Read The Companions of Jehu Page 1




  Produced by Robert J. Hall

  THE COMPANIONS OF JEHU

  By Alexandre Dumas, pere

  CONTENTS

  An Introductory Word to the Reader. Prologue--The City of Avignon. I. A Table d'Hote. II. An Italian Proverb. III. The Englishman. IV. The Duel. V. Roland. VI. Morgan. VII. The Chartreuse of Seillon. VIII. How the Money of the Directory was Used. IX. Romeo and Juliet X. The Family of Roland. XI. Chateau des Noires-Fontaines. XII. Provincial Pleasures. XIII. The Wild-Boar. XIV. An Unpleasant Commission. XV. The Strong-Minded Man. XVI. The Ghost. XVII. Investigations. XVIII. The Trial. XIX. The Little House in the Rue de la Victoire. XX. The Guests of General Bonaparte. XXI. The Schedule of the Directory. XXII. The Outline of a Decree. XXIII. Alea Jacta Est. XXIV. The Eighteenth Brumaire. XXV. An Important Communication. XXVI. The Ball of the Victims. XXVII. The Bear's Skin. XXVIII. Family Matters. XXIX. The Geneva Diligence. XXX. Citizen Fouche's Report. XXXI. The Son of the Miller of Guerno. XXXII. White and Blue. XXXIII. The Law of Retaliation. XXXIV. The Diplomacy of Georges Cadoudal. XXXV. A Proposal of Marriage. XXXVI. Sculpture and Painting. XXXVII. The Ambassador. XXXVIII. The Two Signals. XXXIX. The Grotto of Ceyzeriat. XL. A False Scent. XLI. The Hotel de la Poste. XLII. The Chambery Mail-Coach. XLIII. Lord Grenville's Reply. XLIV. Change of Residence. XLV. The Follower of Trails. XLVI. An Inspiration. XLVII. A Reconnoissance. XLVIII. In which Morgan's Presentiments are Verified. XLIX. Roland's Revenge. L. Cadoudal at the Tuileries. LI. The Army of the Reserves. LII. The Trial. LIII. In which Amelie Keeps Her Word. LIV. The Confession. LV. Invulnerable. LVI. Conclusion.

  AN INTRODUCTORY WORD TO THE READER

  Just about a year ago my old friend, Jules Simon, author of "Devoir,"came to me with a request that I write a novel for the "Journal pourTous." I gave him the outline of a novel which I had in mind. Thesubject pleased him, and the contract was signed on the spot.

  The action occurred between 1791 and 1793, and the first chapter openedat Varennes the evening of the king's arrest.

  Only, impatient as was the "Journal pour Tous," I demanded a fortnightof Jules Simon before beginning my novel. I wished to go to Varennes; Iwas not acquainted with the locality, and I confess there is one thing Icannot do; I am unable to write a novel or a drama about localities withwhich I am not familiar.

  In order to write "Christine" I went to Fontainebleau; in writing "HenriIII." I went to Blois; for "Les Trois Mousquetaires" I went to Boulogneand Bethune; for "Monte-Cristo" I returned to the Catalans and theChateau d'If; for "Isaac Laquedem" I revisited Rome; and I certainlyspent more time studying Jerusalem and Corinth from a distance than if Ihad gone there.

  This gives such a character of veracity to all that I write, that thepersonages whom I create become eventually such integral parts of theplaces in which I planted them that, as a consequence, many end bybelieving in their actual existence. There are even some people whoclaim to have known them.

  In this connection, dear readers, I am going to tell you somethingin confidence--only do not repeat it. I do not wish to injure honestfathers of families who live by this little industry, but if you go toMarseilles you will be shown there the house of Morel on the Cours, thehouse of Mercedes at the Catalans, and the dungeons of Dantes and Fariaat the Chateau d'If.

  When I staged "Monte-Cristo" at the Theatre-Historique, I wrote toMarseilles for a plan of the Chateau d'If, which was sent to me. Thisdrawing was for the use of the scene painter. The artist to whom I hadrecourse forwarded me the desired plan. He even did better than I wouldhave dared ask of him; he wrote beneath it: "View of the Chateau d'If,from the side where Dantes was thrown into the sea."

