Our readers must permit us for an instant to abandon Roland and Sir
John, who, thanks to the physical and moral conditions in which we left
them, need inspire no anxiety, while we direct our attention seriously
to a personage who has so far made but a brief appearance in this
history, though he is destined to play an important part in it.
We are speaking of the man who, armed and masked, entered the room of
the table d’hôte at Avignon to return Jean Picot the two hundred louis
which had been stolen from him by mistake, stored as it had been with
the government money.
We speak of the highwayman, who called himself Morgan. He had ridden
into Avignon, masked, in broad daylight, entered the hotel of the
Palais-Egalité leaving his horse at the door. This horse had enjoyed
the same immunity in the pontifical and royalist town as his master; he
found it again at the horse post, unfastened its bridle, sprang into
the saddle, rode through the Porte d’Oulle, skirting the walls,
and disappeared at a gallop along the road to Lyons. Only about
three-quarters of a mile from Avignon, he drew his mantle closer about
him, to conceal his weapons from the passers, and removing his mask he
slipped it into one of the holsters of his saddle.
The persons whom he had left at Avignon who were curious to know if
this could be the terrible Morgan, the terror of the Midi, might have
convinced themselves with their own eyes, had they met him on the road
between Avignon and Bédarides, whether the bandit’s appearance was as
terrifying as his renown. We do not hesitate to assert that the features
now revealed would have harmonized so little with the picture their
prejudiced imagination had conjured up that their amazement would have
been extreme.
The removal of the mask, by a hand of perfect whiteness and delicacy,
revealed the face of a young man of twenty-four or five years of age,
a face that, by its regularity of feature and gentle expression, had
something of the character of a woman’s. One detail alone gave it or
rather would give it at certain moments a touch of singular firmness.
Beneath the beautiful fair hair waving on his brow and temples, as was
the fashion at that period, eyebrows, eyes and lashes were black as
ebony. The rest of the face was, as we have said, almost feminine. There
were two little ears of which only the tips could be seen beneath the
tufts of hair to which the Incroyables of the day had given the name of
“dog’s-ears”; a straight, perfectly proportioned nose, a rather large
mouth, rosy and always smiling, and which, when smiling, revealed a
double row of brilliant teeth; a delicate refined chin faintly tinged
with blue, showing that, if the beard had not been carefully and
recently shaved, it would, protesting against the golden hair, have
followed the same color as the brows, lashes and eyes, that is to say, a
decided black. As for the unknown’s figure, it was seen, when he entered
the dining-room, to be tall, well-formed and flexible, denoting, if not
great muscular strength, at least much suppleness and agility.
The manner he sat his horse showed him to be a practiced rider. With his
cloak thrown back over his shoulders, his mask hidden in the holster,
his hat pulled low over his eyes, the rider resumed his rapid pace,
checked for an instant, passed through Bédarides at a gallop, and
reaching the first houses in Orange, entered the gate of one which
closed immediately behind him. A servant in waiting sprang to the bit.
The rider dismounted quickly.
“Is your master here?” he asked the domestic.
“No, Monsieur the Baron,” replied the man; “he was obliged to go away
last night, but he left word that if Monsieur should ask for him, to say
that he had gone in the interests of the Company.”
“Very good, Baptiste. I have brought back his horse in good condition,
though somewhat tired. Rub him down with wine, and give him for two or
three days barley instead of oats. He has covered something like one
hundred miles since yesterday morning.”
“Monsieur the Baron was satisfied with him?”
“Perfectly satisfied. Is the carriage ready?”
“Yes, Monsieur the Baron, all harnessed in the coach-house; the
postilion is drinking with Julien. Monsieur recommended that he should
be kept outside the house that he might not see him arrive.”
“He thinks he is to take your master?”
“Yes, Monsieur the Baron. Here is my master’s passport, which we used
to get the post-horses, and as my master has gone in the direction of
Bordeaux with Monsieur the Baron’s passport, and as Monsieur the Baron
goes toward Geneva with my master’s passport, the skein will probably
be so tangled that the police, clever as their fingers are, can’t easily
unravel it.”
“Unfasten the valise that is on the croup of my saddle, Baptiste, and
give it to me.”
Baptiste obeyed dutifully, but the valise almost slipped from his hands.
“Ah!” said he laughing, “Monsieur the Baron did not warn me! The devil!
Monsieur the Baron has not wasted his time it seems.”
“Just where you’re mistaken, Baptiste! if I didn’t waste all my time, I
at least lost a good deal, so I should like to be off again as soon as
possible.”
“But Monsieur the Baron will breakfast?”
“I’ll eat a bite, but quickly.”
“Monsieur will not be delayed. It is now two, and breakfast has been
ready since ten this morning. Luckily it’s a cold breakfast.”
