
day was over, and the tambourins untiringly
beat the farandole. But I was so stuck up
with being enrolled in the Marseilles Battalion
that I felt bound to behave like a grown man.

ftebs of the fttibi.

I scorned dance and song and victuals; I went
swaggering from one group to another; I talked
to the Marseilles men and made acquaintance
with them, drinking a glass with one and
touching cups with another.

But one thing bothered me dreadfully — I
was so very young! Those to whom I spoke
said: " Good for you, little cock! What's your
name?" and then every one of them added:
"How old are you?" I answered them all
bravely, trying to mince my words as they
did: "My name's Pascalet, I must be more
than sixteen years old " — and in order to look
the age I gave myself I stood up as straight
as I could on my toes. I felt and felt the cor-
ners of my mouth. But my moustache couldn't
be made to sprout by feeling for it. There
wasn't a single hair! However, as the mous-
tache was impossible, I tried my best in other
ways to look like the men of the Battalion. I
stuck a bit of willow in the muzzle of my gun;
and in order to be as grimy as possible I dragged
my feet in the dust. Had I dared. I would have
rolled over and over in the road !

Suddenly I realized that it was a long time
since I had seen Vauclair, and I wondered
where he could be. While I was hunting for
him, forcing my way as well as I could through

JttarseiUuise." 129

the closely pressed throng, 1 heard just behind
me the lively cracking of a whip and the jin-
gling of bells ; and as 1 turned I saw a two-horse
carriage struggling to get through the crowd.
It already was so close upon me that I could
feel the horses' noses sniffling on the back of
my neck; and in a hurry, with the others, I
stood aside to let it pass.

But, Saints above ! what did I see ? It was
the carriage of Monsieur le Marquis ! Big Surto.
in coachman's dress, was driving; and, still
stranger, there beside him on the box was my
father, my poor old father! His face still was
marked with the weals of the whip-strokes;
he was bunched together all of a heap, looking
sick and poor and thin, and so frightened at all
the crowd of dancing and singing soldiers that
to see him hurt my heart. But at the sight of
big Surto's hard face I trembled all over and
was dumbfoundered. The carriage rolled softly
along, and inside I saw the Marquise Adelaide,
pretty Adeline with her gentle eyes, and Mon-
sieur Robert; and down in one corner, looking
no bigger than an onion, was Monsieur le Mar-
quis d'Ambrun. I looked again toward the
box so as to be certain that it was my father I
had seen, and my eyes met wicked Surto's
wolf's eyes — which plunged into me like two

of

knives and seemed to say: "I've got you this
time, sure!"

The carriage passed, and the crowd surged
together behind it and went on with the faran-
dole and dance. But I, thunderstruck, did not
know of what wood to make arrows.

It was against all sense of right to let my
father go that way without speaking to him.
But I knew that if I went to him I was lost:
big Surto's eyes had told me that only too
plainly. And yet — my father! A sob came
up into my throat! Not knowing what to do,
I started off again in search of Vauclair. With
him to back me I feared no one; with him I
could go to see my old father and be sure that
Surto would do me no harm. I searched and
searched; but Vauclair was nowhere to be
found — and as I stood on tip-toe to see if I
could catch a glimpse of his red plume over the
heads of the crowd a heavy hand dropped on
my shoulder with a nip like a vice.

I turned — it was Surto ! As soon as he had
taken the carriage out of the press he had given
the reins to Monsieur Robert and, bringing my
simple-hearted father with him, had come after
me instantly — so that I should not escape him
again. I tried to wriggle out of his clutch, but
his fingers were iron hooks strong enough to

131

break my shoulder. "Come along," said he.
"Come before the Commantant. Your farder
is going to take you back home."

"I won't go," I cried. "I am free. I've
enlisted as a volunteer! " and again 1 tried to
break away. But Surto dragged me off by
main force; while my old father limped along
behind us, muttering: "Yes, yes, you good-
for-nothing boy, you must come home. Mon-
sieur le Marquis has said so — and that set-
tles it."

Commandant Moisson was not far off; and
seeing that there was a disturbance of some
sort he called out, " What is the matter ? " and
came toward Surto.

"The matter is that this rascal has been
playing truant; and his old farder here vants
to make him go home, vere his old mother is
crying her eyes out because he has run
avay."

The Commandant frowned at me sternly.
"You little scamp," said he "is this the way
young fellows like you treat the old folks now-
a-days ? Go home, the Nation does not need
you yet; go home with your father who does
need you now. Later, when there is a little
more hair on your chin, you shall enlist with
us for good and all." So saying he turned on

i32 ®b* Hebs of Itye fttiM.

his heel without giving me a chance to say a
word. My father bowed deeply to his disap-
pearing back, and in another moment big
Surto was dragging me brutally out of the
crowd — going at such a pace that my father
could hardly keep up with us.

I felt that I was lost. Vauclair, who knew
all my story, could have saved me; but Vau-
clair had returned to the house to prepare for
our march to Paris, and was beyond all call.
If only I had had my gun or my sword! But
both were stacked up with the arms of the
Battalion against the ramparts. Alone, un-
armed, my heart failed me under Surto's claws;
and I let myself be dragged on, more dead than
alive, while I looked around vainly for Vau-
clair's red plume. Soon we were far away
from the scene of the festival. We pushed
through the quarters of the Anti-Patriots and
reached the Rue de la Violette, on which
was the palace of Monsieur le Marquis d'Am-
brun. The carriage was there in the middle
of the court-yard ; where the servants, instead
of unloading the baggage, were piling things
into it under the orders of Monsieur Robert and
Mademoiselle Adeline. When Monsieur Rob-
ert saw me brought in, dragged along like
some wild beast, he sneered and said: " Now

133

we've got the little villain ! Zou — down with
him into the vault and let him stay there! "

My father stepped forward and as usual
fell on his knees and kissed that monster's
hand.

When Mademoiselle Adeline heard what
her brother said she clasped her hands and
turned her head aside so as not to see me; and
I understood that though she was sorry for me
she did not dare to speak.

The end of all now seemed very near to me.
We came into the hall, in the middle of which
was an open trap-door showing a dark stair-
case leading to the cellar; and as Surto dragged
me down those stairs I heard Monsieur Robert
saying to my father: "Well, you've seen your
good-for-nothing scamp of a son. You thought
he was with Monsieur le Chanoine Jusserand,
to whom Monsieur. le Cure had sent him with
a letter of recommendation ; but the scorpion
preferred living with murderers. You saw
him dressed up in his robber's clothes! "

Down at the end of the cellar was the
vault. Surto drew the bolts, opened the door,
and pitched me into the dark hole — saying as
he did so: " Starf in there! When you get
hungry, eat one hand — and keep the other for
breakfast next day!"

134 ®l)e Hebe of ttye HUM.

Although I felt that I was lost, I tried to
plead with him; but the beast, twirling me
around as if to get a chance to kick the bones
out of me, said stuttering with anger: "You
little tamn rascal ! I know vat a snake's tongue
you haf ! You haf see too much ! Suppose
you toldt vat you see in the hospital, or vat
you see unter that pig oak ! You understand!,
hey ? Veil, down there you haf to keep your
tongue insidt your teeth! "

As I went pitching into the darkness he
slammed fast the door of the vault, and I heard
him shoot the bolt outside. Then 1 heard him
go up stairs, and I heard the trap-door fall with
a bang like a cannon shot. I was left alone in
the blackness, the silence and the chill of death.

There was no one to rescue me. My own
father had betrayed and sold me, had consented
to my death. No, that was impossible. He
could not in the least have understood the harm
that he was doing me. He, poor unfortunate
wretch, with his face all scarred with the marks
of the Count's whip, still knelt and kissed the
Count's hand. Oh, to think of those scars,
and not to be able to avenge them ! Then I
thought and thought over what Surto had said
about what I had seen under the big oak at La
Garde. But what had I ever seen under that

135

oak that should make him want to shut me up
there so as to keep my tongue behind my
teeth ? Suddenly, in a flash, it all came back
to me and I understood.

One day, long, long before, I had climbed
to the top of that oak to get at a bird's nest
with some beautiful nestlings; and I was in
the midst of putting the little birds into my
cap when down under the tree 1 heard voices.
Spreading myself flat along the branch and
looking down, I saw big Surto with Madame
la Marquise. They were holding each other's
hands and talking most earnestly. As they
separated, one to go one way and one the
other, I heard Surto say: "No fear, we'll get
rid of thy little Marquis! I swear I'll shoot
him the first day when we are hunting together
that 1 get the chance;" and the Marquise an-
swered: "Act quickly, and when the chance
comes shoot true! " These words fairly made
my flesh creep. I flattened myself still closer
against my branch and waited until they both,
as I thought, were out of the way before I came
down. Unluckily I didn't wait long enough.
Surto, though a good way off, still was in sight ;
and what was more he happened to look back
in the instant that I was sliding down the trunk
to the ground. I ran like a rabbit into the

136 ®l]e Uebs of tfye Xllibi.

thick wood, and I thought at the time that he
did not know who it was; but I was mistaken
— and I suppose that from that moment he was
bent upon my death. And so I fairly had played
into his hands, by giving him a good open ex-
cuse for killing me, when I threw the rock on
Monsieur Robert's toes.

I was in the midst of these thoughts and
recollections when I heard rats running over
broken bottles piled up in one corner of the
vault. Broken glass! Oh, what good luck!
At least I would not have to die of hunger — I
could cut open my four veins. I groped my
way toward the corner, and at each step a
spider's web brushed across my face; they
were so thick that the spiders must have been
left alone there to spin them for years and for
years. I reached the broken bottles, and was
feeling around among them for a sharp pointed
bit that would do the work well when 1 heard
a sound as if the trap was being raised. I held
my breath; and then I clearly heard footsteps
outside the door of the vault. It doesn't seem
reasonable, but I who at that very moment
was trying to find something to kill myself
with, began to tremble so that my teeth chat-
tered; for I was sure it was Surto coming back
to knock me on the head. I didn't mind dying

137

so much ; but I did mind dying by that mon-
ster's hands — and above all without struggling;
without making him pay for my death. I
picked up the first bottle-shard that my hand
found, and with set teeth faced the door; ready
to spring on the wretch and bury my teeth in
his neck and the bit of glass in his side. And
then the bolt squeaked and the door opened
wide.

Oh how dazzled I was!

With a little lamp in her hand, a blue hood
on her head, I saw gentle Adeline whose first
words were : ' ' Hush, Pascalet ! where are you ?
I have come to save you."

"You, Adeline! Oh have mercy on me.
Don't give me up to your game-keeper. He
will kill me! " — and I fell at her feet.

"Never, my good little Pascalet. It is just
the contrary — I have come to save you from that
wicked man. Follow me and do not speak.
I will get you away out of this house — and
may God keep you from ever falling again into
big Surto's claws. He is now in the garden,
digging your grave ; for he has sworn that be-
fore day dawns he'll break your neck and bury
you. Come!"

I followed her quickly up the stairway, into
the hall, and then out by a door — so heavy that

138 ®l)c Eefcs of tlje ittibi.

we both together had to pull to open it — into
the chicken-yard. Once there, Adeline said
to me: " Get over that wall and you are in the
street." Mademoiselle Adeline actually tried
to drag out for me the chicken-house ladder.
Her utmost efforts could not stir it from its
place — and while she was tugging away at it
with her delicate little hands I, active as a
marten, was on top of the wall. And then — I
am ashamed to tell it — 1, rough and coarse as
barley-bread, had never a word of thanks for
her, but just dropped down into the street and
tore off as fast as I could toward the Place du
Grand Paradis.

At that time of night Avignon was as silent
and as lonely as a graveyard. The full moon
was pouring bucketsful of light on one side of
the narrow street, and casting on the other side
a black shadow so thick that hidden in it you
couldn't tell a horse from a man. Buried in
the shadow, I ran onward — taking care to keep
clear of the Papalist quarter — and not until I
came near the end of the Rue des Encans did
I hear a sound. Then, as I turned the corner
into the Rue Sainte Catherine, I heard coming
toward me the trampling of feet.

"Heavens!" I thought, "maybe it's the
Papalist patrol!" — and 1 hid myself in a deep

139

doorway where the shadow was as thick as
a fog.

The sounds came nearer and nearer, while
I stood there trembling; and at last — it seemed
to me a long while — the group came abreast
of me and then safely passed me by. But
though they did not see me in the shadow, I
saw them clearly in the bright moonlight. At
the head walked a big thick woman, striding
along like a man and carrying in one hand a
long knife and in the other a bag. Behind her
came three masked men, carrying between
them another man bound and gagged — a poor
wretch who from time to time kicked and
struggled and tried vainly to get free; and each
time that he fell to wriggling and plunging,
and the little procession halted until his bearers
could hold him fast again, the woman turned
around and cried in a harsh voice: "That's
right, kick away ! Kick as much as you please !
You can't get loose — and I'm going to rip
your bowels out before we throw you into the
Rhone!"

It was La Jacarasse, the tripe- woman, who
was taunting the helpless man with these
blood-curdling words; and I could hear her
keeping on in the same fashion until she and
the masks and their prisoner disappeared

ftebs of tl)e ittibi.

around the next turn. They went on into the
Rue de la Banasterie, toward the Porte de la
Ligne — and as soon as they were out of sight
I took to my heels again and in another minute
I was at our own door. Jacquemart was
pounding midnight on his bell, and yet there
still was a light in the window of our room. I
knocked and called as loudly as I dared: " La-
zuli! Lazuli! It is I! "

"Can it be Pascalet ? Yes, it is his voice! "
I heard Lazuli cry, and then I heard her hurry-
ing down the stairs as if on wings.

The key turned and the door flew open.
As soon as Lazuli saw me she caught me close
in her arms and kissed me a dozen times.
" Where have you been ? What has happened
to you ?" she exclaimed. " I don't know how
many patrols I've sent hunting for you all
through Avignon." And as we went up the
stairs together to our room she continued:
" Vauclair left with the Battalion. He told me
that as soon as you got back I was to send you
after him on the road to Paris. Oh Pascalet,
my pretty boy, I began to fear you were lost! "
— and then she threw her arms around me and
kissed me again and again.

I was greatly surprised arid confused and
delighted. I hardly could tell whether I was

141

asleep or awake. I knew nothing of caresses;
and these, the first I ever had felt, seemed
strangely sweet to me. Lazuli's hearty kisses
as she pressed my face against her warm bosom
moved me curiously. Not to be rude, as I had
been to Mademoiselle Adeline, I gave back kiss
for kiss and hug for hug and felt I never could
weary of so giving and taking. Often had
I spent hours gazing at her, thinking how
pretty she was and how everything she did
was well done. Sometimes as she passed near
me I had ventured to touch her skirt ; and the
touch had sent a thrill through all my veins.
Lazuli's voice was honey-sweet, and when she
looked on me with her lovely kind eyes her
glance seemed a caress in itself. Innocent as
a new-born babe in all such love matters, I
didn't understand what I felt. Probably La-
zuli had some notion of it. At any rate, she
soon stopped petting me, pushed me away,
and returned to her usual cheerful well-bal-
anced self as she said: " You must be hungry,
Pascalet. Take some bread and wine and tell
me all that has happened to you," She poured
me a glass of cordial and continued: "You
must be off in a hurry so as to catch up with
the Battalion at La Verdette, where they camp
for the night. You know where that is, about

142 ®l)e Hebs of tlje ittiM.

half a league from Avignon ? The Battalion
starts from there at daylight for Paris."

While I sopped my bread in my wine I
told her step by step all my misfortunes, and
also how I had met La Jacarasse and the three
men carrying another man to the Rhone.
When Lazuli heard this she threw her arms up
over her head, and exclaimed: " It isn't possi-
ble! Where are we? Is everybody a mur-
derer ? I am not going to stay here alone with
my baby. I am afraid of your Surto. I am
afraid of La Jacarasse. Start now. Leave here
at once. Take your gun and your sword and
join the Battalion. Tell Vauclair I can not stay
here alone. Tell him I shall start for Paris
next week by the coach. I shall pass you on
the road and will wait for you in Paris. I will
get ready there a little home for you both ; and
I will be there with you should anything go
wrong. I too am a Patriot. I want my share
of all your troubles.

" Here is your bundle. See, Pascalet, what
I have put in it for you. Here is a nice un-
bleached linen shirt; here is your gourd, full of
good brandy; here is a handsome red taiolo to
fasten round your waist; here are two pistols,
with powder and ball and fresh flints; and here
is your tricolour cockade. Here too, don't for-

ittamillcrise." 143

get, are the three crowns given you by Mon-
sieur Randoulet. You may need them. It is
a long road to Paris, and the times are bad.
They say all the people up there are Aristocrats
—perhaps you will not get even drinking-
water for nothing! Well, it is time to start.
Come and kiss little Clairet — but come quietly,
for he is fast asleep. And then be off as
quickly as you can, and tell all I have said to
Vauclair."

Lazuli took me by the hand and led me in
softly to kiss little Clairet. Then she put my
bundle on my back, fastening it on firmly with
two bands which crossed over my chest, and
we went down stairs. I went first, and what
with sword and gun and bundle I was laden
like a bee. Lazuli came behind, lamp in hand,
saying over and over: "Yes, 1 start next week
— we will all meet very soon. Say so to Vau-
clair."

My heart got up into my mouth and choked
me so that I couldn't answer her a word. I
stopped on the threshold — and before I could
turn around the door was shut behind me and
bolted fast. And there I was, all alone at night
on the Place du Grand Paradis, my sword by
my side, my gun on my shoulder — starting on
foot for Paris, the Capital of France !
ii

144 ®lK fie&s of tlje ittiM.

"And now," said Pascal, interrupting him-
self, "I think it is about time that the little
man there and the rest of us should go and see
the blind procession go by. Good-night."

As we went out Lou Materoun said: " But
to-morrow you'll tell us what happened up
there in Paris, won't you, Pascal ? You're not
going to leave us this way, all high and dry ?"

"Yes, yes, I'll tell you all about it to-mor-
row," answered Pascal — already a good way
off. Lou Materoun went toward the upper
part of the village while we went toward the
lower, each one taking the road to his home.
Sheltered under my grandfather's cloak, my eyes
shut up with sleepiness, I clutched his breeches
and so let him lead me to the door of our
house. And while he held up his lantern and
fumbled with the key I still heard, there under
the cloak, the steady beat of Lou Materoun's
hob-nailed shoes as he went upward through
the darkness to the high end of the village
street.

CHAPTER V.

THE MARCH OF THE MARSEILLES BATTALION.

WHILE we were at supper the next even-
ing my father said: "My olives are to be
ground to-night and I must go to the oil-mill
to see after them. The first pressing will be
sent home about ten o'clock, and as I can't be
in two places at once somebody must be here
to put it in the jars."

"Very well," said my grandfather, "I will
stay at home and attend to it."

" Won't we go to the shoemaker's then ? "
I cried all of a tremble. "Why, it's to-night
that Pascal tells of the march to Paris! "

My father frowned as he said: " I don't see
why I should be kept from looking after my
olives by a blind grandmother's story like this
stuff of old Pascal's."

But my mother understood perfectly how I
felt — how cruelly disappointed I was. I do be-
lieve that she used to feel in her own body all that
I felt in mine. Never had a boy so good and

145

146 ®l)e ftefcs of ll)e

kind a mother. " There now," said she. "Go
to your story-telling. I will stay up and at-
tend to the oil."

A minute later my grandfather had lighted
his lantern and we were off together; and in
less time than it takes to go from the sink to
the wood-pile we found ourselves at the shoe-
maker's. As it turned out it was well that we
had hurried. The meeting already was in full
session, and the neighbours had no more than
made room on the bench for my grandfather
when old Pascal opened his mouth and began.

I did not loiter on the road. I followed the
tow-path along the Rhone, taking a short cut
whenever 1 could find one. The stars were
shining. The red moon, looking as big as the
setting sun, just touched the Rock of Justice.
The Rhone went rippling along with a little
noise like that of the sun-wind in the white
poplars. The nightingales were trilling to each
other across the river. On the meadows were
tiny points of light where the glow-worms
were lying in the grass. Suddenly the sound
of girls' voices and of young mens' laughter
startled me; and I knew that hidden by the
bushes close by was a threshing-floor, and
that the young people of the farmhouse to

0f ttye ittor0eilles Battalion. 147

which it belonged were seated on the straw-
heaps and were merry-making out of doors in
the sweet freshness of the night.

But nothing could stay me. On I ran, keep-
ing my eyes steadily fixed on the evergreen-
oaks of La Verdette which I could make out
faintly in the distance. And as I ran I kept
saying to myself : "Hurry! Hurry! The Bat-
talion may start without you! " I felt that no
joy could be so sweet as that of being once
more with the men of Marseilles, of seeing
again Vauclair, of feeling myself again one of
the patriot Reds of the Midi on the march to
Paris to drive out our traitor King.

At last I came to the edge of the wood, and
as I was looking for a place to jump the ditch
that ran beside the road a voice cried sharply
out of the darkness: "Halt! Who goes
there ? "

"Friend of Liberty," I answered, giving
the countersign.

" But who are you ?"

"lam Pascalet. A volunteer from Avi-
gnon."

" Why, it's our kid! Vive la Nation! Tip
us your five sardines, Pascalet. We thought
you were done for." And the sentry shook
hands so hard that I thought my five sar-

148 (Elje ftebs of

dines, as he called them, were done for any
way.

The sentry's challenge, and his shout of joy
when he found that I had got back safe again,
started the rest of the men from their resting
places beneath the trees. The Commandant
Moisson, Captain Gamier, my good Vauclair —
half the command came crowding around me.
As for Vauclair, he was so delighted that he
picked me right off my feet and hugged me
like a bear; and we couldn't speak, either of
us — we were fairly crying !

"If you hadn't turned up, Pascalet," said
the Commandant, "I believe I would have
marched the Battalion back to look for you. I
felt something here in my heart that told me it
was all wrong to let that dirty German carry
you off."

"Well, it's all right now," said Vauclair as
he loosened his bear-hug and set me on my
feet again. "We won't talk about it. Tell
me, how did you find your way here ? Did
you see Lazuli ?"

"Did I see her? I should say I did! It
was she who gave me my things and started
me after you. I told her everything that had
happened, and she was all worked up about
it."

Ittard) of tl)c Marseilles Battalion. 149

Here the Commandant ordered the drums
to beat the assembly. "Hurry, lads," he
called. "We must be off. It will be day-
break soon."

Vauclair kept muttering: " I don't wonder
she was worked up. It doesn't seem possible
such things could be! It doesn't seem pos-
sible!" And as we fell in he asked: "And
what did she say to you ? "

" She said she wouldn't stay where there
were such goings on. That she and little
Clairet would take the Paris coach next week
and pass us on the road. She says she wants
to have a hand in the row up there herself."

"I'm glad she's coming," Vauclair an-
swered. " What you tell me takes a load off
my mind. I should have wearied for her up
there alone. But aren't you tired, Pascalet ?
You haven't had a wink of sleep — and you
know we are to make one stretch of it from
here to Orange, at least six leagues."

"Sleepy? Tired? Not a bit of it! And
what do we want to stop in Orange for ? "
Booby that I was, I thought that Paris was just
on the other side of the mountains and that we
could get there in a single march !

While we talked, the Battalion was form-
ing in line on the road. ' ' Forward, march ! "

tlje XttiM.

cried the Commandant. The drums beat the
quick-step ; all the men together burst out with
"Allons enfants de la Patrie!" — and we were
off. I stepped out with my longest stride —
trying to walk with the step of a big man —
and 1 sung away at the top of my voice. I
felt as if I were borne away on wings. My
voice rang out so loud that I heard nothing
else. It seemed to me that my singing could
be heard in Avignon, in Marseilles, away even
in my own home among the mountains at
Malemort; and as if the whole round earth
must hear the rattle of our drums, the thunder-
like rumbling of our cannon, and our tre-
mendous cry: "Aux armes, citoyens! Aux
armes! "

I had taken my place at the head of the
Battalion, close behind the drums, alongside of
the tall Federal who had carried the banner of
The Rights of Man through the streets of Avi-
gnon. He was a good-natured, jolly fellow;
a Marseillais named Samat. Every now and
then he would turn to me and say: "Good
for you, kid! Good for you!" To which I
would answer — wanting to please him by
speaking with the Marseilles accent: " Vivo la
Nacien!" and then I w'ould go on roaring
" Aliens enfants de la Patrie! "

JlTarcl) of tlje Marseilles Battalion. 151

Day was just dawning as we marched
through the village of Sorgues. The men in
their shirts, the women in their shifts with hair
loose over their shoulders, crowded to the win-
dows to see us pass. The young men and the
girls applauded us; the girls even blowing
kisses to us, while the men shouted: "Death
to the tyrant! Vive les Marseillais ! " But the
stiff-necked ones, the old women, the people
behind the age, crossed themselves, spit at us,
and banged-to their shutters. The village was
so small that we were soon through it and out
in the open country again.

The sun was rising behind Mont Ventour,
and the birds were flying out from the trees
and bushes. Already men were at work at
the threshing-floors unbinding the sheaves and
spreading them out and hammering them with
the hard-hitting flails. Close beside the thresh-
ers the great winnowing-sieves, hung between
their three poles, swayed backwards and for-
wards winnowing the grain from the chaff.
The yellow grain rained straight down, form-
ing even, pointed heaps; while the floating
chaff, looking like gold-dust, was carried away
by the light wind and sprinkled in little gold
dots over the grass. From the grain that leaped
from the husks with each flail-stroke, and from

152 $l)e ttcfcs of tl)e ittibi.

the beaten straw, there blew over on the soft
wind clear to the road where we were marching
with our cannon behind us a delicious smell
that fairly made our mouths water — it was so
like the smell of good golden-crusted bread
fresh out of the oven. Farther away, off in the
stubble-fields, we could see men gathering the
heaps of sheaves into wagons — so piled up that
they looked like little thatched houses. Stick-
ing out beyond the shelvings the big ends of
the sheaves almost touched the ground; and
the load, held fast by the double rope, curved
out so far over the back of the shaft-horse that he
looked like ahorse half buried in a stack of straw.
As the sun got higher and the day got hotter
the cigales began to sing; and all around us
new ones were coming out of the ground and
getting off their chrysalis overcoats and then —
when the good sun had given them fresh life —
flying off with their harsh buzzing cry into the
hot air. The little creatures came and perched
on our bayonets and gun-barrels; and as we
roared out the "Marseillaise" to our steady
drum-rattle, they scraped out their buzzing
song. So to buzz of cigale and buzz of drum
we marched under the blazing sun, kicking up
the dust of twenty flocks of sheep and making
our throats as dry as lime-kilns.

of tfye Marseille© Battalion. 153

In spite of heat and dust, in spite of thirst
and weariness, no one complained as we
tramped steadily on : one body and one soul
with one will and one aim — and that to make
the traitor King, and those Parisians who were
traitors with him, cry mercy.

At midday we reached Orange, where the
whole town headed by the Consul came to
meet us. I can tell you I was a proud boy as
I entered that town!% From my shoes to my
eyebrows I was white with dust. My red cap
was cocked over one ear. I kept my eyes
glaringly wide open, so as to Jook fierce and
dangerous. I howled the "Marseillaise" at
the top of my voice as I marched in the van of
the Battalion — and I was sure that no one saw
or heard anybody but me!

Samat, at the head of the column, flourished
his banner of The Rights of Man ; and when
he saw any one who looked sulky, or who did
not applaud, that unpatriotic person had to
kiss The Rights of Man in a hurry !

At the Hotel de Ville the Consul welcomed
us formally in a speech in French which we
couldn't make anything out of. He talked and
he talked and he talked, without once stop-
ping. And at last — as it seemed as if he never
would finish — Margan, a long thin pockmarked

i54 (EI)e fte&s of tlje

fellow, called out: "Hold up there, Monsieur
le Consul. Hearing your gab gives me the
pip. Vivo la Nacien — with a jug of wine! "

Every one laughed and applauded; and the
Consul, quite understanding the matter, ended
his speech by saying: "Friends, I see what
you need is to be well filled up. You are to
camp on the Place de 1'Arc de Triomphe; and
there you'll find all the good wine and good
barley bread that you can hold. Vive la Na-
tion ! "

We found it all as the Consul had promised,
and after we had gulped our claret and
munched our good barley bread seasoned with
a clove of garlic rubbed on it, we went to take
an afternoon nap in a near-by shady field.
Some lay down on their sides, some on
their backs, but the greatest number lay face
down so as not to be bothered by the flies.
Unbuttoning my coat and unlacing my shoes,
I lay down beside Vauclair, gun in hand — for
I had sworn, since my capture of the day be-
fore, that never would I let that gun go again
— and with my bundle for a pillow I soon
floated off in dreams. I saw myself once more
at the Porte de la Ligne in the midst of the fes-
tivities, again I heard the jingle of bells and
the cracking of a whip, again I felt the breath

illlarcl) of the iHarseiilco JSaltalion. 155

of the horses on my neck. And then — oh hor-
ror!— again a hand caught my shoulder in a
grip like a vice ! Frightened, panting, I awoke
screaming: "Vauclair! Help! Help!" And
as I jumped to my feet — this is the wonderful
part of it — I really saw on the highway, close
by me, the Marquis of Ambrun's carriage dash-
ing along at full gallop with its three horses har-
nessed en arbalete — two horses abreast and the
third in front — and there was Surto up on the
box outside.

"What's the row? What's the matter
with you ?" cried Vauclair, jumping to his feet
beside me.

" Look! Look! " I cried. " It is the Mar-
quis d'Ambrun and Surto! There, up the
road, in that carriage! "

"Oh," said Vauclair, regretfully, "if only
we had seen them coming! "

My scream had waked up most of the men.
The Commandant came up, and Vauclair told
him all about my kidnapping of the day before
and pointed out to him the little black speck
far up the road wrapped in a cloud of dust;
and then added that in that carriage were the
very Aristos who had tried to kill me.

"It's a good thing for them and a bad thing
for us that we didn't see them sooner," said

156 ®tje ttefcs of tl)e IttiM.

the Commandant. "We'd have settled the
score for the boy, here — and three fine horses
are just what we need to drag our cannon to
Paris."

But there was nothing more to be done
about it. A little later Captain Gamier ordered
the drums to beat the assembly, and we all fell
in; and then — with the people of Orange
crowding around us cheering, and with all the
Battalion roaring out "Tremblez, tyrans! " and
the rest of it — away we went up the Paris
road.

The sun was setting behind the white pop-
lars bordering the lagoons of the Rhone as we
passed through Mornas. To our wonder the
town was dead deserted. The rattle of our
drums, our singing of the "Marseillaise," the
rumble of our cannon, shook the whole town
— but the doors and windows staid fast barred
and the only living things we saw were some
fluttering and squawking hens.

"Here's a pretty state of things!" said
Samat; who felt quite shame-faced at having
unfurled his banner of The Rights of Man in a
place where there was no one who could be
kicked into kissing it on his knees.

" What in the name of all thunders is every-
body doing in this town of nobody ?" shouted

fttarcl) of itye ittamilles Battalion. 157

Margan, at the same time banging with his
gunstock against windows and doors. But
his banging did no good. We went clear
through the village without seeing the face of
man.

At the end of the town we came upon more
squawking chickens; and Samat said, with
a good deal of meaning in his tone: " Well, at
any rate there are plenty of chickens in this
country!" He left the ranks and went back,
and so did twenty or thirty more of our men ;
and when they joined us again every one
of them had a cock or a pullet spitted on
his bayonet — where they kept on gurgling
and sighing for two or three hours, as we
went marching onward through the black
night.

