You do very well, my friends, to treat me with some little reverence,
for in honouring me you are honouring both France and yourselves. It is
not merely an old, grey-moustached officer whom you see eating his
omelette or draining his glass, but it is a fragment of history. In me
you see one of the last of those wonderful men, the men who were
veterans when they were yet boys, who learned to use a sword earlier
than a razor, and who during a hundred battles had never once let the
enemy see the colour of their knapsacks. For twenty years we were
teaching Europe how to fight, and even when they had learned their
lesson it was only the thermometer, and never the bayonet, which could
break the Grand Army down. Berlin, Naples, Vienna, Madrid, Lisbon,
Moscow--we stabled our horses in them all. Yes, my friends, I say again
that you do well to send your children to me with flowers, for these
ears have heard the trumpet calls of France, and these eyes have seen
her standards in lands where they may never be seen again.
Even now, when I doze in my arm-chair, I can see those great warriors
stream before me--the green-jacketed chasseurs, the giant cuirassiers,
Poniatowsky's lancers, the white-mantled dragoons, the nodding bearskins
of the horse grenadiers. And then there comes the thick, low rattle of
the drums, and through wreaths of dust and smoke I see the line of high
bonnets, the row of brown faces, the swing and toss of the long, red
plumes amid the sloping lines of steel. And there rides Ney with his red
head, and Lefebvre with his bulldog jaw, and Lannes with his Gascon
swagger; and then amidst the gleam of brass and the flaunting feathers I
catch a glimpse of _him_, the man with the pale smile, the rounded
shoulders, and the far-off eyes. There is an end of my sleep, my
friends, for up I spring from my chair, with a cracked voice calling and
a silly hand outstretched, so that Madame Titaux has one more laugh at
the old fellow who lives among the shadows.
Although I was a full Chief of Brigade when the wars came to an end, and
had every hope of soon being made a General of Division, it is still
rather to my earlier days that I turn when I wish to talk of the glories
and the trials of a soldier's life. For you will understand that when an
officer has so many men and horses under him, he has his mind full of
recruits and remounts, fodder and farriers, and quarters, so that even
when he is not in the face of the enemy, life is a very serious matter
for him. But when he is only a lieutenant or a captain he has nothing
heavier than his epaulettes upon his shoulders, so that he can clink his
spurs and swing his dolman, drain his glass and kiss his girl, thinking
of nothing save of enjoying a gallant life. That is the time when he is
likely to have adventures, and it is often to that time that I shall
turn in the stories which I may have for you. So it will be tonight when
I tell you of my visit to the Castle of Gloom; of the strange mission of
Sub-Lieutenant Duroc, and of the horrible affair of the man who was once
known as Jean Carabin, and afterwards as the Baron Straubenthal.
You must know, then, that in the February of 1807, immediately after the
taking of Danzig, Major Legendre and I were commissioned to bring four
hundred remounts from Prussia into Eastern Poland.
The hard weather, and especially the great battle at Eylau, had killed
so many of the horses that there was some danger of our beautiful Tenth
of Hussars becoming a battalion of light infantry. We knew, therefore,
both the Major and I, that we should be very welcome at the front. We
did not advance very rapidly, however, for the snow was deep, the roads
detestable, and we had but twenty returning invalids to assist us.
Besides, it is impossible, when you have a daily change of forage, and
sometimes none at all, to move horses faster than a walk. I am aware
that in the story-books the cavalry whirls past at the maddest of
gallops; but for my own part, after twelve campaigns, I should be very
satisfied to know that my brigade could always walk upon the march and
trot in the presence of the enemy. This I say of the hussars and
chasseurs, mark you, so that it is far more the case with cuirassiers or
dragoons.
For myself I am fond of horses, and to have four hundred of them, of
every age and shade and character, all under my own hands, was a very
great pleasure to me. They were from Pomerania for the most part, though
some were from Normandy and some from Alsace, and it amused us to notice
that they differed in character as much as the people of those
provinces. We observed also, what I have often proved since, that the
nature of a horse can be told by his colour, from the coquettish light
bay, full of fancies and nerves, to the hardy chestnut, and from the
docile roan to the pig-headed rusty-black. All this has nothing in the
world to do with my story, but how is an officer of cavalry to get on
with his tale when he finds four hundred horses waiting for him at the
outset? It is my habit, you see, to talk of that which interests myself
and so I hope that I may interest you.
