The duke was no coward. He ran up the steps, pistol in hand, and gave
his second weapon to Francois, who stood below. The trap was cast wide
open, and a big municipal was seen stooping over the open space; for
beyond him the cellar was well lighted up. The duke fired without an
instant's indecision.
"By St. Denis! 't is a man, this duke," cried Francois, as the officer
pitched head down into the cave. The thief set a foot on him as he lay,
and reached up the second pistol to the duke, while young Des Illes, too
curious for fear, crawled up the broad stone stairs to see. The thief
heard a second shot, and followed the lad. There were several candles
set on casks, and through the smoke he saw a municipal in a heap at the
far end of the upper cellar. He was groaning piteously.
"Load again, monsieur," cried Francois. "Quick! there may be more." He
himself went past the duke, and young Des Illes after him. He turned
the officer over.
"He is not dead," he said. "Best to finish him."
But here was madame at his side, saying: "No, no! No more--I will not
have it. _Mon Dieu!_ it is bad enough. I will have no murder."
"Then let us go back; he is as good as dead."
"_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_" cried the woman; and so in haste the upper trap
was closed, and all went again down to the cave.
The officer below was dead, with a ball through his head. Mother and
children huddled away in the far corner, scared. The duke said:
"What now must we do?"
"We must go, and at once," said Francois. "They will soon come back,
and then--"
"Yes, yes," cried madame; "you are right. You were right; we should
have gone before, and saved all this bloodshed."
The duke made no comment, except to mutter, "I suppose so"; and at once
began to assist Francois's preparations for flight.
And now the thief's readiness and efficiency were shown. He arranged
every one's loads, filled baskets, laughed over a shoulder at the boys
as he strapped blankets on the duke, and at last loaded himself with all
that was left. They took the arms of the dead man, and soon trooped out
into the darkness. The duke, who at once went on ahead, carried a
lantern.
At the first turn, Francois called out to wait, and ran back. The duke
swore. He was now eager to go on, and declared that the thief would
deliver them up, and save his own head. But madame was of other mind,
and so they stood expectant. At last came Francois, laughing.
"Ah, monsieur, this comes of honest company. I forgot the bag of gold.
And these--these are priceless. I have the fellow's clothes. When a man
does not resist, the temptation is great; neither did he assist."
"Stop that talk, and come on. Are we going to set up a shop for old
clothes?"
Francois fell behind. "The duke would make a poor thief," he said to
the boys. Young Henri de St. Maur said: "You are insolent. My father a
thief!"
"_Tiens_! There are times when to steal is virtue. _Allons donc!_" and
he strode on, laughing, and telling the boys stories.
There were many little incidents that day, but the worst was at evening,
when they found a great cave, lofty and wide, where had been cast, long
before, the bones out of the overfilled cemeteries. Here it was that
skulls fell from the great heap, and rolled away on every side into the
darkness, while the rats ran out in armies. The thief was of all the
most alarmed, and stood still, saying paternosters and aves by the
dozen. After this they went on aimlessly, now and then hearing overhead
the roar and rumble of wagons. Their nights proved to be full of sore
trials. The rats assembled, and grew bolder. One bit the baby, who
cried until the thief lighted a candle and watched while the rest slept,
or tried to do so.
The dismalness of, these underground labyrinths was such as no man could
imagine. One day they walked a half-mile through a wet cave-passage so
narrow that two persons could not move abreast. It ended in a blank
wall, and they were forced to go back, over shoe-top in water. Or,
again, they went up rude stairs, stumbling, but hopeful, only to descend
once more into the depths of the earth. Now and then a putrid rain fell
on them, and at every turn the rats fled by them, now one and now a
scurry of countless troops. Twice a mass of rock fell in some distant
passage, and strange echoes reverberated in cavern spaces, so that the
boys cried out in terror, and even Francois shivered at the thought of
how they might be buried alive by one of these downfalls. Each sad day
of weariness had its incident of terror or disappointment; and still,
with lessening hope, they trailed on after the dim light which the duke
carried as he led them--none knew whither. Each morning they rose cold,
wet, and unrefreshed, ate of their lessening food, and after some little
talk as to how this day they should keep turning to left or to right,
set out anew, the duke still in advance, with an ever-changing mind as
to where they were or what they should do. As day followed day, their
halts became more frequent. They lingered where the dripping rain from
the sewage of the great city overhead was least; or at times paused
suddenly to listen to mysterious sounds, or to let the rats go by them,
splashing in the noisome puddles underfoot. The night was as the day,
the day as the night. They had no way to tell the one from the other,
except by the duke's watch.
