The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas père (best ebook pdf reader android txt) 📕

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"Then go alone--tell him what we want, and let him make a search. I will visit the environs of the town to base my work on the localities. We will meet at four o'clock at the Place du Bastion, if you are agreed."

"Perfectly."

"It seems to me that I saw a forest, coming here."

"The forest of Seillon."

"Bravo!"

"Do you need a forest?"

"It is absolutely indispensable to me."

"Then permit me--"

"What?"

"I am going to take you to a friend of mine, M. Leduc, a poet who in his spare moments is an inspector."

"Inspector of what?"

"Of the forest."

"Are there any ruins in the forest?"

"The Chartreuse, which is not in the forest, but merely some hundred feet from it."

"And in the forest?"

"There is a sort of hermitage which is called La Correrie, belonging to the Chartreuse, with which it communicates by a subterranean passage."

"Good! Now, if you can provide me with a grotto you will overwhelm me."

"We have the grotto of Ceyzeriat, but that is on the other side of the Reissouse."

"I don't mind. If the grotto won't come to me, I will do like Mahomet--I will go to the grotto. In the meantime let us go to M. Leduc."

Five minutes later we reached M. Leduc's house. He, on learning what we wanted, placed himself, his horse, and his carriage at my disposal. I accepted all. There are some men who offer their services in such a way that they place you at once at your ease.

We first visited the Chartreuse. Had I built it myself it could not have suited me better. A deserted cloister, devastated garden, inhabitants almost savages. Chance, I thank thee!

From there we went to the Correrie; it was the supplement of the Chartreuse. I did not yet know what I could do with it; but evidently it might be useful to me.

"Now, sir," I said to my obliging guide, "I need a pretty site, rather gloomy, surrounded by tall trees, beside a river. Have you anything like that in the neighborhood?"

"What do you want to do with it?"

"To build a chateau there."

"What kind of a chateau?"

"Zounds! of cards! I have a family to house, a model mother, a melancholy young girl, a mischievous brother, and a poaching gardener."

"There is a place called Noires-Fontaines."

"In the first place the name is charming."

"But there is no chateau there."

"So much the better, for I should have been obliged to demolish it."

"Let us go to Noires-Fontaines."

We started; a quarter of an hour later we descended at the ranger's lodge.

"Shall we take this little path?" said M. Leduc; "it will take us where you want to go."

It led us, in fact, to a spot planted with tall trees which overshadowed three or four rivulets.

"We call this place Noires-Fontaines," M. Leduc explained.

"And here Madame de Montrevel, Amelie and little Edouard will dwell. Now what are those villages which I see in front of me?"

"Here, close at hand, is Montagnac; yonder, on the mountain side, Ceyzeriat."

"Is that where the grotto is?"

"Yes. But how did you know there was a grotto at Ceyzeriat?"

"Never mind, go on. The name of those other villages, if you please."

"Saint-Just, Treconnas, Ramasse, Villereversure."

"That will do."

"Have you enough?"

"Yes."

I drew out my note-book, sketched a plan of the locality and wrote about in their relative positions the names of the villages which M. Leduc had just pointed out to me.

"That's done!" said I.

"Where shall we go now?"

"Isn't the church of Brou near this road?"

"Yes."

"Then let us go to the church of Brou."

"Do you need that in your novel?"

"Yes, indeed; you don't imagine I am going to lay my scene in a country which contains the architectural masterpiece of the sixteenth century without utilizing that masterpiece, do you?"

"Let us go to the church of Brou."

A quarter of an hour later the sacristan showed us into this granite jewel-case which contains the three marble gems called the tombs of Marguerite of Austria, Marguerite or Bourbon, and of Philibert le Beau."

"How is it," I asked the sacristan, "that all these masterpieces were not reduced to powder during the Revolution?"

"Ah! sir, the municipality had an idea."

"What was it?"

"That of turning the church into a storage house for fodder."

"Yes, and the hay saved the marble; you are right, my friend, that _was_ an idea."

"Does this idea of the municipality afford you another?" asked M. Leduc.

"Faith, yes, and I shall have poor luck if I don't make something out of it."

I looked at my watch. "Three o'clock! Now for the prison. I have an appointment with M. Milliet at four on the Place du Bastion."

"Wait; there is one thing more."

"What is that?"

"Have you noticed Marguerite of Austria's motto?"

"No; where is it?"

"Oh, all over. In the first place, look above her tomb."

"'Fortune, infortune, fort'une.'"

"Exactly."

"Well, what does this play of words mean?"

"Learned men translate it thus: 'Fate persecutes a woman much.'"

"Explain that a little."

"You must, in the first place, assume that it is derived from the Latin."

"True, that is probable."

"Well, then: 'Fortuna infortunat--'"

"Oh! Oh! 'Infortunat.'"