We crossed the Vistula opposite Marienwerder, and had got as far as
Riesenberg, when Major Legendre came into my room in the post-house with
an open paper in his hand.
'You are to leave me,' said he, with despair upon his face.
It was no very great grief to me to do that, for he was, if I may say
so, hardly worthy to have such a subaltern. I saluted, however, in
silence.
'It is an order from General Lasalle,' he continued; 'you are to
proceed to Rossel instantly, and to report yourself at the headquarters
of the regiment.'
No message could have pleased me better. I was already very well thought
of by my superior officers. It was evident to me, therefore, that this
sudden order meant that the regiment was about to see service once more,
and that Lasalle understood how incomplete my squadron would be without
me. It is true that it came at an inconvenient moment, for the keeper of
the post-house had a daughter--one of those ivory-skinned, black-haired
Polish girls--with whom I had hoped to have some further talk. Still, it
is not for the pawn to argue when the fingers of the player move him
from the square; so down I went, saddled my big black charger, Rataplan,
and set off instantly upon my lonely journey.
My word, it was a treat for those poor Poles and Jews, who have so
little to brighten their dull lives, to see such a picture as that
before their doors! The frosty morning air made Rataplan's great black
limbs and the beautiful curves of his back and sides gleam and shimmer
with every gambade. As for me, the rattle of hoofs upon a road, and the
jingle of bridle chains which comes with every toss of a saucy head,
would even now set my blood dancing through my veins. You may think,
then, how I carried myself in my five-and-twentieth year--I, Etienne
Gerard, the picked horseman and surest blade in the ten regiments of
hussars. Blue was our colour in the Tenth--a sky-blue dolman and pelisse
with a scarlet front--and it was said of us in the army that we could
set a whole population running, the women towards us, and the men away.
There were bright eyes in the Riesenberg windows that morning which
seemed to beg me to tarry; but what can a soldier do, save to kiss his
hand and shake his bridle as he rides upon his way?
It was a bleak season to ride through the poorest and ugliest country in
Europe, but there was a cloudless sky above, and a bright, cold sun,
which shimmered on the huge snowfields. My breath reeked into the
frosty air, and Rataplan sent up two feathers of steam from his
nostrils, while the icicles drooped from the side-irons of his bit. I
let him trot to warm his limbs, while for my own part I had too much to
think of to give much heed to the cold. To north and south stretched the
great plains, mottled over with dark clumps of fir and lighter patches
of larch. A few cottages peeped out here and there, but it was only
three months since the Grand Army had passed that way, and you know what
that meant to a country. The Poles were our friends, it was true, but
out of a hundred thousand men, only the Guard had waggons, and the rest
had to live as best they might. It did not surprise me, therefore, to
see no signs of cattle and no smoke from the silent houses. A weal had
been left across the country where the great host had passed, and it was
said that even the rats were starved wherever the Emperor had led his
men.
By midday I had got as far as the village of Saalfeldt, but as I was on
the direct road for Osterode, where the Emperor was wintering, and also
for the main camp of the seven divisions of infantry, the highway was
choked with carriages and carts. What with artillery caissons and
waggons and couriers, and the ever-thickening stream of recruits and
stragglers, it seemed to me that it would be a very long time before I
should join my comrades. The plains, however, were five feet deep in
snow, so there was nothing for it but to plod upon our way. It was with
joy, therefore, that I found a second road which branched away from the
other, trending through a fir-wood towards the north. There was a small
auberge at the cross-roads, and a patrol of the Third Hussars of
Conflans--the very regiment of which I was afterwards colonel--were
mounting their horses at the door. On the steps stood their officer, a
slight, pale young man, who looked more like a young priest from a
seminary than a leader of the devil-may-care rascals before him.
'Good-day, sir,' said he, seeing that I pulled up my horse.