Oh how long was that night and how
weary that road ! The darkness grew blacker
and blacker. We were too tired to talk. Even
Margan, who was a born chatterbox, held his
tongue. The only sounds we heard were the
rattling of the forge-irons and the rumbling of
the cannon on the road, and the chirping of
crickets and croaking of frogs off in the dark-
ness near us in the fields. Drowsily we
plodded on.

Suddenly, far ahead of us we saw a light

158 ®l)e ftebs of llje XttiM.

that seemed to be in the road and that tossed
about and went from side to side.

"What's that?" called out one of our
drummers, who led the way. No one could
tell, and every one made his guess as to what
it was. One thought it the mail-coach, an-
other a carriage, another a Jack-o'-lantern.
But what it actually turned out to be was a
man with a lantern running toward us, with
open arms as if he would bar our way, while
he shouted: "Mercy! Mercy! We are all
.good Patriots. Have pity on us. Do not hurt
us. We are poor, but we will give you all
we have. I can offer no more! "

"But, my good man, who are you; and
what makes you think we want to hurt you ? "
asked Samat, sticking the man's own lantern
under his nose so .as to see what he looked
like.

" I am the Consul of Pierrelatte. Don't
hurt me, and 1 will turn over everything to
you. Before they ran away my Pierrelatte
people said to me : ' Let them eat and drink all
there is to eat and drink. Let them eat and
drink it all!' Now what more would you
have ? I implore you not to burn or pull down
or ruin the property of these my poor peo-
ple!"

of ll)c ittarseilUs Battalion. 159

"You great old owl, you!" cried Margan,
bursting into a laugh at seeing the Consul
trembling on his little cock's legs that shook
like castanets. "What do you take us for —
for murderers, for highway robbers ? Come,
come, you must tell your Pierrelatte people
that we are good Patriots, and that all we want
is enough wine to keep us going from here to
Montelimar."

"Well, that don't seem much to ask," said
the Consul. And then he went on: "Ah, my
dear sir, no sooner had the carriage driven
away than all my Pierrelatte people fled into
the islands of the Rhone — leaving me, their
Consul, all alone to try to make you hear
reason."

" What carriage?" asked Vauclair.

"A carriage that passed here at nightfall.
It stopped but a moment in the Place de la
Commune, and the coachman without getting
down from his seat called out:' 'Good people,
hide yourselves! The Marseilles robbers are
coming! To-morrow you all will be dead and
your houses all pillaged and burned!' And
then he whipped up his horses and galloped
off as if he had the devil at his heels."

" We know who that man was! Eh, Com-
mandant?" said Vauclair turning to Com-

160 ®|)c ftebs of tl)e HUM.

mandant Moisson. " We'll catch up with him
at Paris — with him and his Marquis too! "

Margan, who was getting impatient, broke
in with: "All right, all right, citizen Consul.
As you have a lantern, go ahead and show us
the door of the best cellar in the village. That
is all we ask."

"Come along, you good people," said the
old Consul, now quite easy about us. "Fol-
low me." And away he went, stumping
along in front of the Battalion while he rambled
on to us: "Oh, if only they had known this,
my people would not have hidden themselves,
every one of them, in the Rhone islands.
They took their goats, their mules, their asses;
they even carried their rabbits with them.
They took away everything they possibly
could take. If you could have seen them run-
ning away — the women shrieking and scream-
ing, the children crying, the men swearing!
And so away they all went to the islands.

"Had they known that a couple of barrels
of wine was all you wanted! Well, well,
well — all gone except me, the Consul. I said
to myself: ' Either you are the Consul or you
are not. If your head is cut off, it will be cut
off — but you will not do your duty as a Consul
unless you stay ! ' '

of tl)e Jflarsdlks Battalion. 161

"What are you chattering about, old fel-
low ? " said Margan. "Are we near that cellar-
door yet ? "

"Not two steps farther," said the Consul.
"Here we are," and, so saying, he stopped in
the main street of the village before a locked
and barred door. "Here is the best stocked
cellar in Pierrelatte, " he went on, holding up
his lantern so as to see the lock. "But they
certainly have carried off the key."

"All right, all right," said Margan, stepping
forward. "Don't work up your bile, citizen
Consul, we have keys here to open all locks,"
and he called: "Hallo, there, oh Peloux!
Bring up the forge-truck and show what good
locksmiths we are. Show how long it will
take us to open the doors of the King's Castle
up there in Paris! "

Peloux, who was the armorer of the Bat-
talion, came forward with his men, dragging
the forge-truck. In the glint of an eye they
turned the tail of the truck toward the big
door; six men took hold and drew it to the
other side of the street so as to have a good
start: "Oh, isso! Now then, all together!"
they cried — and the ready-made battering ram
whacked against the door, and burst it open
with a bang! Like a swarm of eager wine-

162 ®l)e ftcba of the ittibi.

flies we rushed through the opening, and in no
time had the bung out of the biggest barrel
and its vent started. Out spouted the wine in a
red curve, glinting in the light of the lantern
like a rainbow of rubies and filling the whole
place with its rich smell. As the big jugs were
filled each man clutched one, and either glued
his lips to it and sucked away or held it high
up and let the wine pour directly down into
his thirsty throat. Some even stooped and
drank directly from the barrel. Round went
the jugs — once, twice, thrice. Oh how we
gulped and guzzled ! Each man as he had his
fill went off and lay down upon the straw on
the threshing-floors at the entrance of the vil-
lage; and I, when the hens began to have two
heads, did as the rest and went to lie down,
too. The dawn had just begun to whiten the
sky so that the white moon looked like a cym-
bal nailed up there. But some of the men
stayed on buzzing around the cask, kissing the
vent until the wine no longer spirted out in a
clear rainbow but dribbled out thick and heavy
off the lees.

But in spite of our night's march, and our
guzzling on top of it, we made an early start.
No sooner did the red sunlight touch the top
of Mont Ventour, so that it was like a lovely

ittarcl) of tl)c Marseilles Battalion. 163

rose on the highest branch of a rose bush, than
the Commandant — who, with our officers, had
stood watch while the drinking was going on
—ordered the drums to beat the assembly and
we fell into line.

The Commandant, with drawn sword, took
his position in front of the -Battalion and said to
us: "I know that you are good Patriots. I
know that you will do your duty unto the end,
unto death. Friends, the Country is in danger.
France may perish. The King has betrayed
us and has made a pact with strange peoples
to destroy the Nation. It is our duty to save
what he seeks to destroy. With our hearts
full of rage against the tyrant, and our souls
full of love for the Country, we will stride on
together to Paris and show what the Reds of
the Midi can do! " And to this speech we all,
in one formidable shout, answered: "Vivo la
Nacien! "

Then the Commandant turned toward the
Consul of Pierrelatte, who had stuck to him
all night long, and said: "Citizen Consul, tell
your Pierrelatte people that we of the Marseilles
Battalion are, as they are, children of the plough
and of the workshop; that we have faith in
liberty and in justice, and that we go to Paris
to overthrow the tyrant. And tell them, too,

1 64 ®l)e ftefcs of tl)e ittiM.

that we are neither murderers nor robbers, and
that we pay our debts." So saying, he drew
out an assignat from his pocket and gave it to
the Consul, adding: " Here is an order on the
Treasury to pay for the wine we have drunk
and the damage we have done."

The poor Consul could not believe his eyes.
Greatly moved, he took off his cocked-hat;
and his emotion going to his thin cock's legs
they more than ever shook like castanets. So
we left him. The drums struck up the march,
and singing the "Marseillaise" we again
started on the road to Paris.

This time, leaving big Samat and chatter-
ing Margan, I stationed myself in the rear,
with the cannon, and the forge, beside Ser-
geant Peloux — from whom 1 had a favour to
ask. A tremendous longing to help pull the
guns had taken hold of me : for I thought that if
only I could be harnessed up with the others in
that hard work I would not seem so young. I
fancied to myself how I would look as we
passed through the towns and villages — bend-
ing over and tugging at the straps, red as fire
and dripping with sweat, my eyes very wide
open and rolling ferociously, sparks flying from
the stones beneath my hob-nailed shoes, and
all the while shouting in a voice as deep and

of tl)e Marseilles Battalion. 165

as hoarse as I could make it: "Vivo la Na-
cien!" I fancied how the women and girls
and children would stare at me; and how I
would look to them just as the men of the Bat-
talion had looked to me when they came in
to Avignon.

But at the very first word that I ventured
to say about this to Sergeant Peloux he set me
down hard. "Your turn will come in good
time, little man," said the Sergeant. "We
haven't got to Paris yet; and before we get
there you'll have your gaiter's full of toting
your bundle and your gun and that sword that
is a good deal longer than you are! "

I didn't dare to make any answer when I
got this set-back, and I felt myself turning red
with shame. Luckily for the hiding of my
confusion, a frightened hen just then fluttered
into the ranks and every one tried to spit her
on sword or bayonet. Flying and running and
squawking as if her head was being cut off,
the hen came down the line, and as she passed
me I spitted her at the first lunge.

Proud as a prince, I stepped out so as to
gain the head of the column and show off my
hen ; and as I passed up the line I heard the
Federals saying: "Look there, the kid has
her!" But Vauclair turned around frowning;

166 (ftlje fteb0 of llje HUM.

and as I came up to him he said: "Whose
hen is that ? "

"It's mine."

" Have you paid for it?"

"No, indeed!"

"Then you have stolen it. Go to your
place. Don't let this ever happen again."

I never had seen Vauclair so hard ; and as
he spoke I felt a sudden pang in my heart — it
was the first time that I ever had given him
pain. But 1 felt that he was right to blame
me. I had stolen that hen, and perhaps from
some poor man. I wanted to unspit her and
fling her behind the hedge, but I did not dare
to. Yet I longed to get rid of her. She was a
weight on me and made me bitterly ashamed.
I had kept on walking very fast and so had
reached the head of the Battalion. In order to
make tall Samat and chattering Margan turn
around, and also in order to hide my con-
fusion, I began to sing "Aliens enfants de la
Patrie ! "

"Hullo! is that you?" said Samat.
"Look, Margan, look there — what a splendid
big hen ! Where did you pick her up, kid ?
What geese we were not to have caught her
ourselves!"

"Do take her, if you like her," said I; and

ittarcl) of tl)e UlarseiUes Battalion. 167

without any more words I took down my hen
and stuck her on his bayonet.

"He's no goose, anyway, that kid; he
wants to make me carry her! No matter,
youngster, you shall have a bit of her.-" And
on he marched, roaring out: "Aliens enfants
de la Patrie!"

When I had got rid of my hen it seemed as
if a tremendous load had fallen from my back.
Vauclair couldn't reproach me any longer, and
all things pleased me again ; the road was gay,
the sun delighted me. While the men heavily
tramped along — dripping with sweat, suffo-
cated by the white dust, and deafened by the
shrill voice of the cigales — I, light as air, went
and came the whole length of the Battalion as
the sheep dog does with his flock. I jumped
up on the banks by the road side and gathered
big blackberries with which I stuffed myself
and my pockets.

Suddenly the drums beat the quick-step.
Samat unfurled his banner, and we steadied
our lines. We were entering the town of
Montelimar. The streets and open places were
crowded with people, and more people filled
the windows and doorways. We marched on
until we came in front of the Patriot's Club,
over which the red flag was floating; and then,

168 (pe ftete of ll)e ittiM.

after a short halt, we went to encamp outside of
the town beside a river that they told us was
the Jabron. Here we made ourselves com-
fortable— roasting the Mornas chickens and
eating them with good fresh bread; and then,
having loosened the knee-buckles of our
breeches and taken off our shoes, we spread
ourselves out on the grass. Even for those of
us who kept awake it was a delicious rest to
go down on one's elbows and stretch out at
full length on the soft grass in the shade of the
poplars and willows which grew beside the
stream.

I lay that way — half awake, half dreaming,
turning over in my mind for a while the cruel
and bitter life I had passed at La Garde; and
then forgetting it all as I sleepily watched a
white cloud up in the sky that got bigger and
bigger and then slowly got little again, and at
last went quite away. Then I let my head fall
between my hands and watched with great in-
terest an ant who was carrying through the grass
a crumb of bread bigger than himself. The little
creature would get caught in a thick tangle of
grass-blades, or would slip down from a tall
stem; but off he would start again, sometimes
pushing and sometimes pulling at his load. In
pity for him, I now and then would take a

of tl)e Marseilles Battalion. 169

twig and help him on his way; putting the
twig under him very gently, so as not to hurt
him, and so lifting him over a hard pass that
would have cost him an hour of climbing to
get over alone. And so the afternoon wore
away.

At sunset the brave Patriots of Montelimar
brought each of us to eat with our bread a
plaited rope of garlic, for that is the food to
give strength and courage to warriors; and
then the drums beat, and once more we started
on the road to Paris.

We marched all night ; a warm clear summer
night with now and then a flash of heat light-
ning low down in the sky. As dawn came on
we were wrapped in a cool mist that rose from
the Rhone and spread out over the osiers and
the fields and the flowering hedges by the road
side; but the sun soon rose and drank it up.
It seemed strange to us to find men reaping.
In Avignon half the grain already was in the
granaries; at Pierrelatte they were putting it
into sheaves; and here they were only harvest-
ing ! But we were coming to the frontiers of the
North. Now that we had passed Montelimar
there were no more olive-trees ; and the mari-
nade, the soft sea-wind off the Mediterranean,
was far away. Here, where the olive could

170 ®l)e Eeb0 of ll)e ittibi.

not flourish, were no more cigales — the ground
was too cold to bring them forth. When I saw
cherry-trees which were only just losing their
blossoms I could not help saying: "How far
off we are ! "

Margan laughed when he heard me, and
broke out in his chattering way: " Yes, we've
come a good way, but we're not nearly there
yet. Go ahead all, and the devil take the
hindermost! Go ahead! It's not in fifteen
days, nor yet in twenty days, that we'll be
beating the moths out of the King's council-
lors. And, I say, boys, won't that make a gay
stir-about ? To-morrow we'll be in Valence.
But we won't stop there. Didn't the Com-
mandant say that the country's in danger ? We
won't stop till we haven't any breath left!
And now, once more: 'Aux armes, cito-
yens ! ' ' And as we crossed the bridge of the
Drome, all singing at the tops of our voices,
we fairly made the buttresses shake !

With bunches of box and laurel stuck in
our guns and in our hats, covered with a thick
coat of dust, and all singing "Tremblez, tyrans
et vous perfides!" we crossed the city of
Valence at midday in the full blaze of the sun.
The whole population was out to look at us.
Men, women and children, all pale and un-

iHarcl) of ttye ittareeilles Battalion. 171

easy, gazed at us as we passed — not knowing
whether to be frightened or to be comforted;
wondering who we were and whence we
came and where we were going. As we
marched on I heard an old woman say: " It is
Jourdain's army of cut-throats!" — and she
crossed herself, as if a thunder-clap had just
burst forth.

But the Commandant called out : ' ' No stop-
ping! The country is in danger!" And on
we went, the drums beating the quick-step,
and Valence soon was left behind. We sang
the "Marseillaise"; and drum-beat and song
echoed back to us from the limestone rocks on
the other bank of the Rhone; so that it seemed
as if off there, too, another army of the Reds of
the Midi were marching to the assault of Paris.

Rub your crusts of bread with garlic, good
Federals, good Patriots! March bravely on and
on ! Up there in Paris must come the hardest
task of all. March on and on with bleeding
feet. The way is dull and hard, the road is
long — but at the end stands Liberty !

We crossed the bridge of the Isere, made
our camp about sundown in the forest of Car-
nage ; and started again toward morning so as
to reach by evening the city of Vienne. As
we marched along the peasants dropped their

1 72 ®tye ftebs 0f llje

work and ran across the fields to stare at us.
We frightened and astonished them ; and when
we joked them — calling out: "Oh, he, ox-
herd, is it fine to-day ?" or " Look out, reaper,
your whet-stone case is leaking!" — they an-
swered in a patois which was neither one thing
nor the other and like people who did not un-
derstand. It was easy to see they were
Northern lumpkins. Why, they had a twist
in their talk that the very devil must have
puffed into their faces; and already they spoke
like the Paris folks, with a twang in the nose.

The day went on, and toward sunset we
were come close to Vienne. The city stood
before us, high up on the banks of the Rhone;
and above the city rose still higher the cathe-
dral of Saint Maurice — towering above walls
that seemed as big and high as those of the
Roman theatre at Orange.

At the sight of this great city I was seized
again by my longing to be harnessed to our
cannon, and so to enter it looking like a man.
I fell out from the ranks under pretence of
fastening my shoes and let the Battalion pass
until the rear-guard came up to me with the
cannon and forge.

"See here, partner," said I to a Federal
whose feet were cut and bleeding but who

ittard) of tl)e Marseilles Battalion. 173

was tugging away at his harness strap, puff-
ing and blowing like an angry lizard. "It
seems to me that that cannon isn't walking
alone.' "

"Not a bit of it, youngster. If you'd like
to try a pull, we'll see what meat you are
made of."

" It is just what I want to do," I answered;
and without more words I laid my gun and
sword and bundle on the truck, the Federal
slipped out of his strap and slipped me into it
without stopping the march — and there 1 was,
pulling with might and main.

Sergeant Peloux, when he saw the first tug
I gave at the collar, called out: " Go slow, kid,
you'll be blown in no time at that rate — to say
nothing of smashing the harness."

This snubbing, though it was only in fun,
quieted me for a minute or two; but then off I
went again, tugging harder than ever. As we
started up the slope to the city all the bells
were ringing and cannon were thundering out
from the walls; and as 'we got higher the
townsfolk came out to meet us in swarms. It
was the Fourteenth of July, the festival of the
Federation. We had barely room to pass, the
streets were so crowded; and the people had
to look out for their toes as our wheels rumbled

174 ®be fte&Q of 111 e fttibi.

and bumped over the stones. In order to be the
more looked at, I bent over almost on all fours,
like a beast. When I passed a group of girls I
raised my head a little and, red as a flaming
devil and with flashing eyes, I made my voice
deep and shouted: "Vivo la Nacien!" And
how enchanted I was when now and then
some girl pointed me out and said: "Just look
at that young fellow. Goodness, how he
frightens me! " But what I did not like to hear
was when they said: "Oh, poor little one!
He is hardly more than a child — he hasn't a
hair on his chin! " Then I would drag harder
than ever at my harness, and shout louder than
ever: "Vivo la Nacien!" I even thundered
out big words and big oaths one on top of the
other. I was very young, then !

The Patriots of Vienne entertained us well
that evening; and the next morning, before
leaving the city, the Battalion went to pre-
sent arms before the altar of the Federation
that had been raised in the open space in front
of the church. Here we all bent the knee
and sang the verse: "Amour sacre de la Pa-
trie! " Hardly had we ended it when a group
of school children, led by their teacher, a young
Abbe, presented themselves before the altar
and, kneeling as we had done, sang to the air

of ttje ittarseilies Battalion. 175

of the " Marseillaise " a verse that we never be-
fore had heard, beginning:

In the path our elders showed us
We will follow when they're gone.

This beautiful verse set our patriotic fires to
blazing and upset us completely. Tears were
in all eyes, and each one of us took up a child
in his arms and kissed it over and over again.
Older people embraced each other, and every
one shouted " Vive les Federes! Vive la Na-
tion! Down with the tyrant King! "

Commandant Moisson hugged the little
Abbe, who had made all out of his own head
the new verse, and said: "Thanks, Patriot,
thanks! We will sing your children's verse
on the ruins of the King's Castle." And the
little Abbe, his eyes wet with tears, answered :
" Your patriotic song went right to my heart,
and sent a thrill into the very marrow of my
bones. Never before have I heard the voice of
God ring out so clear: may His blessing go
with you and His arm give you strength ! "
Then the drums rattled and off we marched
to " Allons enfants de la Patrie! "

All Vienne followed us, shouting. I had
harnessed myself again to the truck. A little
monkey six or seven years old took upon him
13

176 ®l)e Eeb0 of

to carry my gun, another one carried my
sword, and a third my bundle. A swarm of
children buzzed around and followed us like so
many flies. From time to time the smallest
had to run in order to keep up with us. 1 felt
that no one could understand as I did the de-
light of these little fellows. It made me as
proud as a pig on stilts to see how they ad-
mired me and how set up they were by carry-
ing my gun or my sword, or even by my let-
ting them finger the fine gilt buttons on my coat.
But as we went on farther and farther, and
the town came to be a long way behind us,
we had to tell the children that it was time for
them to go home. Handing back the arms
and the other things we had allowed them to
carry, the good little fellows obeyed us and
stopped short :..and there they stood watching
us, longingly, until we were hidden from them
by a turn in the road. Just as they lost sight
of us they all together began to sing in their
high pitched clear voices the verse which the
little Abbe had added to the " Marseillaise " :

In the path our elders showed us
We will follow when they're gone.

Without any order being given, the whole
Battalion halted; and we stood silent and

of ll)e Marseilles Sattalion. 177

deeply moved listening to that thrilling song.
It seemed to go deep down into our hearts,
and we were comforted and strengthened by
it. Turning about and facing us, Commandant
Moisson said: "Listen, friends, listen well —
for this is the last time that you will hear the
sound of Patriot voices; the voices of the Reds
of the Midi. Our feet are now on Northern
soil. Henceforward we shall be among the
Anti-Patriots — the men who have tried to stop
the Revolution by opening to strangers and
enemies the frontiers of France. Let us show
the Aristocrats who we are and what we want.
Let them know that nothing can turn us back;
that for us it is Death or Liberty!" Then the
drums beat and again we went on.

We marched almost steadily for three days
and nights — drinking the water of brooks and
ditches, eating only bread and garlic, and taking
only snatches of sleep as the chance came. Up
there in the land of fogs we could not count
on the soft straw of the threshing-floors for our
rest by night, nor on the cool dry grass of
shady fields for our rest by day. Not a bit of
it! The wheat was just getting into ear in
that country of nothing — which God certainly
had gone through by night — and the fields were
soaking with dew or mist until three or four in

1 78 ®lje Eebs of tlje illibi.

the afternoon : it took the sun so long to drink
up the moisture.

Well, as I said, we marched for three days
and three nights, and so came to the bridge of
Saint-Jean d'Ardieres — farther north than Lyons
(which city we had passed at early dawn with-
out stopping) ; farther north, even, than Ville-
franche. There, on the shady banks of the
Ardieres, we halted for some hours during the
hottest part of the day. In the twinkling of
an eye the Battalion was at rest beside the
river. Some stretched themselves out in the
shade of the willows; one dabbled in the
clear water, another ate a bit of bread, another
mended a tear in his clothes, and another put
a stitch in his shoe. But I remained on the
bridge with the cannon ; for Vauclair had toid
me that the Paris coach might pass us there,
and not for an empire would I have gone to
sleep and so missed the chance of seeing Lazuli
and little Clairet.

In order to amuse myself while the others
slept, I seated myself on the parapet of the bridge
and spread open my bundle that Lazuli had so
well put up for me and had so carefully knotted
and arranged. I examined my two pistols —
taking out and sharpening the flints and rubbing
off here and there a spot of rust — and it seemed

of ttye Marseilles Battalion. 179

to me that in possessing them I possessed all
that a man could desire to own on this earth.
Then I uncorked my gourd full of brandy and
sniffed at it, and without tasting it enjoyed the
good smell. I felt the three silver crowns that
Monsieur Randoulet, good Monsieur Randoulet,
had given me. I tried on my sash, my fine
red taiolo; I looked at my black shining pow-
der and counted my store of pistol balls ; and
then, before packing all up again, I turned to
my pistols once more. Oh, my pistols! I
could not bear to let them out of my hands. I
could not tire of looking at them. And to
think that they were my own!

While I was going on with all this child's
play a noise made me jump — the sound of bells.
I thought that it must be the coach; and I
turned around and stared off into the distance
as far as I could see the road. There was
nothing in sight — not the smallest black spot,
not a puff of dust — and yet nearer and clearer
came the sound of jingling bells. And then,
while I listened with pricked up ears and stared
down the empty highway, there came out from
a sunken road behind a flowering hedge close
by me a little flock of ten or twelve sheep, fol-
lowed by an old shepherd who, in spite of the
heat, was closely muffled in his big shepherd's

i8o £|e fteb0 of

cloak. As soon as the old man saw me he
bent down his head, pulled his hat over his
eyes, and turned as if to retrace his steps. But
it was too late. The sheep already had jumped
up on the road and he had to follow them. He
seemed to be less fearful when he found that I
was all alone, for he came toward me and
asked me the way to the ferry across the
Rhone.

" I'm the wrong one to come to with that
question, good man," said I, "for I don't be-
long in these parts.''

"Who are you, then, and where are you
going," he asked kindly. "You look very
young to be wearing the uniform of the Na-
tional Guard."

"I am a Federal Patriot, and I am going to
Paris with the Marseilles Battalion to make
the King hear reason and to bring him to
terms."

"What do you mean by that? Bring to
terms our King, our good King, the father of
us all! What are you thinking about, my
child ? But where is this Marseilles Battal-
ion ?"

"There is our artillery," I answered, point-
ing to the cannon. " Our men are down there
by the river, resting in the shade."

of tlje Marseilles Battalion. 181

"Oh Saints of God have mercy! " exclaimed
the old shepherd, raising his eyes on high and
putting his hands together in the way a priest
does when he says mass. "Is it possible, my
child, that you have been misled to believe that
the King must be ' made to hear reason ' as
you call it so glibly ? Listen well to me, for
you are in an evil way : you are going straight
into the jaws of hell. I also am a good patriot;
and I tell you that you will better serve your
country if you will stay here as a shepherd, as
I am doing, than if you go up with your Bat-
talion into the North. Come now, I will make
you a good offer. You shall help me to take
care of my flock, and I will pay you well and
you will have little work to do. And when
we have led the flock up into the high pas-
tures in the Alps I will give you a third of it
for your own. You will be a little capitalist."

" Desert the Battalion! " I cried. " Never!
You might give me all the sheep in all the moun-
tains and on all the plains, and you might stuff
my pockets full of gold crowns — but I never
would stir from the Battalion so much as a
single step! Vive la Nation! Liberty or
Death ! "

"Poor child, poor child, your head is
turned! So young, and talking of death. Un-

182 (Efye ftefcs of ll)e itlibi.

happy boy! Don't you know that our Lord
Jesus Christ when he died on the cross forgave
those who put him to death ? Are there no
cures in your country, have you never heard
good Christian words ? "

"Yes indeed, there is a good cure in our
village; he is as good as he can be, and his
name is Monsieur Randoulet. He saved my
life; he drew me out of the claws of the Mar-
quis and his game-keeper who wanted to kill
me."

"Well then, my child, in the name of that
holy man who saved your life, listen to me.
Promise me that until your last gasp you
always will carry about you this medal on
which is the image of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-
Secours. She will keep you from wrong do-
ing."

As he spoke, the old shepherd pulled a
plug out of the top of his staff; and from the
hollow place inside, as he turned the staff up-
side down, there fell out shining medals and
louis-d'ors. He took a medal, pressed it to his
lips, and gave it to me. Then he took one of
the gold pieces and also gave it to me, saying:
"The medal is a coin that will save your soul
from sin, and the louis-d'or is a coin that will
keep your body from poverty and harm. If

of tl)e Marseilles Battalion. 183

ever you chance to fall into the hands of those
whom you believe are such wicked people,
those whom you call Anti-Patriots, show them
your medal and it will save your life. But
speak not to any one of what you have just
seen and heard. Now I must leave you. I
am in haste. May God take you in his holy
keeping."

As he talked to me the old shepherd gently
stroked my cheeks as Monsieur Randoulet was
used to do when he met me on the road to
the Chateau de la Garde, and I felt him mak-
ing with his thumb the sign of the cross on
my forehead. Then, followed by his sheep,
he went quickly down the other side of the
road; and as he passed away from me I
still heard him repeating: "Poor child! Poor
child!"

I was so surprised that I just stared after
him and never said thank you. I watched
him until he was hidden from me by a dip in the
land, and then I came back to my bundle, all
open and spread out on the bridge. Somehow
this encounter had upset me and changed my
thoughts. Neither pistols nor red scarf amused
me any more. I began to put together my
bundle again; and while doing this I heard the
sound of horses galloping beyond the very

1 84 ®l)e ttebs of ll)e ittiM.

flowering hedge from behind which the shep-
herd had come forth with his flock.

I turned around quickly ; and to my amaze-
ment I saw four mounted gendarmes, cockade
in hat, with drawn swords and pistols stuck
in their belts, riding straight toward me at full
gallop as if they meant to cut me down. But
they drew up short on the bridge, and their
leader asked me sharply: "Citizen Patriot,
have you seen pass here a shepherd with a dull
brown cloak around him driving a little flock
of sheep ? "

My blood ran cold at this question, for it
showed me that trouble was in store for the
poor old man. Instantly, without stopping
to think about it, I answered: "No!"

"That's a pity," said the roughest looking
of the lot. "We should have stuck to his
tracks. Then the country would be safer, for
we would have delivered the Revolution from
its worst enemy."

What the fellow said startled me. Could it
be possible that the old shepherd was an ene-
my to the good cause ? I was sorry 1 had said
no so quickly, and I corrected myself by add-
ing: "I did not see him, but if I do not mis-
take 1 heard the sheep-bells down there along
the river path."

of ll)c Marseilles Battalion. 185

"That must be he," said the leader of the
gendarmes; and in a moment they had turned
their horses and had gone galloping along the
path the old shepherd had followed when he
left me.

At first I scarcely realized what had passed,
and then I began to be frightened. Ought I to
hold my tongue about it all, or ought I to tell
Vauclair, I wondered; while the blood mounted
up into my cheeks and my heart beat fast. I
hoped that the old man had taken a cross-road
and would not be caught, for I felt that I had
set his pursuers on his track. And then, as I
did not know what I ought to do, I went back
to my bundle and began to put it together
again. The sun was going down and I knew
that it soon would be time for the Battalion to
start. Some of our men came up on the bridge
— while 1 still was fussing over my bundle and
staring along the path that the old shepherd
had taken — and presently I thought that I
could hear, above their talking, the sound of
more distant voices and the jingling of bells.

I was right. A minute or so later I saw red
plumes showing through the willows, and then
out came the four gendarmes cruelly drag-
ging after them the poor old shepherd tied fast
to a horse's tail as if he had been a robber.

i86 Ql\)e Hefts of il)e ittibi.

He was in danger of being crushed by the feet
of the prancing and kicking horses, who
knocked him about and covered him with their
sweat and foam. As the gendarmes rode up to
us on the bridge they raised their swords and
shouted "Vive la Nation!" and our men, of
course, crowded around them asking questions.

"What has he done?" demanded Captain
Gamier.

"It seems to me," said Samat, "that you
are pretty hard on him. No doubt he is an
Anti-Patriot; but let him go now and 1 will
give him The Rights of Man to munch on "-
and he began to unfurl his banner.

"He is a traitor, a miserable wretch that
death is too good for. Vive la Nation! " an-
swered the leader of the gendarmes.

At this answer each man had his own
thread to spin. " Let him be tried at once and
give him Marseilles plums to taste! " cried one.
"No, powder's too good to waste on traitors.
A rope necklace is good enough for him ! "
cried another. "Into the river with him!"
cried a third. Every one had his say; and in
the midst of it all the poor old man's heart
died out of him and, pale as death, he dropped
down on the road.

It was pitiful to see him drop that wav.

of tlje Marseilles Sattalicm. 187

With the help of two or three Federals who
were as sorry for him as I was, 1 lifted him up
and seated him on the parapet of the bridge
beside my still open bundle; and while the
gendarmes were talking together, settling how
they would carry him on one of their horses if
he couldn't or wouldn't walk, I quickly un-
corked my brandy-flask and put it to his lips.
The strength of the liquor brought back some
life into him and he opened his eyes. Taking
my hand in his, he whispered so that no one
but I heard him: "Thank you, my child.
May God repay you."

