THE CATACOMBS OF THE BIÈVRE AND THEIR OCCUPANTS
There was much depravity and reckless disregard of every moral and
social ordinance to be found moving upon the surface of the city of
Paris at this epoch; but there was still more beneath it. The vast
_carrières_ that have undermined the city in so many directions, the
chief of which are now known by the general name of ‘the catacombs,’
still existed; but they were not then, as now, appropriated to the
storing of remnants of mortality collected from the over-charged
cemetery of the Innocents and other places of interment. They had,
however, living occupants--many, perchance, whose bones exhumed and
transported in future times from these burial-grounds now assist in
forming the ghastly decorations of these subterranean charnel-houses.
As early as the commencement of the fourteenth century it was the
custom to dig the white freestone, of which the greater part of the
edifices of ancient Paris were built, from _carrières_ on either side
of the Bièvre, and beneath the Faubourg St. Marcel, in which
neighbourhood much of our scene has passed. These undertakings were
continued for two or three centuries, without method or direction,
unrestrained by any authority, and entirely according to the will of
the excavators, until they had not only hollowed out the ground for an
incredible distance under the faubourgs, but had even undermined the
southern parts of the city, placing in great jeopardy the streets and
buildings over them, as indeed they are said to be at present. The
empty caverns, most of which opened to the air and light by unguarded
pits and archways, at which accidents were constantly occurring, soon
found inhabitants; and whenever the working of one of these
_carrières_ ceased, either from the fear of proceeding further or the
stoppage of the outlet by a tumbling in of the freestone, it was
immediately taken possession of by the graceless wanderers and
outcasts who formed the refuse of every grade and circle of society in
the dissolute city.
A carriage was waiting, as Lachaussée had stated, at the side of the
Seine; and when he had entered with his unsuspecting companion it
moved on towards the southern extremity of the city, in the direction
Sainte-Croix had taken the preceding evening. Scarcely a word was
spoken by either party, until the vehicle stopped beneath the sign of
the ‘_Lanterne_,’ the low tavern in the Rue Mouffetard. The light
revealed its blackened beams, and the rough, crumbling pillars that
supported the upper floor.
‘This is the end of our journey, mademoiselle,’ said Lachaussée; ‘we
must descend now.’
‘But this is not the residence of M. de Sainte-Croix,’ observed
Louise, as she cast a misgiving glance at the worn and ancient
tenement.
‘We shall meet him by appointment,’ replied the other, as he got down;
‘and he is certain not to be much after his time. If he has not
arrived, do not be alarmed; I have received his orders to take the
greatest care of you.’
The manner of Lachaussée towards Louise was so completely changed
since they last met, his usual insolence had turned to so respectful a
bearing, that her suspicions were for a time lulled. ‘He is evidently
trying,’ she thought, ‘to efface my recollection of his
importunities.’
They were admitted by the host, and Lachaussée inquired if Gaudin had
arrived. The man answered in the affirmative, and moreover stated that
he had gone to his laboratory, leaving word that, if any one inquired
for him, especially two who answered to the description of the present
visitors, they were to be admitted to him.
He threw back a heavy door in the corner of the room as he spoke, and
placed himself at the entrance with a light. It opened apparently on
the brink of a dark well; at all events there was no passage leading
from it. In her anxiety to meet Sainte-Croix once more, Louise had
stepped forward before her conductor; but as she saw the deep abyss
that yawned immediately at her feet, she started with a cry of
affright.
‘Do not alarm yourself, mademoiselle,’ said Lachaussée; ‘Monsieur is
a subtle chemist, and pursues his studies below. Let me go first.’
Lachaussée took the light from the host, and grasping the hand of
Louise, almost dragged her towards the door-way, for she hung back
from terror. The light revealed a few rude wooden steps, down which
they passed; and then she found herself, with her guide, in a narrow
excavation, scarcely large enough to contain them both, and hewn in
the solid limestone.
A straightened passage led from this hollow upon a rapid descent. The
walls were roughly fashioned, as well as the roof, from which large
blocks depended, which threatened every instant to tumble down and
crush those below. At the sides the stone was dirty and smoothed, as
if from the frequent contact of passers by; but above it was white,
and scintillated in places from the reflection of the light which
Lachaussée carried. They went rapidly on, still going down, down,
until the arched-way became damp, and in some places small streams of
water trickled through the walls, or mixed with the lime and depended
in stalactites from the projecting pieces. Then other caverns branched
out from the track they were following, and were soon lost in the
obscurity. Shells and marine fossils, so bright that they almost
appeared metallic, were everywhere visible, and occasionally the
petrified traces of monsters of a former world started out from the
rude boundaries of the passage. The air became chill and damp; the
breath of the intruders steamed in the flaring light of the torch; and
their footsteps fell without an echo, clogged by the deadened and
imprisoned atmosphere. Louise spoke not a word; but even clung to
Lachaussée in the fright of their dreary journey.