'Good-day,' I answered. 'I am Lieutenant Etienne Gerard, of the Tenth.'
I could see by his face that he had heard of me. Everybody had heard of
me since my duel with the six fencing masters. My manner, however,
served to put him at his ease with me.
'I am Sub-Lieutenant Duroc, of the Third,' said he.
'Newly joined?' I asked.
'Last week.'
I had thought as much, from his white face and from the way in which he
let his men lounge upon their horses. It was not so long, however, since
I had learned myself what it was like when a schoolboy has to give
orders to veteran troopers. It made me blush, I remember, to shout
abrupt commands to men who had seen more battles than I had years, and
it would have come more natural for me to say, 'With your permission, we
shall now wheel into line,' or, 'If you think it best, we shall trot.' I
did not think the less of the lad, therefore, when I observed that his
men were somewhat out of hand, but I gave them a glance which stiffened
them in their saddles.
'May I ask, monsieur, whether you are going by this northern road?' I
asked.
'My orders are to patrol it as far as Arensdorf,' said he.
'Then I will, with your permission, ride so far with you,' said I. 'It
is very clear that the longer way will be the faster.'
So it proved, for this road led away from the army into a country which
was given over to Cossacks and marauders, and it was as bare as the
other was crowded. Duroc and I rode in front, with our six troopers
clattering in the rear. He was a good boy, this Duroc, with his head
full of the nonsense that they teach at St Cyr, knowing more about
Alexander and Pompey than how to mix a horse's fodder or care for a
horse's feet. Still, he was, as I have said, a good boy, unspoiled as
yet by the camp. It pleased me to hear him prattle away about his
sister Marie and about his mother in Amiens. Presently we found
ourselves at the village of Hayenau. Duroc rode up to the post-house and
asked to see the master.
'Can you tell me,' said he, 'whether the man who calls himself the Baron
Straubenthal lives in these parts?'
The postmaster shook his head, and we rode upon our way. I took no
notice of this, but when, at the next village, my comrade repeated the
same question, with the same result, I could not help asking him who
this Baron Straubenthal might be.
'He is a man,' said Duroc, with a sudden flush upon his boyish face, 'to
whom I have a very important message to convey.'
Well, this was not satisfactory, but there was something in my
companion's manner which told me that any further questioning would be
distasteful to him. I said nothing more, therefore, but Duroc would
still ask every peasant whom we met whether he could give him any news
of the Baron Straubenthal.
For my own part I was endeavouring, as an officer of light cavalry
should, to form an idea of the lay of the country, to note the course of
the streams, and to mark the places where there should be fords. Every
step was taking us farther from the camp round the flanks of which we
were travelling. Far to the south a few plumes of grey smoke in the
frosty air marked the position of some of our outposts. To the north,
however, there was nothing between ourselves and the Russian winter
quarters. Twice on the extreme horizon I caught a glimpse of the glitter
of steel, and pointed it out to my companion. It was too distant for us
to tell whence it came, but we had little doubt that it was from the
lance-heads of marauding Cossacks.
The sun was just setting when we rode over a low hill and saw a small
village upon our right, and on our left a high black castle, which
jutted out from amongst the pine-woods. A farmer with his cart was
approaching us--a matted-haired, downcast fellow, in a sheepskin jacket.
'What village is this?' asked Duroc.
'It is Arensdorf,' he answered, in his barbarous German dialect.
'Then here I am to stay the night,' said my young companion. Then,
turning to the farmer, he asked his eternal question, 'Can you tell me
where the Baron Straubenthal lives?'
'Why, it is he who owns the Castle of Gloom,' said the farmer, pointing
to the dark turrets over the distant fir forest.
Duroc gave a shout like the sportsman who sees his game rising in front
of him. The lad seemed to have gone off his head--his eyes shining, his
face deathly white, and such a grim set about his mouth as made the
farmer shrink away from him. I can see him now, leaning forward on his
brown horse, with his eager gaze fixed upon the great black tower.
'Why do you call it the Castle of Gloom?' I asked.