Seeing him so sickly, so weak, so old, our
men changed their key and fell to pitying him,
muttering that unless he were a very great
traitor he might as well be let go. I was long-
ing to get rid of the weight on my heart that
came from having given him into the hands of
his enemies, and these mutterings gave me
courage to step up to the gendarmes who
were preparing to hoist him on one of the
horses and to say: "This man is half dead, he
can not do any harm. What difference can it
make to us whether he is a Patriot or an Anti-
Patriot ? Let him go and take care of his flock
—which is most likely all he owns on earth,
he and his poor wife and children."

1 88 aije ttebs of tl)e iflibi.

"Our little man is quite right," called out
several of our men together.

"He's right, is he? I'll show you if he's
right ! " answered one of the gendarmes angrily ;
and, tumbling off his horse, he flung himself
like a wolf on the old shepherd and dragged
from his shoulders his big cloak. And there —
Saints of God! there was our old man in a
handsome violet robe with a band of fine lace
and a golden cross that shone on his breast!
"Here's the poor man you were sorry for!"
cried the gendarme. " He is neither more nor
less than the Bishop of Mende, the ci-devant
Monseigneur de Castillane; and, just as you
see him here, he is the commander of twenty
thousand Royalists who are holding the camp
of Jales. And do you want to know where he
was going ? He was going, the traitor, to
join the emigres and foreigners who are plot-
ting together to ruin the Revolution. I'll prove
it to you — look here!" As he spoke, he
snatched the shepherd's staff from him and
pulled out the plug and turned it upside
down. Out poured medals and louis-d'ors;
and then, as he shook it, out came a roll
of parchment. The gendarme spread open
the roll before us; and Commandant Mois-
son, reading it, cried out: "You are right.

of tf)e ittaraeilles Battalion. 189

This man is a traitor. Here is the Royalist
plot!"

Our men needed no more. "To the river
with him!" "Kill him!" "Death to the
traitor!" they shouted; and there was a rush
toward him and hands were raised and swords
were drawn. But the gendarmes guarded him
while they tied him fast to the tail of a horse
again ; and the leader said grimly : " No, friends,
this piece of work we will attend to ourselves! "
And so they rode away.

In a couple of minutes we lost sight of
them, and then our drums beat and we started
again on our march.

As we went onward our men sang and
joked and talked about the lucky capture of
the Bishop. But I kept silence. The louis-
d'or and the medal burnt my pocket. I could
not bear to think about them. Traitor or not,
I felt very sorry for the old man. My heart
almost failed me when, as we came out on the
other side of the bridge, I saw his deserted
sheep wandering about aimlessly. The poor
beasts would crop a while, and then suddenly
would stop eating; and with their mouths
full of grass they would look around in
every direction, bleating piteously for their
lost shepherd. After we had marched a

of

good way we still could hear them forlornly
bleating.

Our long tramp began to tell on us, and as
we marched the men became more and more
silent. The kits and accoutrements, so easy
to carry at first, grew to be an intolerable bur-
den on our backs. Many of the men fell foot-
sore and some of the lamest took off their
shoes, finding it more comfortable to jog along
barefoot in the soft dust of the road. I was
harnessed again to my cannon, and I tugged
away patiently.

We had reached an evil land, a place of
Aristocrats. The country through which we
were passing was dreary and dismal, and was
overhung by a dreary dull sky made still more
dull by the long flocks of crows flying across
it. In every direction, as far as we could see,
great fields of beans and beets and vetches
stretched on and on with never a tree in them.
The houses and huts were roofed with slates
of a dismal black, and the stern and silent peo-
ple living there were like the land. Everybody
we met on the road or in the villages gave us
sidewise suspicious glances, such as a dog
gives when he is carrying off a bone. The
people all looked alike — with their big, pale,
pasty-white, close-shaven, dirty, hang-dog,

Jttarcl) of li)c iHarseilU0 Battalion, 19*

stupid animal faces all jowl. They never gave
us a smile, much less a bottle of wine; they
gave us nothing, indeed, but the cold shoulder,
and so slouched away. When at a safe dis-
tance, they turned and shook their fists at us.
Even the sun hid himself behind a dull thick
mist, like a dead man under a shroud; and yet
his heat was overpoweringly oppressive.

On we tramped dully and doggedly, hun-
gry, ,weary and footsore. We had no heart for
laugh or song. Commandant Moisson and
Captain Gamier began to be uneasy, fearing
that we would lose heart. They mingled in
the ranks, doing all they could to cheer us.
They told us of the wretched condition of the
people of France and how the wretchedness
would be relieved as soon as we reached Paris
and seized the King's Castle. Only nine days
more of marching, they said, and the coun-
try would be saved, the Revolution trium-
phant. Then all men would be free and all
hunger satisfied. The harvests of the land
would belong to those who had sown the seed
thereof; the fruits of the land would be gath-
ered by those who had grafted the trees and
delved about their roots; to the shepherd
would belong the sheep.

As for me, I needed no cheering words.
14

192 8Tl)e fteb0 of tl)e

Stones were bread for me, I could have eaten
thistles and thorns, I could have walked on
broken glass, nothing could have discouraged
me. I pulled away like a galley-slave in my
harness — only wishing that I could drag both
the cannon and the forge all by myself. It
hurt me to hear the older men, who had left
wife and child in Marseilles or Aubagne or
Aries, muttering among themselves, as if
afraid of being overheard: "Who knows how
all this is going to end ? " " We didn't know
Paris was so far away ! " " The National Guard
is all for the King and may go against us."
" It seems we are to be forced to camp outside
of Paris." "Then all our long tramp will have
been for nothing!" And so they grumbled
on. It just broke my heart to hear them talk
in this way. To cheer myself and to get some
go into me, I would burst out into the " Mar-
seillaise " — and that for a moment would heart-
en up the whole Battalion.

But the endless road was always the same
long weary way, lengthened out like a bread-
less day. The villages and hamlets were
always as dismal as their dull distrustful stupid
inhabitants, not one of whom would have
freely given us so much as a drop of water.
Had their eyes been knives, they would have

of tlje Marseilles Battalion. 193

stabbed us through and through. How could
we, then, be light of heart? God's fire was
fast dying out of our cold breasts and we
needed some great stirring to kindle it anew.

Macon, Tournus and Chalons were left be-
hind. We had just marched through Autun —
a hateful Aristocratical hole — without any one
giving us a good word. It was about five
o'clock and the sun was low. I was pulling
away in my harness and Vauclair was walking
beside me. He seemed thoughtful and sad
as he said to me: "I don't see why the
Avignon coach has not caught up with us.
Can anything have happened to it? I feel
anxious. I long so to see Lazuli and my dear
little Clairet. Lazuli certainly told you that she
would take the very first coach that left Avi-
gnon ? "

"Yes, certainly; and she said she would
pass us on the way."

"The coach pays tribute to the robbers of
the Bos de la Damo, and so is safe from them,"
Vauclair went on. " But there are the King's
carabineer's, who are not less, perhaps are
even more, to be dreaded than the robbers.
But at the very latest, if nothing has happened,
the coach ought certainly to catch up with us
by to-morrow at Saulieu, where we shall camp

194 ®l)e Eebs of tlje ittibi.

to-night. Saulieu is a town full of good Pa-
triots "

Vauclair did not finish what he was saying.
All of a sudden we heard the shrieks of women
and children coming, as it seemed, from a hut
about a sling-shot away from the road — a poor
little place, so low that its thatched roof looked
to be almost a part of the ground.

" Help! Help! " came the cry in a woman's
voice. In a moment a dozen of our men had
jumped the ditch and were running across the
beet-fields to find out what was the matter.
As they entered the hut the cries and screams
ceased; and presently they came back to us,
bringing prisoner a red-faced Capuchin monk,
so fat that he seemed as if he would burst his
tight skin, and three bailiffs as thin as rails and
yellow as saffron. After them followed a peas-
ant and his wife, and then came a troop of
ragged dirty faced children that looked just as
I used to look up there in the hut of La Garde.

"What's all this row?" asked Comman-
dant Moisson, looking sternly at the Capuchin
and the three bailiffs shivering and cringing in
the clutches of our men.

"The matter is," said Margan, who was
always ready to put in his word, "that this
Capuchin father, who already is bursting out

of tl)e Marseilles Battalion. 195

of his skin from over-eating, brought the three
bailiffs with him to carry off this poor peasant
and give him the strappado because he hasn't
paid his tithe of chickens. "

"What! Tithes no w-a-days! " cried long
Samat "Why, all that sort of thing has been
abolished by The Rights of Man ! " And then
turning toward the Capuchin, he added:
"And so we are no longer in France — you
dirty bundle of lard! "

"But that isn't all," Margan went on.
"The old glutton had got loose the peasant's
cow and was for taking her away too — so that
he should be paid for his trouble, he said."

Our men were all on fire in a moment over
this outrage, and some of them began to cast
loose the straps from the cannon in order to
make the Capuchin and the bailiffs for once in
their lives taste leather. But the Commandant
raised his hand for silence and said: "It is
strange that a thing of this sort should go on
in France now-a-days. We must make an
example of those four Anti-Patriots. They
shall be stripped as bare as worms, and with-
out a thread on them they shall haul the forge
to Paris! Margan, you be driver; and if they
need food to make them go, do you feed them
well with dry blows! "

of tte ittibi.

When the Capuchin heard this he clasped
his hands and then crossed himself. Margan
dragged off his habit, while some of the other
Federals took the rags off the three bailiffs.
Then the monk, with a bailiff on each side of
him, was clapped into the harness; the third
bailiff was hitched in front of them for a leader;
the drums struck up the quick-step, and off
we marched to

Que veut cette horde d'esclaves,
De traitres, de rois conjures ?

As for the peasant and his wife, they stood
staring after us not knowing whether to laugh
or to cry.

Twilight was falling as, hungry and weary
and footstore, we neared the longed-for little
town of Saulieu. Since we had left Vienne,
six days before, we had not seen a single
woman with a smiling face; nor had we heard
a friendly word nor received a friendly glance.
We had slept as we could — on the bare ground,
on the short grass growing on the sloping road
side, even in dry ditches. Our only drink had
been water, sometimes from wells and brooks,
sometimes from ditches; and our food had been
bread and garlic. Many of us had gone bare-
foot — either to ease our blistered feet or to save

of tl)e Jttarseiiles Battalion. 197

our precious shoes. And all of us were worn
with marching. For five and twenty days,
marching steadily, the Battalion had been on
the road.

But at last we were to be welcomed and
made much of in a friendly Patriotic town.
Yet even this pleasant promise had in it for me
a touch of bitterness. As I looked around me
and saw all our men with their bushy dusty
beards, while my round boyish face was as
smooth as an egg — though I was as dusty and
sunburnt as any one — I was in despair. The
people in Saulieu certainly would think that I
was only a little boy. To have had a nice
thick dusty uncombed black beard I would
gladly have been as long and thin and pock-
marked as old Margan. Suddenly I had an
idea. I had gathered a capful of ripe black-
berries while they were harnessing up the
monk and the bailiffs, and the thought came
to me that I might stain my face to look like a
beard. I put my fine plan straight into prac-
tice. Taking the blackest and ripest berries, I
crushed them under my nose, on my chin, on
both cheeks, and smeared my face till I made
an absurd fright of myself. Even Vauclair,
who was the first to catch sight of me, did
not recognise rne at once; and soon all the

i98 ®^ fte&s of tlje iflibi.

men were laughing at my childish foolish-
ness.

All the people of Saulieu turned out to
meet us with torches and drums and trumpets,
hailing us with shouts of "Vive la Nation!"
"Down with the tyrant!" "Vive les Mar-
seillais!" — while up in the church towers the
bells were ringing the tocsin of the Revolu-
tion. The men of the Patriots' Club had
lighted a big bonfire which was blazing away
in front of the church of Saint-Saturnin. and
we almost had to come to fisticuffs to keep
them from feeding the fire with the fat monk
and the bailiffs.

The Saulieu people were good Patriots.
From father to son they had handed down the
memory of the old times when their Pastou-
rells were persecuted and tormented as our
Albigenses had been. The men of Saulieu
never forgot all that had been forced down
their throats in the name of the King and for
the sake of religion. Bitter bread had they
eaten in the days of their Pastourells, and they
knew that the hour of vengeance at last had
struck for the downtrodden and the perse-
cuted !

How good they were to us in Saulieu!
They gave us all the wine we could swallow

of tl)e Marseilles Battalion. 199

and all the good things we could eat. We
had enough beef a la daube to go over our
ears ! The only drawback was that these good
people talked in a sort of half French and half
patois that the devil himself must have given
them.

And what a joy it was to see them fall on
their knees when we burst forth into "Aux
armes, citoyens!" The roar of the voices
mingled with the crackling of the flames of the
big bonfire. The bright light flashed in our
faces and sent great shadows flying up the
church front as the men feeding the fire stooped
and rose, or as caps and hats were waved in
the air or brandished on pikes and guns. The
huge blaze which made the sky seem darker
and deeper and blacker looked like the mouth
of hell belching forth whirlwinds of smoke and
flame, while flying sparks circled round and
round.

In the midst of the rejoicing Vauclair seized
my hand and said as he drew me out of the
crowd: "Come with me to the post-house.
The coach may have arrived already. Lazuli
and Clairet may be there now."

Off we went, finding our way as well as
we could through the dark and narrow streets
of Saulieu. It is but a little town, and 'we soon

200 ®ije $Ubs of tlje ittibi.

reached the Paris highway ; and far off in the
black night we saw a lantern dangling over
the door of what we knew must be the post-
house. Presently, when we had reached the
lantern-lit doorway, we crossed the big yards
and went by the great sheds where the carters
were coming and going, lantern in hand, load-
ing or unloading their wagons or setting them
in order for the march of the next day. We
passed in front of the dark warm quiet stables,
hearing the sound of the horses and mules
munching their sweet-smelling hay or crunch-
ing away at their comforting oats.

"See, look there!" cried Vauclair, much
excited and quickening his pace. "There is
the Avignon coach — certainly that is it! I
should know it anywhere by its high leathern
cover and green and yellow body and red cur-
tains—let alone by the sound of that little dog's
bark, the loubet up there on top."

We hurried on into the inn kitchen, all
lighted up by a blaze of furze before which
turkeys and legs of mutton were turning around
on the spit. The servants were going and
coming with plates and bottles and jugs. No
one took any notice of us, and we went on
into the big room where all the travellers were
at table. And then, before we had seen her,

of tlje ittarseilUe Battalion. 201

Lazuli flung herself on Vauclair's neck, hugging
and kissing him and crying: "My own man!
My Vauclair!" — and presently adding: "At
last we've got here. There is little Clairet
asleep on the bench in the corner. Wake him
up yourself— for three days he has been calling
for his father! "

Vauclair was so upset that he couldn't say
a word. He followed Lazuli as she made her
way among the crowded tables ; and I followed
too — unable to understand why Lazuli had not
even spoken to me, let alone given me a kiss.

Little Clairet was fast asleep, wrapped up in
his mother's fringed shawl. Lazuli picked him
up, stood him on his feet, and as she shook him
gently said to him : " Clairet, Clairet my darling,
wake up — here is your father! " But the little
fellow was so dead with sleep he could not
open his eyes nor hold up his head. Vauclair
took him in his arms, and as he kissed him,
rubbing his cheeks with his rough beard, the
child began to waken. The bright light
bothered him, and at first he put his elbow up
over his eyes; but his father's voice at last
roused him completely and as he recognised
him he hugged him round the neck.

All this time I was waiting for my turn to
come; and Vauclair, seeing me, said to the

ftebs of

little fellow: " Haven't you a kiss for Pascalet,
who gave you his grapes ? Come, give him a
good hug." But as Clairet caught sight of me
he threw himself back as if I had been the
devil with all his horns!

At this Lazuli gave a little jump, and as she
clapped her hands and burst out laughing, she
exclaimed: " Heavens and earth! Is that Pas-
calet? What has he been doing to himself?
What's that black all over his cheeks ? Oh,
what a scarecrow of a black snout! "

And then I remembered that I still was all
stained with the blackberries, and feeling as
flat as a quoit I ran to the kitchen to clean my-
self. I plunged my face into a bucket of water
and rubbed hard enough to take the skin
off, and then ran back. This time Clairet
knew me and kissed me, and Lazuli kissed
me too.

The Avignon coachman, having fed his
horses, had come to the next table and gave us
a friendly look as he began to eat on both sides
of his mouth at once. Lazuli soaked a biscuit
in wine, and while she fed Clairet with it told
all that had happened in Avignon after we left
and during her journey.

"You will never guess," said she, "who is
in the coach with us, going to Paris ! She's a

of tlje iUarseilUs Battalion. 203

nasty neighbour, I can tell you, and I haven't
opened my mouth to her the whole way."

"Who is it?" asked Vauclair.

"Of all people in the world, it's Lajaca-
rasse! She has brought along her bag and her
big knife; and on top of the foulness that
comes of her pig-cleaning she has a breath
that fairly reeks of wine. But her nastiness is
no great matter. What touches my heart is
the young girl she has with her, I'm sure
against her will — a child not more than fifteen
who is as pretty and sweet and charming as
she can be. I can see the poor little soul
tremble and shiver with fear whenever La
Jacarasse looks at her or makes any sign to
her. Poor lamb, what will that woman do
with her! There is something all wrong
about it."

" There certainly is something wrong about
it," said the coachman, turning toward us and
lowering his voice. "Things are happening
now-a-days that make one shudder. Did you
hear that a few days ago in Avignon some
fishermen from the Porte de la Ligne found in
the Rhone, caught against the first pier of the
bridge of Saint-Benezet, the body of the young
Marquis de Roberty, bound and disem-
bowelled ? Well, folks say that La Jacarasse

fte&0 of llje iilibi.

and two or three other wretches cut him open
and threw him into the river. And I happen
to know that this very Marquis de Roberty
was betrothed to the very young lady who is
with La Jacarasse now. Her name has clean
gone out of my head, though I knew it when
we left Avignon. Now don't a two and two
like that make four ? I am sure that the old
she devil has another crime in hand, and that
she will work it against this innocent child.
It is easy to see that the poor girl is half dead
with fear of what may be going to happen to
her."

But here the coachman suddenly remem-
bered that time was passing and stopped short
in his talk.

" We must be off in less than half an hour,"
he said, and fell to finishing his supper — taking
a bit of bread and sopping up every drop of
gravy on his plate and polishing it till it looked
as clean as if it had just come out of the dish-
tub. Then he got up clumsily, balancing his
heavy shoulders as is the way with carters,
and went lumbering off to make ready for the
starting of the coach.

"Less than half an hour more," said Vau-
clair. "Now listen, Lazuli, and don't forget
what I tell you : As soon as you get to Paris

of tlje Marseilles Battalion. 205

go to my old master Planchot, the joiner. He
lives at the end of the Impasse Guemenee,
opening from the Rue Saint-Antoine, a little
way off the Place de la Bastille. It is on the
Place de la Bastille that you leave the coach.
When you get to the house you must say to
Master Planchot: 'I am the wife of Vauclair,
who worked a year of his time with you.
He is coming up with the Marseilles Battalion
to help settle the affairs of the Revolution, and
he sent me on before to hire the lodging that
he used to have here in your house.' You will
see how pleased the master will be, and how
gladly he will rent you my old lodging — with
its little kitchen and all. There you will be
safe and quiet; and if any bad luck comes to
me or to Pascalet, we will be much better off
there than on a bed in a barracks or in a hos-
pital. But the first thing of all is that you
don't forget the name of the street where
Planchot lives — Impasse Guemenee. Say it
over after me, Impasse Guemenee. "

"Guemenee, Impasse Guemenee. All right,
I won't forget it," Lazuli answered; and laughed
as she added: "How one has to bring one's
lips to a point to talk like those Paris don-
keys!"

"And now another thing," said Vauclair.

206 (Elje Hebs of tl]e JttiM.

"Did you get some silver money before leav-
ing Avignon ?"

"Don't worry — I sold my little trinkets
and my carved ivory crucifix to Nathan the
Jew, and that made me all right." As she
spoke, Lazuli took Vauclair's hand and put
it under her shawl, at the same time add-
ing in a low voice: "There, feel how I have
sewed my yellow and white money in the lin-
ing of my waist. The coachman swore to us
that he had paid toll to all the bands that
haunt the road to Paris — still, one never knows
what may happen and it's well to be on the
safe side."

"You're a treasure of a woman!" cried
Vauclair, as he bent forward and kissed her.
Almost in the same moment he turned round
suddenly saying : ' ' What's that I hear ? There
are our drums beating the recall; and the
alarm-bells ringing, too. Something has hap-
pened. Quick, Pascalet, take your gun. Good-
bye, Lazuli — a safe trip to you. Clairet, my
dear little Clairet, good-bye." Vauclair took
up the child in his arms and kissed him, while
his eyes filled with tears. And I, clumsily
loaded down with my sword and gun and
bundle, also kissed Clairet and Lazuli and said
good-bye.

0f tl)e ,£HarseiUe0 Battalion. 207

By this time the drums were beating furi-
ously and the bells were ringing louder and
louder. One more kiss and a last word.
"Lazuli, remember, when you get to Paris go
straight to old Planchot's. Impasse Guemenee,
you hear ? " As we pushed forward to the
door we heard behind us, back in the depths
of the inn, the harsh rough voice of La Jaca-
rasse calling out to the serving- woman : ' ' Here,
bring me another jug of wine!" And then
the serving-woman passed us, muttering :
" Dirty pig, I wish it might choke you! "

In a moment more we were in the street,
running through the dark night to join the Bat-
talion and to find out what had caused the
alarm. We ran through streets and open
spaces without meeting a living soul; hearing
now and then a shutter pulled in and barred,
or a key turned in the lock, or a bolt pushed
fast by timid folk who were shutting them-
selves up in their houses.

The smoke from the dying bonfire and the
shouting and singing of the crowd guided us
on our way through the crooked streets;
and, somehow or other, we came out all right
on the big open space in front of the church.
There we found our men all in line, with guns
shouldered and bayonets mounted ready to
15

of

start. In front of the Battalion was a man on
horseback, at whom I stared with all my
might to try and make out who he was —
with his cocked hat and with his gilt but-
tons which sparkled in the faint rays coming
from the few embers left of the great brush
fire. Just then the drummers who had been
drumming the recall through all the streets
came back, making a most tremendous racket.
The Battalion burst forth into the "Marseil-
laise." The crowd clapped hands, shouted,
screamed, sang and howled, while the bells
kept on madly pealing the tocsin. Never can
I forget the roar that in that sombre night rose
from the throats of thousands of men. Over-
topping the roaring crowd, like a black statue
sharply defined against the starry sky, was the
silent motionless man on horseback.

Suddenly the horse stamped, striking out
sparks from the paving stones. The horseman,
raising his arm, motioned to the crowd to keep
silence. As if by enchantment, the cries, the
songs stopped, the drums ceased beating, the
bells rang no more, and there was utter and sol-
emn silence. Then the man on horseback spoke
to us: "My brave men of Marseilles, I have
ridden full speed from Paris to tell you what
is being said and planned there. The Anti-

of tl)e Marseilles Battalion. 209

Patriots, the Counter-Revolutionists, the Aris-
tocrats, all slaves of the King, have reported
everywhere that you are brigands, that you
have escaped from the galleys at Toulon, that
you are the scrapings of the port of Marseilles,
that you are Corsican bandits! They say that
you have pillaged, burned, pulled down, mur-
dered, and torn open all on your way hither.
They even say that you crucified an old Canon
at the door of the club in Avignon, and that
you killed and quartered the Bishop of Mende-
at the bridge of Saint-Jean d'Ardieres — and
who knows how much more they've said of
this same sort! King Capet — the tyrant who
has made a covenant with foreigners to invade
France and massacre all French Patriots — wants
to keep you from coming to Paris : so that he
can the more easily bring his Germans and
Austrians into France. The King plotted this
black treason with the generals of the Emperor.
If we had not caught and stopped him at
Varennes the unnatural traitor would now be
at the head of more than a hundred thousand
foreigners : thirty thousand Austrians from the
North, fifteen thousand Germans to come by
way of Alsace, fifteen thousand Italians to come
through Dauphiny, twenty-five thousand Span-
iards to come across the Pyrenees, and as many

210 ®l)e ttebs of tlje Xttibi.

Swiss to invade us through Burgundy. This
swarm of stranger enemies was to be spread
like a pest over all our France of the Revolu-
tion; and, led by the tyrant himself and by the
emigre nobility, it was to have given back full
power to the King. And then — woe to the
Poor! Good-bye to Liberty! Farewell to the
Rights of Man!

" This same King Capet says that you shall
not go to Paris; that he will bar the way.
King Capet says you shall go to Soissons.
King Capet in his foolhardiness does not under-
stand that we men of the South fear nor pow-
der nor fire nor steel! He does not know that,
backed by the wrath of all Southern France,
you come to abolish the throne, to smite into
pieces the crown, to take vengeance for the
past! King Capet says you shall go to Sois-
sons. Has King Capet forgotten that there in
Soissons is the famous axe with which his an-
cestor Clovis cowardly murdered his poor sol-
dier? You, who are the strong arm of God,
will lift up that same axe and with it you will
cleave Capet's head from his shoulders! Up,
men of Marseilles! Up, Patriots! Rise up for
Death or Liberty! "

So saying, the man swung his horse around
and cried out to us as he galloped off into the

ittarcl) of tl)e Jttarseillee Battalion. 211

darkness: " I go before to tell to the men of
the Revolution and to the Patriot Barbaroux
that the Marseilles Battalion is advancing at a
forced march on Paris. Vive la Nation ! "

" Vive Rebecqui! Vive Barbaroux! Vive
la Nation! Down with the tyrant! " answered
we in one formidable shout as the horseman
vanished into the night on his way to Paris.

Commandant Moisson flashed his sabre and
cried to us: "Boys, the Marseilles Battalion
starts now and rests no more. There is nor
stop nor pause for us until we camp on the
threshold of King Capet's Castle ! "

The Battalion answered him by bursting
out into "Allons enfants de la Patrie!" The
drums beat the quick-step; and off we
marched, with the strength of God's thunder
in our bones. We were as vigorous and as
strong as the day we had started on the Paris
road.

Out of the way, you weak blooded monk!
Scat! you sick silkworms of bailiffs! We want
no more of your help. And again we har-
nessed ourselves to our cannon and, sweating
and singing, went joyously on our way.

I kept wondering who was this man Re-
becqui, this man on horseback who had spoken
so well. Rebecqui, Rebecqui, who was he ?

ftebs of tl)e XUibi.

Everybody said that he was from Paris, but if
so then the- Paris people spoke as they did in
Avignon. He must be such another, I decided,
as that Barbaroux who was waiting for us up
in Paris; Barbaroux whom every one idolized,
Barbaroux who was to save the Revolution.
And so, thinking no more about him, I took
up our chorus: " Aux armes, citoyens! "

The good red wine we had drunk, the
tocsin that we still could hear off in the dis-
tance, and above all the fiery words of that
Rebecqui, had put new life into us. Never
had we marched more steadily, never had we
felt less weariness or more go. When we
were not singing the "Marseillaise" we were
shouting "Down with the tyrant! We'll get
into Paris. We'll get into his Castle. He
doesn't want us there, but he'll have to have
us! " And then we would close up our ranks
and burst out again with: " Amour sacre de la
Patrie!"

At daybreak, still singing, we marched
through a big town — I don't remember its
name — where we had been told that King
Capet with his army and the people around
were to bar our way. But not a soul was
stirring — no one was in the streets. We made
the houses shake as we marched through.

of tlje Marseilles Battalion. 213

Samat unfurled the banner of The Rights of
Man, but he couldn't find any one to kiss it —
until he caught sight of an early beadle who
was opening the doors of a church. He dashed
upon the bewildered beadle, and when he had
made him kiss the banner he burst into the
church like a whirlwind and marched- around
it holding up his banner to be kissed by all the
saints of wood and stone; and when this mat-
ter had been settled to his satisfaction he came
running up to us, all out of breath to take again
his place in the ranks.

When the sun had sucked up the mists so
that his sharp rays stung our necks like needles,
we halted on the banks of a stream and ate
our pittance of dry bread and garlic. But our
halt was short. We were charged with God's
thunder — and the thought of our high duty
urged us on. Some of the men began to drag
behind, limping on bleeding feet; but they
struggled along bravely and would not give in.
To drown the murmurs of pain, which even
the best of them could not wholly stifle, we
sang the " Marseillaise."

This terrible forced march lasted altogether
for seven days and seven nights. As we
marched we ate our everlasting garlic and
bread, the bread often mouldy, and all we had

214 ®l)e ttebs of tl)e fftibi.

to drink was water from ponds or way-side
ditches. Footsore, hungry, weary — still we
toiled on.

Yet we had a laugh now and then — as
when we passed through a town absurdly
named Melun, and made our joke about it by
baptizing it Water-melon. It was a little town,
packed full of Aristocrats. When its Mayor
refused to let us have any bread we grinned on
him with our famished white teeth — and then
he changed his mind in a jiffy and promised
us two loaves apiece! While we waited for it
we camped outside the city gates for three
hours, and when it came we danced around
the baskets in a big circle to the tune of "La
Carmagnole." After the bread was divided
Commandant Moisson said to us: "Boys, this
is the last time you will have to chew on coun-
try bread — may ft set light on your stomachs.
In two days or less you will taste the bread of
Paris — and you will take the taste for bread out
of the tyrant's mouth! "

What the Commandant promised came to
pass. The next day we marched through such
a forest of oaks and ash and beech that it
seemed to me I was back again on Mont Ven-
tour. The wood was so shady, the turf so
thick and soft, that we made a halt; and as we

0f tl)* ittarseilies Battalion. 215

were resting, some of us seated on fallen
branches, some leaning back against the trees,
some stretched out at full length on the soft
grass, we were puzzled by hearing a queer
noise — a dull humming roar, or buzzing mur-
mur. Each of us in turn made a guess as to
what it was. " It's bees swarming," said one,
and we stared up into the branches to see
them. "I should say an earthquake," said
another, " only earthquakes don't last so long."
"The sound seems to come from under-
ground," said a third; ''and yet it almost
sounds like far off talking, or the firing of can-
non very far away."

"As for me," said long Samat, "I think
there is a spring near here that rushes between
rocks, like the fountain of Vaucluse."

" If we weren't so far from Marseilles," put
in Margan, "I should say it was the noise of
the sea beating against the rocks of our good
mother, Notre Dame de la Garde."

"If only it isn't an army of Aristocrats who
are coming to bar the way,'" said Sergeant
Peloux, frowning as he spoke.