"Bless me!"

"That strongly resembles a solecism!"

"What do you want?"

"An explanation."

"Explain it yourself."

"Well; 'Fortuna, infortuna, forti una.' 'Fortune and misfortune are alike to the strong.'"

"Do you know, that may possibly be the correct translation?"

"Zounds! See what it is not to be learned, my dear sir; we are endowed with common-sense, and that sees clearer than science. Have you anything else to tell me?"

"No."

"Then let us go to the prison."

We got into the carriage and returned to the city, stopping only at the gate of the prison. I glanced out of the window.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, "they have spoiled it for me."

"What! They've spoiled it for you?"

"Certainly, it was not like this in my prisoners' time. Can I speak to the jailer?"

"Certainly."

"Then let us consult him."

We knocked at the door. A man about forty opened it. He recognized M. Leduc.

"My dear fellow," M. Leduc said to him, "this is one of my learned friends--"

"Come, come," I exclaimed, interrupting him, "no nonsense."

"Who contends," continued M. Leduc, "that the prison is no longer the same as it was in the last century?"

"That is true, M. Leduc, it was torn down and rebuilt in 1816."

"Then the interior arrangements are no longer the same?"

"Oh! no, sir, everything was changed."

"Could I see the old plan?"

"M. Martin, the architect, might perhaps be able to find one for you."

"Is he any relation to M. Martin, the lawyer?"

"His brother."

"Very well, my friend, then I can get my plan."

"Then we have nothing more to do here?" inquired M. Leduc.

"Nothing."

"Then I am free to go home?"

"I shall be sorry to leave you, that is all."

"Can you find your way to the Bastion without me?"

"It is close by."

"What are you going to do this evening?"

"I will spend it with you, if you wish."

"Very good! You will find a cup of tea waiting for you at nine."

"I shall be on hand for it."

I thanked M. Leduc. We shook hands and parted.

I went down the Rue des Lisses (meaning Lists, from a combat which took place in the square to which it leads), and skirting the Montburon Garden, I reached the Place du Bastion. This is a semicircle now used as the town marketplace. In the midst stands the statue of Bichat by David d'Angers. Bichat, in a frockcoat--why that exaggeration of realism?--stands with his hand upon the heart of a child about nine or ten years old, perfectly nude--why that excess of ideality? Extended at Bichat's feet lies a dead body. It is Bichat's book "Of Life and of Death" translated into bronze. I was studying this statue, which epitomizes the defects and merits of David d'Angers, when I felt some one touch my shoulder. I turned around; it was M. Milliet. He held a paper in his hand.

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, victory!"

"What is that you have there?"

"The minutes of the trial and execution."

"Of whom?"

"Of your men."

"Of Guyon, Lepretre, Amiet--!"

"And Hyvert."

"Give it to me."

"Here it is."

I took it and read:


REPORT OF THE DEATH AND EXECUTION OF LAURENT GUYON, ETIENNE
HYVERT, FRANCOIS AMIET, ANTOINE LEPRETRE. Condemned the twentieth
Thermidor of the year VIII., and executed the twenty-third
Vendemiaire of the year IX.

To-day, the twenty-third Vendemiaire of the year IX., the
government commissioner of the tribunal, who received at eleven
of the evening the budget of the Minister of Justice, containing
the minutes of the trial and the judgment which condemns to
death Laurent Guyon, Etienne Hyvert, Francois Amiet and Antoine
Lepretre;--the decision of the Court of Appeals of the sixth
inst., rejecting the appeal against the sentence of the
twenty-first Thermidor of the year VIII., I did notify by letter,
between seven and eight of the morning, the four accused that
their sentence of death would take effect to-day at eleven o'clock.
In the interval which elapsed before eleven o'clock, the four
accused shot themselves with pistols and stabbed themselves with
blows from a poinard in prison. Lepretre and Guyon, according
to public rumor, were dead; Hyvert fatally wounded and dying;
Amiet fatally wounded, but still conscious. All four, in this
state, were conveyed to the scaffold, and, living or dead, were
guillotined. At half after eleven, the sheriff, Colin, handed in
the report of their execution to the Municipality for registration
upon the death roll:

The captain of gendarmerie remitted to the Justice of the Peace
a report of what had occurred in the prison, of which he was a
witness. I, who was not present, do certify to what I have learned
by hearsay only.

(Signed) DUBOST, _Clerk_.

Bourg, 23d Vendemiaire of the year IX.


Ah! so it was the poet who was right and not the historian! The captain of gendarmerie, who remitted the report of the proceedings in the prison to the Justice of the Peace, at which he was present, was Nodier's uncle. This report handed to the Justice of the Peace was the story which, graven upon the young man's mind, saw the light some forty years later unaltered, in that masterpiece entitled "Souvenirs de la Revolution." The entire series of papers was