'Well, it's the name it bears upon the countryside,' said the farmer.
'By all accounts there have been some black doings up yonder. It's not
for nothing that the wickedest man in Poland has been living there these
fourteen years past.'
'A Polish nobleman?' I asked.
'Nay, we breed no such men in Poland,' he answered.
'A Frenchman, then?' cried Duroc.
'They say that he came from France.'
'And with red hair?'
'As red as a fox.'
'Yes, yes, it is my man,' cried my companion, quivering all over in his
excitement. 'It is the hand of Providence which has led me here. Who can
say that there is not justice in this world? Come, Monsieur Gerard, for
I must see the men safely quartered before I can attend to this private
matter.'
He spurred on his horse, and ten minutes later we were at the door of
the inn of Arensdorf, where his men were to find their quarters for the
night.
Well, all this was no affair of mine, and I could not imagine what the
meaning of it might be. Rossel was still far off, but I determined to
ride on for a few hours and take my chance of some wayside barn in which
I could find shelter for Rataplan and myself. I had mounted my horse,
therefore, after tossing off a cup of wine, when young Duroc came
running out of the door and laid his hand upon my knee.
'Monsieur Gerard,' he panted, 'I beg of you not to abandon me like
this!'
'My good sir,' said I, 'if you would tell me what is the matter and what
you would wish me to do, I should be better able to tell you if I could
be of any assistance to you.'
'You can be of the very greatest,' he cried. 'Indeed, from all that I
have heard of you, Monsieur Gerard, you are the one man whom I should
wish to have by my side tonight.'
'You forget that I am riding to join my regiment.'
'You cannot, in any case, reach it tonight. Tomorrow will bring you to
Rossel. By staying with me you will confer the very greatest kindness
upon me, and you will aid me in a matter which concerns my own honour
and the honour of my family. I am compelled, however, to confess to you
that some personal danger may possibly be involved.'
It was a crafty thing for him to say. Of course, I sprang from
Rataplan's back and ordered the groom to lead him back into the stables.
'Come into the inn,' said I, 'and let me know exactly what it is that
you wish me to do.'
He led the way into a sitting-room, and fastened the door lest we should
be interrupted. He was a well-grown lad, and as he stood in the glare of
the lamp, with the light beating upon his earnest face and upon his
uniform of silver grey, which suited him to a marvel, I felt my heart
warm towards him. Without going so far as to say that he carried himself
as I had done at his age, there was at least similarity enough to make
me feel in sympathy with him.
'I can explain it all in a few words,' said he. 'If I have not already
satisfied your very natural curiosity, it is because the subject is so
painful a one to me that I can hardly bring myself to allude to it. I
cannot, however, ask for your assistance without explaining to you
exactly how the matter lies.
'You must know, then, that my father was the well-known banker,
Christophe Duroc, who was murdered by the people during the September
massacres. As you are aware, the mob took possession of the prisons,
chose three so-called judges to pass sentence upon the unhappy
aristocrats, and then tore them to pieces when they were passed out into
the street. My father had been a benefactor of the poor all his life.
There were many to plead for him. He had the fever, too, and was carried
in, half-dead, upon a blanket. Two of the judges were in favour of
acquitting him; the third, a young Jacobin, whose huge body and brutal
mind had made him a leader among these wretches, dragged him, with his
own hands, from the litter, kicked him again and again with his heavy
boots, and hurled him out of the door, where in an instant he was torn
limb from limb under circumstances which are too horrible for me to
describe. This, as you perceive, was murder, even under their own
unlawful laws, for two of their own judges had pronounced in my father's
favour.
'Well, when the days of order came back again, my elder brother began to
make inquiries about this man. I was only a child then, but it was a
family matter, and it was discussed in my presence. The fellow's name
was Carabin. He was one of Sansterre's Guard, and a noted duellist. A
foreign lady named the Baroness Straubenthal having been dragged before
the Jacobins, he had gained her liberty for her on the promise that she
with her money and estates should be his. He had married her, taken her
name and title, and escaped out of France at the time of the fall of
Robespierre. What had become of him we had no means of learning.