The Commandant, smiling to himself, lis-
tened to all our guesses and then said: "Well
now, if I didn't know you came from Mar-
seilles I should say you were from Martigues —

216 QLtye IUb0 of tl)e ittibi.

that town where the people gulp down every
fool-story that is told! That noise which
puzzles you so is neither swarm, nor earth-
quake, nor waterfall, nor breakers on the rocks,
nor is it the roar of an army ; good comrades,
it is neither more nor less than the voice of
that great Paris we come to see! It is the
sound of hammers on anvils, of the rumbling
of carriages in the streets, of the hum of the
market place; it is the voice of the people, the
sobs, the laughter, the angry cries, the joyous
shouts, of the hundreds and hundreds of thou-
sands of souls in the Capital! In it are blended
the clarion notes of Liberty, the frank voice of
Equality, the sweet tones of Fraternity; and
also, alas ! the threatening lying voices of selfish-
ness, of despotism, of hypocrisy and of tyranny.
Friends, it is said that that dull roar of Paris,
that jumble of songs and cries and sobs and
laughter, can be heard five leagues away from
that great city! "

Hardly were the words out of the Com-
mandant's mouth than we were on our feet,
our guns shouldered and our kits fast on our
backs. We sang, we shouted! Could it be
that we were so near to Paris ! Vive la Revo-
lution! Vive Marseilles! Vive Toulon! Vive
Avignon ! — and we tore branches from the oaks

of Ifye Marseilles Battalion. 217

and the beeches with which we dressed our
guns and our red caps and the gun carriages,
and we danced a round to the tune of the
"Carmagnole." The drums, instead of beat-
ing the everlasting quick-step, set up a buzz-
ing like the tambourins on the Saints' days in
our villages ; and off we capered in a farandole
—leaping, jumping, swaying, cutting pigeon-
wings, hugging, crying, and all the while shout-
ing Paris ! Paris ! Paris — at last !

We went on in this crazy fashion for a good
half hour before we quieted down and got into
rank once more; and then we marched gaily
out of the shady forest with never a thought ot
our past hunger and thirst and weariness and
pain. As we came from under the trees the
Commandant, pointing with his sword,
showed us far away on the edge of the green
plain a grey line that took up the whole hori-
zon and was broken by towers and spires and
had floating over it a little bluish cloud.

"There is Paris!" said he.

The whole Battalion, as if the order to halt
had been given, stopped short. We stood
silent, staring at the horizon. Something
gripped fast at our throats and would not let
us sing the "Marseillaise." Our eyes were
blinded with a rush of tears. The Com man-

ai8 ijtje ftete of tlje ittibi.

dant made a sign to the drums and off they
rattled the quick-step; and as if their rattle
had given us back our voices we burst out all
together with

Aliens enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive!

Wild, stern, fierce, we ran rather than
marched. The carriage of an Aristocrat was
driving toward us, but when the coachman
caught sight of us he was so frightened that
he turned tail and whipped back to Paris at
full speed.

By sundown we were come fairly within
one of the outlying suburbs, on the borders of
a stream of which I forget the name; and there,
suddenly, we saw a lot of people coming to
meet us shouting and waving their arms.

"Vive les Marseillais ! " they cried.

" Vive les Patriotes!" we answered — and
in a moment we had broken ranks and flung
ourselves into the arms of the crowd. I can
tell you there was hugging and kissing! And
as fast as the hugging was over, it all began
again. Kissing and crying like women, these
friends who had come to welcome us told their
names — Barbaroux, Rebecqui, Danton, San-
terre.

iHarcl) of tl)e ittatsnllee Sattolion. 219

Barbaroux, the famous Barbaroux, the Dep-
uty from Marseilles, who with his sweet voice
could fairly beguile the soul out of you, hugged
our officers all round and said : "To-morrow at
daybreak you shall enter Paris and go right to
the tyrant to bring him to reason. Here is San-
terre, the Commandant of the Garde Nationale,
who has promised to meet us with forty thou-
sand men, all ready to cry with us : ' Liberty
or Death!'"

At this, every one shouted "Vive Barba-
roux," and a few in the crowd shouted also
"Vive Santerre!' But a good many of us
didn't like the looks of this Santerre the
brewer. He spoke in French fashion through
his nose, for such is the pretty way of the peo-
ple up there in the North. Then he did not
let out his feelings as Barbaroux and Rebecqui
and Danton had done; nor did he even shake
any one's hand. He seemed a sort of imitation
fine gentleman, who put on gentle airs and
who sneered at our huggings and dancings and
singing of " La Carmagnole."

All this time we of the rank and file were
making friends with the good people of the
suburb, Patriots all. They mingled with the
Battalion and the women and children kissed
our hands. They wanted us to sup and bed

220 ®|)e Ueb0 of tl)e XttiM.

at their homes — fairly fighting to have us, and
not being contented unless they had two or
three of us apiece. I went off with Margan the
chatterer to sup and sleep at the house of a fine
fellow of a gardener. And what a feast he
gave us! Because we came from the South,
he gathered from his hotbeds the very first of
his tomatoes and young egg-plants — that he
might have sold for almost their weight in
gold in the Paris markets — and with them
made for us a paradise of a fricassee! I can
tell you our jaws wagged over it after our
weeks and weeks of munching only dry bread
and garlic and drinking ditch water! And then
we slept in a real bed with our shoes off and
our legs bare.

Name of a name, what a short night it was!
At two o'clock in the morning, long before the
first ray of dawn, the drums beat, the shutters
flew open, the doors were unbarred, and the
Federals poured out from everywhere, their
kits on their backs and their guns on their
shoulders ready to march. As for me, down
in my pocket I found two well dried black-
berries with which I yet managed to make my-
self a famous pair of moustachios — that I might
go into Paris looking like a man.

Something, I don't know what, kept us

of tl)* 4ttarseiUe0 Battalion. 221

from starting; and for all our early rising we did
not get off until the sun was tipping the poplars
with fire and the little birds were beginning to
twitter as they waked up in the trees. But
this time we started for Paris itself! Barbaroux,
Danton, Rebecqui, with some other deputies to
the National Assembly, headed the column;
then came the drums beating the quick-step;
then the two cannon and the forge, to which
last 1 was harnessed ; then the Battalion, with
well sharpened swords and with guns loaded
and primed ready to fire off! Big Samat dis-
played his banner of The Rights of Man, and
the whole Battalion struck up: " Allons enfants
de la Patrie!" Oh, Holy Liberty! had we but
met the tyrant in his carriage with all his
guards we would have made but a mouthful
of them and him that day!

Soon we began to see the first houses of
the Capital — and what enormous houses they
were ! The very lowest was higher than the
spire of our church, so that to look at the eaves
you had to put your neck out of joint. As we
drew closer to the city its people came out to
meet us — headed by a skirmish line of children
who capered around us and shouted and danced
and sang. There were workmen, shopkeepers,
soldiers, and women of the people with woollen

222 fEtye Bebs 0f ll)e ittibi.

cockades in their caps showing the national
colours of blue and white and red. And they
all were clapping their hands and shouting
"Vive les Marseillais! " Presently they got
into line along the road side so as to let us
pass, and waved their arms to us in sign of
welcome. It was easy to see that they were
good Patriots. But as we went farther into
the town, between the big stone houses with
their balconies and their beautiful doors, the
look of the crowd began to change. We met
carriages coming and going, with their silk-
stockinged valets perched up before and be-
hind. In them we caught glimpses of stiff
Aristocratical mugs, all frizzed and perfumed.
As soon as he saw these long Samat ran up to
them and, willy-nilly, made them kiss his
banner. In the crowd, that was crushed up
against the wall in order to give us passage
way, we saw, too, many sedan-chairs all gilded
like an altar and lined with silk. Two very
serious-looking men, in cocked-hats and em-
broidered coats, carried each of them — one
man before and one behind. Sometimes a
beautiful powdered lady all lace and ribbons
would be in the chair, sometimes a marquis —
dry as a stock-fish or as fat as an urn — in a coat
of velvet with buttons of gold. But woe be-

of tl)e ittarseilks Battalion. 223

tide if footman or lady or marquis did not wear
the tricolour woollen cockade. In a flash a
Federal would go up to them and snatch away
the cockade of silk ribbon and stick in its place
the woollen tricolour that some woman or man
of the people would give from off their own
clothes. All this was done instantly, in pass-
ing,. in the push and rush and stir of the
march.

A great crowd followed us; drawn on
partly by the steady roll of the drums as they
beat our marching-step, but more strongly by
the terrible chant of the " Marseillaise " — which
all the five hundred men of the Battalion sang
in one tremendous voice loud enough to jar the
plaster off the walls. Soon the crowd caught
tne words of the chorus and sang with us —
and then it no longer was five hundred, but a
thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand,
singers singing with one voice! That awful
roar of "Our soil's athirst for traitor blood !"
brought hot tears to every Patriot's eyes and
sent a glowing thrill through every Patriot's
breast. And all those arms flourishing in the
air together, all those starting eyes sending
forth the same gleam, all those thousands of
open jaws uttering the same cry, were enough
to drive one wild!

16

224 ®b* &*&0 of ll)e HUM.

Bending forward, stooping almost on all
fours, 1 dragged at my cannon and sang as if I
would tear my throat open. From time to time
I would raise myself and look back to see the
overwhelming, howling, terrible flood of peo-
ple pouring on close behind us. It seemed as
if the houses, the trees, the very street with its
paving-stones, were following us. It seemed
as if a great mountain were galloping after us
and was near upon us with its peaks and val-
leys and forests shaken and riven by the ava-
lanche, the tempest, the earthquake of God!

The torrent burst into the Place de la Bas-
tille, already crammed with a crowd into which
the Battalion slowly bored its way. On each
side of us and in front of us was a tremendous
crush as men and women were pressed to-
gether like grain on the threshing-floor; and as
they closed in behind us there was a surging
eddy in our wake. The ruins of the Bastille
were covered with people screaming, shout-
ing, clapping, waving their arms. The broken
walls, the heaps of stone and plaster, the riven
beams, the roofless turrets, the windows wide
open to the four winds of Liberty — all bore
their loads of sightseers so close packed that
their heads came together like a bunch of
grapes.

of the Marseilles Battalion. 225

I dragged away at my harness and, be-
wildered, glanced aside at the mountains of
people roaring and flourishing their greetings
to us; until, by a lucky turn of my eyes, I
caught sight of Lazuli up on a wall with Clairet
on her shoulder, laughing and crying with de-
light and shouting: " Vive les Marseillais! "

But it was not the sight of Lazuli that all in
a moment made my voice grow husky, my
blood stop running, my legs that had carried
me so far give way under me, and my eyelids
tremble with blinding tears : it was that I saw
beside Lazuli, holding her hand and clinging
to her as though for shelter, a pale young girl
lovely as the Virgin — and knew her to be Ade-
line, Mademoiselle Adeline of the Chateau de
la Garde, the angel who had saved my life !

Old Pascal's voice broke, and for a moment
he could not go on. And in that very instant
bang! bang! bang! came three blows on the
shutter, and we heard outside the voice of
Lange, Pascal's brother, calling: "Come, come.
Are you going to spend the night here ? You
have made me get up at two o'clock in the
morning to look for you. Come right away
home!"

Two o'clock in the morning! Who would

226 ®|)e Ucbs of tl)e HUM.

have believed it ? We all were on our legs in
a moment; and the next moment we all were
out in the darkness and scurrying off on our
various ways through the blackness of the
night.

CHAPTER VI.

IN THE STRANGE NEW TIMES.

IT was very clear that after my sitting up
till two o'clock in the morning I would be
a desperate sleepy-head all the next day.
My dear grandfather, I am sure, puzzled his
brains through a good part of his own short
night to find some way by which I could be
kept awake during the next evening, and so
not miss old Pascal's story — which he himself
enjoyed as much as I did and would not have
missed for the world. And the good old man
did find a way that worked very well indeed.

Usually he was off at daybreak, with his
hoe and his wallet, to his vine-yard or saffron-
field. But that morning he pottered about the
house until after ten o'clock. And then, as if
he were asking a favour, he said to my mother:
"I'd like to take our boy out with me this
morning. A piece of my wall fell down in the
last rains and must be set up again. I want

227

228 $t)e ftebs of tl)e HUM.

somebody to hand me the stones. Then I can
get along faster and finish it to-day."

"Well," said my mother, "he went to
sleep again after I called him and so has missed
his school, and I suppose he might as well go
along with you and work like a man."

And so off I went for the day with my
grandfather. But I did not hand him any
stones — oh, no! Before he set hand to the
broken wall he hunted out a sheltered corner
where the sun shone warmly, and there he
made me a soft bed of dry leaves on which
he laid me; and on which I slept like a saint
the whole day long.

When evening came I was as bright as a
button, and so hungry that I ate supper enough
for two. But hardly had my grandfather made
an end to his own eating, by pushing away
his plate and snapping his knife together, than
I was up and had lighted the lantern and was
tugging at him to hurry him away. Off we
went, a pair of children together; and we had
no more than taken our seats in the shoemak-
er's shop than Pascal began.

As I was saying, up there on the ruins of
the Bastille, I caught sight of Lazuli with little
Clairet on her shoulder, and Mademoiselle

Sn tlje Strange Nea €imes. 229

Adeline close beside her holding fast to her arm
as though in dread that some one might try to
snatch her away. I tried to stop to make sure
that my eyes were not playing a trick on me.
But there was no stopping then. I could no
more stand against the forward push of the
crowd than if I had been a fly. The cannon
seemed to be alive — to be galloping on of them-
selves. When I half halted, to turn around, the
wheels of the truck came on me with a bounce
and I had to start ahead in a hurry. And so on I
went with the crowd, and the Bastille quickly
was left behind. I felt my heart sinking. Some-
thing seemed to grip it and wring it until I
hardly could bear the pain. To give myself
strength and courage again I burst out with
the rest into "Aux armes, citoyens!" and fell
to dragging at my harness like a wild bull.

Presently something seemed to be going
wrong ahead of us, in the Rue de Saint-An-
toine, and we were pulled up short. And
then we found that the Garde Nationale of
Paris was there, barring our way. Santerre,
the famous Santerre, had met us with a poor
two hundred men — in place of the forty thou-
sand that he had promised — and, instead of
joining us, he was trying to prove to our Com-
mandant that it would be folly to attack the

230 ®l)c ftebs of t\]t ittiM.

King's Castle; that the time had not yet
come.

He was full of all sorts of excuses, this
Santerre, for putting off -the attack. Nothing
was ready for it; the cannon we were to carry
off from in front of the Hotel de Ville were too
strongly guarded to be taken; Mayor Petion
had said that we must wait until the Assembly
could come to a vote. Mayor Petion didn't
think that this was the right time to force the
King — and so on, with this, that and the other,
until it was enough to drive one wild.

But in the end these peace-lovers carried
the day against us, and it was settled that we
should go along the Boulevard quietly to our
barracks: and behold, then, Monsieur Santerre
with his two hundred Parisians at the head of
the procession — while we Marseillais marched
along behind him meek as lambs! As for the
crowd — the howling, roaring crowd that had
followed us with fists and teeth ready for fight-
ing— when those in it saw that there wasn't to
be any attack on the Castle they dropped away
from us by tens and twenties : and so left us
to go through the Aristocratic quarter alone.
Then we knew that Santerre had tricked us.

As we marched on we met only gilded car-
riages and silk-curtained sedan-chairs in which

tl)e Strange Nero <Eime0. 231

were fine court ladies in laces and furbelows,
and powdered and pomatumed dandies in vel-
vet coats and breeches, with silver-buckled
shoes and with knots of ribbon at wrist and
knee and wherever a knot of ribbon could be
stuck on. These, we could see, were laugh-
ing and sneering at us; but Samat and Margan,
who were not the sort to be laughed at by any
such riff-raff of Aristocrats, stopped the coaches
in a hurry and made the frightened porters put
down the sedan-chairs — and then all those
musk-scented dandies and mincing dames had
to beg our pardon by kissing The Rights of
Man! The poor things fairly shook in their
shoes as they saw our glittering teeth, white
as the fangs of the wolves on the Luberon,
and our flashing eyes under dust-white brows.
We made short work of them — pulling off their
hats and their silk cockades and ordering them
in our strong Proven9al tongue, deep and mel-
low as the roll of drums, to cry with us Vive
la Nation ! It was good to see their shaking
and trembling and their pinched disdainful faces
as they joined in that Patriot shout.

The people in this quarter of the town, far
from welcoming us from doors and windows
and balconies, hurried away from us into the
depths of their houses and all the welcome we

232

got was the banging-to of shutters and the
grating of bolts and bars. But welcome or no
welcome, our drums rattled on and the chant
of the " Marseillaise " rang out on the air.

At last, glowing with excitement, hoarse
with shouting, and dripping with sweat, we
came to our barracks; that stood in a puzzle
of streets in the very middle of Paris. We
found ourselves far off from the National As-
sembly, far off from the King's Castle, far off
from everywhere. It was all the doings of that
Santerre! Don't talk to me about people who
keep their feelings inside of them and who
neither laugh nor cry !

Santerre started to make us a speech ; but
he jabbered away in French, and we could not
understand more than five words in ten. I
think he was trying to tell us why we hadn't
gone straight to the Castle; and then he tried
to smooth us down by saying that we were to
have a feast offered to us that evening at the
Champs Elysees.

But here Margan caught him up short.
"Mister Parisian," said our big pockmarked
Sergeant, "you must excuse me if I cut into
your speech. I should like, if possible, to get
into your head that we didn't come all the way
to Paris in order to string beads, nor did we

In tl)e Strange New (Eimeo. 233

swallow two hundred leagues of blazing dust
in order to end off with a spree. Down in
Marseilles each one of us has his own little
cabanon, his own quiet nook by the sea-side
or on the hills, to which he can go for his sum-
mer pleasure — taking along his garlic and oil to
make aioli, and the fish and saffron for his pot
of bouillabaisse. We can do our junketting at
home. I tell you squarely that all we came
here for was to upset the King and save the
country. We came for nothing else; and if
you think you can take the taste of that out
of our mouths by stuffing us with pastry,
why—

But here Barbaroux broke in with : " Hush,
hush, friend Margan ! You are quite right — but
listen to what Patriot Danton has to say, and
'you will see that we all are of one mind."

In a moment Danton had mounted on a
table and had started off with a speech that
went like a bugle-call! He could talk for half
an hour at a stretch and always say just the
right thing. It was a great pity that he had to
speak in French; but even in French we could
understand that he was speaking well. There
was a man for you! He was not like Santerre!
When he finished, while we were cheering
him, Barbaroux flung himself into his arms

234 &l)c Hecs of tlje ittibi.

and they hugged and kissed before us all; and
then they both promised us that within three
days they would take us to the King's Castle.

While all this was going on, we had served
out to us rations of wine and bread and ham,
and we were mighty glad to get them. By
that time it was two o'clock in the afternoon,
and as we had not tasted a mouthful since be-
fore sunrise we were as hungry as wolves.

But what Vauclair and I most wanted was
to hunt up Lazuli, and we made short work of
our rations and hurried off. Our guns we left
at the barracks, along with our bundles; but
into our red taiolo, drawn tight about our
waists, we stuck our pistols, and we carried
also our swords. And then off we started for
the house of Planchot the joiner in the blind
alley close by the Bastille.

The streets were still all topsy-turvy after
our passage. But doors and windows were
open again, and groups of people were stand-
ing on the thresholds and at the crossways
whispering among themselves. As we passed
them they stopped their talk to turn around
and stare hard at us; but we took no notice of
them — beyond sticking our hands into our red
sashes and holding fast our pistols all ready,
should there be need for it, to draw and fire.

In tl)e Strange Nero QLimes. 235

All this while I had not said anything to
Vauclair about my having seen Mademoiselle
Adeline with Lazuli. That sight had utterly
bewildered me. I wondered if I really had
seen her ? If, after all, she had not been a sort
of vision that had come to me — begotten of
my hunger and weariness and my excitement
in the midst of the tremendous rushing and
roaring of the crowd ?

On we went, turning corner after corner and
crossing little and big open spaces, and com-
ing at last to the Impasse Guemenee without
having had any adventures at all. As we stood
outside the door we could hear the smooth
"hush, hush" of a big plane as it threw off
the long shavings; but the planing stopped
short at our loud knock, and then the door flew
open and there was Planchot himself. It was
plain that he knew Vauclair on the instant; but
instead of shaking hands and welcoming him
he turned his back on us and rushed off like a
crazy man shouting: "Vauclair! Vauclair!
The good companion Vauclair! "

A moment later we heard Lazuli, upstairs,
screaming: "It is he! Clairet! Clairet! Come
quick!" — and Clairet's little voice crying:
"Papa, Papa!"

We met them on the staircase, and how

236 ®!)e Rcbs of tl)e iflibi.

we all hugged and kissed! How sweet Lazu-
li's hearty kisses were, and how entrancing the
feel around -my neck of her dear arms! The
blood rushed through my veins and my heart
beat hard. I was no longer a child, but I was
not yet enough of a man to understand why a
kiss should so upset me.

After a moment Lazuli exclaimed: "You
haven't seen us all yet. The family has grown.
Poor little Mademoiselle Adeline is with us —
you remember her, Pascalet ? She saved you
from wicked Surto's claws. And now I believe
I have saved her from death. She is very sad,
poor child, but she has a good spirit of her
own. I must tell you all about it. I was so
sorry for her on the trip from Avignon to Paris.
It was she La Jacarasse was so rough to in the
coach." As she spoke, Lazuli opened the
door, adding: "1 know, Vauclair, you will
say as I do — when there is enough for three,
there is enough for four."

It was lucky we had not far to go just then,
for this news upset me more than all our long
march in sun and rain and dust and wind. I,
who had dragged at my cannon like a beast of
burden and had thought nothing of it, felt my
strong legs give way on hearing the name of
this young girl. There she stood, white as

Sn ll)e Strange Nero 9Timcs. 237

wax, her beautiful large soft eyes dim and
sunken; and in an instant I had flung myself
at her feet and was kissing her hand. She
brought the past back to me. My village, our
hut of La Garde, my mother, my father! It
seemed as if in her flowing robe, in her soft
laces, she bore the scent of the wild clematis and
of the broom-flowers that bloomed far away in
our lanes. The hand I was kissing was the same
that had given me the bit of white bread ; the
same that drew the bolts of the dungeon door
at Avignon ! And — was it possible ? — she too
was deeply moved. She took me in her
arms and kissed me as Lazuli had done! Oh
how utterly delicious it was! Suddenly I
felt her delicate slender body yield and sway;
and as I held her fast I saw that she had
fainted.

Lazuli caught her from me; and, as if she
had been a little child, gathered her up in her
arms, saying: " Don't be worried, it is nothing
but a faintingfit; and no wonder, poor child!
That journey was such an awful thing for her.
She suffered and wept the whole length of it."
Still holding in her arms the sweet girl, who
as she lay there, limp and helpless, looked like
an armful of flowers, Lazuli disappeared into a
little dark room — leaving us all upset and flus-

238 ®l]e ttebs of tlje JttiM.

tered out in the kitchen to stand staring at each
other.

Just then we heard the clatter of old Plan-
chot's wooden shoes on the stair. He had
come to greet Vauclair according to the rite
and ceremonial of their craft. To make this
greeting what it should be he had put on his
Sunday hat and his best wig; and before he
said a word he laid a square and a compass
down between himself and Vauclair on the
floor. At once Vauclair made the proper mo-
tions of hand and foot, to which Planchot re-
plied properly; and then, under their raised
hands, they embraced over the quilibret; that
is, the compass and square.

"And how goes it with you, my Avignon-
nais?" Planchot said. "And how goes it
with you, La Liberte?'' Vauclair answered.
And then they went on with greeting after
greeting, and never would have stopped at all
had not Lazuli, her finger on her lip, come
back to us.

" It will be nothing serious," she said; and
as she turned to Planchot she added: "Our
little girl has had a fainting fit. The crowd,
the heat, the excitement of seeing her father,
was too much for her. But she is better now.
She soon will be all right."

3n ll)e Strange Netu ®imee. 239

" What a pity," said Planchot. " She is a
delicate child. She is as pale as pine shavings."
And then, tapping Clairet's cheeks, he went
on: "Here's a fine little man! You are not
like your sister; you don't get frightened when
you see our Patriots, our Reds from the beauti-
ful South, march by!" He turned to Lazuli,
who was making signs to us to be quiet, and
asked: "Wouldn't you like a little orange-
flower water for the child ? Speak right out if
you would. We are all good Reds together,
and everything in the house is yours. I
wouldn't talk that way if you were Aristos —
those wretches who are only waiting for the
Austrians and Germans to come to help them
ruin the country and kill the Revolution.
There is nothing for Aristos here — except pow-
der and ball and the sharp edge of my axe!
But I'll leave you now. You need rest, and
I've got more than enough work to do."

Planchot stopped his chattering and turned
to leave the room — but took Vauclair with him
to the threshold and whispered: "I have an
order for seven guillotines. I must have them
ready for the Jacobins within the fortnight."
Then he left us, and we heard his sabots go
clacking down the. stairs.

Lazuli pushed-to and fastened the door and
17

240 fttye ftebs of llje JttiM.

brought out a bottle of muscatel and some bis-
cuits; and then, seating herself at the the table
as close as she could get to us, she began to
tell in a low voice how she had saved Adeline
and had passed her off to Planchot as her own
child.

" You remember," she said, " how at Sau-
lieu I told you about the poor young girl who
was travelling with La Jacarasse ? Well, just
after you were called away by the drums, they
came to take their places in the coach. La
Jacarasse was very drunk. She staggered
every which way, and in getting into the
coach she stumbled and fell sprawling — drop-
ping her big bag, out of which fell her pig-
killing knife. But she managed to climb in
and take her seat; and after her came the poor
young lady, blushing and ashamed and scarcely
daring to call her soul her own. She was cry-
ing, but trying to hold in her sobs like a child
who is afraid of a whipping. In the coach we
all looked at each other, shaking our heads;
for, though no one spoke out about it, the
sight went to our very hearts. And then I
made up my mind that I was going to find out
who that poor child was, and that I would
do my best to rescue her. So I sat down
beside her, in front of La Jacarasse — who fell

Jfn tlje Strange Nero €imes. 241

asleep and snored away to the jolting of the
coach.

•'Then in the dark I whispered in the girl's
ear: 'My dear, what is the matter? You are
crying. Tell me what hurts you, perhaps 1 can
help you.'

" 'Thank you so much,' she answered in
a trembling whisper. 'How kind you are!
But there is nothing to be done for me. That
woman will see the end of me. There is
some plot against me that I can not under-
stand. How could my mother have given me
into such a creature's hands ? It would have
been better had she sent me to Paris alone.'

" ' Who are you, dear child ? Who is your
mother ? '

" 'I am the daughter of the Marquis d'Am-
brun. My name is Adeline. My father and
my mother, with my brother Robert, started
for Paris some time ago. They were in a great
hurry to be off to help the King of France, who
is in some sort of danger. I had had a dread-
ful fright and was too weak to go with them,
and so they left me behind for this horrible
woman to bring me to Paris in the first coach
from Avignon. Oh, Great Saints! Oh, Holy
Maries of the Sea! Shall I ever reach home
alive! And even should I reach home '

242 aije Hebe of tl)e ittibi.

"'Should you reach home? Why, then
you will be safe, of course. Your mother
must love you so; must be so good to you.'

" ' It is not of my mother that I am most
afraid, but of a wicked man, a German, who
is our game-keeper. He and La Jacarasse have
agreed between them to get rid of me, I am
sure. They all are blind to that German's
wickedness; and the blindest is my mother.
It is not long since she — who used to be so
kind to me — threatened me with a blow be-
cause I blamed him. I fear him even more
than I do La Jacarasse. I am certain that the
two have sworn my death. What can I do ?
I pray God to take me soon to himself! ' As
she said this she began to sob and cry so piti-
fully that I got to crying with her. It almost
broke my heart.

" Of course I knew the whole story as soon
as she told me her name; and I made up my
mind that I would risk anything to get this
dear little girl, who had saved our Pascalet's
life, safe away from that wicked Surto and out
of the claws of La Jacarasse. Over on the seat
in front of us the good-for-nothing beast of
a Jacarasse still was snoring; and so, draw-
ing closer to the dear child, I whispered : ' I am
nothing but a poor woman of the people, with

Jfn tlje Strange New ®imes. 243

all my riches in my twenty nails. Yet I took
little Pascalet into my home — the Pascalet from
La Garde whom you saved alive out of the
vault — and I will take you into my home too.'

"When I said this, the poor girl flung her-
self on my neck and as she kissed me again
and again she sobbed out: 'Oh, save me!
Save me! I will follow you any where to get
away from that awful woman and her great
knife that she threatens my life with when
she is drunk.'

" 'Be careful, she is stirring. Now get it
clear in your mind, my dear, that when we
come to Paris and 1 get out of the coach you
are to follow right behind, as if you were my
daughter.'

" ' I will do just what you tell me. I trust
you because you were good to little Pascalet.'

"'Hush! We must not talk any more
now. Day is almost here and La Jacarasse is
waking. Remember what I have told you.
When we leave the coach do you follow me,
that is all.'

"Just then La Jacarasse gave a tremendous
yawn, and then began to stare around her with
her half open piggish eyes as though she didn't
know where she was.

"Mademoiselle Adeline no longer sobbed.

244 ®l)e Hebs of tl)c Xflibi.

Every now and then she glanced at me as
much as to say : ' I know you will save me
from that woman! ' — and 1, under our shawls,
would give her hand a little squeeze.

"The coach with its three horses abreast
and a fourth ahead went at a good rate, stop-
ping before the inns of the towns and villages
we went through only long enough to leave
the letters and to let La Jacarasse swallow a
glass of wine or brandy. The nearer we drew
to Paris the drunker she became, until at last
she could hardly see the coach door when she
got in.

" 'So much the better for us,' I whispered
to the dear little girl. ' Let her drink like a
sieve. The drunker she is the easier it will be
to give her the slip.'

" At one of our stops I got a chance to tell
the coachman what I meant to do, and he was
as kind, as he could be about it — you saw at
Saulieu what a nice a sort of man he was. ' I
like to see a good woman like you,' he said.
' Of course I'll help you all I can. Now listen.
We stop in Paris before the inn of the Soleil
d'Or. I will get La Jacarasse out of the coach
first by taking her off to have a drink with me
— and then do you and the young girl get away
as fast as you can. Don't bother about your

Jn tlje Strange Nero ®itne0. 245

baggage. I'll look after it, and you can get it
whenever you please.'

"Two days after the coachman and I had
this talk we got to Paris. It was about night-
fall when we came in, and almost dark when
we stopped in front of the Soleil d'Or. The
coachman gave me a wink as he opened the
door and called out: 'Who is going to stand
treat to a glass of brandy ? '

" ' I am! I am! ' cried La Jacarasse, in her
rough voice — and went stumbling across our
feet and legs, dragging her nasty smelly bag
after her, and lurched out through the coach
door. The coachman kept her from falling by
catching her under the arms and dumping her
down on the pavement, and off they went for
their drink.

"That was our chance. I made a sign to
the darling as I caught up Clairet in my arms,
and to the wonder of everybody we got out
and hurried off — leaving all our things behind
us — and in ten steps we were lost and hidden
in the crowd of people coming and going on
all sides.

"Of course we didn't know the way; but
I had a tongue in my head and asked a man
selling red, white and blue cockades how to
find the Impasse Guemenee. ' It's only two

246 f£l)e ftcbs of tl)e ittiM.

steps off,' said he. 'Turn the corner of the
Place du Faubourg de Gloire into the Rue Saint-
Antoine and follow your nose for no more than
half a minute — and there you are. Vive la
Nation ! Won't you buy a cockade ? '

"Cockades indeed! That was no time for
buying cockades! We started off as fast as
we could go — giving a look back now and
then to see if La Jacarasse was after us, though
we did not feel much afraid of her; and in a
very few minutes we found ourselves all hot
and panting in the Impasse Guemenee and in
front of Planchot's door. It was Planchot him-
self who opened the door to us; and when I
told him who I was and showed him Adeline
and Clairet and said, ' Here are Vauclair's chil-
dren,' he and his good wife Janetoun hugged
and kissed us as if we were their very own.
Nobody could have been kinder than they
were. They got beds ready for us, they
lighted the fire to get our supper, and in every
way they treated us as if they had known us
all their lives. We talked away to them of
our South Country, and they asked a thousand
questions about you and about the Marseilles
Battalion; and so in a moment we were
friends. But if I had told who Mademoiselle
Adeline really was I am sure there would have

Jfn ttje Strange Nero 9Time0. 247

been trouble; and I am sure that unless we
keep our secret, and go on calling her our
daughter, there will be trouble still."