  I have learned since that a worthy man, a guide attached to the Chateaud'If, sells pens made of fish-bone by the Abbe Faria himself.

  There is but one unfortunate circumstance concerning this; the fact is,Dantes and the Abbe Faria have never existed save in my imagination;consequently, Dantes could not have been precipitated from the top tothe bottom of the Chateau d'If, nor could the Abbe Faria have made pens.But that is what comes from visiting these localities in person.

  Therefore, I wished to visit Varennes before commencing my novel,because the first chapter was to open in that city. Besides,historically, Varennes worried me considerably; the more I perused thehistorical accounts of Varennes, the less I was able to understand,topographically, the king's arrest.

  I therefore proposed to my young friend, Paul Bocage, that he accompanyme to Varennes. I was sure in advance that he would accept. To merelypropose such a trip to his picturesque and charming mind was to make himbound from his chair to the tram. We took the railroad to Chalons.There we bargained with a livery-stable keeper, who agreed, for aconsideration of ten francs a day, to furnish us with a horse andcarriage. We were seven days on the trip, three days to go from Chalonsto Varennes, one day to make the requisite local researches in the city,and three days to return from Varennes to Chalons.

  I recognized with a degree of satisfaction which you will easilycomprehend, that not a single historian had been historical, and withstill greater satisfaction that M. Thiers had been the least accurate ofall these historians. I had already suspected this, but was not certain.The only one who had been accurate, with absolute accuracy, was VictorHugo in his book called "The Rhine." It is true that Victor Hugo is apoet and not a historian. What historians these poets would make, ifthey would but consent to become historians!

  One day Lamartine asked me to what I attributed the immense success ofhis "Histoire des Girondins."

  "To this, because in it you rose to the level of a novel," I answeredhim. He reflected for a while and ended, I believe, by agreeing with me.

  I spent a day, therefore, at Varennes and visited all the localitiesnecessary for my novel, which was to be called "Rene d'Argonne." ThenI returned. My son was staying in the country at Sainte-Assise, nearMelun; my room awaited me, and I resolved to go there to write my novel.

  I am acquainted with no two characters more dissimilar than Alexandre'sand mine, which nevertheless harmonize so well. It is true we pass manyenjoyable hours during our separations; but none I think pleasanter thanthose we spend together.

  I had been installed there for three or four days endeavoring to beginmy "Rene d'Argonne," taking up my pen, then laying it aside almostimmediately. The thing would not go. I consoled myself by tellingstories. Chance willed that I should relate one which Nodier had toldme of four young men affiliated with the Company of Jehu, who had beenexecuted at Bourg in Bresse amid the most dramatic circumstances. One ofthese four young men, he who had found the greatest difficulty in dying,or rather he whom they had the greatest difficulty in killing, was butnineteen and a half years old.

  Alexandre listened to my story with much interest. When I had finished:"Do you know," said he, "what I should do in your place?"

  "What?"

  "I should lay aside 'Rene d'Argonne,' which refuses to materialize, andin its stead I should write 'The Companions of Jehu.'"

  "But just think, I have had that other novel in mind for a year or two,and it is almost finished."

  "It never will be since it is not finished now."

  "Perhaps you are right, but I shall lose six months regaining my presentvantage-ground."

  "Good! In three days you will have written half a volume."

  "Then you will help me."

  "Yes, for I shall give you two characters."

  "Is that all?"

  "You are too exacting! The rest is your affair; I am busy with my'Question d'
Argent.'"

  "Well, who are your two characters, then?"

  "An English gentleman and a French captain."

  "Introduce the Englishman first."

  "Very well." And Alexandre drew Lord Tanlay's portrait for me.

  "Your English gentleman pleases me," said I; "now let us see your Frenchcaptain."

  "My French captain is a mysterious character, who courts death with allhis might, without being able to accomplish his desire; so that eachtime he rushes into mortal danger he performs some brilliant feat whichsecures him promotion."

  "But why does he wish to get himself killed?"

  "Because he is disgusted with life."

  "Why is he disgusted with life?"