'You will think, doubtless, that it would be easy for us to find him,
since we had both his name and his title. You must remember, however,
that the Revolution left us without money, and that without money such a
search is very difficult. Then came the Empire, and it became more
difficult still, for, as you are aware, the Emperor considered that the
18th Brumaire brought all accounts to a settlement, and that on that day
a veil had been drawn across the past. None the less, we kept our own
family story and our own family plans.
'My brother joined the army, and passed with it through all Southern
Europe, asking everywhere for the Baron Straubenthal. Last October he
was killed at Jena, with his mission still unfulfilled. Then it became
my turn, and I have the good fortune to hear of the very man of whom I
am in search at one of the first Polish villages which I have to visit,
and within a fortnight of joining my regiment. And then, to make the
matter even better, I find myself in the company of one whose name is
never mentioned throughout the army save in connection with some daring
and generous deed.'
This was all very well, and I listened to it with the greatest interest,
but I was none the clearer as to what young Duroc wished me to do.
'How can I be of service to you?' I asked.
'By coming up with me.'
'To the Castle?'
'Precisely.'
'When?'
'At once.'
'But what do you intend to do?'
'I shall know what to do. But I wish you to be with me, all the same.'
Well, it was never in my nature to refuse an adventure, and, besides, I
had every sympathy with the lad's feelings. It is very well to forgive
one's enemies, but one wishes to give them something to forgive also. I
held out my hand to him, therefore.
'I must be on my way for Rossel tomorrow morning, but tonight I am
yours,' said I.
We left our troopers in snug quarters, and, as it was but a mile to the
Castle, we did not disturb our horses. To tell the truth, I hate to see
a cavalry man walk, and I hold that just as he is the most gallant thing
upon earth when he has his saddle-flaps between his knees, so he is the
most clumsy when he has to loop up his sabre and his sabre-tasche in one
hand and turn in his toes for fear of catching the rowels of his spurs.
Still, Duroc and I were of the age when one can carry things off, and I
dare swear that no woman at least would have quarrelled with the
appearance of the two young hussars, one in blue and one in grey, who
set out that night from the Arensdorf post-house. We both carried our
swords, and for my own part I slipped a pistol from my holster into the
inside of my pelisse, for it seemed to me that there might be some wild
work before us.
The track which led to the Castle wound through a pitch-black fir-wood,
where we could see nothing save the ragged patch of stars above our
heads. Presently, however, it opened up, and there was the Castle right
in front of us, about as far as a carbine would carry. It was a huge,
uncouth place, and bore every mark of being exceedingly old, with
turrets at every corner, and a square keep on the side which was nearest
to us. In all its great shadow there was no sign of light save from a
single window, and no sound came from it. To me there was something
awful in its size and its silence, which corresponded so well with its
sinister name. My companion pressed on eagerly, and I followed him along
the ill-kept path which led to the gate.
There was no bell or knocker upon the great iron-studded door, and it
was only by pounding with the hilts of our sabres that we could attract
attention. A thin, hawk-faced man, with a beard up to his temples,
opened it at last. He carried a lantern in one hand, and in the other a
chain which held an enormous black hound. His manner at the first moment
was threatening, but the sight of our uniforms and of our faces turned
it into one of sulky reserve.
'The Baron Straubenthal does not receive visitors at so late an hour,'
said he, speaking in very excellent French.
'You can inform Baron Straubenthal that I have come eight hundred
leagues to see him, and that I will not leave until I have done so,'
said my companion. I could not myself have said it with a better voice
and manner.
The fellow took a sidelong look at us, and tugged at his black beard in
his perplexity.
'To tell the truth, gentlemen,' said he, 'the Baron has a cup or two of
wine in him at this hour, and you would certainly find him a more
entertaining companion if you were to come again in the morning.'
He had opened the door a little wider as he spoke, and I saw by the
light of the lamp in the hall behind him that three other rough fellows
were standing there, one of whom held another of these monstrous hounds.
Duroc must have seen it also, but it made no difference to his
resolution.
'Enough talk,' said he, pushing the man to one side. 'It is with your
master that I have to deal.'