" You have done exactly right," said Vau-
clair. "I know Planchot all the way through,
and better dough never went to the making of
a man. He is kindness itself. He carries his
heart in his hand. But if he knew that Made-
moiselle Adeline was the daughter of a mar-
quis, of a noble, who had come to fight for the
King, he would be quite capable of turning her
neck and crop out of doors. Not a word must
be said about it — be sure, Pascalet, that you
keep your tongue inside your teeth. If that
girl went back to her family she would simply
be going into the jaws of the wolf. It is clear
that Surto and La Jacarasse and the Marquise
understand each other like three pickpockets
at a fair. Mark my words, the three of them
have sworn the death of the Marquis d'Ambrun
and of Count Robert and of Mademoiselle Ade-
line. As to the Marquis and his son Robert, I
don't care a button what happens to them.
Let them be hanged or have their throats cut —
it is no more than they deserve. But we'll save
Adeline, or I'll know the reason why! "

"No, no, I won't have it! I won't have
it!" cried Adeline, as she suddenly joined us.

248 (Tljc ttcbs of ttje

" Do you think I will let my father and my
brother die without going to their rescue ? I
heard what you said about them, and I know
that Surto and La Jacarasse surely will try to
strangle or stab them. I must go home to
protect my people! Take me home — our
house is near here in the Rue des Douze
Fortes." And then, turning from Vauclair,
Adeline flung her arms so tightly around me
that I scarcely could breathe and said implor-
ingly: "Thou, Pascalet, thou canst not refuse
me. Promise to take me home. Death is
nothing to me if I can save my father and my
brother! "

" Hush, hush, my dear little girl," said Vau-
clair. " Remember, no one here must know
who you are. We'll save your father and
we'll save your brother, too; but you must
be silent or we shall all be lost. Hark! I hear
some one coming up the stairs! "

As for me, the touch of Adeline's arms had
so upset me that I scarcely knew what I was
about. I cried in company with her, and kept
saying: "Oh yes, yes, we'll save them, and
I'll take you home! "

How strange that was! Who would ever
have thought, when I left my village, that a day
would come when 1 would consent to save

3n Itye Strange Nero &imes. 249

from death the Marquis d'Ambrun and, still
more wonderful, his son Robert! Count Rob-
ert who had nearly killed my father, beating him
like a dog and leaving him for dead ; Count
Robert who had shut me up to die of hunger
in the vault!

There was a knock at the door, and when
Lazuli opened it there was Janetoun, Planchot's
wife, come up to greet us. Then came no
end of hand shakings and how-de-does and
how d'ye do again, and compliments too!
" Oh, what fine handsome fellows! " cried Jane-
toun. "That's the kind of men we have in
the South — they are not afraid of a long march !
They are not like these dried up Parisians who
are neither fish, flesh nor fowl and can out-talk
the wind. Like the dogs, they find a safe
place and then bark from it. You won't do
like that! When you get hold of Capet, as
they did last month, you'll squeeze his neck
for him — and serve him right too !

"And now I've a bit of news for you. It
is arranged, you know, that you and your
comrades of the Battalion are to be given a
banquet to-night in the Champs Elysees.
Well, the Aristocrats will be there and they
will try to start a fight with you. They are
arming for it now. But don't you fight with

250 ®l)e ftebs of tlje Xttibi.

them. Tell your friends in the Battalion what
is coming, and tell them to let the Aristocrats
alone. Now I've warned you — and forewarned
is forearmed ! "

"Janetoun is right in telling us," said Vau-
clair, " and we must be off. If things are as
she says they are, we must be with the Bat-
talion. Right about face, Pascalet! March!
And as to any Aristocrats stopping us, I'd like
to see them do it while two good watch dogs
are by me, and I have this sharp walking-stick
at my side! " — and he touched as he spoke his
pistols and his sword. "But tell me, Jane-
toun," he added, " will that Santerre be there ?
Do you know him ? "

"You must not think I want to get rid of
you," said Janetoun, lowering her voice; "but
really I do think that to-night you ought all to
be together. As for Santerre — well, you had
better talk to Planchot about him ; he knows
him, and knows how much he can be trusted."
And then, with her finger on her mouth, she
whispered: " I can tell you this, though — only
last evening he was seen stealing out of the
King's Castle just at the edge of dark! "

Janetoun stopped for a moment, and then
speaking in her natural voice, she went on:
" But don't let what I've told you worry you.

3n tlje Strange Nero (Eimes. 251

As I said, forewarned is forearmed. We know
here all that is going on. Planchot goes every
evening to the Jacobin Club ; and they are wide
awake, those Jacobins! It is they who have
ordered the seven guillotines ! You understand ?
Well — a word to the wise, you know." She
suddenly turned, and as she ran down the
stairs in a jiffy, she called back to us: "I must
melt the glue. The guillotines must be ready
in a fortnight. There isn't much time to
spare!"

" What is a guillotine, Vauclair, anyway ? "
1 asked.

"I'm sure I don't know," Vauclair an-
swered. "The Jacobins have ordered them —
like enough they are seats or tables, for the
club house."

"They're a puzzle to me," said Lazuli. " j
can't make out what they are; but they cer-
tainly are neither chairs nor tables. Come and
see — we have one here in the little room.
Planchot lent it to us to use as a bed for Ade-
line."

We were as full of curiosity as so many
children and we all went in together laughing
to see the queer piece of furniture. What we
saw, lying flat on the floor, was a sort of case
or box, somewhere about three feet long and

252 (Jl)e Eebs of ll)C 4JUM.

half as wide, from which started arms at least
six feet long into each of which was cut a deep
groove running its whole length. At the top
the arms were held together by a solid cross-
piece, in the middle of which was a little
pulley.

" I think," said Lazuli, "that it is meant to
stand up, with the two arms in the air. When
we came here, Father Planchot had only one
bed for the three of us; so he said that he
would fetch one of his guillotines up stairs, and
that we could make it into a bed for Adeline.
You see, by laying it down this way and filling
it well with shavings, it makes a very fair bed
indeed. There is room enough for a child, or
indeed for a grown person, in here between
the arms."

While Lazuli was talking we were looking
at the queer affair. Vauclair raised it and
turned it over and looked at it carefully. But
he ended by making a little puzzled sound, as
much as to say: "Deuce take me if I can
guess what the thing is for at all! "

And then I ventured to say that perhaps it
was to be used in making triumphal arches or
something of that sort, for some grand festival
— such as the Fete-Dieu in Avignon.

"You've hit it, I do believe," said Vau-

3n tlje Strange Nero &imes. 253

clair. "No doubt they are for some great
festival of rejoicing. What geese we were
not to see it right off." And then we went
back into the kitchen and began to get ready
to leave.

While we were tightening our red sashes
Adeline once more threw her arms round my
neck crying: "My Pascalet, you will surely
come back to me, and surely will take me to
my father's house ?"

Vauclair saw how upset I was and answered
for me. "Yes, dear little girl," he said, "just
as soon as we have taken the King's Castle we
will take you to your people, that I promise
you. Then the Marseilles men will be the
masters and will make laws for Paris. Surto
and the wicked Jacarasse, when we find them,
shall be shut up tight in prison so that no one
will ever see them again. You must be a very
good girl and let us leave you quietly now,
and we will come back to-morrow. If you
don't keep very quiet La Jacarasse will find
where you are hidden and will carry you off;
and she, certainly, will not take you home."

As he spoke, Vauclair gently loosened her
tightly clasped arms from about my neck ; and
I, encouraged by Vauclair's words, added:
" Yes, yes, we'll take you home; and we will

254 ®be Rebs of tfye Alibi.

protect you, too, from that horrible Jac-
arasse."

As she tried to thank me I closed her
mouth with a kiss; and then Vauclair caught
me by the hand and led me out of the room.
As we went down stairs I heard Lazuli laugh-
ing and saying: "Come, come, you will be a
most unreasonable girl if you keep on crying
after a kiss like that."

Oh, that kiss ! How I felt it thrilling through
me! Though we were out in the big street I
neither saw people nor carriages coming and
going. My cheeks felt as red as fire, my ears
sang, my legs could hardly support me. Oh,
how 1 longed to go back to the house to kiss
Adeline once more and tell her all that I wanted
to tell! But little by little my senses came
back to me and my cheeks cooled down. After
all, I wasn't much more than a boy, and I was
full of a boy's curiosity. I stared at the peo-
ple, the carriages, the sedan-chairs; I gaped at
the painted and gilded signs, which were made
in all sorts of fantastic shapes and swayed in
the wind over the shop-keepers' doors. By the
time that we reached the Place de la Bastille—
or, as they called it then the Faubourg de la
Gloire — I was quite myself again. In the
morning we had seen the ruins of the strong-

Jn tbe Strange Neto &imes. 255

hold crowded with people; but without the
people it took even more of a hold on me. It
seemed as if it had been tumbled down by an
earthquake. When we had walked all round
it, looking at it from every side, we went into
the Soleil d'Or — where the Avignon coach had
stopped, and where the coachman had given
Adeline and Lazuli their chance to run away
from La Jacarasse.

In this inn I saw a queer thing that bothered
me a great deal. There hung from the ceiling
two big figures stuffed with straw, just like
the "Carmentrans" we parade around on
Shrove Tuesday. They were dressed up in
paper — one as a general of the army, the other
as a crowned lady.

"Don't you know what those are?" Vau-
clair asked. ' ' Well, I'll tell you. The general is
Lafayette, and the fine lady is the Queen. Every
evening the Patriots of the quarter, who hold
their meetings here, carry those two figures
up to the highest window in the house. And
then — kerflop! and down they go on the pave-
ment to the shouts of the people, who join
hands and dance around them to the tune of
'£a ira.' All of which means that some day
in the King's Castle we will do the same

thing! "

is

256 QEI)e ftefcs of tlje fttibi.

When we came out of the Soleil d'Or, we
turned down and went along the banks of the
Seine, a river that flows through Paris. It is
not near as wide as the Rhone, and is very
dirty. The water is so foul that it looks like
the last skimming of olive-oil or the drainings
of a stable-yard; and, compared with our
Rhone, it flows along so slowly that it is hard
to tell which way it goes.

The sun was almost down as we passed in
front of the Hotel de Ville; and had set by the
time we reached the Champs Elysees — where
we found all the men of the Battalion with the
Paris folks who were giving us our feast. The
table was spread in a cabaret called the Grand
Salon; and it truly was a grand salon, I can
tell you, for there was room in it for five hun-
dred men.

The gardens of the Champs Elysees were
crowded with people, some shouting "Vive la
Nation!" others, the Anti- Patriots: "Vive le
Roi!" and "Vive la Reine!" Next door to
the Grand Salon was a cabaret in which an-
other festival was going on; and this other
festival had been started by some of the sprigs
of the nobility — who, as well as their serving-
men, were dressed up as National Guards.
Nice National Guardsmen they were! They

Jn tlje Strange Nero ®itnes. 257

were the King's dogs; and they had come on
purpose to make a disturbance and so to pick
a quarrel with us. Well, they got what they
came for — and also something they didn't come
for, as you will see !

We were no more than seated at our table,
with Santerre to preside over us, than this
Royalist rabble, right under our windows, be-
gan to sing songs in honour of the tyrant and
of his Austrian Queen. We let them go on,
but soon the good Patriots of those parts took
the matter up and began calling out: "Down
with the foreigners!" "Down with Cob-
lentz!" "Down with the Austrian!" — and
at this the cowards drew their swords and
shamefully fell upon the women and children.
That was the kind of fighting that suited them,
but it did not suit us ! " Help, Patriots, help ! "
the women shrieked. And then : " Help, Mar-
seillais! "

We would have had snails' blood in our
veins had not our hearts sprung up in answer
to that cry. In spite of Santerre — who tried
to quiet us by calling out: "It is nothing,
nothing at all. Stay in your places " — we all
were on our feet in a moment. Some of us
ran out at the door, some jumped out of the
windows; all of us with drawn swords and

258 ftlje &ebs of tl)e IttiM.

pistols, and all as eager as wolves! But when
the Aristos caught sight of us, instead of stay-
ing to fight, off they ran like rabbits — some of
the hindmost being spurred on by the toes
of our boots as well as by the points of our
swords. They all made for the drawbridge
of the King's Castle, while we burst out laugh-
ing at seeing them run away before they were
hurt.

One big fat fellow fell head foremost into a
mud-puddle. I was sorry for him and helped
him up; and when he was on his feet 1 found
that he was so tall that my head was not much
above the level of his fat stomach. All the
same, I put the point of my sword to his big
paunch and cried: "Shout 'Vive la Nation!'
— or in it goes! "

All covered with mud as he was, he made
an awful face at me and answered: "I am
Count Moreau de Saint-Merri ! "

"The deuce 1 care who you are," I an-
swered. "Shout 'Vive la Nation' or the
point of my sword will make a new button-
hole in your breeches! "

' ' Vive la Nation ! Vive la Nation ! " shouted
he — and then 1 let him run off to the Castle.

As we were on our way back to the table
in the Grand Salon we saw marching up from

Jn tl)e Strange Nero ®imes. 259

the other end of the Champs Elysees a com-
pany of Anti-Patriot National Guards, who
were coming to support the lot we had just
driven off. One of these, an officer with silver
epaulettes, aimed at a Federal and fired; but
his pistol flashed in the pan. Instantly the
Federal turned around and blew out his brains.
The Aristocrats, seeing their officer killed,
broke in disorder and fled. This time we did
not pretend to stab; we stabbed in earnest.
The slowest and the timidest cried for quarter,
and at the end we found ourselves with about
a dozen prisoners in hand. Santerre joined us,
and for once was earnest enough. He begged
and implored us to let our prisoners go. He
said he would answer for them himself; that
they really were on our side; that they were
our brothers, but had been tricked into acting
against us. He talked and talked so in his
French jargon that he finished by making us
do what he wanted.

Our feast was all spoiled. But we carried
off the food to our barracks in the Rue Mira-
beau le Patriote, and there we spent what was
left of our evening quietly — eating, drinking and
singing as if we had been at home down in
the South. Barbaroux and Danton joined us
there, and comforted us by promising that in

260 &!)£ Hcbs of tl)e

not less than three days we certainly should at-
tack the Castle.

"If the Assembly and the National Guard
won't act," they said to us, "we will take
matters into our own hands. We will put
down the tyrant and save the country all by
ourselves." Santerre, who had come with
them, could not say no to this; and he prom-
ised that in three days his men would march
with us to the attack.

Then we stretched ourselves out on the stone
floor and slept there for the rest of the night
like logs ; and the next day we were up at cock
crow and off to see the town.

Nobody stayed in the barracks but the men
on guard. Some of us went to take a good
look at the King's Castle, and at the bridges
and streets and alleys leading to it. Others
went to the National Assembly to hear what
they were chattering about in that place ; others
were satisfied to stare openmouthed at the
dancing bears and into the shop windows,
until you might have thought they had just
landed from Martigues! Vauclair and I, of
course, made straight for the Impasse Gue-
menee to see our dear people.

As we entered the workshop, Planchot
drew Vauclair aside, and with a very mysteri-

Jin Ibe Strange Nero <Eime0. 261

ous air whispered in his ear: "The Jacobins
have just ordered another seven guillotines.
That makes fourteen. I am counting on your
help. Fourteen guillotines to be ready in a
fortnight ! I never can get through a piece of
work like that alone."

"Surely, surely, brother Planchot," Vau-
clair answered. "Of course I'll help you.
That's what I'm here for. And isn't it for the
good of the Revolution, too ? Just wait while
I run up stairs to say good-day to my wife and
children, and then I'll put on my apron and
take hold of my plane."

Lazuli and the others had heard Vau-
clair's voice and they all came running
down stairs. Lazuli kissed Vauclair, and
Adeline put her arms round my neck and
kissed me. And then there was a fire of ques-
tions.

"Has all gone well?" "Is the King's
Castle taken ? " "Is any one dead ?"

• ' No, " we answered. ' ' We haven't taken
the Castle; we haven't even seen the King.
It will be for to-morrow, or the day after to-
morrow.""

Old Planchot, his hands folded under his
apron, kept grinning at our hugging and kiss-
ing and finally said: "Look here, Vauclair, it

262 ®|)e ttebs of tl)e fflibi.

seems to me these young people are on mighty
good terms with each other! "

" When the affairs of the nation are all set-
tled, brother Planchot," said Lazuli, laughing,
"we'll have a wedding. We'll marry them in
front of the Liberty Tree."

As Adeline heard these words she remem-
bered her training as a well brought up young
lady and blushed furiously, while her eyes filled
with tears. Unclasping her arms from about
my neck, she covered her face with her hands.

To make things easier for her, I acted as if
nothing had happened. Taking off my sword
and pistols and my fine National Guard coat, I
rolled my shirt sleeves up to my elbows and
said to Planchot: "You want help. Here I
am all ready to help. What shall I do ?"

"Now that's the sort of boy I like," said
Planchot, slapping me on the shoulder. ' ' Well,
take this plane, and square the arms for the
guillotines. Do it carefully. See, you are to
plane down to the black mark. There is
enough here to keep you going for a week.

"As for you, Vauclair," Planchot went on,
"you are a master-workman and I'll give you
some of the finer work to do. You will make
the mortises in the lower blocks and chisel out
the long grooves the whole length of the arms.

In tlje Slrcmge Neto ®im*s. 263

Those grooves must be as straight and true as
the lines on music paper."

"And can't we help too?" asked Lazuli
and Adeline and Clairet all together.

" Yes, yes," Planchot answered. " There's
work for us all. You can sweep away the
shavings and hand us our tools, and you can
melt the glue — and among us we'll have such
guillotines as never were seen! "

I started in and planed away like a good
one. Soon the floor beside me was covered
with shavings — some long, some short, some
delicate and shining like silk ribbon — all twist-
ing and curling together like Adeline's pretty
hair. The pine wood with its sharp sweet
fresh smell made me feel almost as if I were
once more in the pine forests up in my own
mountains at Malemort. Close by my bench
Clairet and Adeline played in the shavings; and
whenever I asked for the straight-edge or the
square Adeline hurried to get it for me.

"Master Planchot," said Adeline, " we all
will go to the Feast of the Guillotines, won't
we ? Where is it to be ? "

Planchot opened wide his eyes, and for a
moment shut his jaws together so that his nose
almost touched his chin, as he answered:
" Yes, I'll take you all there, and you shall see

of tle 4JUM.

how we'll use them. That will be a gay festi-
val. Nothing like it has ever been seen."

That was enough for us; we all were
sure then that those things were to be used as
triumphal arches for the festival that was to
take place after we had captured the King's
Castle.

"Father Planchot, will there be farandoles
at the Guillotine Feast?" asked Clairet one
day.

"Oh yes, yes, fine farandoles," said Plan-
chot, winking at Vauclair and me.

"And will there be wreaths of box and
lovely flowers twined all around the side-
pieces of the guillotines?" asked Adeline.

"Oh yes, yes, plenty of flowers — and all
of them red," Planchot answered.

Vauclair and I asked no questions. We
did not want Planchot to see that we did not
really understand how the guillotines were to
be used.

"Master Planchot," Adeline went on,
"please lend me your pencil. 1 want to put
my name on the guillotine that I am using as
a bed. Perhaps 1 will know it again on the
day of the feast."

Our little lady was the only one of us who
knew how to write, and when she had fin-

In tfye Strange IXeus (Eimes. 265

ished her fine performance we all went to look
at it. On the upper cross-piece, beside the
little pulley, she had written in big letters :

ADELINE

Oh that name ! It is more than sixty years
ago that she wrote it there — yet to-day I see it
as plainly as I saw it then!

We sawed and planed and worked together
steadily for eight days. Every evening Vauclair
and I went back to the barracks to sleep, and
every morning early we came again to Father
Planchot's ; when the first questions would be
as we crossed the threshold: " Have you taken
the King's Castle ? How many were killed ?"

But our answer had to be always the same:
"No, we haven't taken it yet."

We were beginning to think that we never
would take it. Sometimes it was Santerre
who stopped us by declaring that he was ill
and we must wait for him to get well again ;
sometimes it was Petion, the Mayor of Paris,
who stopped us by pulling a long face and
saying mysteriously: "We must wait or all
will be lost. It is not the right moment";
sometimes it was the National Assembly that
chimed in with: "Yes, you must wait, or
something will go wrong! "

266 ®|)c Uebs of tlje ittibi.

At last one day our pockmarked Margan
stood up in the gallery of the Assembly and
shook his fist in the face of all the deputies as he
cried out: "You are all afraid. You sit there
shaking like reeds. You always are fearful that
something will or won't happen. And while
you talk, we wait — we the Patriots, the Reds of
the Midi who have tramped through the heat
of the sun and the chill of the night our two
hundred leagues; we to whom you have not
allowed even enough mouldy bread to keep
our bellies from crying hunger! Shall I tell
you what we think of you ? We think you
are cowards! All we fear is your fear! Our
only dread is that if we wait for you to start
the Revolution there never will be any Revolu-
tion at all! "

But Margan's speech did no good; and we
of the Battalion were wearied and over wearied
by our waiting for the signal to start. And as
we lost heart the Aristocrats gained heart.
They saw that nothing happened, and they
began to pluck up their courage once more.
The time-serving shop-keepers, the money-
makers, painted fleurs-de-lys on their signs,
and stuck up for mottoes over their doors "A
fig for the Nation!" or "Vive la Reine!" or
"Vive le Roi!" And all this while swords

Jn ttye Strange NOD ®imes. 267

and guns and pistols, with plenty of balls and
powder, were carried into the King's Castle
by the Royalist dogs who freely went and
came — while we were stuck fast like so many
posts planted in the ground!.

That sort of thing could not be allowed to
go on. We raised our voices so loud that at
last we made ourselves heard. We swore
that if the others held back, and if leaders
were denied to us, we would march without
leaders on the King's Castle and would take it
alone. Then Barbaroux and Danton came to
our help. They talked with the Federals from
Brest, and with the true Patriots, the true Revo-
lutionists, of the National Guard; and among
them they arranged that our quarters should be
shifted across the river to the building that had
been the convent of the Cordeliers — where the
Patriot Club used to meet — because from there
we could march on the Castle easily. Danton
himself came to lead us to our new barracks,
and as he served out cartridges to us he
shouted: "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity — or
Death ! "

At the Cordeliers we found Barbaroux wait-
ing for us, and he made us a speech that set
all our hearts to beating with joy. "To-mor-
row," he cried, "the fight that you have been

268 (Elie Eebs of ti)* ittiM.

longing for shall be fought. In spite of all
Paris; in spite of the National Assembly; in
spite of Petion (of that Petion who boasted
that he would march you out of the city in no
time if the Assembly would but make him a
grant of seven thousand crowns) ; in spite of
them all, I say, and in spite of all the gods in
heaven and all the devils in hell, the tocsin
shall ring to-morrow night — and by the morn-
ing we all will be dead or the King's Castle
will be ours! "

That time there was no trickery. The next
day all Paris was in a ferment — while we worked
on at the guillotines. We knew that we should
not be wanted before evening, and the last of
the fourteen was almost done. Early in the
afternoon we finished it and threw down our
planes.

"All they need now," said Planchot, rub-
bing his hands, " is the razor of Equality. But
that is another man's affair. 'Tis no part of a
carpenter's business to shave! "

That last day's work was the hardest of
all. Everybody knew that there was thunder
in the air. From early morning the streets
had been crowded: heavy covered wagons
trundled along mysteriously; the King's
mounted gendarmes clattered hither and thither

Jfn tl)e Strange Neto 9Times. 269

at a gallop; in all the quarters the drummers
were beating the assembly on a hundred
drums.

Lazuli and Adeline understood that at
last the fight was coming in earnest. They
spoke little. Without asking for orders they
loaded our pistols, and then they turned to
Father Planchot's grind-stone and fell to sharp-
ening our swords. But when the time came
for leaving them they fairly broke down. Oh,
how they cried, and how they begged us to
take care of ourselves and of each other!

"You needn't either of you be in the very
first rank."

"If you should get the smallest hurt, come
right back home."

" Vauclair, listen. Take good care of Pas-
calet; and you, Pascalet, don't leave Vauclair's
side."

And then more kisses and more tears. At
the last Adeline said to me: "If you see my
brother or my father, promise me that you
will not hurt them." And I, carried away by
her kisses, answered : " I will not. I give you
my word! "

While we were in the thick of our good-
byes Planchot had left us and had gone up
stairs to his bed-room. Suddenly he appeared

270 (Elie fteb0 of tfye ittibi.

among us again, dressed in his uniform of the
Paris National Guard — and a great-looking ob-
ject he was! He was a little bit of a man,
with a hooked nose like an owl's beak, a
pointed chin, and not a tooth in his head.
Like all old carpenters, his right shoulder was
higher than his left. What with his cocked
hat too big for him, his coat too long for him,
and his spindle legs, he was a regular Punch!

Janetoun came clattering down the stairs
after him and burst into the room at his heels
crying: "Thou shalt not go! I say thou shalt
not go! They can get along without thee —
thou art too old to fight. Leave fighting to
the young folks. Thou wilt be killed by every-
body! The very horses will trample thee
down! Tell him, Vauclair, to stay at home.
He only will be in your way. Why, his
sword is longer than he is — he can't draw it
out of the scabbard! Listen to reason, my
own Planchot; listen to reason, and stay here
with me! "

But Planchot wouldn't listen to reason;
and he answered her in French, speaking with
his strong Southern accent: " La revoluchion, il
nous appelle, nous vaincrons ou nous mour-
rissons!" ("The Revolution calls us. We
conquer or die! ")

In ll)e Strange Neto (Slimes. 271

"That is all very well," said Janetoun;
"but what am I to do if you have an arm cut
off or a leg shot to pieces ? "

"La libarte ou la mort! Passe-moi mon
ache que z'ai 'aguisee pour tranca lou cou du
tyran!" ("Liberty or Death! Give me my
axe. I have sharpened it so as to cut off the
tyrant's head! ")

Janetoun had lived a good while in the
world and she knew there was more than one
way of catching martins. When she found
that talking to her man did no good she tried
another tack — all of a sudden giving an awful
scream and striking her hands together and
going down on a heap of shavings in a bunch.

Planchot stopped talking bad French and
shouted in honest Proven9al: "Heavens and
earth, my wife has fainted! Quick, get the
vinegar! "

Lazuli and Adeline rushed up stairs for the
vinegar and orange-flower water, and the mo-
ment they were gone Vauclair and I nodded
to each other — and off we went without more
ado.

Once in the street we had no chance to

think of those we had left behind us. In an

instant we were in the thick of a pushing,

crushing crowd. We got ahead as we could,

19

272 $l)e ftebe of tlje iftiM.

often being forced back two steps for one step
that we had gained — as a squadron of gen-
darmes crushed their way through the press, or
a band of Aristocrats came along roaring:
"Death to the brigands!" or a company of
Patriots crying: "Vive la Nation!" Some
carried red flags, some black ; we even saw a
bullock's heart, all bleeding, carried high on
the point of a pike. Women with their hair
hanging loose over their shoulders were pushing
this way and that, while above their heads
they waved their bare arms. Barefooted men
were strutting along brandishing rusty pikes
and nicked swords and crazy old guns. Even
the children were flourishing everything they
could lay hands on that looked like a weapon.
And from all the Patriot throats would come
storming forth from time to time the Patriot
song:

Dansons la Carmagnole, Dance we the Carmagnole!

Vive le son, vive le son, Hurrah for the roar! Hurrah

for the roar!

Dansons la Carmagnole, Dance we the Carmagnole!

Vive le son du canon! Hurrah for the roar the can-

non roar!

As we worked our way along toward the
King's Castle there went by a company of
Royalist regulars — all pomaded and be-pow-

Sn ll)e Strange Netu ®ime0. 273

dered and be-curled, wearing silk stockings
with buckled garters, and with swords and
pistols all bright and shining in the sun. They
carried a banner of blue and white, the King's
colours, on which was written: "Hurrah for
the Austrian and Prussian armies who will en-
ter Paris victorious! "; and as they marched on
toward the Castle they sang the Anti-Patriot
version of our ' ' £a ira " :

Ah! fa ira! fa ira! Oh, all goes well! Oh, all

goes well!

De mal en bien tout change From bad to good all France
en France! doth turn!

Ah! fa ira! fa ira! Oh, all goes well! Oh, all

goes well !

Car c'est Louis qui regnera. For Louis will reign over us

Antoinette Ton cherira, And Antoinette will cher-

ished be

Et les Jacobins Ton pendra! While the Jacobins shall

hang!

As the singing soldiers passed on toward
the Castle the sun was setting — down the line
of the Seine — in a burning blood-red glow.
From close to us down far away to where
clouds and earth came together, everything
touched by the sunrays — spires, domes, the
tall houses and the walls of the Castle — was
blood-red. The river seemed running with
flaming blood— that looked still redder and

274 ®l)e ftebs of ll)e

brighter because of the piers and arches of the
bridges which made black splotches against
its crimson glow.

We stopped for a moment to look at this
strange sight; and as we went on again Vau-
clair said, very seriously: "That means that
there will be a great killing of men ! "

It was almost dark when we got back to
our barracks in the Cordeliers; and there we
found Barbaroux and Danton and Rebecqui
talking away — while they strode backwards
and forwards in the courtyard — to a group of
Federals who evidently had been saying that
they dreaded more of Santerre's tricks and de-
lays.

"I tell you," cried Barbaroux, "that this
time Santerre surely will come — or his days of
coming and going on this earth surely will
end. Look here! " (as he spoke he unbuttoned
his coat and threw it open) "Look here! You
always have seen two pistols stuck in my sash.
Now there are none. And this is what has
gone with them. I gave one of them to a Pa-
triot whom I can trust as I trust myself, and I
said to him : ' You know Mandat, the Comman-
dant-General of the National Guard of Paris ?
Well, follow him by day and by night — and if
he dares to turn his men against the troops of

In ttye Strange Nero dimes. 275

the Revolution take this pistol and blow out his
brains. So will you serve the cause of our
country and of Liberty ! ' And that good Pa-
triot, answering me, said: 'I swear that you
shall cut off my head if I fail to obey you! '

"And the other pistol I gave to another
good Patriot, and I said to him: 'You know
Commandant Santerre ! Well, follow him by
day and by night — and when the drums beat
the assembly and the tocsin rings if you do not
find him at the head of his men coming to join
the troops of the Revolution take this pistol
and blow out his brains. So will you serve
well the cause of our country and of Liber-
ty!' And that good Patriot, answering me,
said : ' I swear that you shall cut off my head
if I fail to obey you! '

"And so, you see," Barbaroux went on,
" those two are provided for. One other man is
left who may play us false, and that is Petion,
the Mayor of Paris. But he also is provided
for. At this moment fifty tried and faithful
Jacobins have Petion shut up in the Hotel de
Ville; and they will neither let him go out nor
let him speak to any one until the Castle is
taken and the King and Queen are our pris-
oners."