Before long the way became more lofty and spacious. Other tracks
evidently branched into it from various points; and the paths were
more beaten, but still always descending. Louise fancied she heard
sounds too; now and then the echo of a laugh, as at a distance, or the
roar of hasty altercation. She addressed several questions to
Lachaussée, as to how much further they had to travel, but received
no reply beyond a commonplace evasion. Then the sounds were louder and
nearer; and at last the superintendent of the Gobelins pushed aside a
curtain of coarse sackcloth that hung before a doorway, as if to
deaden the noise within, and led Louise into an apartment about thirty
feet square, roughly cut in the same manner as the archway, but in a
soft, chalky stone--that kind which, burnt and pulverised, is known so
well in the arts.
There were many people of both sexes in this vault, and a glance
sufficed to show that they were collected from the lowest dregs of
those who lived from day to day they cared not how--in Paris. When any
one of their usual haunts--such as the Cours des Miracles, before
alluded to--became too prominent in its iniquities for the police to
suffer it to remain unvisited, they sought a refuge in the
_carrières_ at the southern part of the city, beyond the barriers,
out of the jurisdiction of the Guet Royal. The Garde Bourgeois they
set entirely at defiance. Having once taken possession of their
subterranean domain, approach was at all times dangerous, except to
the initiated. The fruits of all the robberies committed in the
faubourgs were stored in the gypsum vaults of St. Marcel; and these
caverns also served to secrete those hapless people who had been
carried off by force, and were either sent from there to America--to
be sold, as they affirmed, having been kept _en charte privée_--or
else they were disposed of to the officers who were on the look-out
for recruits. Lachaussée’s employments, whilst in the service of
Sainte-Croix, were of this nature, and will in some measure account
for his intimacy with the inhabitants of the _carrières_.
There was a rough table in this room, formed by planks laid upon
blocks of gypsum. Seats of the same fashion were placed about, and
settles were in some places cut from the limestone itself. Lamps were
hung from the roof, burning dimly in the imprisoned air, and smoking
the blackened pointed incrustation that depended around them in
fanciful variety.
We have said that several persons, both male and female, were grouped
about the room. Some were drinking; others quarrelling over and
dividing their spoils; and many were sleeping off the fumes of
intoxication. But there was one man striding about the room, to whom
they all appeared to pay some deference--such respect, at least, as
could be exacted from the party. He was of enormous stature, and clad
in the rudest manner, in garments apparently chosen from half a dozen
different wardrobes. His hair hung matted and dishevelled about his
head, and his arms were bare, of immense power, and scarred in all
directions. One eye was perfectly closed, the result of some violent
attack, and the other glared unnaturally, from the absence of a
portion of the upper eyelid. As Lachaussée lifted up the curtain he
turned sharply round, but, recognising him, dropped immediately into
his usual lounging position. This man was Bras d’Acier, the most
celebrated brigand of the city.
‘M. Lachaussée,’ he said, ‘enter. I thought Colbert had dared some of
his bloodhounds to follow us. Whom have you there?’
‘A friend of M. de Sainte-Croix,’ replied the intendant, with much
significance. ‘He wishes her taken the greatest care of.’
‘She is welcome,’ replied Bras d’Acier. ‘His wishes shall be obeyed.’
Louise uttered a scream as Bras d’Acier advanced towards her, and
would have fled; but Lachaussée held her by the hand, and he pulled
her into the vault. The women at the same time rose from their seats
and collected around, and in an instant had dispossessed her of a few
ornaments of humble jewellery which she carried in her hair.
‘M. Lachaussée,’ cried the terrified girl, ‘you have cruelly deceived
me! Where is M. de Sainte-Croix?’
A loud laugh broke from those about her, as Bras d’Acier took her from
the intendant and pulled her under the lamp.
‘M. de Sainte-Croix will be here directly; especially if he knows such
a pretty face expects him. In the meantime you can bestow your favours
as you please. Give me a kiss.’
He attempted to draw her still closer towards him; but Louise,
shuddering from his advances, freed herself from his hold and crouched
down at his feet.
‘Is there no one to protect me?’ she cried. ‘M. Lachaussée, you shall
pay dearly for this treachery. Help! help! Gaudin! are you near me, or
have I been so cruelly deceived?’