The fellows in the hall made way for him as he strode in among them, so
great is the power of one man who knows what he wants over several who
are not sure of themselves. My companion tapped one of them upon the
shoulder with as much assurance as though he owned him.
'Show me to the Baron,' said he.
The man shrugged his shoulders, and answered something in Polish. The
fellow with the beard, who had shut and barred the front door, appeared
to be the only one among them who could speak French.
'Well, you shall have your way,' said he, with a sinister smile. 'You
shall see the Baron. And perhaps, before you have finished, you will
wish that you had taken my advice.'
We followed him down the hall, which was stone-flagged and very
spacious, with skins scattered upon the floor, and the heads of wild
beasts upon the walls. At the farther end he threw open a door, and we
entered.
It was a small room, scantily furnished, with the same marks of neglect
and decay which met us at every turn. The walls were hung with
discoloured tapestry, which had come loose at one corner, so as to
expose the rough stonework behind. A second door, hung with a curtain,
faced us upon the other side. Between lay a square table, strewn with
dirty dishes and the sordid remains of a meal. Several bottles were
scattered over it. At the head of it, and facing us, there sat a huge
man with a lion-like head and a great shock of orange-coloured hair. His
beard was of the same glaring hue; matted and tangled and coarse as a
horse's mane. I have seen some strange faces in my time, but never one
more brutal than that, with its small, vicious, blue eyes, its white,
crumpled cheeks, and the thick, hanging lip which protruded over his
monstrous beard. His head swayed about on his shoulders, and he looked
at us with the vague, dim gaze of a drunken man. Yet he was not so drunk
but that our uniforms carried their message to him.
'Well, my brave boys,' he hiccoughed. 'What is the latest news from
Paris, eh? You're going to free Poland, I hear, and have meantime all
become slaves yourselves--slaves to a little aristocrat with his grey
coat and his three-cornered hat. No more citizens either, I am told, and
nothing but monsieur and madame. My faith, some more heads will have to
roll into the sawdust basket some of these mornings.'
Duroc advanced in silence, and stood by the ruffian's side.
'Jean Carabin,' said he.
The Baron started, and the film of drunkenness seemed to be clearing
from his eyes.
'Jean Carabin,' said Duroc, once more.
He sat up and grasped the arms of his chair.
'What do you mean by repeating that name, young man?' he asked.
'Jean Carabin, you are a man whom I have long wished to meet.'
'Supposing that I once had such a name, how can it concern you, since
you must have been a child when I bore it?'
'My name is Duroc.'
'Not the son of----?'
'The son of the man you murdered.'
The Baron tried to laugh, but there was terror in his eyes.
'We must let bygones be bygones, young man,' he cried. 'It was our life
or theirs in those days: the aristocrats or the people. Your father was
of the Gironde. He fell. I was of the mountain. Most of my comrades
fell. It was all the fortune of war. We must forget all this and learn
to know each other better, you and I.' He held out a red, twitching hand
as he spoke.
'Enough,' said young Duroc. 'If I were to pass my sabre through you as
you sit in that chair, I should do what is just and right. I dishonour
my blade by crossing it with yours. And yet you are a Frenchman, and
have even held a commission under the same flag as myself. Rise, then,
and defend yourself!'
'Tut, tut!' cried the Baron. 'It is all very well for you young
bloods--'
Duroc's patience could stand no more. He swung his open hand into the
centre of the great orange beard. I saw a lip fringed with blood, and
two glaring blue eyes above it.
'You shall die for that blow.'
'That is better,' said Duroc.
'My sabre!' cried the other. 'I will not keep you waiting, I promise
you!' and he hurried from the room.
I have said that there was a second door covered with a curtain. Hardly
had the Baron vanished when there ran from behind it a woman, young and
beautiful. So swiftly and noiselessly did she move that she was between
us in an instant, and it was only the shaking curtains which told us
whence she had come.
'I have seen it all,' she cried. 'Oh, sir, you have carried yourself
splendidly.' She stooped to my companion's hand, and kissed it again and
again ere he could disengage it from her grasp.