  "Ah! That will be the secret of the book."

  "It must be told in the end."

  "On the contrary, I, in your place, would not tell it."

  "The readers will demand it."

  "You will reply that they have only to search for it; you must leavethem something to do, these readers of yours."

  "Dear friend, I shall be overwhelmed with letters."

  "You need not answer them."

  "Yes, but for my personal gratification I, at least, must know why myhero longs to die."

  "Oh, I do not refuse to tell you."

  "Let me hear, then."

  "Well, suppose, instead of being professor of dialectics, Abelard hadbeen a soldier."

  "Well?"

  "Well, let us suppose that a bullet--"

  "Excellent!"

  "You understand? Instead of withdrawing to Paraclet, he would havecourted death at every possible opportunity."

  "Hum! That will be difficult."

  "Difficult! In what way?"

  "To make the public swallow that."

  "But since you are not going to tell the public."

  "That is true. By my faith, I believe you are right. Wait."

  "I am waiting."

  "Have you Nodier's 'Souvenirs de la Revolution'? I believe he wrote oneor two pages about Guyon, Lepretre, Amiet and Hyvert."

  "They will say, then, that you have plagiarized from Nodier."

  "Oh! He loved me well enough during his life not to refuse me whateverI shall take from him after his death. Go fetch me the 'Souvenirs de laRevolution.'"

  Alexandre brought me the book. I opened it, turned over two or threepages, and at last discovered what I was looking for. A little ofNodier, dear readers, you will lose nothing by it. It is he who isspeaking:

  The highwaymen who attacked the diligences, as mentioned in the articleon Amiet, which I quoted just now, were called Lepretre, Hyvert, Guyonand Amiet.

  Lepretre was forty-eight years old. He was formerly a captain ofdragoons, a knight of St. Louis, of a noble countenance, prepossessingcarriage and much elegance of manner. Guyon and Amiet have never beenknown by their real names. They owe that to the accommodating spiritprevailing among the vendors of passports of those days. Let the readerpicture to himself two dare-devils between twenty and thirty years ofage, allied by some common responsibility, the sequence, perhaps ofsome misdeed, or, by a more delicate and generous interest, the fear ofcompromising their family name. Then you will know of Guyon and Amietall that I can recall. The latter had a sinister countenance, to which,perhaps, he owes the bad reputation with which all his biographers havecredited him. Hyvert was the son of a rich merchant of Lyons, who hadoffered the sub-officer charged with his deportation sixty thousandfrancs to permit his escape. He was at once the Achilles and the Parisof the band. He was of medium height but well formed, lithe, and ofgraceful and pleasing address. His eyes were never without animation norhis lips without a smile. His was one of those countenances whichare never forgotten, and which present an inexpressible blending ofsweetness and strength, tenderness and energy. When he yielded to theeloquent petulance of his inspirations he soared to enthusiasm. Hisconversation revealed the rudiments of an excellent early education andmuch natural intelligence. That which was so terrifying in him was histone of heedless gayety, which contrasted so horribly with his position.For the rest, he was unanimously conceded to be kind, generous, humane,lenient toward the weak, while with the strong he loved to display avigor truly athletic which his somewhat effeminate features were farfrom indicating. He boasted that he had never been without money, andhad no enemies. That was his sole reply to the charges of theft andassassination. He was twenty-two years old.

  To these four men was intrusted the attack upon a diligence conveyingforty thousand francs of government money. This deed was transactedin broad daylight, with an exchange of mutual courtesy almost; and thetravellers, who were not disturbed by the attack, gave little heed toit. But a child of only ten years of age, with reckless bravado,seized the pistol of the conductor and fired it into the midst of theassailants. As this peaceful weapon, according to the custom, was onlycharged with powder, no one was injured; but the occupants of the coachquite naturally experienced a lively fear of reprisals. The littleboy's mother fell into violent hysterics. This new disturbance createda general diversion which dominated all the preceding events andparticularly attracted the attention of the robbers. One of them flew tothe woman's side, reassuring her in the most affectionate manner, whilecomplimenting her upon her son's precocious courage, and courteouslypressed upon her the salts and perfumes with which these gentlemen wereordinarily provided for their own use. She regained consciousness. Inthe excitement of the moment her travelling companions noticed that thehighwayman's mask had fallen off, but they did not see his face.