Before Barbaroux had finished, Margan,

276 (Efye ftebg of ttye ittibi.

gun in hand, jumped up on the table beside
him and shouted : "What do we care whether
or not the Parisians will march ? When did
they ever do anything for the cause of Liberty ?
For near a fortnight we've been waiting here
like a pack of gaping idiots. These Parisians,
every one of them, have chicken-hearts. They
called for help ; they called to us to come up
and help them — and now they are afraid of us !
And they are right to be afraid of us, for we
will crush them if they stand in our way. We
are come from Marseilles, from Toulon, from
Avignon, from all over the hot South, to save
the Country and proclaim the Revolution.
We'll do it! God's own thunder won't stop
us! We'll march in spite of Paris! If we
must, we'll march against Paris! — and we'll
rush to the assault shouting 'Death or Lib-
erty ! ' '

"Well said, Margan! Well said!" cried
Samat, as he sprang up on a table and waved
his banner of The Rights of Man — while all of
us, shouting together, filled the courtyard with
an angry roar.

Another Marseillais made himself heard:
"In the National Assembly," he cried, "they
are all cowards ! Petion, this Mayor of Paris,
is a traitor. It was he who said, 'Give me

In tl)e Strange HKew ftitnes. 277

seven thousand crowns, and I'll get rid of the
Marseillais.' Tell him to come here with his
seven thousand crowns! Are we a herd of
pigs and is he our herdsman, that he dare to
say we are for sale ? We must give this
traitor Parisian the lie. Here is my pistol — and
I swear that if the Marseilles Battalion doesn't
march to the assault before day comes I, 1 who
am speaking to you, will blow my brains out
that 1 may not die of shame!"

" He's right, the Patriot's right! " called out
one of our men who stood in a far corner and
who hammered with his sword upon a table
until he made himself heard. "He's right.
With us it must be Death or Liberty! Not one
of us ever will go back into the South again
until we have thrown down the tyrant and
brought Paris to reason. What are these
Parisians, any way ? When we are off in our
far provinces they look down on us ; they cry
out at us for dregs and starvelings ; they sneer
at us because we don't talk through our noses
with their own duck- quacking 'couin! couin!
couin!' But now that we are here, and they
see us, they tremble! We must show them
who we are and what we can do. So far,
they have only barked from a long way off.
If they come nearer, showing their teeth; if

278 ®l)e lebs of tl)e JttiM.

they try to stop us in our good work — then
will we quiet their nose-talking once and for
all!"

We all believed that there was good reason
for these bitter words against the Parisians,
and at each one of them we cheered and
cheered. For the whisper had gone around
that the National Assembly was trying to find
some excuse for sending our Battalion packing
out of the Capital ; and we also had been told
that the National Guard of Paris, instead of
joining us, would fight against us in defence of
the King. But Danton, the good Jacobin,
knew better; and presently he was up again
on a table and making a speech to us in which
the whole matter was set right and clear. Ah,
he was a man! He spoke French, and we
couldn't understand all his words; but we
understood all his thought.

He began by telling us, shortly, that who-
ever said all the Parisians would be against us
lied ; and then he told us very clearly and care-
fully how the attack on the King's Castle was
to be made. The battalions of the Faubourg
de Gloire, he said, were to march to the Place
du Carrousel (as they called the open space in
front of the Castle) by way of the Place de la
Greve and the Arcade Saint-Jean; the bat-

Jfn tlje Strange New STimes. 279

talions of the Faubourg Saint-Marceau were to
come up to the Horse Market, and from there
were to follow the river and cross it by the
Pont-Neuf; and we, the Marseillais, with the
Federals from Brest and the students from the
schools, were to cross the river by the Pont-
Saint-Michel and enter the Place du Carrousel
through the galleries of the Louvre. It was a
plan, he said, that had been carefully thought
out and that promised well; and all the forces
pledged to take part in it could be trusted to
the death. For the signal of attack, he said
finally, an alarm-cannon would be fired on the
Pont-Neuf and the tocsin would ring from all
the church towers — and then the good fight
would begin !

Our eyes filled with tears as we listened to
him, and while those who were nearest to him
embraced his knees we all cried together:
" God grant that your good words be true! "

The night had run onward while all this
talk went on. It was late — within an hour of
midnight. We remembered that we were
hungry, and fell to eating our rations of garlic
and dry bread. Suddenly a shot was fired in
the street almost at the door of our barracks.
In an instant we had seized our arms and were
filing out in line. Our Commandant and Bar-

280 ®l)e ftebs of tt)e ittibi.

baroux and Danton tried to hold us back. The
drums had not yet beaten the assembly, the
time to march had not yet come, they shouted
— but our own drummers already were beating
the quick-step, and in spite of all they could
say we were off. Feeling our cartridges, to
make sure that they were in order, away we
went through the dark streets as silently as a
flock of sheep ; keeping time with our footsteps
to the quick rattle of our drums.

My mouth was dry. I chewed and chewed
away at a bit of bread, but could no more
swallow it than if my throat had been held
close by an iron band. 1 was all of a tremble,
just as if I had a fever; and I was shaking
with an excitement I could not understand.
It was about midnight when we came out of
the tangle of narrow streets through which we
had been marching upon the wide way beside
the river. The weather was soft and warm ;
the stars shone brightly in a clear sky; on the
bridges and along both banks of the river rows
of lanterns were swinging in the wind.

But there beside the quiet river we struck
upon such a tremendous crowd and such a
whirl of confusion that it seemed as though
we had got to the very end of the world. All
the bridges were held by Anti-Patriot soldiery.

In tlje Strange Neto Cintes. 281

Mounted gendarmes were galloping backwards
and forwards, making the crowd cry out and
reel and surge in angry waves. In one mo-
ment we would hear a bugle-call, in the next
the roll of drums. From the other side of the
river came the clatter of troops of horse and
the rumbling of gun-carriages. Everywhere
there was a dull roar made up of the shoutings
of thousands and thousands of voices, with
now and then a clear cry rising sharply of
"Vive la Nation! "or "Vive le Roi!" And
all the while that we were pushing our way
slowly through the crowd we could see loom-
ing high before us — rising up like the crags of
the Luberon — the black mass of the King's
Castle outlined against the sky.

Our orders were to cross by the Pont-Saint-
Michel; but our leading files halted as they
came to the bridge and our drums stopped
beating. We all pushed and crowded to
the front to see what was the matter; and
we found that Commandant Moisson had
gone forward alone and was talking with
the commander of the detachment of Anti-
Patriots by whom the bridge was held. Pres-
ently he came back to us, saying that the guard
on the bridge had orders to let no one pass — a
piece of news that set us to stamping with

282 ®l)e &ebs of tl)C Jttibi.

anger, until the good thought occurred to us
to bring up our cannon and clear a passage
with a dose of grape.

"Steady, men!" called out our Comman-
dant. "Steady! We mustn't spoil things by
going too fast. We have our orders, and we
must obey them. Not a shot must be fired
until the alarm-cannon gives the signal that
the work is to begin."

" And where is this alarm-cannon ?" asked
Margan; who hardly could speak plainly, he
was in such a towering rage.

"It's on the Pont-Neuf," answered our
Commandant; "and the bad luck is that it is
in the hands of the Anti-Patriots."

"If that's all," said Margan, "I'll start the
attack in no time. Anti-Patriots or no Anti-
Patriots, I'll fire that gun! "

"Silence!" cried the Commandant.
"Trust yourselves to me, men. I promise
you that we'll cross at the hour settled on, and
that you shall be in the tyrant's house ahead of
them all."

But no silence followed the Commandant's
order. Everybody fell to chattering about
what ought to be done or not done. The
whole Battalion was talking at once.

It was in the thick of all this palaver that

In ttye Strange Nero (Eimes. 283

Margan and Sergeant Peloux and I broke from
the ranks and went out upon the bridge to
where the first line of the National Guards
barred the way.

Here Pascal stood up, slapped Lou Materoun
on the shoulder, and said: "See here, it won't
do to have last night's nonsense over again.
My brother Lange says he won't come for me
again. He says that if I won't come home in
good time of my own accord he'll bolt me out.
And 1 know the stuff Lange is made of — he'll
do what he says! "

After that there was nothing to wait for and
we all got up too. I rose more slowly than
the rest, for the cat was asleep on my lap and
I did not want to wake her. I laid her down
on my little bench so gently that she only half
opened her eyes and gave a drowsy gurgling
purr, and instantly went off to sleep again.
By way of good night, I ran my hand softly
over her soft fur; and then, holding fast to
my grandfather's breeches, I too went off to
bed.

CHAPTER VII.

THE STORMING OF THE KING'S CASTLE.

ALL night long I dreamed of that famous
alarm-cannon which Margan had declared he
would fire off. The next day I saw old Pascal
sitting on the block in front of his mule's
stable. I was playing at marbles with oak-
galls, all by myself, and I rolled them nearer
and nearer to him while I tried to bring up my
courage to the point of asking him just one
question: "Did they fire it off?" But my
courage would not rise so high. I even sent
an oak-gall in between his feet; in the hope
that he would speak to me as I was getting it,
and so would give me a chance to ask that
question that was burning the tip of my
tongue. I don't think that he even saw me.
He certainly took no notice of me. Perhaps
his spirit was wandering over the sands of
Egypt, or dreaming under a pomegranate tree
in Spain.

Night came at last, supper was over, the

284

Storming of tl)c King's (Hustle. 285

lantern was lighted, and I already had my hand
on the door-latch. But my grandfather, instead
of following me, went down into the cellar by
the other door. Presently he came up again
carrying a big bottle, holding nearly a gallon,
of rich-coloured malmsey. "This is Saint
Martin's Eve," said he. " The neighbours will
enjoy a good cordial with their Saint Martin's
chestnut feast."

A blind man would have known that it
was Saint Martin's Eve. From every house
came the appetizing savour of roasting chest-
nuts and the sharp sweet smell of the blazing
faggots of thyme; and above the hum of the
spinning-wheels we heard the rattling of the
chestnuts in the roasting-pans and the laugh-
ing shrieks of the girls as the corks popped
and burst forth from the bottles of new wine —
just brought up from the cellars to be drunk in
honour of the good Saint Martin : the patron
saint of all honest lovers of a bottle and a glass.

As we entered the shoemaker's shop La
Mie called from the depths of the kitchen:
"Oh, Pascal, do wait a minute. The chest-
nuts are almost done," and as she spoke we
heard the last of them going off with sharp
pops in the pan.

"Don't get excited, La Mie — it's bad for

286 ®lje ttcbs of tlje iflibi.

the blood. I'll wait for you," Pascal an-
swered.

In five minutes she came in with a huge
platter of roasted chestnuts — covered snugly
with a sack folded four-double so that they
would be well steamed — and when she had
set it on the stove, and had placed glasses be-
side my grandfather's bottle on the dresser, all
was ready for Saint Martin's feast.

But we still had to wait a little for the
story. Just as La Mie had seated herself Lou
Materoun said to her: "I don't want to order
you about, La Mie, but I wish you'd get me a
straw from your broom to clean out my pipe-
stem."

"Confound you!" exclaimed La Mie,
crossly, as she jumped up to go and get the
straw. " Haven't you any broom in your own
house ? "

" It's not every house," Lou Materoun an-
swered, "that's as well furnished as this one
— where there's not only a broom but also a
mop ! " *

"You beast of a chatterbox!" cried La
Mie, plumping back into her seat. "Find a

* T'anoucbo means a cleaning-rag fastened in a handle,
and it also means' a slut, a dirty woman.

QLtye Storming of ttje King's OTastlc. 287

straw for yourself— you shall have none of
mine! "

"No matter — my pipe has cleaned it-
self."

"Mops indeed!" she repeated. "Every
one knows that you mop up your floor by
dragging your wife around by her hair! "

"I do the best I can, La Mie. I'm not a
shoemaker — I haven't a leather strap."

"Oh, hold your tongue, Lou Materoun!"
said my grandfather. " We're not here to lis-
ten to your clapper clawing. We are here for
Pascal's story."

"Yes, Lou Materoun," said old Pascal,
" you seem to be working up a little sour — like
wine that is going wrong. You'd better keep
still for a while and let yourself settle."

And so, order having been restored, old
Pascal settled himself on the bench and went
on.

Well, as I told you yesterday, Margan and
Peloux and I broke from our ranks and went
out on the bridge to where the National Guards
barred the way. Margan knew French, and
by drawing his nose together and speaking
through it he could talk just like a Parisian ;
we being close behind him, he fell to talking

20

288 ®l)e ftebs of tlje iflibi.

away with three men who stood a little in ad-
vance of the enemy's line.

But he found in no time that they were not
enemies at all. They were good friends of
the Nation, and they wanted as much as any-
body to make the Revolution a success. Then
Margan saw his way to what he wanted
(though that was more than we did) and said
to them: " Since you are good Patriots, show
it by doing what I ask. Lend us your cocked-
hats and do you take in place of them our red
caps. It will be only for five minutes — while
we go up to the Pont-Neuf and come back
again. But in that five minutes the Nation
will be saved! "

They were good fellows, those Parisians.
Without stopping to ask questions they did
what Margan wanted, and in the darkness —
that they might not be questioned by their
companions — they drew away toward our
ranks.

Margan did not keep us waiting long to
find out what he was driving at. In a low
voice, but dead in earnest, he said to us: "If
you are good Federals, good Reds of the Midi,
you will put on those hats and follow me. We
are going to the Pont-Neuf and we'll leave our
skins there or we'll fire that gun! Do you,

®lje Storming of tlje King's <Eo0tle. 289

Peloux, get ready a good fuse that will burn
well; and do you, Pascalet, get flint and steel
that you may light it when the moment comes.
I will tackle the officer in command on the
bridge, and while I keep him in talk you must
manage between you to touch off the cannon
and give the alarm."

Then we understood, and we were ready
to jump for joy! Peloux got out a good fuse
— and with it, in case the cannon should need
priming, a handful of powder — and turned
over to me his flint and steel; and off we
started through the darkness and the crowd.
In five minutes we had reached the Pont-Neuf,
where we were halted with a sharp "Qui
vive ? "

" Friends," Margan answered. " An order
from the Commandant of the Pont-Saint-
Michel."

" Pass! " — and we were on the Pont-Neuf,
walking along between two files of the Anti-
Patriot guard. But we were safe enough
under our blue-plumed cocked-hats. They
took no notice of us — and in a moment we
had come to the middle of the bridge and
were close to the gun. It was trained toward
the river, and standing around it were the four
men of its crew.

290 ®l)e Uebs of tlje 4JUbi.

"Attention!" cried Margan, as though he
had commanded gunners all his life; and as
the men stepped forward — no doubt thinking
he was an officer with orders — he pulled a
paper out of his pocket, opened it slowly in
the dull light that came from the bridge lamp,
and held it up as if he were going to read.

Peloux and I did not lose an instant. As
the gunners came forward, we slipped into
their places; while Margan got out his paper,
Peloux made sure of the priming and I struck
my flint and steel together and the flying sparks
lighted the fuse; and just as Margan held up
the paper, as though to read it, we got the
burning fuse to the touch-hole, and — Bang!

That gun-shot — only a blank cartridge, that
did not even ripple the quiet-flowing river over
which it roared — shook the world: for it
knocked to pieces the throne of France!

Before even its echo came back from the
walls of the King's Castle, every belfry in Paris
was ringing out the tocsin of the Revolution.
Our own drums — joining with a hundred other
drums — began to beat over on the Pont-Saint-
Michel. We heard their lively sharp rattle in
the same quick-step that so often had cheered
and helped us in our long march northward.
But what brought tears to our eyes and made

Storming of tlje King's QTastle. 291

our hearts beat high was hearing our brothers
of the Battalion burst forth with the "Mar-
seillaise " :

Aliens enfants de la Patrie, Onward, children of our

land!
Le jour de gloire est arrive; Now the day of glory

dawns!
Centre nous de la tyrannic, Blood-stained banners rise to

flout us
L'etendart sanglant est leve. Held aloft by tyrant hands!

" Who dared to fire the alarm-gun ?" cried
the officer in command on the bridge, rushing
at us and speaking in a voice hoarse with
rage.

And instantly we three, Margan and Peloux
and I, as though we had settled it all before-
hand, had our pistols levelled at his head and
were shouting " Vive la Nation! "

"Vive la Nation!" shouted the gunners
after us, for they too were good Patriots.

That settled the Commandant — who went
white as a sheet when he saw in front of his
nose the three muzzles of our pistols, and then
turned around and stammered out an order to
his men. But his men, who heard the assem-
bly beating everywhere, had so lost their heads
that they paid no attention to orders; and a
moment later up came the Patriot battalions

292 ®l)e ftebs of llje 4JUM.

from the Faubourg Saint-Marceau and took
possession of the Pont-Neuf without striking a
blow.

We had done what we came to do, and
away we went again to join our fellows on the
Pont-Saint-Michel. There we waited for our
supporting column, the Patriot troops from the
Faubourg de Gloire, .while all around us we
heard the call of trumpets and the roll of drums.

While we stood there, chafing to go for-
ward, a commotion of some sort — a tremen-
dous pushing and crushing — began in the
closely pressed crowd over on the other side
of the Pont-au-Change. We heard cries and
roars without knowing what they meant —
until twenty or thirty Patriots burst out from
the crowd and came upon our bridge, drag-
ging along a dead body hacked to pieces and
covered with blood. It was the body of the
Commandant General, Mandat. He had no
more than begun to issue the orders which
were to stop the Patriots than the man to
whom Barbaroux had given the pistol stepped
forward and blew out his brains.

"Liberty or Death!" we shouted, and all
the crowd with us — and then the traitor's body
was dragged to the middle of the bridge and
tumbled over into the stream. For a moment

Storming of tlje King's Castle. 293

it whirled around 'under the arches like the
body of a dead dog, and then it was gone.
From the Faubourg de Gloire all the way to
the Castle rose shouts of "Vive la Nation!"
And all the bells, as though they too wanted
to shout with us, pealed louder and louder the
tocsin of the Revolution.

We heard the rattle of drums advancing
from the Faubourg de Gloire, and knew that
our support was coming up. "Forward!''
cried Commandant Moisson, and off we started
to take the lead — for we were determined that
the first to march to the attack, and the first to
step over the threshold of the King's Castle,
should be the Reds of the Midi!

The street of Saint-Honore, into which we
turned, was wild with noise and confusion.
Our two drums beat steadily. We sang the
' ' Marseillaise " with all our lungs. The wheels
of our gun-carriages and of the forge clanged
on the pavement. Behind us the battalions of
the Faubourg de Gloire were shouting the
" £a ira " to the rattle of their fourteen drums.
All together we went on through the quarter
of the Aristocrats like a furious torrent, like a
mighty wind.

Now and then a high up window would
be opened and a shot fired down at us — but

294 ®t)e ftebs of ll)e HUM.

we laughed and marched on. "We can't
stop for pop-gun work now," cried long
Samat, hoisting still higher his banner of The
Rights of Man; "We'll attend to them to-
morrow," cried Margan. "Then they shall
swallow the same sort of plum-stones that
we'll give to the tyrant to-night! "

As we drew closer to the Castle the fire got
hotter. Shots kept popping out at us from
cellar-windows, from balconies, from the roofs.
But nothing stopped us. On we marched,
faster and faster — and roaring louder and louder
the " Marseillaise."

So we came to the Place du Carrousel, and
found it full of Anti-Patriots: grenadiers, pike-
men, gendarmes. But they fell back as we
advanced. The gendarmes broke in no time.
The grenadiers and pikemen held their ground
a little better; but as we pressed upon them —
with our howling chorus, "Tremble, tyrants!
And you, traitors!" — they too gave way. In
a moment their ranks were broken and they
were crowding back against the iron gates of
the Castle court; and in another moment the
gates were opened and the whole pack of
them, gendarmes, grenadiers, pikemen, had
rushed pell-mell inside. The Place du Car-
rousel was ours!

&l)e Storming of tl)e King's Castle. 295

Our Battalion halted, and we formed our
lines in front of the gate of the Cour Royale —
the gate that had just banged-to on the backs
of the runaway soldiers of the King. We
were separated from the Castle only by its
three courts — the Cour Royale in front of us,
the Cour des Princes to the right, the Cour des
Suisses to the left. Day was breaking, and
the Castle no longer loomed up before us a
mere black mass. We could see it all plainly;
and we could see the mattresses piled in the
windows, with loop-holes left through which
the guards could fire as we came on.

Our support came up — the battalions from
the Faubourg de Gloire; the battalions from
the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, wearing their
plumes of cock's feathers; the Federals from
Brest in their red coats — and we greeted each
other with shouts of "Vive la Nation!" that
rang in the air.

At that instant, as our great shout of Liberty
went upward, the first sunrays of that August
morning struck upon the highest walls of the
Castle; and we saw that the sun was rising,
as he had set, blood-red — as though God him-
self wished to be with us and had given us a
sign.

The drums no longer were counted by two

296 &l)e Uc&0 of tl)e

or by fourteen. Two score of them, a hun-
dred of them, were rattling away together the
pas de charge! No longer was it hundreds
but thousands and thousands of voices which
were crying together: "Death or Liberty!''
Drums and voices rang out so loud and rose
up with such tremendous force that the houses
and the very stones in the streets were shaken,
as though an earthquake had come.

Commandant Moisson" went up to the
great gate of the Cour Royale, and cried loudly
as he struck it three times with the pommel of
his sword: "Open, in the name of the People
and of Liberty ! "

But there was no answer and the door re-
mained shut fast.

I was in the front rank. The Commandant
turned to me. "Pascalet," said he, "suppose
there were ripe cherries on the other side of
that wall. Couldn't you manage to get your
share of them ?"

There was no need for him to give me an
order. I knew what he wanted — and in a
moment my gun was slung over my shoulder
and I had begun to climb. In another mo-
ment, going up lightly as a cat, I was a-straddle
of the top of the wall. "What next, Com-
mandant ? " I called down.

Storming 0f tfye Hing'0 (East!*. 297

" Tell me what's going on in there."

"They're all running away like rabbits,
Commandant. May I -- ? " and I drew and
levelled my pistols. " I could make a splendid
double shot! "

' ' Don't fire ! Don't fire ! " he cried.

" Well, it's too late now — they're all safe in-
side. The gendarmes, the green grenadiers, the
red Swiss — the whole riff-raff has got safe away.

"No! No! "I went on. "There's still one
left — and I do believe it's the King! Hello,
Capet, is that you ? Pull up or I'll shoot! Oh,
it must be the King. Shall I fire, Comman-
dant ? Oh, mayn't I fire ? "

"No, you may not," answered the Com-
mandant sharply.

"He's gone," I said, lowering my pistol.
" It's a pity you didn't let me shoot him, Com-
mandant. He certainly was the King. He
came out of the little house by the door, and he
was splendidly dressed in an embroidered coat
and velvet breeches and white silk stockings,
and he had silver buckles on his shining shoes.
It was the King for sure! "

" Oh you little numskull," laughed the Com-
mandant, while all the men of the Battalion
who had heard me laughed too. "Why, that
was the porter! "

298 ®lie Eebs of tlje JttiM.

"Then I'll do his work for him," I cried—
and down I dropped into the court, and in ten
seconds I had lifted away the bar and drawn
the bolts and the gate was open wide. In
marched Commandant Moisson and the Battal-
ion after him — and the Reds of the Midi were
the first to enter the Castle of the King!

At that very instant — though we did not
know it until later — the tyrant and his Austrian
woman were running for their lives on the
other side of the Castle through the gardens.
Liberty came in triumphant, while Despotism
slunk away like a fox smoked out of its lair.

But we thought that the King still was in-
side, and so made our arrangements to hold
him fast. Our Battalion, with the Brest Fed-
erals, occupied the Cour Royale; the Cour des
Princes and the gardens were held by the men
from the Faubourg de Gloire; the force from
the Faubourg Saint-Marceau took possession of
the Cour des Suisses — and so we had the Castle
surrounded on all sides.

The King's soldiers were standing ready
for us. Along the whole front of the Castle and
up the steps leading to the main doorway was
a barricade of human flesh — gendarmes, grena-
diers, pikemen — that we would have to break
our way through ; and in front of this line were

fjtye Storming of tlje King's (Eostle. 299

the black muzzles of fourteen cannon. Inside,
the red-coated Swiss filled the hall and the
stairway ; and on the balconies and at the win-
dows and on the terraces of the garden were
posted dukes and counts and marquises, and
all the small-fry of the nobility beside. There
were ten thousand of them, I suppose, and we
had to get rid of them all !

But at first it looked as if there would be
no need for a fight. As we entered the court
some of the King's gunners shouted "Vive la
Nation!." and at the same time some of the
Swiss threw us their cartridges in proof that
they did not mean to fire. Finding things
going so well, and doubting nothing, some of
us stooped to pick up the cartridges and others
of us went forward to press the hands of the
men who were showing themselves to be not
the King's servants and our enemies but Patriots
and our friends.

But we were going too fast in failing to
reckon with the Aristocrats who were looking
down at us from their loop-holes with their
guns in their hands.

Suddenly there was a deafening crash in
the air above us — and from all the windows
poured down upon us a hail of balls. At that
first volley Commandant Moisson fell with both

300 ®|)e Ecfcs of tlje ittiM.

legs shattered, and seven of our men dead and
twenty wounded were lying on the ground.

Our line fell back — but only a few steps and
only for a moment. Our Commandant, des-
perately wounded though he was, rallied us.
Raising himself on his arms he shouted "Vive
la Nation!" — and at those words our lines
steadied, the muzzles of our guns went down
as smooth and even as a wind-pressed fence
of canes, and at the command " Fire! " we be-
gan to pour in upon the traitors in the Castle
a steady rain of balls. Before our fire gen-
darmes and grenadiers and pikemen went
down in heaps, blood spirting from their
wounds like wine from a cask. Horses fell
dead or reared and plunged in the terror caused
by their hurts; and bits of stone and plaster
came rattling down from the walls.

But we also were getting it. Balls whistled
all around us and among us — coming from
windows and roofs and balconies, from every-
where all at once! The spat! spat! as they
struck the ground was all around me — with
that queer softer sound that a bullet makes
when it breaks in upon human flesh and bone.
I was in mortal terror, and I said to myself:
"Oh, oh, oh, poor Pascalet! If you don't
die to-day you'll never die at all! "

€l)e Storming of tl)e fling's Ctastle. 301

Right beside me, Samat was struck between
the eyes by a ball which blew his head open.
He fell upon me, still holding his banner of
The Rights of Man. In the thick choking
smoke, I did not know what really had hap-
pened. I thought that I was wounded — and I
felt myself all over to find where I was hurt.
But I couldn't find any wound; and then I
made out that the heavy weight upon my
breast was what was left of poor Samat's head.
Well, he was dead — and all I could do for him
was to drag his body a little away on one side,
close to the foot of a wall.

1 set to work with my gun again — though
the thick smoke so blinded me that I could not
well make out what I was firing at — and fired
steadily. At least two thirds of our shots were
wasted against the Castle walls. The luck
was against us, for the Royalists at the win-
dows and on the balconies could see where to
aim and nearly every one of their shots went
true — wounding and disabling when it did not
kill. And above all the rattle and roar of the
firing, above the clatter of the drums, keener
even than the sharp words of command, I heard
the dreadful cries, the horrible screams of the
wounded men. A poor Federal was stretched
out in front of me, and as I stepped over him

302 ®|)e Ueba of tlje iftibi.

he caught me by the leg and shrieked: " Fin-
ish me! Put an end to me. I am choking
with a coal of fire ! " — and showed me a fright-
ful wound where a ball had crashed through
him from breast to side. But I could not kill
him, and I pulled myself away from his grasp.
I was ramming down a fresh load into my
piece when there came an eddy of wind that
thinned the smoke so that I had a view of one
of the windows on the floor above. My
heart gave a great throb — for in that window
I saw Count Robert, gun in hand, firing down
on our men! Over his shoulder, in another
moment, I saw Surto leaning forward and
handing him a fresh-loaded gun.

"Now," thought 1, "my time has come!
Monster, murderer of my father, it is my turn
now!" I levelled my gun at him and took
careful aim. He was fairly at the end of my
barrel, and my hand was on the trigger. But
I couldn't fire. A tremor came over me, and
the look that Adeline gave me as I parted
from her flashed before my eyes. I had prom-
ised her that I would not hurt her brother. I
lowered my gun!

. But I had made no promises about Surto.
He was fair game. But, try as I might, I
could not get a shot at him. The coward hid

®Ije Storming of tl)e King's daetle. 303

himself so well behind his master that all I
could see of him was his arm as. he reached
foward every moment or so to hand the fresh
pieces with which the Count kept up a steady
fire.

And while I stood watching for my chance
1 saw something so startling that I scarcely
could believe my eyes. While the Count
leaned forward, aiming, Surto's big hand came
in sight holding a pistol. In another instant
the muzzle of the pistol was close to the back
of his master's head. There was a flash — and
Count Robert, his head blown to pieces, fell
forward across the window-ledge while a
stream of blood ran down the wall to the
ground.

1 was utterly bewildered. I pinched my-
self to make sure I was not dreaming. But it
was no dream. There was the Count's body
across the window-sill, his arms flopping
down outside. Of Surto I could see nothing.
He had fired his traitor shot and run away.

That was no place for stopping to think.
While I still was looking up at the window
there was the tremendous report of a cannon
loaded with grape, and I found myself nearly
blinded with smoke while all around me was
the sharp whistle of flying balls. Our men

304 ®l)« ftefos of tl)* JftiM.

were mowed down like grass. The ground
was strewn with dead and wounded. Our
line broke and we fell back toward the gate —
while the Royalists set up a great cheering of
"Vive le Roi!" and "Vive la Reine!"

Captain Gamier, who had taken command
of the Battalion when our Commandant fell,
was the only one of us who stood firm. He
was clear grit, that man, and he showed his
grit then. He did not fall back a single step.
There in the whirling smoke, among the dead
and wounded, he stood alone. We saw him
wave his sword, and we heard him cry: "To
me, men of Marseilles !"

And then came another shout, but from our
rear. Our old gunner Peloux had not yet had
a chance to make his dogs bark, and it was his
voice that we heard. " Room for the guns! "
he shouted. "You call yourselves Marseilles
Patriots and back down before Parisian Aristo-
crats ! I'll teach you how to get rid of Anti-
Patriots. Let me get at them with these
bronze squirts of mine. Out of the way, all
of you ! Room for the guns ! "

The coolness of our Captain and our gun-
ner put us to shame. Our panic was ended
and we grew steady again. Some of us made
a clear path by dragging aside the dead and

®lje Storming of ttje King's €astlc. 305

wounded, while others tailed-on to the ropes
or tugged at the wheels of the guns. In no
time we had them both, loaded as they were
to the muzzle with grape, planted right in
front of the great entrance to the Castle.
Through the thinning smoke we could see
clustered on the steps the grenadiers in their
hairy caps; and behind them, in the vestibule,
the red-coated Swiss were crowded like a
swarm of bees. They fired on us steadily.
The black entrance was bright with the flash
of their pieces. It was like the mouth of hell.

But Peloux paid no attention at all to the
balls that went whistling around him — plough-
ing up the earth, knocking big splinters out of
the gun-carriages, making long silvery streaks
on the bronze guns. Without in the least
hurrying himself, he trained the muzzles of
both pieces straight toward the doorway, care-
fully primed them, and flourished his linstock
to bring it to a glow. In his easy-going,
devil-may-care way, when all was ready, he
mockingly took off his hat and bowed to the
Castle; and as he touched off his cannon he
cried mockingly, as though he had been
emptying slops out of a window: "Look out
below! "

Bang! went the first gun, spitting out

306 STIje Bebs of t\)e Jttibi.

grape on the Swiss and grenadiers and cutting
a swath like a scythe-stroke in a clover-field ! It
was our turn to roar then, and we yelled
'•Vive la Nation! " at the top of our lungs.