'Nay, madame, why should you kiss my hand?' he cried.
'Because it is the hand which struck him on his vile, lying mouth.
Because it may be the hand which will avenge my mother. I am his
step-daughter. The woman whose heart he broke was my mother. I loathe
him, I fear him. Ah, there is his step!' In an instant she had vanished
as suddenly as she had come. A moment later, the Baron entered with a
drawn sword in his hand, and the fellow who had admitted us at his
heels.
'This is my secretary,' said he. 'He will be my friend in this affair.
But we shall need more elbow-room than we can find here. Perhaps you
will kindly come with me to a more spacious apartment.'
It was evidently impossible to fight in a chamber which was blocked by a
great table. We followed him out, therefore, into the dimly-lit hall. At
the farther end a light was shining through an open door.
'We shall find what we want in here,' said the man with the dark beard.
It was a large, empty room, with rows of barrels and cases round the
walls. A strong lamp stood upon a shelf in the corner. The floor was
level and true, so that no swordsman could ask for more. Duroc drew his
sabre and sprang into it. The Baron stood back with a bow and motioned
me to follow my companion. Hardly were my heels over the threshold when
the heavy door crashed behind us and the key screamed in the lock. We
were taken in a trap.
For a moment we could not realize it. Such incredible baseness was
outside all our experiences. Then, as we understood how foolish we had
been to trust for an instant a man with such a history, a flush of rage
came over us, rage against his villainy and against our own stupidity.
We rushed at the door together, beating it with our fists and kicking
with our heavy boots. The sound of our blows and of our execrations must
have resounded through the Castle. We called to this villain, hurling at
him every name which might pierce even into his hardened soul. But the
door was enormous--such a door as one finds in mediaeval castles--made
of huge beams clamped together with iron. It was as easy to break as a
square of the Old Guard. And our cries appeared to be of as little avail
as our blows, for they only brought for answer the clattering echoes
from the high roof above us. When you have done some soldiering, you
soon learn to put up with what cannot be altered. It was I, then, who
first recovered my calmness, and prevailed upon Duroc to join with me in
examining the apartment which had become our dungeon.
There was only one window, which had no glass in it, and was so narrow
that one could not so much as get one's head through. It was high up,
and Duroc had to stand upon a barrel in order to see from it.
'What can you see?' I asked.
'Fir-woods and an avenue of snow between them,' said he. 'Ah!' he gave a
cry of surprise.
I sprang upon the barrel beside him. There was, as he said, a long,
clear strip of snow in front. A man was riding down it, flogging his
horse and galloping like a madman. As we watched, he grew smaller and
smaller, until he was swallowed up by the black shadows of the forest.
'What does that mean?' asked Duroc.
'No good for us,' said I. 'He may have gone for some brigands to cut
our throats. Let us see if we cannot find a way out of this mouse-trap
before the cat can arrive.'
The one piece of good fortune in our favour was that beautiful lamp. It
was nearly full of oil, and would last us until morning. In the dark our
situation would have been far more difficult. By its light we proceeded
to examine the packages and cases which lined the walls. In some places
there was only a single line of them, while in one corner they were
piled nearly to the ceiling. It seemed that we were in the storehouse of
the Castle, for there were a great number of cheeses, vegetables of
various kinds, bins full of dried fruits, and a line of wine barrels.
One of these had a spigot in it, and as I had eaten little during the
day, I was glad of a cup of claret and some food. As to Duroc, he would
take nothing, but paced up and down the room in a fever of anger and
impatience. 'I'll have him yet!' he cried, every now and then. 'The
rascal shall not escape me!'
This was all very well, but it seemed to me, as I sat on a great round
cheese eating my supper, that this youngster was thinking rather too
much of his own family affairs and too little of the fine scrape into
which he had got me. After all, his father had been dead fourteen years,
and nothing could set that right; but here was Etienne Gerard, the most
dashing lieutenant in the whole Grand Army, in imminent danger of being
cut off at the very outset of his brilliant career. Who was ever to know
the heights to which I might have risen if I were knocked on the head in
this hole-and-corner business, which had nothing whatever to do with
France or the Emperor? I could not help thinking what a fool I had been,
when I had a fine war before me and everything which a man could desire,
to go off on a hare-brained expedition of this sort, as if it were not
enough to have a quarter of a million Russians to fight against, without
plunging into all sorts of private quarrels as well.