  The police of those days, restricted to mere impotent supervision, wereunable to cope with the depredations of these banditti, although theydid not lack the means to follow them up. Appointments were made at thecafes, and narratives relating to deeds carrying with them the penaltyof death circulated freely through all the billiard-halls in the land.Such was the importance which the culprits and the public attached tothe police.

  These men of blood and terror assembled in society in the evening,and discussed their nocturnal expeditions as if they had been merepleasure-parties.

  Lepretre, Hyvert, Amiet and Guyon were arraigned before the tribunalof a neighboring department. No one save the Treasury had suffered fromtheir attack, and there was no one to identify them save the ladywho took very good care not to do so. They were therefore acquittedunanimously.

  Nevertheless, the evidence against them so obviously called forconviction, that the Ministry was forced to appeal from this decision.The verdict was set aside; but such was the government's vacillation,that it hesitated to punish excesses that might on the morrow beregarded as virtues. The accused were cited before the tribunal ofAin, in the city of Bourg, where dwelt a majority of their friends,relatives, abettors and accomplices. The Ministry sought to propitiatethe one party by the return of its victims, and the other by the almostinviolate safeguards with which it surrounded the prisoners. The returnto prison indeed resembled nothing less than a triumph.

  The trial recommenced. It was at first attended by the same results asthe preceding one. The four accused were protected by an alibi, patentlyfalse, but attested by a hundred signatures, and for which they couldeasily have obtained ten thousand. All moral convictions must failin the presence of such authoritative testimony. An acquittal seemedcertain, when a question, perhaps involuntarily insidious, from thepresident, changed the aspect of the trial.

  "Madam," said he to the lady who had been so kindly assisted by oneof the highwaymen, "which of these men was it who tendered you suchthoughtful attention?"

  This unexpected form of interrogation confused her ideas. It is probablethat she believed the facts to be known, and saw in this a means ofmodifying the fate of the man who interested her.

  "It was that gentleman," said she, pointing to Lepretre. The fouraccused, who were included in a common alibi, fell by this one admissionunder the executioner's axe. They rose and bowed to her with a smile.

  "Faith!" said Hyvert, falling back upon his bench with a burst oflaug
hter, "that, Captain, will teach you to play the gallant."

  I have heard it said that the unhappy lady died shortly after ofchagrin.

  The customary appeal followed; but, this time, there was little hope.The Republican party, which Napoleon annihilated a month later, was inthe ascendency. That of the Counter-Revolution was compromised by itsodious excesses. The people demanded examples, and matters were arrangedaccordingly, as is ordinarily the custom in strenuous times; for it iswith governments as with men, the weakest are always the most cruel. Norhad the Companies of Jehu longer an organized existence. The heroes ofthese ferocious bands, Debeauce, Hastier, Bary, Le Coq, Dabri, Delbourbeand Storkenfeld, had either fallen on the scaffold or elsewhere. Thecondemned could look for no further assistance from the daring courageof these exhausted devotees, who, no longer capable of protecting theirown lives, coolly sacrificed them, as did Piard, after a merry supper.Our brigands were doomed to die.

  Their appeal was rejected, but the municipal authorities were not thefirst to learn of this. The condemned men were warned by three shotsfired beneath the walls of their dungeon. The Commissioner of theExecutive Directory, who had assumed the role of Public Prosecutor atthe trial, alarmed at this obvious sign of connivance, requisitioned asquad of armed men of whom my uncle was then commander. At six o'clockin the morning sixty horsemen were drawn up before the iron gratings ofthe prison yard.

  Although the jailers had observed all possible precautions in enteringthe dungeon where these four unfortunate men were confined, and whomthey had left the preceding day tightly pinioned and heavily loadedwith chains, they were unable to offer them a prolonged resistance.The prisoners were free and armed to the teeth. They came forth withoutdifficulty, leaving their guardians under bolts and bars, and, suppliedwith the keys, they quickly traversed the space that separated themfrom the prison yard. Their appearance must have been terrifying to thepopulace awaiting them before the iron gates.