And Baptiste, in the absence of his master, did the honors of the house
to the visitor by showing him the way to the dining-room.
“Not necessary,” said the visitor, “I know the way. Do you see to the
carriage; let it be close to the house with the door wide open when I
come out, so that the postilion can’t see me. Here’s the money to pay
him for the first relay.”
And the stranger whom Baptiste had addressed as Baron handed him a
handful of notes.
“Why, Monsieur,” said the servant, “you have given me enough to pay all
the way to Lyons!”
“Pay him as far as Valence, under pretext that I want to sleep, and keep
the rest for your trouble in settling the accounts.”
“Shall I put the valise in the carriage-box?”
“I will do so myself.”
And taking the valise from the servant’s hands, without letting it be
seen that it weighed heavily, he turned toward the dining-room, while
Baptiste made his way toward the nearest inn, sorting his notes as he
went.
As the stranger had said, the way was familiar to him, for he passed
down a corridor, opened a first door without hesitation, then a second,
and found himself before a table elegantly served. A cold fowl, two
partridges, a ham, several kinds of cheese, a dessert of magnificent
fruit, and two decanters, the one containing a ruby-colored wine, and
the other a yellow-topaz, made a breakfast which, though evidently
intended for but one person, as only one place was set, might in case of
need have sufficed for three or four.
The young man’s first act on entering the dining-room was to go straight
to a mirror, remove his hat, arrange his hair with a little comb which
he took from his pocket; after which he went to a porcelain basin with
a reservoir above it, took a towel which was there for the purpose,
and bathed his face and hands. Not until these ablutions were
completed--characteristic of a man of elegant habits--not until these
ablutions had been minutely performed did the stranger sit down to the
table.
A few minutes sufficed to satisfy his appetite, to which youth and
fatigue had, however, given magnificent proportions; and when Baptiste
came in to inform the solitary guest that the carriage was ready he
found him already afoot and waiting.
The stranger drew his hat low over his eyes, wrapped his coat about him,
took the valise under his arm, and, as Baptiste had taken pains to lower
the carriage-steps as close as possible to the door, he sprang into the
post-chaise without being seen by the postilion. Baptiste slammed the
door after him; then, addressing the man in the top-boots:
“Everything is paid to Valence, isn’t it, relays and fees?” he asked.
“Everything; do you want a receipt?” replied the postilion, jokingly.
“No; but my master, the Marquise de Ribier, don’t want to be disturbed
until he gets to Valence.”
“All right,” replied the postilion, in the same bantering tone, “the
citizen Marquis shan’t be disturbed. Forward, hoop-la!” And he started
his horses, and cracked his whip with that noisy eloquence which says to
neighbors and passers-by: “‘Ware here, ‘ware there! I am driving a man
who pays well and who has the right to run over others.”
Once in the carriage the pretended Marquis of Ribier opened the window,
lowered the blinds, raised the seat, put his valise in the hollow, sat
down on it, wrapped himself in his cloak, and, certain of not being
disturbed till he reached Valence, slept as he had breakfasted, that is
to say, with all the appetite of youth.
They went from Orange to Valence in eight hours. Our traveller awakened
shortly before entering the city. Raising one of the blinds cautiously,
he recognized the little suburb of Paillasse. It was dark, so he struck
his repeater and found it was eleven at night. Thinking it useless to go
to sleep again, he added up the cost of the relays to Lyons and counted
out the money. As the postilion at Valence passed the comrade who
replaced him, the traveller heard him say:
“It seems he’s a ci-devant; but he was recommended from Orange, and, as
he pays twenty sous fees, you must treat him as you would a patriot.”
“Very well,” replied the other; “he shall be driven accordingly.”
The traveller thought the time had come to intervene. He raised the
blind and said:
“And you’ll only be doing me justice. A patriot? Deuce take it! I pride
myself upon being one, and of the first calibre, too! And the proof
is--Drink this to the health of the Republic.” And he handed a
hundred-franc assignat to the postilion who had recommended him to his
comrade. Seeing the other looking eagerly at this strip of paper, he
continued: “And the same to you if you will repeat the recommendation
you’ve just received to the others.”
“Oh! don’t worry, citizen,” said the postilion; “there’ll be but one
order to Lyons--full speed!”
“And here is the money for the sixteen posts, including the double
post of entrance in advance. I pay twenty sous fees. Settle it among
yourselves.”
The postilion dug his spurs into his horse and they were off at a
gallop. The carriage relayed at Lyons about four in the afternoon. While
the horses were being changed, a man clad like a porter, sitting with
his stretcher beside him on a stone post, rose, came to the carriage and
said something in a low tone to the young Companion of Jehu which seemed
to astonish the latter greatly.