'That is all very well,' I said at last, as I heard Duroc muttering his
threats. 'You may do what you like to him when you get the upper hand.
At present the question rather is, what is _he_ going to do to us?'
'Let him do his worst!' cried the boy. 'I owe a duty to my father.'
'That is mere foolishness,' said I. 'If you owe a duty to your father, I
owe one to my mother, which is to get out of this business safe and
sound.'
My remark brought him to his senses.
'I have thought too much of myself!' he cried. 'Forgive me, Monsieur
Gerard. Give me your advice as to what I should do.'
'Well,' said I, 'it is not for our health that they have shut us up here
among the cheeses. They mean to make an end of us if they can. That is
certain. They hope that no one knows that we have come here, and that
none will trace us if we remain. Do your hussars know where you have
gone to?'
'I said nothing.'
'Hum! It is clear that we cannot be starved here. They must come to us
if they are to kill us. Behind a barricade of barrels we could hold our
own against the five rascals whom we have seen. That is, probably, why
they have sent that messenger for assistance.'
'We must get out before he returns.'
'Precisely, if we are to get out at all.'
'Could we not burn down this door?' he cried.
'Nothing could be easier,' said I. 'There are several casks of oil in
the corner. My only objection is that we should ourselves be nicely
toasted, like two little oyster pâtés.'
'Can you not suggest something?' he cried, in despair. 'Ah, what is
that?'
There had been a low sound at our little window, and a shadow came
between the stars and ourselves. A small, white hand was stretched into
the lamplight. Something glittered between the fingers.
'Quick! quick!' cried a woman's voice.
We were on the barrel in an instant.
'They have sent for the Cossacks. Your lives are at stake. Ah, I am
lost! I am lost!'
There was the sound of rushing steps, a hoarse oath, a blow, and the
stars were once more twinkling through the window. We stood helpless
upon the barrel with our blood cold with horror. Half a minute
afterwards we heard a smothered scream, ending in a choke. A great door
slammed somewhere in the silent night.
'Those ruffians have seized her. They will kill her,' I cried.
Duroc sprang down with the inarticulate shouts of one whose reason has
left him. He struck the door so frantically with his naked hands that he
left a blotch of blood with every blow.
Here is the key!' I shouted, picking one from the floor. 'She must have
thrown it in at the instant that she was torn away.'
My companion snatched it from me with a shriek of joy. A moment later he
dashed it down upon the boards. It was so small that it was lost in the
enormous lock. Duroc sank upon one of the boxes with his head between
his hands. He sobbed in his despair. I could have sobbed, too, when I
thought of the woman and how helpless we were to save her.
But I am not easily baffled. After all, this key must have been sent to
us for a purpose. The lady could not bring us that of the door, because
this murderous step-father of hers would most certainly have it in his
pocket. Yet this other must have a meaning, or why should she risk her
life to place it in our hands? It would say little for our wits if we
could not find out what that meaning might be.
I set to work moving all the cases out from the wall, and Duroc, gaining
new hope from my courage, helped me with all his strength. It was no
light task, for many of them were large and heavy. On we went, working
like maniacs, slinging barrels, cheeses, and boxes pell-mell into the
middle of the room. At last there only remained one huge barrel of
vodka, which stood in the corner. With our united strength we rolled it
out, and there was a little low wooden door in the wainscot behind it.
The key fitted, and with a cry of delight we saw it swing open before
us. With the lamp in my hand, I squeezed my way in, followed by my
companion.
We were in the powder-magazine of the Castle--a rough, walled cellar,
with barrels all round it, and one with the top staved in in the centre.
The powder from it lay in a black heap upon the floor. Beyond there was
another door, but it was locked.
'We are no better off than before,' cried Duroc. 'We have no key.'
'We have a dozen!' I cried.
'Where?'