  To assure perfect freedom of action, or perhaps to affect an appearanceof security more menacing even than the renown for strength andintrepidity with which their names were associated, or possibly even toconceal the flow of blood which reveals itself so readily beneath whitelinen, and betrays the last agonies of a mortally wounded man, theirbreasts were bared. Their braces crossed upon the chest--their wide redbelts bristling with arms--their cry of attack and rage, all that musthave given a decidedly fantastic touch to the scene. Arrived in thesquare, they perceived the gendarmerie drawn up in motionless ranks,through which it would have been impossible to force a passage. Theyhalted an instant and seemed to consult together. Lepretre, who was, asI have said, their senior and their chief, saluted the guard with hishand, saying with that noble grace of manner peculiar to him:

  "Very well, gentlemen of the gendarmerie!"

  Then after a brief, energetic farewell to his comrades, he stepped infront of them and blew out his brains. Guyon, Amiet and Hyvert assumeda defensive position, their double-barrelled pistols levelled upon theirarmed opponents. They did not fire; but the latter, considering thisdemonstration as a sign of open hostility, fired upon them. Guyon felldead upon Lepretre's body, which had not moved. Amiet's hip was brokennear the groin. The "Biographie des Contemporains" says that he wasexecuted. I have often heard it said that he died at the foot of thescaffold. Hyvert was left alone, his determined brow, his terrible eye,the pistol in each practiced and vigorous hand threatening death tothe spectators. Perhaps it was involuntary admiration, in his desperateplight, for this handsome young man with his waving locks, who wasknown never to have shed blood, and from whom the law now demanded theexpiation of blood; or perhaps it was the sight of those three corpsesover which he sprang like a wolf overtaken by his hunters, and thefrightful novelty of the spectacle, which for an instant restrainedthe fury of the troop. He perceived this and temporized with them for acompromise.

  "Gentlemen," said he, "I go to my death! I die with all my heart! Butlet no one approach me or I shall shoot him--except this gentleman," hecontinued, pointing to the executioner. "This is an affair that concernsus alone and merely needs a certain understanding between us."

  This concession was readily accorded, for there was no one present whowas not suffering from the prolongation of this horrible tragedy, andanxious to see it finished. Perceiving their assent, he placed oneof his pistols between his teeth, and drawing a dagger from his belt,plunged it in his breast up to the hilt. He still remained standing andseemed greatly surprised. There was a movement toward him.

  "Very well, gentlemen!" cried he, covering the men who sought tosurround him with his pistols, which he had seized again, while theblood spurted freely from the wound in which he had left his poniard."You know our agreement; either I die alone or three of us will dietogether. Forward, march!" He walked straight to the guillotine, turningthe knife in his breast as he did so.

  "Faith," said he, "my soul must be centred in my belly! I cannot die.See if you can fetch it out."

  This last was addressed to his executioner. An instant later his headfell. Be it accident or some peculiar phenomenon of the vitality, itrebounded and rolled beyond the circle of the scaffolding, and they willstill tell you at Bourg, that Hyvert's head spoke.

  Before I had finished reading I had decided to abandon Rene d'Argonnefor the Companions of Jehu. On the morrow I came down with my travellingbag under my arm.

  "You are leaving?" said Alexandre to me.

  "Yes."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To Bourg, in Bresse."

  "What are you going to do there?"

  "Study the neighborhood and consult with the inhabitants who sawLepretre, Amiet, Guyon and Hyvert executed."

  * * * * *

  There are two roads to Bourg--from Paris, of course; one may leave thetrain at Macon, and take stage from Macon to Bourg, or, continuing asfar as Lyons, take train again from Lyons to Bourg.

  I was hesitating between these two roads when one of the travellers whowas temporarily occupying my compartment decided me. He was going toBourg, where he frequently had business. He was going by way of Lyons;therefore, Lyons was the better way.

  I resolved to travel by the same route. I slept at Lyons, and on themorrow by ten in the morning I was at Bourg.