As the smoke cleared away a little we saw
our harvest of dead and wounded. The steps
were strewn with fallen men. The grenadiers
had broken and were crowding back into the
Castle upon the Swiss, while some of them
were squeezing down into the cellar-windows
or running toward the garden.

" Te ! " shouted Peloux. ' ' They don't like
the way our guns spit. Wait for the other
one! " He blew up his linstock, made another
mocking bow, and cried: "Look out behind,
gentlemen!" — and so fired the second gun
through the doorway of the Castle right into
the thick of the crowd. Soldiers of all colours,
red, green, white and blue, fell dying in
heaps.

That time it was the Aristocrats who were
panic-struck. They stopped firing at us from
the doorway, and we had only the peppering
of shots from the windows above. Our drums,
which had stopped beating when we were
driven back, broke out loudly with the old
quick-step; Captain Gamier, rushing ahead
of us, shouted " Forward ! " ; and with lowered

®l)e Storming of tljc King's Castle. 307

bayonets we charged up the steps into the
Castle — the hornet's nest, the snake's lair!

"Oh, the devil!" cried Margan, as he
plunged into the thick of it with his head
down, like a bull broken loose in the city
streets. "Now we're going to get pitch-forks
in our hides! "

And pockmarked Margan was right, so
we were! All the way up those stairs it was
nothing but sword points and bayonets. The
grenadiers and Swiss stood four men to a step,
giving us cut and thrust as we came on — and
the .others higher up poured on us a steady
fire. At each step four men had to be got rid
of by bayonet, sword or pistol.

It was slow work. But with Captain Gar-
nier and Margan to set the pace there was no
balking. Vauclair was close up with them.
We all set our bayonets and pressed for-
ward.

Peloux, who made fun of everything,
pointed to the red coats of the Swiss mixed
in with the green coats of the Grenadiers and
called out: "Hello, boys, we're going to pick
tomatoes! Forward, all who like tomatoes ! "
and as he spoke, he let fly into the crowd
above us two grenades which went off with a
tremendous noise.

308 ®|)e Eebe of tl)e fflibi.

That was the turning point of our fight on
the staircase. Through the blinding smoke
we could hear the crash of broken glass that
followed the bursting of the grenades, and then
the groans of the wounded. We surged for-
ward, yelling "Vive la Nation!," with such
a rush that the steps trembled under us. The
explosion, the shouts, the trembling of the
stones, made the Anti-Patriots believe that the
staircase was breaking down under them — and
suddenly there was a rush and a crush and a
scamper that can not be told!

Some of the poor Swiss, losing their heads,
flung themselves down upon our bayonets or
jumped over the balusters and broke their
bones on the stone pavement below. They
no longer kept a steady front against us, and
upward we went — spitting with our bayonets
and slinging behind us those of them who did
stand firm, and who cried in the very moment
they got their death-thrust "Vive le Roi!"
Vive la Reine!" As we killed them, these
men did not seem to weigh an ounce. We
stuck them through and tossed them behind
us as though we had been turning sheaves on
a threshing-floor. Margan was right, it was
pitchfork work indeed!

We got up almost to the first story; but It

®l)e Storming of the Hing's Castle. 309

seemed as if the more men we got rid of the
more sprang up before us. We were covered
with blood from our heads to our heels. Blood
was pouring down the staircase as though
hogsheads of wine had been stove-in above.
My wrists were strained and sore. My bayo-
net was bent by all the bones it had struck
against in breasts and thighs.

It was Peloux who cleared away the group
at the head of the stairway with a couple more
of his grenades. There was another tremen-
dous crash as the grenades exploded; and then
most of the Royalists left alive, and with legs
to carry them, scattered like a suddenly dis-
covered nest of rats and made off for the King's
apartment.

A few of them, seeing that fighting was
useless, surrendered; and some of these we
spared. The poor Swiss, who only were do-
ing their duty, were given their lives; and so
were the wretched National Guards— the men
of the people, as we knew by their rough
shirts and hard hands, who were fighting us
against their will. But it was another mat-
ter with the sprigs of nobility, the counts and
marquises with their lace jabots and their silk-
tied queues. For them there was no mercy.
It was a knock on the head or a span of cold

310 ®|)e Bebs of il]e ittiM.

steel in their breasts — and then out of the win-
dow to Coblentz !

Our catechism was a short one. "Ah,
you are one of the people. Good. Shout
'Vive la Nation!' Be a good Patriot. Go
your way! " Or it would be: "Ah, you wear
silk stockings and your hair is powdered.
Good. Swallow this plum! " and crack would
go a pistol-ball through his skull. 1 tell you
it was a good thing on that Tenth of August
to wear a coarse shirt and have rough hands !

For two hours and more the good work
went on. We hunted everywhere: in pas-
sages and in parlours, in big rooms and in
little rooms; in garrets and in lofts. And
everywhere we found people hidden away so
frightened that they didn't dare to call their
souls their own. We routed them out from
closets, from on top of wardrobes, from under
beds; we dragged them down from chimneys;
we caught them stowed away in the rafters
under the tiles; we chased them over the
roof.

At last, when we thought we had cleared
out the whole place, we came to a landing be-
tween two stairways where an Aristo was
standing guard before a bolted door. He was
a brave fellow, that Aristo. " Halt," he cried.

(Elie Storming of tl)e Hint's (Eastle. 311

"You can't enter here!" — and he cracked off
his pistol and the ball cut through Margan's
cap and just shaved his skull. Yet it was
Margan who saved his life for him. The rest
of us would have finished him in no time ; but
Margan stood by him and we let him go —
although the pig-head could not be made to
cry " Vive la Nation! " at any price at all!

We bounced him down stairs, and as we
burst the door open there were cries and screams
from within. In the room we found three grand
court ladies, and a younger lady as lovely as
the day, all dressed in silks and laces. The
oldest of them called to us to save from death
her niece, meaning the beautiful young lady,
and said that if any one must die it should be
herself — and as she spoke she went down on
her knees before us and bared her breast to
our swords.

Her devotion moved us and filled us with
wonder. Captain Gamier made short work of
the matter. He caught the lady's hand and
pulled her to her feet, saying: "Get up,
hussy! The nation has no need for your life"
— and then he detailed four men to escort
the women to some place where they would
be safe.

Those, certainly, were the last of the traitor

312 ®|]e Hefca of tlje ittibi.

Aristos left in the Castle. It was midday, and
the fight was at an end. There was not a
whole pane of glass left in the windows.
Everywhere the doors which we had burst in
were lying flat or hanging crazily on their
broken hinges. The furniture was tossed and
tumbled everywhere. The carpets, the walls,
the hangings, were splashed with blood. Dead
men were lying around everywhere on the
floors. In one of the front rooms I saw the
body of Count Robert still hanging across the
window-ledge, just as he fell at Surto's trai-
tor shot.

We entered the King's apartment, all hung
with white and blue. " See, that's his por-
trait up there! " said Margan — and in a moment
he had snatched it off the wall and flung it on
the floor. We joined hands and danced a faran-
dole around it, each of us as we passed spitting
on the tyrant's face, and all of us roaring out

Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son du canon !

Since our supper of the night before not
one of us had had bite or sup. Yet we went
on as though we were drunk, hugging and
kissing the brave Federals of Brest and the
Patriots from the Faubourg de Gloire and

Storming of ttye King's (Hastie. 313

dragging them into our farandole. And so,
farandoling, we all went on into the apartment
of the Queen.

There all was gold and silk, and. mirrors
covering the walls to the very ceiling, and
pictures to take your breath away, and curtains
and laces, and carpets as soft as down. And
all had a sweet delightful smell. Margan
caught hold of the bed and dragged it into the
middle of the room; and as he tumbled and
rolled on it we took up our crazy round again
and danced about him singing the worst thing
we could think of to sing:

Fai, fai, fai te lou tegne blu, panturlo!
Fai, fai, fai te lou tegne blu!

It was while I was in the midst of this
dance that 1 suddenly fell to wondering what
had become of Vauclair. Could he be wounded,
I thought, or — dead! The thought made me
shiver. I dropped from the round and ran
searching for him through the rooms — stopping
now and then to turn over a dead man, lying
face downward on the floor, to make sure that
it was not my friend. I looked out from the
windows upon the courts, the terraces, the
gardens. I saw National Guards in plenty,
crowds of Patriots, some even of our own

of tle illibi.

men. They were helping the wounded or
they were hugging each other and crying and
laughing. But I did not see Vauclair.

But from one of the windows, looking
down upon a corner of the gardens cut off
from the rest by a thick hedge of laurel, I did
see a very strange and dreadful sight. There
was" old Planchot, drawn close against the
wall, standing straight up and watching a
cellar-window as a cat watches a rat hole.
Some poor Swiss, who had taken refuge in the
cellar when they saw how all had gone wrong,
were trying to get out by the window and so
give their legs a chance to save their skins.
Poor wretches ! As soon as one of them stuck
out his head — crack! Planchot's axe split his
skull! And then Planchot's hands dragged
him out and laid him on one side. The game
evidently had been going on for some time,
for there was a ghastly heap of bodies; and in
the midst of all this carnage Planchot was fairly
chuckling with delight. It was a sight so
frightful that it made my blood run cold.

While I stood watching him, rny eyes held
fast by horror, I saw another sight that, while
not so dreadful, was still more strange. There
stepped out from behind the laurel hedge a big
man, wearing the uniform of the National

®l)e Storming of tlje King's Castle. 315

Guard, who went straight up to Planchot and
spoke to him. For a moment I felt dazed and
everything whirled around me; for the big
man — there could be no mistake about it — was
Surto; and to see Surto in that dress, and talk-
ing that way to Planchot, seemed to me to see
about the most impossible thing in the world!

But my wits did not stay long wool-gather-
ing. "Oh you miserable dog! Oh you mur-
derer!" I cried, "I've got you at last!" And
I sprang back from the window and rushed
down the stairway four steps at a time, pistol
in hand.

Half way down I plumped into a man
coming up. It was Vauclair, who was look-
ing for me as I had been looking for him.
"Hello, Pascalet ! " said he, "what's the mat-
ter ? Where are you bound in such a hurry ?
You look as wild-eyed as if you had seen a
ghost! "

I did not let him stop me. "Come along!
Come along ! " I shouted back. ' ' Surto's down
there with Planchot. I'm going to kill him
like a mad dog! "

Vauclair turned and came tearing down
after me, and followed me through rooms and
passages until we got out of doors. We ran
round the Castle, and presently I found the

316 ®be Bebs of tl)* illiM.

place that I was looking for. There was the
laurel hedge ; there were the dead Swiss lying
in a pile as Planchot had thrown them — but as
for Planchot and Surto, they had vanished like
smoke!

I was wild, crazy, my eyes were starting
out of my head, in the same breath I wept and
cursed with rage. Vauclair looked at me
queerly, and then with a kind touch laid his
hand on my arm. "Come, come, Pascalet,"
he said, "your eyes have played a trick on
you. You are weak for want of food and
your wits are not steady. The boys are wait-
ing for us. There, don't you hear the drums
beating the recall ? Come! "

I let him lead me away, but 1 knew that
my eyes had not played a trick on me and that
my wits were all right. There was the laurel
hedge ; there was the cellar-window ; up above
was the window out of which I had seen
Planchot and Surto as plainly as ever I saw
anybody in my life. As we walked away I
kept looking back over my shoulder in the
hope that Surto might show again, but the
place was bare.

The men of the Faubourg Saint-Marceau
were assembling in the Gardens, and the men
of the Faubourg de Gloire in the Place du

®l)e Storming of Ifye King's Castle. 317

Carrousel. We followed the call of our own
drums to the Cour Royale. There we found
Captain Gamier, a bloody handkerchief wrapped
round his hand, getting the Battalion into line,
and Vauclair and I fell in. Our men were
shaking hands over their good luck in coming
through the fight alive, and telling each other
what they had done in it, and sorrowing over
the wounded and dead.

At the first calling of the roll only two hun-
dred of us answered to our names; but strag-
glers came in every moment to fill some of the
vacant places in the ranks. Many of our men
had been detailed to take prisoners to the Na-
tional Assembly, and others had gone there of
their own accord to deposit valuables which
they had found. When I met Vauclair on the
stairs he had just come back from taking to
the Assembly a purse full of gold louis d'ors
which he had found on the floor of the King's
apartment. Others had taken jewels left scat-
tered on the carpets or lying on the smashed
furniture. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks
as each new man took his place in the ranks.

When some time had passed without the
return of more of our comrades, Captain Gar-
nier again called the roll — slowly, company by
company. When a name was called to which

3i 8 ®l)e ftefcs of tl)e ittibi.

there was no answer the drums rolled mourn-
fully — and that meant: " He died for Liberty! "
Two hundred out of five hundred men were
missing. As we found later, twenty of these
were dead, and one hundred and eighty
wounded.

While this sad roll-call went on the National
Guards had brought biers and were carrying
off the dead bodies scattered everywhere in
the courts and gardens and inside the Castle.
They lifted up poor Samat from the place
against the wall to which I had dragged him
in the morning, and as they brought him
toward us the Battalion presented arms. Sobs
choked us and tears blinded us. In a moment
we had broken ranks and had surrounded our
poor dead comrade, crying like children. Each
one of us in turn kissed the poor cold hand
hanging from the bier : that Patriot hand that
for two hundred leagues had carried, as though
it had been the Host, the Declaration of the
Rights of Man.

As we fell back into line and stood ready
to march I felt something warm, like a little
stream of warm water, trickling down into my
shoe; and for a moment I felt sick and faint
and a flash of lightning seemed to pass before
my eyes. I looked down to see what was

®l)e Storming of tl)e King's Castle. 319

happening to my foot and what it was that
felt warm — and, behold ! it was my own blood
dropping down in big drops like great red cur-
rants from my little finger! How queer it
was! I did not in the least remember being
wounded. I couldn't help calling out: "See!
See! The first joint of my little finger has
been shot away! "

I was so delighted to think that I really had
been wounded in the fight that I jumped up and
down with joy — just as a cat does when she
feels the weather is going to change. "I'm
wounded, I'm wounded, too! Vive la Na-
tion!" I cried — and I held up my bleeding
stump so that everybody could see I'd been
hit. Our men all burst out laughing at me,
and at my joy that the tip of one of my fingers
had been shot off.

But what was queerer than my having
been hit without knowing it was that as soon
as I did know it my finger began to throb and
smart with pain. But I did with it what I had
been used to do when I smashed my paws in
cracking almonds — I put it into my mouth and
sucked it ; and so, feeling like a hero and look-
ing like a finger-sucking baby, off I marched
with the Battalion to the barracks.

Our work was over and we were free to

22

320 ®l)e ftebs of tl)e ittibi.

rest ourselves and have a good time. Away
we marched, our men singing the holy chant
of Liberty :

Aliens enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive!

But I couldn't sing because I had my finger in
my mouth ! I could only comfort myself by see-
ing all along the Rue Saint-Honore the proof of
how the Paris people had changed their tune. In
that very street, the night before, they had fired
at us from the windows and stoned us from the
roofs; and as we marched back by daylight
the same windows and roofs were crowded
with men, women and children welcoming us
with shouts of " Vive les Marseillais! "

Oh, but it was fun to see the fat shopmen
bowing and scraping to us in their doorways
and to hear them cheering us — while they sent
painters scampering up long ladders to daub
out in a hurry the fleur-de-lys, and the Royal
arms, and all the Anti-Patriot stuff they had
stuck on their signs! Out came "Vive le
Roi!" and "Vive la Reine!" and "Devil take
the Nation! " — and in their place came " Down
with the tyrant! " and " Vive la Nation! " and
" Vive les Marseillais! "

As we came to the Arcade Saint-Jean the
crowd grew so thick in front of us that we

®l)e Storming of ttje King's Castle. 321

scarcely could make our way through it; and
then we found that it was dammed up against
the section of the National Guard of Paris com-
manded by the famous Santerre. There, in that
place so far away from the King's Castle, we
found that Santerre's precious National Guard
had spent all the night and all the morning —
ready to join the winning side as soon as they
knew which it was ! There they waited, ready
to greet us with open arms or to fall on us and
kill us for rebels, just as our luck at the Castle
should decide. And as luck had been with us
— as they knew that the Castle was in ruins
and the throne upset and the King the people's
prisoner — they stuck their hats on their bay-
onets and came toward us shouting with the
crowd : ' ' Vive les Marseillais ! "

But we weren't exactly idiots, and we said
to ourselves: ''These Parisians are a nice lot —
we opened the door, and now they want to
push in ahead of us and be greater Revolu-
tionists than we! Prudent Monsieur Santerre,
who always had a thorn in his foot when we
wanted him to go ahead with us, now wants
to get in front of the whole procession ! To-
morrow it will be Santerre who has thrown
down the tyrant and saved the country all by
himself!" And in our thoughts we added:

322 ®l)e Hebs of tl)e Xttibi.

" If only he doesn't go and spoil all we have
begun so well! "

Already the jackals were at work. Crowds
of pilfering good-for-nothings, ragged scamps,
drunken and dishevelled women, even Na-
tional Guards, were robbing the houses and
churches and palaces. And the tigers were at
work, too. We met strings of people getting
hauled along to prison tied fast like thieves —
priests, nobles, honest middle-class folk, all
half-dead with fear. The only charge against
them was that they were Anti-Patriots; or, if
not quite Anti- Patriots, that they were so far
behind the times as still to have some respect
left for their King and their Queen. We, the
Reds of the Midi — who had been cried out at
for brigands, for galley-slaves escaped from
Toulon — would have thought it quite enough
to have made them shout "Vive la Nation!"
and then go their ways. But these Parisians
who had shirked the real fighting, who had
let us all by ourselves save the country and
The Rights of Man, felt that they must draw
blood from the Aristocrats in order to wash out
their shame. By the time that we reached our
barracks, that is to say by the middle of the
afternoon, all of the Paris prisons were full of
Aristocrats or of poor wretches who were

(Jlje Storming of tlje King's Castle. 323

taken for Aristocrats. We had believed that
we were opening the gates for Liberty to enter
in and possess the land; and, behold! we had
let loose the foxes of rapine and the wolves
of revenge and the scorpions of hate! I, who
was then but a boy, saw it all only too well.

When we got to our barracks we had all
the bread and wine that we wanted, and we
just stuffed till we were packed full. And as
I still had by me two heads of garlic I made
the best meal of them all. Good-hearted Mar-
gan had tied up my finger, with a bit of ama-
dou that stopped the bleeding, and 1 was all
right after my first swallow of wine.

Vauclair and I kept looking at each other
while we were eating; and I knew that he
was thinking, just as I was, how glad Lazuli
and Adeline and Clairet would be to see us safe
and sound. Before we had fairly finished he
said to me: "Well, Pascalet, you know who
wants to see us. How do you feel about go-
ing home? "

How did I feel ? The words were barely
out of his mouth before I had given a last kiss
to my bottle, wiped my lips on my sleeve,
clacked my tongue, and stood up ready to
start!

All the way from our barracks to the Im-

324 ®t)e &efcs of tlje JttiM.

passe Guemenee we had to push our way
through a yelling, frightful crowd. The streets
were full of people half drunk or half crazy, all
flourishing swords and pikes and all screaming
and shouting. But our uniform made us sure
of a welcome everywhere as we went along.
The very people who the day before had
stabbed us with looks of hate were the first to
cry " Vive les Marseillais! "

At last we reached Planchot's door, and
Planchot's wife and Lazuli and Adeline and
Clairet were all there ready to open to our knock
and call. Vauclair and Lazuli threw themselves
into each other's arms; I caught Adeline to me
and kissed her as though she had been my sis-
ter; and little Clairet hugged away at his fath-
er's leg.

But there was no Planchot to greet Jane-
toun. When she found that he was not with
us she covered her face with her apron and burst
forth into lamentations and sobs and groans.
"They have killed my Planchot!" she cried.
" 1 ought never to have let him go. Who will
give me back my Planchot?" And down she
fell on the bench and then rolled off and lay
among the shavings on the floor. To tell the
truth, we all were so much taken up with our
own affairs that we paid no attention to her.

Storming of tlje fung'0 Castle. 325

And it did not matter; for while we still were
kissing each other the door flew open and
Planchot came in. He was frightful to behold.
He held his bloody axe in his hand, and was
so covered with blood from head to foot that
at first his wife did not know him. Not until
she had taken a long look at him did she
scream out: " It is indeed my Planchot! " But
she did not venture to touch him. " What has
happened to you ? Where are you wounded ?
Has some one killed a pig and tumbled you
into the tub of blood ? "

" I am not wounded anywhere," Planchot
answered; "but my wrist is a good deal
strained. That axe, just as you see it there,
has cracked the skulls of seventeen Aristos.
Yes, I, Planchot, I all by myself made a heap
of dead bodies that I believe would fill up this
room! And afterward, with the help of a
good Patriot who joined himself to me, I was
able to catch and to deliver over to the people
all the nobles and Anti-Patriots here in our
Quarter. It is only a moment since I gave up
the last one, a noble in the Rue des Douze
Portes, the Marquis of — of - Devil take his
name, it makes no difference what it was. Oh
there will be plenty of heads for our holy guil-
lotines!"

326 iftlje Ecbs of

"Oh Blessed Mary help!" cried Adeline;
and as she spoke she fell back pale as death.

" Hold your tongue, Planchot! " cried Vau-
clair. " Don't you see you are frightening that
child out of her wits ? "

Planchot's wife had thrown her apron over
her head again and was rocking back and forth
saying: "Oh, it can't be possible! It can't
be possible! It can't be my man who has
done such things! "

Planchot was delighted with having so ter-
rified his wife; but as he wiped his bloody
hands with shavings he said, gently: "Yes,
the poor little girl is faint. If I had known it
would hurt her I wouldn't have said a word.
Get some orange-flower water, wife. She'll
soon come to."

Janetoun and Lazuli and I, together, carried
Adeline up stairs and laid her on Lazuli's bed;
for that very morning her own had gone off
with the rest of the guillotines. When we
had left the room, as Vauclair told me after-
ward, Planchot went on: " It's really too bad
about her, poor child! But how could I know
that what I was saying would upset her so ? It's
lucky I didn't tell about the horrible big woman
who wanted to bleed the little Marquis with
her pig-sticking knife. I stopped that game,

QLtye Storming of tt)e fiing's Castle. 327

however. We must draw the line somewhere,
and I wouldn't let her do it — the dirty jade! "

"A big woman with a pig-sticking knife,"
broke in Vauclair. "What was her name,
Planchot ? Was it La Jacarasse ? "

"Why yes, La Jacarasse. That was the
name, sure enough," Planchot answered.

"Then shame to you, miserable man that
you are! " cried Vauclair. "It must have been
the Marquis d'Ambrun that you delivered up.
And as to that famous Patriot who was help-
ing you, he is the servant of the Marquis — a
murderous dog of a German who only this
morning was fighting against us at the King's
Castle — no Patriot at all. He is the lover of
the Marquise, and he has betrayed his master
to death so that he may steal safely his wealth
as well as his wife. Is it possible that you,
Planchot, honest Planchot, Planchot la Liberte
as the Companions call you — can it be that you
have lent a helping hand to that Anti-Patriot
hound ? "

Planchot frowned and shook his head in
answer to all this abuse; but all that he said in
reply to it was: " Are you sure that what you
tell me is true ?"

" I am as sure that it is true," Vauclair an-
swered, "as I am sure that I have on my hand

328 ®t)e ftebs of tl)e HUM.

four fingers and a thumb. Pascalet can prove
it to you, for this German, this fellow Surto,
twice has tried to kill him. And 1 must tell
you another thing, Planchot — it is no time for
concealments, now, and you shall know the
whole truth. Adeline, the dear good girl
who is with us, is not our child: she is the
unhappy daughter of this very Marquis d'Am-
brun. We saved her out of the clutches
of La Jacarasse. Her own mother and Surto
had given her to that beast of a woman to do
anything with — they did not care what — that
would put her out of the way. What do you
think of that, Planchot ?"

"What do I think?" cried Planchot, sput-
tering with anger as he picked up his axe.
" Why, I think I have done just what I ought
to have done. And I don't see why I shouldn't
crack your head open with my axe now that
I know how you have tricked me into having
an Aristocrat's daughter in my house! "

"And I," answered Vauclair, as he stuck
the muzzle of his pistol between Planchot's
eyes, "would blow your brains out did I not
know that you would come with me and with
Pascalet to rescue the Marquis d'Ambrun, and to
deliver up in his place Surto the murderer and
the abominable Jacarasse."

Storming of llje tiing's (totle. 329

Planchot had plumped down on the shav-
ings when he saw the pistol levelled at him,
but Vauclair kept it pointed straight at his
face. Trembling with fear he answered:
"Don't point that thing at me. I will do
whatever you please. But it's too late now to
rescue the Marquis. Paris is full of prisons —
and how can we ever find the one that he's in ?
And there's nobody in the house any longer.
The German — if he is a German — and La
Jacarasse, and another woman who said she
was the German's wife — it must have been the
Marquise, I suppose — were clearing everything
out of it while we were tying the Marquis to
take him off; and when we left they left, too.
How are we ever going to find them, either, I
should like to know ? 1 tell you the track's lost. "

"All this is worse and worse," said Vau-
clair. "You say yourself that you saw them
ransacking the house and carrying off the valu-
ables. Why, surely, that must have opened
your eyes ? Is it possible that a Patriot like
Planchot could have had a hand in such doings ?
What, Planchot, my old master Planchot, a
robber! "

That word robber was too much for Plan-
chot. His axe fell from his hand and his eyes
filled with tears. "Forgive me, Vauclair," he

33° ®b* ft*&s 0f tl)e

said; "and don't say a word about what has
happened before my wife. I am a wicked
wretch. I neither thought nor reasoned. What
can I do to set things right ? "

"You can help Adeline to find her father
again, and to get back again what you helped
Surto and La Jacarasse to steal."

"So I will," Planchot answered. "You
are entirely right in the whole matter, Vauclair.
What could I have been thinking of? I, Planchot
la Liberte ; I, who never wronged any one of so
much as a sou, am to-day no better than a
robber. To-night, to-morrow, the day after
to-morrow, as long as I have breath in my
body, I will work to clean away this black
spot from my name. I swear to you, Vau-
clair, that I will search all Paris, house by
house, to find Adeline's father alive or dead—
and to find those robbers, Surto and his harlot
marquise and La Jacarasse."

At seeing his old master so broken down
by shame and sorrow Vauclair was almost as
much moved as Planchot was himself. When
I came down stairs I found them hugging each
other with tears in their eyes.

And then we held a sort of council of war
together and settled on what we were to do
and how it best might be done.

®l)e Storming of tlje King's ffiastle. 331

From that day on the three of us had but
one hope and one aim: to find for Adeline,
who lay almost dying of grief and horror, her
father and at the same time to find and to
punish the three robbers who had stolen her
heritage.

I will not try to tell you the whole long story
of how day after day we tramped over Paris on
our search; often starting out before daylight
and hunting until night. We divided the city
among us, and each of the three hunted through
his own part street by street; asking such
questions as we dared to ask, listening for bits
of talk that might put us on the scent, looking
always for the lair of the three murderers and
for the prison in which the old Marquis was
shut up waiting for his death. We would get
back home at night tired out, more dead than
alive; and then we would have to make up a
story full of big lies to comfort poor Adeline.

Fortunately, Adeline only knew that her
father had been cast into prison. She did not
know that Surto had murdered her brother,
and she thought that her mother still lived in
the house in the Rue des Douze Fortes and
waited in sorrow for her to be found and
brought home. We let her keep on believing
this, and every night we promised her that

33 2 ®lK &efos of

the next morning we would take her to her
mother. When the morning came we would
find a reason for keeping her with us for yet
another day. As the time passed, and hope
seemed to have forgotten her, she grew thinner
and still more pale.

But in spite of the pain that it gave me to
see her sorrow, and in spite of my dread of the
day when she would have to know all and
might fall dead of grief and horror, I loved the
time that I spent with her in Planchot's little
house in the Impasse Guemenee. Each night
at supper she waited on me and cut up my
bread; but before supper, and that was most
delightful of all, she cared for my wounded
hand. Very gently she would unwrap the
bandage and put on fresh lint. — her delicate
hands touching me with a touch as soft as if
she had on silk gloves. As she bent forward
to wrap the bandage I would see the curve of
her slender neck, and her lovely hair would come
close to my lips. Then she would take a big
handkerchief and fold it into a sling, and in
order to tie the sling properly she would have
to put her arms around my neck as though she
were going to embrace me. Her sweet mouth
would be just in front of my mouth, while her
frank gentle eyes looking straight into mine

Storming of tlje King's Castle. 333

would make my eyelids fall. Sometimes her
loose curling hair would brush my cheek; and
as I felt its soft play, and still more as I felt the
sweet weight of her arms on my shoulders,
thrills of exquisite delight would run through
me — which 1 never tried to explain, but only
enjoyed.

For days this troubled and weary life, that
yet had in it for me so much happiness, went
on and on. We found nothing that could put
us on the track of the wretches we sought;
we found no trace of the poor old Marquis;
we had no news to give Adeline that would
at all quiet and comfort her. We saw that
soon we would have to tell her the whole
truth.

At last the time for truth-telling came. It
could be put off no longer — for the Marseilles
Battalion was to be paid-off and discharged.
The work that we had come to do was done,
and well done. Pay for the time we had
served in Paris had been voted to us by the
National Assembly, and when that pay was in
our pockets all would be over with the Battal-
ion and we would be free to go back again
into the South.

On the eve of the pay-day we held a whis-
pered council in Planchot's shop, and there the

334 ®tK fte&s of ttje

matter was settled. It was decided that while
Vauclair and I went to get our money the
women should tell poor Adeline everything,
and should make her understand that the
best and only safe thing for her to do was to
go back with us to Avignon and share our
bread until better times should come.

I left the house very early in the morning
that I might certainly be out of the way when
Adeline's cry of pain should break forth. Only
to think of it broke my heart.

I was at the barracks before Vauclair had
left the Impasse Guemenee; and the sun was
just gilding the eaves of the houses as I fell in
with Margan and Peloux and a half dozen other
gay Federals — all of whom, as soon as they saw
me, held up their pouches and jingled the seven
crowns they had just received.

"Hurry up, kid!" cried Margan. "Make
your grab, and then come along with us.
We're off for a good time. We mean to see
some of the sights of this big village before we
leave it for good! "

They took me to a corner of the barracks
where I found a sergeant of the Battalion, and
with him a paymaster who tinkled seven silver
crowns into each Federal's hand. I got into
the line, and presently I too was paid; and

Storming of tt)e King's Castle. 335

when I saw those seven silver quoits — which
slid about among my fingers like eels as I tried
holding them first in one hand and then in
both — I did not know what to think of myself
nor where to put my riches. But Margan,
who was in a hurry to start off for his good
time, slipped my money into my pocket for
me; and then, as he caught me under the arm,
he called out: " Forward, march! Now we'll
set sail and cut up high ! " — and off we all
went together, arm in arm and taking up the
whole width of the street.

At the first cabaret with a red cap over the
door we went in and called for brandied grapes
—which set us to cackling away like so many
hens after egg-laying as we walked along.
We hadn't the least notion where we were
going, but that made no difference at all. The
next tavern we came to, in we all went and
had two or three glasses all around of some
fiery stuff. Then we cocked our caps over our
ears and off we went again. Everywhere the
Parisians, at sight of our uniform, made way
for us. Since the Tenth of August they had
taken good care when they saw a Marseillais
coming to make room for him by standing
with their backs against the wall!

We crossed the river and went through the
23

336 ®b* fts&s of tl)£ iflibi.

Place du Carrousel, and as we passed the ty-
rant's Castle we roared out together:

Tremblez, tyrans, et vous perfides!