So confusing was this monotonous tramp underground, the days so much
alike, that at last these sad people became bewildered as to how long
they had wandered. Their food was becoming less and less, and on the
evening of the fifth day the duke and Francois knew that very soon their
stock of candles would be exhausted. These had, in fact, been of small
use, except to keep the scared children more cheerful when night came on
and the rats grew bold.
This evening of the fifth day, and earlier than usual, Mme. des Illes
declared of a sudden that she could go no farther, and must rest for the
night. The duke had a new plan, and urged her to go on. She cried over
the baby on her lap, and made no answer. They sat down to pass another
night of discomfort. After a little talk with the boys, Francois drew
apart from the rest, and began to think over the wanderings of the day.
Their situation this evening was somewhat better than it had usually
been, for they sat in a dry end of one of the many excavations, and did
not feel the cold, moist winds which howled along these stony caves,
carrying a changeful variety of unwholesome stenches. A silent hour
went by in utter darkness. At times Francois rose to drive away
adventurous rats. At last he lighted a candle, and set it at the open
end of the cul-de-sac. When he saw that the rats would not pass the
lantern, he whispered to madame of this, and that he meant to explore a
little, and bade her have no fear. The duke had thus far had his own
way, and it had not been to Francois's taste. He took a second lantern,
and moved off around a corner, resolute to find a means of escape. The
duke ordered him to return and to put out the candle. Francois made no
reply. He counted the turns as he went on, and listened for the noise
of vehicles above him.
"A pretty duke, that!" he said. "I should have made as good a one. I
like better that devil of a marquis; but _diantre!_ neither is much
afraid--nor I, for that matter."
Sometimes he turned back, at others went on boldly, noting whence blew
any current of warmer air. At last he came upon an enormous excavation.
In the middle was a mass of partly tumbled stone, laid in courses. This
broken heap was large, and irregularly conical. He moved around it in
wonder, having seen nothing like it in his explorations. He turned the
yellow and feeble lantern-light upon the heap, and at first concluded
that the old makers of these quarries had here built for themselves a
house, which had fallen to ruin.
But where was he, and what part of Paris was over his head? He
remembered at last to have heard that these catacombs were once used as
receptacles for the dead, in order to relieve the overpeopled
graveyards. Had he been less alarmed, he might have guessed where he was
when they came upon the bones; for that must have been near to the
cemetery of the Church of the Innocents. But while the duke had led,
Francois had taken less than his usual active notice, and had been
content to follow. Here, now, was a new landmark. This before him
could be no dwelling of quarriers, but must be a house fallen into the
great cave. He had heard of such happenings. To be certain where and on
what street so strange a thing had occurred would afford knowledge as to
the part of Paris under which he stood. He would ask the duke; he might
know. Thus reflecting, he began to walk around the tumbled mass. A
vast amount of earth must have come down with it. He pried here and
there, and at last found a gap in the ruin, and crawled in between
fallen timbers until he could stand up. On one side was a wall and a
wide chimney-place, and on the top of this wall the great beams of the
ceiling still rested. Their farther ends lay on what seemed the wreck
of the opposite wall, thus leaving a triangular space filled in at each
side by broken stone. Amid this were the crushed steps of a staircase,
quite blocked up. The lantern gave little light. Only close to the
fireplace could the tall thief stand erect. He turned his lantern, and
cried out:
"Ye saints!" Close beside him were the remains of a high-backed chair,
and on these, and beside them, portions of the bones of a man. Two
great jack-boots lay beside him, gnawed by rats. His skull was broken,
and lay where the eager animals had dragged it.