  A paper published in the second capital of the kingdom met my eye. Itcontained a spiteful article about me. Lyons has never forgiven me since1833, I believe, some twenty-four years ago, for asserting that it wasnot a literary city. Alas! I have in 1857 the same opinion of Lyons as Ihad in 1833. I do not easily change my opinion. There is another cityin France that is almost as bitter against me as Lyons, that is Rouen.Rouen has hissed all my plays, including Count Hermann.

  One day a Neapolitan boasted to me that he had hissed Rossini andMalibran, "The Barbiere" and "Desdemona."

  "That must be true," I answered him, "for Rossini and Malibran on theirside boast of having been hissed by Neapolitans."

  So I boast that the Rouenese have hissed me. Nevertheless, meeting afull-blooded Rouenese one day I resolved to discover why I had beenhissed at Rouen. I like to understand these little things.

  My Rouenese informed me: "We hiss you because we are down on you."

  Why not? Rouen was down on Joan of Arc. Nevertheless it could not befor the same reason. I asked my Rouenese why he and his compatriots wereill-disposed to me; I had never said anything evil of apple sugar, Ihad treated M. Barbet with respect during his entire term as mayor,and, when a delegate from the Society of Letters at the unveiling of thestatue of the great Corneille, I was the only one who thought to bow tohim before beginning my speech. There was nothing in that which couldhave reasonably incurred the hatred of the Rouenese.

  Therefore to this haughty reply, "We hiss you because we have a grudgeagainst you," I asked humbly:

  "But, great Heavens! why are you down on me?"

  "Oh, you know very well," replied my Rouenese.

  "I?" I exclaimed.

  "Yes, you."


  "Well, never mind; pretend I do not know."

  "You remember the dinner the city gave you, in connection with thatstatue of Corneille?"

  "Perfectly. Were they annoyed because I did not return it?"

  "No, it is not that."

  "What is it then?"

  "Well, at that dinner they said to you: 'M. Dumas, you ought to write aplay for Rouen based upon some subject taken from its own history.'"

  "To which I replied: 'Nothing easier; I will come at your first summonsand spend a fortnight in Rouen. You can suggest the subject, and duringthat fortnight I will write the play, the royalties of which I shalldevote to the poor.'"

  "That is true, you said that."

  "I see nothing sufficiently insulting in that to incur the hatred of theRouenese."

  "Yes, but they added: 'Will you write it in prose?' To which youreplied--Do you remember what you answered?"

  "My faith! no."

  "You replied: 'I will write it in verse; it is soonest done.'"

  "That sounds like me. Well, what then?"

  "Then! That was an insult to Corneille, M. Dumas; that is why theRouenese are down on you, and will be for a long time."

  Verbatim!

  Oh, worthy Rouenese! I trust that you will never serve me so ill as toforgive and applaud me.

  The aforesaid paper observed that M. Dumas had doubtless spent but onenight in Lyons because a city of such slight literary standing was notworthy of his longer sojourn. M. Dumas had not thought about this atall. He had spent but one night at Lyons because he was in a hurry toreach Bourg. And no sooner had M. Dumas arrived at Bourg than he askedto be directed to the office of its leading newspaper.

  I knew that it was under the management of a distinguished archeologist,who was also the editor of my friend Baux's work on the church of Brou.

  I asked for M. Milliet. M. Milliet appeared. We shook hands and Iexplained the object of my visit.

  "I can fix you perfectly," said he to me. "I will take you to one ofour magistrates, who is at present engaged upon a history of thedepartment."

  "How far has he got in this history?"

  "1822."

  "Then that's all right. As the events I want to relate occurred in 1799,and my heroes were executed in 1800, he will have covered that epoch,and can furnish me with the desired information. Let us go to yourmagistrate."

  On the road, M. Milliet told me that this same magisterial historian wasalso a noted gourmet. Since Brillat-Savarin it has been the fashionfor magistrates to be epicures. Unfortunately, many are content to begourmands, which is not at all the same thing.

  We were ushered into the magistrate's study. I found a man with a shinyface and a sneering smile. He greeted me with that protecting air whichhistorians deign to assume toward poets.