But for all that I was having such a good
time, every now and then the thought of Ade-
line in her trouble would come back to me and
give a sharp tug at my heart.

Presently we came to another tavern, over
the door of which was the sign: "A la galere
d' Avignon."

"This is the place we've been looking
for!" shouted Margan. "We'll go right in.
Here we can get wine from the Crau, and
black olives, and cod-fish fried in olive-oil from
Aix."

We were all sharp set by that time, and in
we crowded in a bunch.

Getting in there was like getting home.
The hostess was a jolly girl from Aramon who
had been carried off to Paris by one of the
King's salt-tax collectors. She made us wel-
come with a will, setting out good strong wine
with white bread and a pot of olives to stay
our stomachs until the fricassee should be
ready, and all the while chattering away to us
in Provencal. In a twinkling we had bolted
the wine and bread and olives and had called

©l)e Storming of tlje King's OTastlc. 337

for more, and while we were eating the second
round there came to us from the kitchen a de-
lightful tasty smell as the oil bubbled and
snapped in the pan. At last in came our host-
ess, her cheeks as red as tomatoes, carrying a
great dish of cod-fish as yellow as gold. The
pieces were at least two inches thick, and as
the knife touched them they fell apart in flakes
like flints. With a dash of vinegar it was all
that a man could desire!

Peloux, to be sure, said that perhaps it was
a little too salt. But Margan took him up
short. "Salt's all right," said he. " It's good
for cuts, and it makes a body dry."

That salt cod-fish did make us dry! We
poured down glass after glass of red wine
from the Crau, and after that of white wine
from Sainte Cecile. Then we took to strong
brandy and quince cordial; and we ended off
by drinking all the home-made cordials that
the Aramon girl had in her house.

While we were sitting there, filling our-
selves up like hogsheads, carts full of Aristo-
crats began to go rumbling by — on their way
to Versailles, somebody said, because the
prisons of Paris were jammed full. A howling
crowd of men and women and children sur-
rounded the carts, shaking their fists at the pris-

338 ®t)e Hebe of tl)e

oners and throwing mud at them. At sight
of all this we paid our bill in a hurry; and out
we went again, arm in arm, to see what was
going on.

Behind the carts came another sort of pro-
cession. At the head of it was a woman beat-
ing a drum, hitting the case much oftener than
she did the drumhead; then came another
woman, wearing a red cap and carrying a head
stuck on a pike, and then a crowd of sans-
culottes shouting the "£a ira."

We turned to go with the crowd; but
when I saw that the head on the pike was
that of a fair-haired woman, young and beauti-
ful, everything suddenly seemed to go whirling
around. I remembered my Adeline left un-
guarded — what if anything should happen to
her! Peloux and the rest had joined in the
"£a ira," and to hide my feelings I tried to
sing too. But I couldn't. I burst into tears
and scarcely could get along.

Margan was the first to see that there was
anything wrong with me. ''Dear! Dear!"
said he. "The kid's crying. His drink makes
him dismal." And then, by way of comfort-
ing me, I suppose, he and Peloux caught me
under the arms and began to jump me up and
down to the tune of the "£a ira."

Storming of tl)e King's Castle. 339

We came out on an open space on one side
of which was a high tower. Here the crowd
began to dance about, yelling; while the more
furious shook their fists at the grated windows
—for inside that tower the King and his family
were prisoners. The woman carrying the
head on the pike — it was the head of the Prin-
cesse de Lamballe, I heard the people around
me in the crowd saying — took it close up to
the tower and held it as high as she could
reach toward the window, while she screamed
out: "Come down, you wretched old black-
guard of a Capet and kiss this jade. And tell
your Austrian that her head will grin on a pike
to-morrow as this one grins to-day!" And
then the hag suddenly lowered her pike and
smeared a handful of mud over the poor pretty
dead woman's face.

But what was still worse, just then another
brute of a woman went close to the window
and held up before it the Princesse de Lam-
balle's still bleeding heart.

Even Peloux, who never was shocked at
anything, couldn't stand that. But he didn't
like to own up to what was the matter, and so
he made an excuse. " See here, Margan," he
said, " my throat's as dry as tinder. Let's go
somewhere where I can wet it."

340 ®l)e Hefcs of Uje HUM.

" All right," we answered in a breath, glad
enough to get away; and then in we trooped
to a tavern called the " Revolution " where we
kissed a good many more glasses of red wine
and white. As night came on, and we got
hungry again, we had a grand crespeu for sup-
per; and then, while we went on drinking,
Margan sang us a song of his own — that he
had composed in French, he said, on purpose
to make the Parisians stare. And they did stare,
I can tell you! Off he went with the first two
verses, telling how the Aristocrats came forth
from their villages in all their finery to save their
King and Queen :

Quand je partions de nos villages

J'etions fringants,
J'etions vetus de pied en cape

Comme galants.

Je portions des chapeaux de paille

Large et pointus
Avecque des coucardes noires

De papier blu!

How the Parisians did clap and stamp and
shout! But when Majgan came to his last
verse, in which he told how the Marseilles men
were too much for the Aristocrats, they made
him sing it over and over again!

Storming 0f tlje Eing's (JIastle. 341

Pour aparer le roi, la reine

J'etions venus,
Mais le bataioun de Marseille

Nous a battus!

As for me, my poor head was going round
and round, and the lights were dancing before
me, and I didn't know in the least what I was
doing or where I was. I took Peloux for
Vauclair, and I babbled on in a stream of talk
to him ; yet all the while feeling that the words
I was saying didn't mean what I wanted to
say. The others were in much the same fix;
and by the time that Margan had got through
with about the twentieth singing of his third
verse we all felt that we had had drink enough
— and something to spare!

Out we went into the streets once more ; but
we could not walk straight, and at one moment
we banged against the wall and the next we
stumbled along in the midway gutter. Drink
had driven all sense out of me and I can't re-
member in the least a single street that we
passed through. My comrades must have
kept a few gleams of sense about them, for
they managed to get themselves and me into a
great big house, all full of lights, that I found
out afterward was a theatre. All that I can
remember about it is that I saw a big handsome

342 (j:i)c ftebe of

woman in a lace dress — so thin that she might
have left it off without anybody's noticing
much difference — who shrieked out a song
in a way to make your ears tingle, and
who all the time she was singing twisted
about and shook herself as a dog does when
he has a bone caught in his jaws. And when
she got through everybody clapped and clapped
as if it had been the loveliest song in the
world.

When she had finished her howling, Mar-
gan shouted: "Come along, boys! Let's
show the young lady an Avignon round! " and
then in the midst of the astounded audience
standing in the pit, we danced the craziest
round to the ribald " Fai, fai, fai!"

Just as on a sunny day in summer the little
whirlwinds strike the threshing-floor, gather-
ing up for a moment a column of dust and
husks and then going as suddenly as they
came, did we whirl around before the amazed
Parisians and then vanish through the corridor
into the dark street.

But after that performance we had the grace
to be ashamed of ourselves, and we agreed
that it was time to go back to the barracks.
The trouble was, though, that we didn't in the
least know which way to go. Paris at all times

®l)e Storming of tl)e King's Castle. 343

is a puzzle for a Marseilles man, but it is most a
puzzle at night.

"Look there," said Margan, staggering a
little as he spoke. "Do you see that lantern ?
Well, I know that lantern — I saw an Aristocrat
hung up to it only two nights ago. If we go
down there past it we'll get to the river, and
then we'll be all right."

Margan's reasoning was so good that we
went the way he pointed out to us; and it did
bring us to the river, sure enough. We knew
where we were, then, and we set to singing as
we crossed the bridge and turned to walk up
stream. But all of a sudden there was no
river in sight, and we were all tangled up
again in the narrow crooked Paris streets.

"It's all right," said Peloux. "I know
where we are. That light off there is the
barracks lantern, for sure."

We headed for the lantern, and as we got
nearer to it we heard the most infernal racket
inside.

"Well, I'm glad we're back again," said
Peloux. ' ' The boys are having an oldfashioned
good time."

"Why, this isn't the barracks," said Mar-
gan.

"You're right, I believe it isn't,'' Peloux

344 ®1)£ fte&s of t\)t ittibi.

answered. " But no matter. Let's go in and
see what's going on. The doors are open and
there's nothing to pay. Come on! "

We followed him, and as we were stepping
across the threshold we met a couple of sans-
culottes dragging along a man whom they
threw into a cart waiting on the opposite side
of the street.

"Oh," said Margan, "it's a tavern; that's
what it is. Didn't you see the drunken man
those fellows were carrying out ? Pooh !
These Parisians can't hold any wine at all! "

As we talked, we went into a great vaulted
entrance-hall — filled with a shouting, yelling
crowd — at the far end of which went up a
stairway to the floor above. Excepting a few
women, with their sleeves rolled up to their
elbows like hucksters, all the people about us
were sans-culottes ; and although they were
armed in every sort of way — with swords and
pikes and iron bars and even staves — they all
were armed.

Every one was pushing toward the stair-
way ; and as we stood on tip-toe and looked
over the heads of the crowd we saw that at
the foot of the stairs was a little red table at
which sat three sans-culottes, with red caps on
their heads, looking as stern and serious as

Storming of tfye King's Castle. 345

judges. A flickering candle stuck in a bottle
stood on the table and lighted up the picture.

While we stood watching, there was a
movement up in the shadows at the head of
the stairway; and then down into the light
came an old priest. He was as pale as death,
his hands were bound, and he was between
two jailers who pushed and jostled him to
make him go faster. As soon as he stood in
front of the table at which sat the stern-look-
ing judges, a sharp voice cried out: "He has
refused the oath." And then the judges all to-
gether cried: "Death!"

On the instant, two or three iron bars
struck him down. Pikes and swords were
thrust into him. He was dead. And then
two sans-culottes dragged out his body to
throw it in the cart — the same whom we had
met dragging out the man that we thought
was drunk.

This sight so sobered me that I dropped
Margan's arm and edged my way forward
through the crowd toward the front rank that
I might see what was going on. The farther
1 pushed the tighter I was squeezed; and at
last I was caught fast among a lot of men and
women all so much taller than I was that even
on tip-toe I could not get a clear view. But

346 ®|)c Heirs of llje HUM.

by stooping I managed to see out under the
elbow of a big National Guard who had a
bloody iron bar in his hand.

I was just settled in my place when a young
and beautiful lady was dragged down the
stairs. She caught at the balusters, and when
she was forced in front of the judges she fell
on her knees and her screams and prayers for
mercy fairly broke my heart. " Poor girl! " I
thought. "Surely they won't dare to kill
her ? " But in a moment three brutes of women,
three furies, flung themselves upon her; and
whHe two of them scratched gashes in her
face the third dragged down the waist of her
dress and like a mad dog bit and tore her
tender breasts. Saving her from this torture, a
sans-culotte ran her through with his sword.

The work went on rapidly. One after
another, quickly, prisoners were dragged down
the stairs ; sentence was passed on them in a
breath ; and in another breath they were killed
and carried away to the cart.

All this while the big National Guard in
front of me had not stirred. Suddenly he
stepped forward, and in the same instant I
heard the high-pitched feeble voice of an old
man, a voice that I well knew, crying out:
<(Ah, there you are, my good and faithful fel-

®l)e Storming of ttye King's (Eostk. 347

low. Save me! Save me!" In answer to
that cry, the big National Guard raised his iron
bar and brought it down with a terrible blow
on the head of the poor little old man who was
begging for his life.

Then I recognised big Surto : at last he had
murdered his master, the Marquis d'Ambrun!
As the Marquis fell, La Jacarasse came out
from the crowd, and with her pig-killing knife
coolly began to cut off the gold buttons from
his coat. Surto stepped forward and stamped
on the face of his master with his hob-nailed
shoes.

With one bound I was in front of the mon-
ster, and as I shook my fist at him I cried:
"He is a murderer, an Anti-Patriot! Arrest
him ! " But instantly a half dozen of the men
and women, of the hundreds who were shriek-
ing and howling with delight at the bloodshed,
seized me and dragged me before the judges.
"Thou art the traitor!" they cried. "Thou
art the Aristo ! Death ! Death ! "

Happily for me, one of the judges rose from
his place and laid his hand upon my head, and
so protected me from the iron bars already
raised. When the anger of the murderous
gang was a little quieted he asked me to give
an account of myself, and to tell why 1 wanted

348 $l)e E*&0 of

to revenge the death of a Marquis who had
come from the other end of the country to help
the King.

I began to answer, speaking in as good
French as I could muster: "I am a Federal
Patriot belonging to the Marseilles Battalion."

"Death! Death!" shrieked the women,
breaking in on me; while a sans-culotte who
had drawn a paper from my pocket and
glanced at it cried out: "Look here! Read
this bit of paper — it is his death-warrant! "

It was Monsieur Randoulet's letter recom-
mending me to Canon Jusserand. The judge
took the paper, and for a moment there was
silence. Up on the stairs above us a line of
prisoners was waiting until my affair should
be settled to be brought downward to death.

The sans-culotte judge frowned as he read
the paper, and I was sure that I was lost.
Truly enough, the recommendation of one
priest to another priest was a death-warrant in
those days. I looked around and called to
Margan and Peloux to come forward and prove
the truth of what I had said ; but the two, hav-
ing lost sight of me, must have staggered out
into the street thinking that they would find
me there.

"Death! Death!" shrieked the sans-cu-

Storming of tl)e King's €a01le. 349

lottes, crowding around me and raising their
iron bars to beat out my brains as soon as the
judge took his hand off my head.

But just then a voice from a strange quarter
was raised in my defense. "Wait! I will tell
you the truth in this matter. I swear to speak
the truth — I who so soon shall appear before
my God! "

It was one of the prisoners on the stairs
who was speaking. As the judges turned to-
ward him he went on: " That unhappy boy
most certainly is a Federal Patriot, a member
of the Marseilles Battalion. I know it only too
well. That very boy gave the information to
the gendarmes of the Nation which led to my
arrest on the bridge of Saint-Jean d' Ardieres.
In proof of what I say, tell him to show you the
medal of Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours that I
gave him then."

Then I knew who it was that was speak-
ing for me : it was the old shepherd, the Bishop
of Mende.

I put my hand into my pocket and pulled
out the medal and gave it to the judges. They
looked at it for a moment, and then said to-
gether: "What the boy has said is the truth.
He is a Patriot, a Marseillais. "

"Then let him be off and join his Battal-

35° ®l)e Hebs of U)e HUM.

ion," cried a red-coiffed woman; and, seizing
me by the shoulder, she thrust me into the
crowd toward the door.

I wanted to thank the Bishop of Mende who
had saved me from death ; but that could not
be. As I turned around 1 saw him kneeling —
then the iron bars fell and he dropped in a heap !

1 looked for Surto and La Jacarasse, deter-
mined to revenge myself on the two monsters ;
but they had slipped away during the stir
caused by my affair, and no doubt had gone
to join the worthless Adelaide — the traitress
Marquise.

There was nothing left for me but to come
away too. 1 worked along through the crowd
and got out at last to the street; and glad I
was to be in the quiet of the dark streets, and
alone. The sight of Adeline's father had stirred
me deeply. I seemed still to hear ringing in
my ears the sound of his weak, piping, old-
man's voice; the very same voice that had
called out to the swine-herd who had given
me such a whack when 1 picked up the cab-
bage-stalk: "Well done! Well done! What
is thai little rascal doing there ? Does he want
to take the food out of the mouths of my
pigs?" And now I had seen that old man
murdered by his own servant in cold blood !

®i)c Storming of ti)e King's (Hustle. 35 J

By that time I was no longer a staggering
drunkard. I was entirely sober. A great
fright had come to me. Death had been close
to my shoulder — so close that 1 had felt her
cold breath upon my neck. The fumes of
wine had been driven out of my brain. And
suddenly, there in the darkness and silence, all
that had happened to me during that day, and
most vividly what had happened during these
last moments of it, flashed before my eyes.
As I saw it all there came over me a fear, an
anguish, a shame, no words can tell. How
could I ever confess to Lazuli, to Vauclair, to
Adeline, how I had passed that day? They
could call me anything bad, and it would be
true. 1 could make no denial. Very likely
they would have nothing more to do with me
—would turn me out of doors.

Then I thought of my money, and began
to hunt in my pockets for it — every sou of
it was gone! I must have spent it in my
stuffing and guzzling. Yet that money did
not belong to me to spend. It really be-
longed to Vauclair. I owed it to him. Just
out of pure goodness and kindness of heart, he
had sheltered me and cared for me for six
long months. It was his money that had gone
in my gluttony and drunkenness.
24

352 ®b* Hel>s 0f

What a sin I had committed ! Truly I did
deserve to be looked down upon by Vauclair
—drunkard that I was! Lazuli would be in
tears. Poor Adeline, in all her bitter trouble,
would have more trouble and of my making.
She would be ashamed to touch me, to speak
to me. Never could I dare to see them in such
pain and sorrow because of my wickedness;
never could I dare to face them again after
what I had do'ne. Better would it have been
had the Bishop of Mende held his tongue; bet-
ter had the sans-culottes dashed out my brains.
That would have ended all!

In an unending bat-like whirl these dark
thoughts flew round and round in my soul.
On I tramped, recklessly, aimlessly. I turned
one street corner after another without know-
ing where I was going. I tried to hold the
tears back, but they kept rolling down my
cheeks. Never had I suffered so bitterly since
that night when I came back to the hut of La
Garde and found myself without father or
mother, alone. The same despair seized me
that had seized me then, and the same dark
thought came to me — the river! The river
would not be frozen like the pond at La Garde
— and oh, the good bed that it would make
for me! Where was that good kind river?

Storming of tfye Hing10 Caetlc. 353

AH that I wanted was to find it and throw
myself into it — and so be forgotten of all the
world.

As I looked around me I saw that the gutter
was running red with blood — the blood of the
unhappy wretches they were killing in the big
building out of which I had just come — and I
knew that this red stream must flow down to
the river. I only had to follow it and it would
lead me to the great river for which I so longed.

I stepped out quickly, but carefully kept
sight of the little red stream that rippled on
leading me to my deliverance. And presently,
turning a corner, I dimly saw the river before
me — overlaid by the friendly morning mist
that veiled from me my dismal grave. And
then, as before at the pond of La Garde, I drew
back for a spring.

At that very moment I heard the rattle of
drums. I hesitated. I stopped. Off on the
other side of the river, in front of what had been
the King's Castle, drums were beating the as-
sembly — just as they did on the morning when
we made the attack. What could that drum-
call mean, I wondered. Could it be for the
departure of the Marseilles Battalion ? Could
it mean that the tyrant had come back ? But,
whatever it meant, it put fresh life into me.

354 ®t)e Eeb0 of tlje HUM.

Instead of jumping into the river I hurried
across it to the drums.

When I came in front of the Castle I found
a platform set up on which were three Patriots.
One of them was waving the flag of the Na-
tion, blue, white and red; another held up a
placard on which was written: "The Country
is in -Danger! "; the third had before him on a
table a book in which he was writing down
the names of volunteers for the army of the
Revolution.

Men of all ages were pressing forward to be
enlisted : old fellows with grizzled moustaches,
youths, boys like myself. They all were of
the poorer class, and as they gave their names
to be written down they gave everything that
they had to give — their blood and their life.
Each man, as he passed in front of the altar of
his Country and placed his name on the roll
of his Country's army, shouted "Vive la Na-
tion ! " — and so went on to take his place under
the command of a sergeant who ranged the
volunteers in line. As each fresh company
was formed its men were given guns and pow-
der and ball: that was the whole of their ac-
coutrement. Then came the order: "For-
ward, march ! " — and then and there they
started on a forced march to the frontier.

®l)c Storming of tlje Eittg's Castle. 355

My heart thrilled. The Country in danger ?
What! We had pulled down the King and
smashed his throne to bits and now outsiders
were coming to set up King and throne again
and to ravage our land! That should never
be! On the instant my mind was made up.
I marched to the platform and gave in my
name as a volunteer, and shouted " Vivo la Na-
cioun ! " as I turned to take my place in the
ranks.

"Stop, citizen," said the Patriot who was
writing down the names. " Here is your pay
for a month," and he handed me three crowns.
And then, looking hard at me, he went on:
" Surely I know your face. Haven't you been
living lately with my good neighbour Plan-
chot ? "

" Yes," I answered.

Hearing Planchot's name startled and moved
me. Right away I seemed to see Adeline
and Vauclair and Lazuli, and fear and shame
and sorrow came back into my heart and the
tears came close to my eyes. But I held my-
self together and forced back the sob that was
mounting in my throat — for it never should be
said that a Marseilles volunteer had wept before
a Parisian moustache!

And so, having steadied myself, I said to

356 ®l)e flc&s of

the Patriot: "As you are our neighbour, I
want you to say good-bye for me to my peo-
ple at home and to give them these three
crowns. Please say to them : ' Pascalet sends
you these three crowns in remembrance of
your great kindness to him. He is now a
volunteer in the Army of the Revolution. The
country is in danger and he has started for the
frontier. ' '

As I spoke, I placed my three crowns in
the Patriot's hand — and with them I seemed to
lay down also my load of sorrow and of bitter
shame.

The bright sunshine was gilding the eaves
of the King's Castle about which pretty blue
pigeons were flying blithely. Our drums rat-
tled the quick-step. My company moved —
and I was started on my march for the Frontier
of the North !

Old Pascal was silent for some moments,
and we all were silent with him. Even the
chattering Materoun, for once in his life, was
too deeply interested to wag his tongue. Then
Pascal, sighing a little, went on.

With my regiment, I was back in Paris a
year later to the very day — the sixteenth of

®l)c Storming of llje fling's Castle. 357

Fructidor in the year II. We had fought at
Valmy, and on the borders of the Rhine even
into Holland, driving the last Prussian out of
the territory of the Republic. Then our regi-
ment was ordered to the South ; and we were
halting in Paris to enlist more men before join-
ing the Army of Italy.

That sixteenth of Fructidor I was stationed
on guard at the guillotine that was chopping
off heads on the Place de la Revolution — stand-
ing with shouldered arms on the scaffold, close
to the National Knife. I was half sick with
the horrible doings going on there, and with
my back to the guillotine I stood looking out
over the eager shouting crowd.

From where they turned a far corner, I
could see the tumbrils full of condemned Aristo-
crats as they slowly made their way through
the crowd to the scaffold steps. Some of the
Aristocrats were very brave, looking as cool
and quiet as if they were going to a festival ;
but others, poor things! seemed more dead
than alive — so pale, so broken, that to see
them fairly drew my heart out of my body.
But it made no difference how they looked or
how they behaved. Up the steps they came —
and the big knife, without resting, cut off head
after head. At each fall of the knife the whole

358 ®t)* Ms ot tlje ittibi.

scaffold shook, and a cold shiver ran through
me — while I longed and longed to be quit of
my horrible task.

At the end of what seemed to me a very
long time I saw the last cart coming, and with
only three people in it: two women and a
man. It was nearly over, I thought. 1 would
have to hear the fall of the knife and feel the
jar of the scaffold only thrice more. Full of
pity, I watched the on-coming cart.

As it rounded the end of the scaffold, pass-
ing right beneath me, I saw that the man
crouching in one corner suddenly started and
then leaned still more forward as though to
hide his face; as if he had recognised me, and
did not want me to recognise him. I looked
hard at him, and as I looked my heart gave a
bound — it was Surto! In another moment I
saw that the two crouching women were the
Marquise Adelaide and La Jacarasse!

Oh, that time the guillotine was doing good
work! That time I did not turn my back as
the knife fell! With burning eyes I looked at
them as they were pushed out of the cart and
up the scaffold steps. I stared hard. I wanted
to make sure of them. But I had not made a
mistake: their time had come!

Surto, coward that he was, drew back so

Storming of t^e Hing'a Castle. 359

that the women might go first. The Marquise
trembled and groaned and muttered her prayers.
La Jacarasse squealed like a sow that already
feels the knife stuck in her throat. The execu-
tioner was used to all that. He had no time
to waste. He caught hold of Surto and pushed
him down in front of the red block. I tried to
speak. I wanted to curse them for all their
crimes. But the words stuck in my dry throat,
and all that I could do was to point to the
sharp knife shining above them. The Marquise,
looking upward, fell on her knees with a bitter
cry; and even I started back, troubled and
amazed. It was not the sight of the knife that
so thrilled us; but the sight, above the knife
on the cross-piece of the guillotine, of a name
that cried vengeance:

ADELINE.

Three times the great knife fell. Three times
the heavy stroke shook the scaffold. Three
times there fell into the basket a head with eye-
lids that still fluttered and with jaws, still work-
ing, that bit the bloody saw-dust.

"Well done! Oh, well done!" cried La
Mie, jumping up and clapping her hands.
" How I wish I had been there to see them get

360 ®|)e Heb0 of lt)e JttiM.

their deserts! To think of that awful Marquise
— who had her son and her husband murdered
and who turned over her daughter to La Jaca-
rasse ! It seems impossible ! "

''And that Surto," put in Lou Materoun.
"What a Dutch devil he was! But, to tell the
truth, 1 don't believe that he was the only one
who killed his master in those days. We all
know of others who got their hands on what
belonged to the Aristos who emigrated or were
guillotined — and they are the very ones who
now-a-days wear green ribbons with a fleur-de-
lys in their buttonholes, and are forever taking
off their hats to every nobleman who goes by."

" Those times had to be," said my grand-
father, as he drew the cork out of his bottle of
malmsey.

"Yes, France was like a tree that needed
pruning," added Lou Materoun.

And so each one had his say, while La Mie
took the chestnuts off the stove and handed
them around.

While I had been sitting still in my corner
the cat had gone to sleep on my lap and 1 did
not dare to move for fear of waking her. But
my tongue was burning to ask a question; and
after they all were quiet, with their mouths full
of chestnuts, I ventured to speak.

Storming of tlje King's (Castle. 361

"If you please, Pascal?" I said.

"Well, little man, what is it?" he an-
swered.

"If you please, Pascal, did you never see
dear little Adeline again ?"

" Never, child."

He was quiet for so long that I feared that
was the end of it. But at last he spoke. " As
I told you, I went off to the army of Italy with
General Bonaparte — who afterwards became
the great Emperor Napoleon. I went through
all the wars with him. I followed him through
hundreds and hundreds of battles, which were
hundreds and hundreds of victories. Under him
we conquered Italy, Egypt, Austria, Prussia, Ger-
many, Spain, Russia. We only stopped when
there was no more earth to conquer. I ate
wheat-bread in Rome and rye-bread in Berlin.
I made my bivouac in Vienna and lighted my
camp-fire beside the palace walls. I sharpened
my sword on the stones at Jaffa. I picked figs
in the gardens of Saragoza. 1 ate Russian
horse-ribs roasted in the fire of Moscow. I fol-
lowed the great Napoleon through everything,
and I was with him at the last at the battle of
Mont- Saint-Jean. It was then, finding himself
betrayed, that he vanished. But he will come
again ! He surely will come again !

362 ®|)e ftebs of tl)e JttiM.

"And as to Adeline, not a day of my life
has passed without my thinking of her —
though only once I heard of her in the course
of all my wars.

"It was in Egypt, on the third of Thermi-
dor, in the year VI. We had just finished kill-
ing all those thousands of Mamelukes. The
sand was covered with their bodies as far as a
man's eyes could see. I was tired out after so
much fighting; and while I was resting my-
self, sitting in the shade of the first step of the
highest Pyramid in Egypt, a drummer of our
army came up to me. ' If I'm not wrong
about it, comrade,' said he, 'you're Pascalet,
the son of La Ratine ? '

" 'Oh, yes, that's me, my good Celegre,' I
answered. 'And I'd know you anywhere by
the way you speak. How do you happen to
be here ? And when did you leave Malemort ?
Tell me what my people are doing there.'

"So Celegre sat down beside me there on
the Pyramid and gave me all the news from
home. My mother had given me a brother
named Lange, he said; and two years later
my father, poor fellow! had died. But I had
no need to worry about my mother, Celegre
went on, because the daughter of the old Mar-
quis d'Ambrun, Mademoiselle Adeline — who

®l)c Storming of tlje King's (Eastlc. 363

since had died a nun in the Ursuline Convent
at Avignon — had made her a present of the
hut at La Garde with a bit of land around it,
and of a larger bit of land at Pati, and of a snug
little house in the village in the Rue Basse; and
with all that property my mother and my little
brother lived very comfortably indeed. ' And
there's somebody to look after her, too,' Ce-
legre went on ; ' a man in Avignon, a joiner,
named Vauclair. It was he who brought out
to her the deeds, written by the notary's hand,
that made her sure of Mademoiselle Adeline's
gifts; and he is as kind to her as if he were
her own son. He told me that you and he
marched up to Paris together in the Marseilles
Battalion, and he thinks the world of you to
this day.

" 'What a good fellow he is, that Vauclair!
And his wife Lazuli and his boy Clairet are
made of just the same good dough! I went to
see them as 1 passed through Avignon; and
after I'd said I was from Malemort, and was a
neighbour of your mother's, and knew you,
they couldn't do too much for me and every-
thing in their house was mine. They made
me take breakfast and dinner and supper with
them ; and all the time they talked about Pas-
calet, their own dear little Pascalet; and they

364 ®l)e &ebs of tl)c 4JUM.

cried like children — just as you are doing
now.'

"And it is true," Pascal said, as he rose to
get his glass of malmsey, "that the tears had
come as I listened to all that Celegre had told
me — but the sands of the desert can drink
many tears."

I think that we all understood how deep
was Pascal's feeling as he said these words.
No one spoke for a minute or more; and then,
of course, the speaker was Lou Materoun.

"There's just one thing, Pascal," said Lou
Materoun, "that I must ask you to clear up
for me. Just now, when you were speaking
about the great Napoleon, you said ' He surely
will come again.' If he's still alive, I'd like to
know what our picture at home means — the
one on which is written : ' The return of Napo-
leon's ashes ' ? I always thought that that pic-
ture showed how they brought him back from
Saint Helena and buried him in the Invalides,
up at Paris."

"Hold your tongue, chuckleheaded don-
key!" answered Pascal, angrily. "Don't you
know that the Bourbons got up that funeral to
make people think he was dead ? But he is
not dead. I who speak to you will swear —
and I am ready to put my hand into the fire if

®l)e Storming of tlje Hing's Castle. 365

I swear falsely — that within these three years
past I have seen him and spoken with him.
It is a matter about which there can be no mis-
take. It happened in broad daylight in my
field at Pati — that lies near, you know, to the
place they call Caesar's Camp.

" I had been spading that field to get rid of
the couch-grass, and while I was standing rest-
ing I saw a strange man coming toward me with
a rake on his shoulder. He walked straight
into my field, and when he was within ten
paces of me he stopped and said: 'Good and
brave soldier of the Empire, show me the way
to Caesar's Camp.'

"And as he stood there, plain before me
in the sunlight, I knew him — it was the Em-
peror!

"I was so upset, so dazed, that I did not
know which end I was standing on. And all
I could say, as I pointed out the way to him,
was : ' There — straight ahead. '

"The Emperor turned and left me, crossing
from corner to corner of my field. And since
that day " — Pascal spoke these words very
solemnly — "I have never given a single hoe-
stroke or spade-stroke where his footsteps
passed! You may go up there, if you like,
and you will find in my field a grassy cross-

366 ®|)e Eebs of tlje

wise path. That path marks the footsteps of
the great Napoleon. I tell you, he is still
alive! "

Old Pascal drained his glass of malmsey;
and then, the meeting being over, each man
kindled his lantern and La Mie blew out the
light.

THE END.

J* '•"••'» II///II/I

514 704