Few could have stood here alone, and not felt its terror and its
mystery. Francois stood a moment, appalled, and unable to think or to
observe. At last he began to study the place with care and increasing
interest. A rusty sword, sheathed, was caught in the arm of the ruined
chair. Here and there lay bits of gold lace. He picked up the rusted
clasp of a purse, gnawed by the rats. Near it lay scattered a number of
gold and silver coins, a rosary, and a small ring set with red stones.
He put them all in his pocket. There was scarce a remnant of the man's
dress.
Francois looked at the tumbled bones. "_Mon Dieu!_" said he; "am I like
that?" and turned to see what else was here. On the lowest stair was a
glint of yellow--a cross of gold. "Good luck!" he cried. On the hearth
was a copper kettle, green with rust. Soon he began to see better, and
at last found a fragment of wood less damp than the rest of the floor
and what lay upon it; for a steady, slow, irregular rain fell in drops,
with dull patter here and there. He shaved off some slivers of the
wood, and, getting at the drier inside, soon, with paper from his pouch,
made a fire on the stone pavement. Presently he had a bright little
blaze, and in the brilliant glow began to shed his terror. He found
other wood, and nourished the flame. But when he saw that the fragments
were from the end of a crushed cradle, he ceased to use them; because
here were little bones lying scattered, and the man guessed at the
extent of the tragedy, and was strangely stirred. He moved to and fro
in the tent-like space in awe and wonder, in thought reconstructing the
house, and seeming to share in the horror of its story.
Before leaving, he looked again at the overturned chair, the stones
lying about it, and the moldering remains of the man. He must have been
asleep, and died instantly when the house fell into the great cave.
There was no more to be seen. "God rest his soul!" said the thief, and
crawled backward out of the tangle of broken beams and stones.
In a few minutes he was again with those he had left, and, saying only,
"'T is well, madame; we shall get out," fell into a peaceful sleep.
The next day every one dragged on wearily, the duke still leading, and
Francois hoping that he would be asked advice. The water rained on them
a noisome downfall, the rats came out in hordes; and still Francois
cheered his companions, now carrying the baby, and now encouraging the
tired boys.
I have not given in full detail all the miseries of these weary days and
sorrowful nights. They have been more fully told elsewhere by one who
felt them as more serious than did Francois, whose narrative I now am
following. These unhappy victims of the Terror had been altogether six
days in the cave, but Francois not so long. By this time their spirit
was quite broken. The thief alone remained gay, hopeful, and even
confident, but saw clearly enough that these people, used to easy lives,
could not endure much longer the strain of this unguided wandering in
the dark and somber alleys of this horrible labyrinth of darkness and
foul odors. The duke seemed also to be of a like mind, for on the
morning of the seventh day he awakened Francois at six, and, of a sudden
grown sadly familiar, whispered low to him:
"Is there any hope? Madame and the boys are failing. Soon we shall
have to carry them."
"We shall get out," said Francois.
"But how? how? Why to-day any more than yesterday? Do you think of any
way to help us?"
"If monsieur will permit me to lead--"
"Good! Why did you not say so before?"
Francois made no direct reply, but asked: "Did ever a house fall into
these quarry-caves?"
"A house? Why do you ask? Yes; it was long ago. The house of the
lieutenant of the guard it was. I do not recall the date. A house in
the Rue des Peches."
"Will this help to know when it was?" and Francois showed his coins and
told his story.
"Yes, yes; I see. How wonderful! These are of the time of Francis I."
"Rue des Peches?"
"Yes; it is now the Rue des Bon Secours. It is close to the Asile des
Innocents."
"_Dieu!_ monsieur, then I know. I think we may get out to-day; but it
may be well not yet to tell madame. I think we are still near to the
fallen house."
"Then you shall lead," said the duke. "_Tiens!_ a queer fellow, this
thief," he muttered, and went to waken the sleeping children. No word
was said as to the house of the lieutenant of the guard, but Francois
refreshed the tired party by promising a speedy glimpse of day. For,
now that the candles were few, they thought more of this than of the
perils which the daylight might bring.