  "Well, sir," he said to me, "so you have come to our poor country insearch of material for your novel?"

  "No, sir; I have my material already. I have come simply to consult yourhistorical documents."

  "Good! I did not know that it was necessary to give one's self so muchtrouble in order to write novels."

  "There you are in error, sir; at least in my instance. I am in the habitof making exhaustive researches upon all the historical events of whichI treat."

  "You might at least have sent some one else."

  "Any person whom I might send, sir, not being so completely absorbedin my subject, might have overlooked many important facts. Then, too, Imake use of many localities which I cannot describe unless I see them."

  "Oh, then this is a novel which you intend writing yourself?"

  "Yes, certainly, sir. I allowed my valet to write my last; but he hadsuch immense success that the rogue asked so exorbitant an increase ofwages that, to my great regret, I was unable to keep him."

  The magistrate bit his lips. Then, after a moment's silence, he said:

  "Will you kindly tell me, sir, how I can assist you in this importantwork?"

  "You can direct my researches, sir. As you have compiled the history ofthe department, none of the important event which have occurred in itscapital can be unknown to you."

  "Truly, sir, I believe that in this respect I am tolerably wellinformed."

  "Then, sir, in the first place, your department was the centre of theoperations of the Company of Jehu."

  "Sir, I have heard speak of the Companions of Jesus," replied themagistrate with his jeering smile.

  "The Jesuits, you mean? That is not what I am seeking, sir."

  "Nor is it of them that I am speaking. I refer to the stage robbers whoinfested the highroads from 1797 to 1800."

  "Then, sir, permit me to tell you they are precisely the ones I havecome to Bourg about, and that they were called the Companions of Jehu,and not the Companions of Jesus."

  "What is the meaning of this title 'Companions of Jehu'? I like to getat the bottom of everything."

  "So do I, sir; that is why I did not wish to confound these highwaymenwith the Apostles."

  "Truly, that would not have been very orthodox."

  "But it is what you would have done, nevertheless, sir, if I, a poet,had not come here expressly to correct the mistake you, as historian,have made."

  "I await your explanation, sir," resumed the magistrate, pursing hislips.

  "It is short and simple. Elisha consecrated Jehu, King of Israel,on condition that he exterminate the house of Ahab; Elisha was LouisXVIII.; Jehu was Cadoudal; the house of Ahab, the Revolution. That iswhy these pillagers of diligences, who filched the government money tosupport the war in the Vendee, were called the Companions of Jehu."

  "Sir, I am happy to learn something at my age."

  "Oh, sir! One can always learn, at all times and at all ages; duringlife one learns man; in death one learns God."

  "But, after all," my interlocutor said to me with a gesture ofimpatience, "may I know in what I can assist you?"

  "Thus, sir. Four of these young men, leaders of the Companions of Jehu,were executed at Bourg, on the Place du Bastion."

  "In the first place, sir, in Bourg executions do not take place at theBastion; they execute on the Fair grounds."

  "Now, sir--these last fifteen or twenty years, it is true--since Peytel.But before, especially during the Revolution, they executed on the Placedu Bastion."

  "That is possible."

  "It is so. These four young men were called Guyon, Lepretre, Amiet, andHyvert."

  "This is the first time I have heard those names."

  "Yet their names made a certain noise at Bourg."

  "Are you sure, sir, that these men were executed here?"

  "I am positive."

  "From whom have you derived your information?"

  "From a man whose uncle, then in command of the gendarmerie, was presentat the execution."

  "Will you tell me this man's name?"

  "Charles Nodier."

  "Charles Nodier, the novelist, the poet?"

  "If he were a historian I would not be so insistent, sir. Recently,during a trip to Varennes, I learned what dependence to place uponhistorians. But precisely because he is a poet, a novelist, I doinsist."

  "You are at liberty to do so; but I know nothing of what you desire tolearn, and I dare even assert that, if you have come to Bourg solely toobtain information concerning the execution of--what did you call them?"

  "Guyon, Lepretre, Amiet, and Hyvert."

  "You have undertaken a futile voyage. For these last twenty years, sir,I have been searching the town archives, and I have never seen anythingrelating to what you have just told me."