‘Pshaw!’ returned the ruffian, at whose feet she was crouching, as he
liberated her wrists. ‘I never give myself much trouble in these
matters; too many women are too eager to court me. There--get up; you
will know better after you have lived with us a little time.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the terrified girl. ‘You do not intend to
keep me here?’
‘I am sorry, if it displeases you, to say we cannot let you go,’
answered Lachaussée, entirely altering his tone.
‘What is the meaning of all this? For the love of heaven, tell me for
what you have brought me hither?’
‘To take care of you--that is all,’ said Lachaussée. ‘Paris is a
dangerous place for youth and beauty like yours; besides, you will
find companions to cheer your solitude.’
Louise looked round, and shuddered at the unpromising countenances
about her. Some were laughing, others gazing in stupid curiosity; but
none seemed to sympathise with her. She covered her face with her
hands to shut them from her sight. One of the women, an Amazonian
creature, who was near her, pulled them away, as she said--
‘We have an altar, if you wish to pray; you will find nothing omitted
in our _cour souterrain_. Only do not hide your face, for you will be
married to-morrow; and it is right your future husband should see
something of you.’
Louise was too frightened to reply. She looked wildly about her, and
drew back trembling to Lachaussée; loathing him, yet he appeared the
most human of this fearful company. The woman who had addressed her
pointed to the altar she had spoken of. It was indeed there, at the
end of the room, cut out from the gypsum, and surrounded by a few
rough ornaments of the same material.
‘Why not marry her at once,’ continued the woman; ‘Jerôme Barbier has
no wife. _A la noce! à la noce!_’
‘_A la noce!_’ chorussed all the others.
‘Look here, ma’amselle,’ cried the Amazon, leading a man forward. ‘Is
he not a proper bridegroom? Will you have him? We have the _cruche_
ready to be broken.’
The man advanced, and was about to offer some rude salutation, when
Louise darted from the side of Lachaussée, and hurrying along the
vault threw herself upon the highest step of the altar, clasping the
crucifix that surmounted it with her hands. No one had time to arrest
her progress; the movement had been too sudden.
‘_Asile!_’ she cried. ‘A sanctuary! If you have any respect for this
holy sign, and it is not set up here in mockery, I claim it. I throw
myself on the protection of the cross!’
Superstition, rather than religion, had a powerful hold upon these
lawless people. Even Bras d’Acier was silent, and the remainder
appeared undecided how to act.
But the duration of this silence soon came to an end. Whilst the
ruffians and their associates were yet doubting what course they
should pursue, they were startled by a dull, heavy knocking, repeated
at slow intervals, and sounding in the immediate vicinity of the
cross, to which Louise was clinging. It was first observed by Bras
d’Acier, and he called the attention of Lachaussée to it, as a small
piece of limestone, unsettled by the concussion, fell upon the rough
floor of the vault. Louise, too, heard the noise; and, seeing that it
appeared to alarm her persecutors, redoubled her cries.
‘Silence, woman!’ cried Bras d’Acier, although in a subdued voice, as
the deadened blows still kept on. ‘Silence, I tell you; if you think
your life worth keeping.’
‘Knock her on the head,’ said one of the ruffians.
‘Drag her from the cross,’ exclaimed the woman who had before spoken.
‘I will do it myself, if you are all so terror-stricken.’
‘Hold!’ shouted a third, as he raised his hand in an attitude of
denunciation. It was the broken-down abbe whom Lachaussée
[image: img_06.jpg
caption: Louise Claiming Sanctuary]
had before met with the students. ‘Such violation must not be. The
crumbling walls would fall and crush you all beneath their ruins did
you invade the sanctity of that altar. Back--and respect this holy
emblem!’
Degraded as Camus was, there was something in his manner and attitude
that awed the group about him. They had advanced at the instigation of
the woman, but now once more fell back.
The noise still continued, but it came nearer and nearer; and now the
sound of a voice could be heard shouting, but in the distance.
‘It is a fresh scheme of Colbert’s hounds,’ said Bras d’Acier. ‘They
know every vault and underground alley in Paris as well as the rats.
To the Carrière Montrouge with ye all! I will dispose of this
squeaking girl myself, though heaven and hell forbid it.’
His companions immediately took the hint. They hastily collected their
things together, hiding some of them in niches and corners of the
quarry, and then fled through the different archways in the direction
indicated by Bras d’Acier; whilst the robber himself remained in the
_carrière_, together with Lachaussée.