The thief led, and all day long they went on and on. Once he was quite
dismayed to find that he had lost his way, and once came to the very
entrance of the cave he had left the night before. The duke again
became querulous and dissatisfied; but Francois only laughed, and,
resolutely concealing his mistake, retraced his steps. It was near to
seven o'clock in the evening of July 28 when the thief bade them rest,
and he would be back soon. The duke said something cross; but Francois
made no reply, and, turning a corner, lost sight of his party. He took
careful note of the turns and windings of this maze, and now and then
found himself in a blind alley, and must of need turn back. At the far
end of one of these recesses he saw in the gloom two great, green,
phosphorescent eyes. Like mighty jewels they were, set in the darkness.
They were soon lost to view, and came and went. "They are cats," he
murmured; "and what a hunting estate they have! Ye saints! if I had
here my poor Toto!" He began to move toward these eyes, which shot back
the light his lantern gave. There were three sets of the pale-green
jewels, and now their owners were maneuvering to escape. He began to
use caressing cat-talk, such as had won the heart of Suzanne, and,
falling on his knees, crept closer. Then there was a quick rush past
him of his feline game; but one cat was indecisive, and he had her by
the leg. He paid well for his audacity, but held on, and pretty soon
began to exercise the curious control he had over all animals. At last
pussy lay still and panting. When the scared animal grew quiet, he set
her down. For a moment she hesitated, and then began to move away. As
he followed she ran. He cast the lantern-light before her, and pursued
her with all speed. Once or twice she was nearly lost to view. Then she
turned a corner, and another, and of a sudden fled toward a distant
archway, through which he saw the light of day. A great rush of warm
air went by him. He stood still, murmuring aves. To his surprise, he
was near to the place where he had left his companions. He stood a
moment in deep thought. "We are out at last," he murmured. "But
_ciel!_ there is much to think about. We may have too much light."
He went back and told of the discovery, but of the cat not a word. The
duke said: "I thought we should soon get out; come, let us be off."
Madame said gently: "Let us kneel before we go, and thank the good God
for this friend he sent us in our trouble." Then they all knelt, and
she prayed, speaking her thankfulness to Heaven, with at the end a word
as to her husband, and also asking God's mercy for him who had led them
forth out of darkness into light. When Francois heard her, he was
disturbed as he had never been in all his days. When a man like
Francois sheds tears, it is a great event in his life. He rose from his
knees, and asked the duke and the rest to go with him; and thus it was
that in a few minutes they stood fifty feet from an open archway,
through which came the level light from the western sky.
The duke was moved at last to say how clever Francois had been; and how
had he managed it? The thief declared it had been easy; but the cat got
no credit, and never was praised, then or ever, for her share of their
escape. Set in this rocky frame before them was a picture as it were of
a disused quarry, and beyond it vineyards, with yet farther a red-tiled
housetop. Here it was, as they paused, that madame said solemnly, with
tears in her eyes:
"'God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the
light, that it was good.'"
After the duke and Francois had peeped out, and seen no one, the duke
began to set forth a variety of schemes as to what they should do. None
of these was very wise, and at last madame turned to Francois. He had
disappeared, but presently came again, dressed in the clothes of the
dead officer. He wore his sword and pistols, and now, as seen clearly
in the light of day, was certainly a queer enough figure. The garments
were too short below and too wide above, and over them rose the long
face, the broad mouth, and the huge ears. The boys, who looked on their
troubles as at an end, set up a shout of laughter.
"The deuce! I shall arrest you, citizens," cried Francois. "And first,
monsieur." He explained that he proposed to tie the duke's hands behind
his back, and with, as was usual, one end of the rope in his hand, would
conduct the _ci-devant_ into Paris by the Barriere d'Enfer. The weeping
widow would follow, with the two children, to see the last of their poor
papa.
The duke was disgusted, but pretended to be much amused. "Well, it is a
pretty comedy," he said, as Mme. des Illes insisted.
"_Dame!_" said the thief, "but the tragedy is not far away."
"And what is to come after?" said she. "Had we not better wait till
night?"