  "The town archives are not those of the registrar, sir; perhaps at therecord office I may be able to find what I am seeking."

  "Ah! sir, if you can find anything among those archives you will be avery clever man! The record office is a chaos, a veritable chaos. Youwould have to spend a month here, and then--then--"

  "I do not expect to stay here more than a day, sir; but if in that day Ishould find what I am seeking will you
permit me to impart it to you?"

  "Yes, sir; yes, sir; and you will render me a great service by doingso."

  "No greater than the one I asked of you. I shall merely give you someinformation about a matter of which you were ignorant, that is all."

  You can well understand that on leaving my magistrate, my honor waspiqued. I determined, cost what it might, to procure this informationabout the Companions of Jehu. I went back to Milliet, and cornered him.

  "Listen," he said. "My brother-in-law is a lawyer."

  "He's my man! Let's go find the brother-in-law."

  "He's in court at this hour."

  "Then let us go to court."

  "Your appearance will create a sensation, I warn you."

  "Then go alone--tell him what we want, and let him make a search. I willvisit the environs of the town to base my work on the localities. Wewill 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 hisspare 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 hundredfeet from it."

  "And in the forest?"

  "There is a sort of hermitage which is called La Correrie, belonging tothe 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 theReissouse."

  "I don't mind. If the grotto won't come to me, I will do like Mahomet--Iwill 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 wewanted, placed himself, his horse, and his carriage at my disposal. Iaccepted all. There are some men who offer their services in such a waythat they place you at once at your ease.

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

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

  "Now, sir," I said to my obliging guide, "I need a pretty site, rathergloomy, surrounded by tall trees, beside a river. Have you anything likethat 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, amelancholy 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'slodge.

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

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

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

  "And here Madame de Montrevel, Amelie and little Edouard will dwell. Nowwhat 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 aboutin their relative positions the names of the villages which M. Leduc hadjust 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 countrywhich contains the architectural masterpiece of the sixteenth centurywithout 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 granitejewel-case which contains the three marble gems called the tombs ofMarguerite of Austria, Marguerite or Bourbon, and of Philibert le Beau.

  "How is it," I asked the sacristan, "that all these masterpieces werenot 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 ofit."

  I looked at my watch. "Three o'clock! Now for the prison. I have anappointment 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 theLatin."

  "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 arealike 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 endowedwith common-sense, and that sees clearer than science. Have you anythingelse to tell me?"

  "No."

  "Then let us go to the prison."

  We got into the carriage and returned to the city, stopping only at thegate 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 tothe 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 learnedfriends--"

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

  "Who contends," continued M. Leduc, "that the prison is no longer thesame 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 whichtook place in the square to which it leads), and skirting the MontburonGarden, I reached the Place du Bastion. This is a semicircle now used asthe town marketplace. In the midst stands the statue of Bichat byDavid d'Angers. Bichat, in a frockcoat--why that exaggeration ofrealism?--stands with his hand upon the heart of a child about nine orten years old, perfectly nude--why that excess of ideality? Extendedat Bichat's feet lies a dead body. It is Bichat's book "Of Life andof Death" translated into bronze. I was studying this statue, whichepitomizes the defects and merits of David d'Angers, when I felt someone touch my shoulder. I turned around; it was M. Milliet. He held apaper 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 captainof gendarmerie, who remitted the report of the proceedings in the prisonto the Justice of the Peace, at which he was present, was Nodier'suncle. This report handed to the Justice of the Peace was the storywhich, graven upon the young man's mind, saw the light some fortyyears later unaltered, in that masterpiece entitled "Souvenirs de laRevolution." The entire series of papers was in the record office. M.Martin offered to have them copied for me; inquiry, trial and judgment.

  I had a copy of Nodier's "Souvenirs of the Revolution" in my pocket.In my hand I held the report of the execution which confirmed the factstherein stated.

  "Now let us go to our magistrate," I said to M. Milliet.

  "Let us go to our magistrate," he repeated.

  The magistrate was confounded, and I left him convinced that poets knowhistory as well as historians--if not better.

  ALEX. DUMAS.