"No. The guards are doubled at night. It is boldness which will win."
"And what then, Francois?"
"I must find for you a refuge while I go to see if M. des Illes may not
have returned; for, madame, you have assured me that he would be
released. Pray God it is so. And what better is there?" The duke was
forced to consent.
A rope found in the officer's pocket made part of Francois's spoil. He
tied the duke's hands, and showed him how, at need, a pull would release
them. The gold was divided. All else they left. Francois reported the
way clear, and they set out. But the boys giggled so much at the duke
and his indignant face that Francois paused.
"_Dame!_" he cried, "madame must weep." She was already doing that, her
mind on the fate of M. des Illes. "If you boys are fools, and laugh, we
are lost. Cry, if you can; but, for the love of Heaven, do not look
about you, or smile. Take a hand of madame--so. Cry, if ever you mean
to get away safe."
The road beyond the quarry was little used, and they went on, the duke
furious. When they met any one, Francois cried: "Get on, aristocrat!
Pig of a _ci-devant_, march!"
Duke Philippe muttered: "_Sacre_, thief!" and got a smart jerk of the
rope, and more abuse, until the fun of it nearly upset the thief, who
could scarce contain himself. At the Barriere d'Enfer were but two
guards; nor were there as many people in the streets as usual.
Suddenly Francois halted at the summons to leave his prisoner with one
of the two men, and to enter the little office and exhibit his papers,
as was needful.
"_Dame!_" muttered the thief, "one cannot know all things. I forgot
about the papers." He showed, however, no indecision. "Guard this
wretch, citizen," he said. "Here, take the rope. He is a returned
_emigre_." The man took the rope. "I shall not be long." So saying,
he went in after the second guard, closing the door behind them. The
man sat down at a desk, and opened a blank-book, saying: "The order,
citizen."
"I am afraid it is lost," said Francois, eagerly searching his acquired
pockets. "The mischief! What to do?"
"To do? Thou must wait till the lieutenant comes back. He has gone to
see the fun."
"Fun! What fun?"
At this moment the man rose hastily. "_Diable!_ thou art Francois! I
thought I knew thy voice. There are orders to arrest thee. Citizen Amar
desires thy society. Best make no fuss. I arrest thee. I am in luck.
It is sure promotion. What trick art thou up to? And those folks
outside, who axe they?"
"But thou, an old thief, to arrest a comrade! Surely thou wilt not."
"No use. Come! no nonsense."
Francois put out a pleading hand. "But they will kill me, comrade." He
looked all the alarm needed.
"Bah!"
In an instant the strongest grip of the Cite was on the man's throat,
and closed as a vise closes. A faint cry escaped as the man struggled.
Francois threw a leg back of the fellow, and as he fell dropped on his
chest. It was brief. The man's heels clattered on the floor; he was
still. The thief rose. The man was to appearance dead. He would
revive, perhaps. "_Peste!_" cried Francois, "it is hard to keep one's
head."
Seizing a paper from the table, Francois went out of the door, closing
it after him, and coolly caressing a cat on the step. He said to the
guard that his comrade would be out by and by, and that it was all
right. As he spoke he waved the paper, and, taking the rope, went on,
crying: "Get up, _ci-devant_!" As they got farther away he hurried the
duke. "Death is behind us. Get on. Faster--faster!" He twisted and
turned, and was not at ease until they were deep in the sinuous,
box-hidden paths of the Luxembourg.
Very few people were to be seen, and these looked at or after them with
curiosity.
"We must be a queer party. Get on, citizen. Thou art lazy. Thou wilt
soon have a fine carriage." He was terribly anxious. "_Sacre_,
monsieur! For the love of the saints, go on, and quicker!"
"What the deuce is it?" said the duke.
"That beast at the barrier knew me. He was an old thief."
"And what then? Why were we not stopped if he knew you?"
"He does not know me nor anybody now."
"_Foi d'honneur_, but you are a brave fellow!"
"Thanks; but make haste."
At last they were in the long Rue de Varennes, where they saw a great
crowd filling the street, and were soon in the midst of a mass of
excited people.