“Are you quite sure?” he asked the porter.
“I tell you that I saw him with my own eyes!” replied the latter.
“Then I can give the news to our friends as a positive fact?”
“You can. Only hurry.”
“Have they been notified at Servas?”
“Yes; you will find a horse ready between Servas and Sue.”
The postilion came up; the young man exchanged a last glance with
the porter, who walked away as if charged with a letter of the utmost
importance.
“What road, citizen?” asked the postilion.
“To Bourg. I must reach Servas by nine this evening; I pay thirty sous
fees.”
“Forty-two miles in five hours! That’s tough. Well, after all, it can be
done.”
“Will you do it.”
“We can try.”
And the postilion started at full gallop. Nine o’clock was striking as
they entered Servas.
“A crown of six livres if you’ll drive me half-way to Sue without
stopping here to change horses!” cried the young man through the window
to the postilion.
“Done!” replied the latter.
And the carriage dashed past the post house without stopping.
Morgan stopped the carriage at a half mile beyond Servas, put his head
out of the window, made a trumpet of his hands, and gave the hoot of a
screech-owl. The imitation was so perfect that another owl answered from
a neighboring woods.
“Here we are,” cried Morgan.
The postilion pulled up, saying: “If we’re there, we needn’t go
further.”
The young man took his valise, opened the door, jumped out and stepped
up to the postilion.
“Here’s the promised ecu.”
The postilion took the coin and stuck it in his eye, as a fop of our
day holds his eye-glasses. Morgan divined that this pantomime had a
significance.
“Well,” he asked, “what does that mean?”
“That means,” said the postilion, “that, do what I will, I can’t help
seeing with the other eye.”
“I understand,” said the young man, laughing; “and if I close the other
eye--”
“Damn it! I shan’t see anything.”
“Hey! you’re a rogue who’d rather be blind than see with one eye! Well,
there’s no disputing tastes. Here!”
And he gave him a second crown. The postilion stuck it up to his other
eye, wheeled the carriage round and took the road back to Servas.
The Companion of Jehu waited till he vanished in the darkness. Then
putting the hollow of a key to his lips, he drew a long trembling sound
from it like a boatswain’s whistle.
A similar call answered him, and immediately a horseman came out of the
woods at full gallop. As he caught sight of him Morgan put on his mask.
“In whose name have you come?” asked the rider, whose face, hidden as it
was beneath the brim of an immense hat, could not be seen.
“In the name of the prophet Elisha,” replied the young man with the
mask.
“Then you are he whom I am waiting for.” And he dismounted.
“Are you prophet or disciple?” asked Morgan.
“Disciple,” replied the new-comer.
“Where is your master?”
“You will find him at the Chartreuse of Seillon.”
“Do you know how many Companions are there this evening?”
“Twelve.”
“Very good; if you meet any others send them there.”
He who had called himself a disciple bowed in sign of obedience,
assisted Morgan to fasten the valise to the croup of the saddle, and
respectfully held the bit while the young man mounted. Without even
waiting to thrust his other foot into the stirrup, Morgan spurred his
horse, which tore the bit from the groom’s hand and started off at a
gallop.
On the right of the road stretched the forest of Seillon, like a shadowy
sea, its sombre billows undulating and moaning in the night wind. Half
a mile beyond Sue the rider turned his horse across country toward the
forest, which, as he rode on, seemed to advance toward him. The horse,
guided by an experienced hand, plunged fearlessly into the woods. Ten
minutes later he emerged on the other side.
A gloomy mass, isolated in the middle of a plain, rose about a hundred
feet from the forest. It was a building of massive architecture, shaded
by five or six venerable trees. The horseman paused before the portal,
over which were placed three statues in a triangle of the Virgin, our
Lord, and St. John the Baptist. The statue of the Virgin was at the apex
of the triangle.
The mysterious traveller had reached his goal, for this was the
Chartreuse of Seillon. This monastery, the twenty-second of its order,
was founded in 1178. In 1672 a modern edifice had been substituted for
the old building; vestiges of its ruins can be seen to this day. These
ruins consist externally of the above-mentioned portal with the three
statues, before which our mysterious traveller halted; internally, a
small chapel, entered from the right through the portal. A peasant, his
wife and two children are now living there, and the ancient monastery
has become a farm.
The monks were expelled from their convent in 1791; in 1792 the
Chartreuse and its dependencies were offered for sale as ecclesiastical
property. The dependencies consisted first of the park, adjoining the
buildings, and the noble forest which still bears the name of Seillon.
But at Bourg, a royalist and, above all, religious town, no one dared
risk his soul by purchasing property belonging to the worthy monks whom
all revered. The result was that the convent, the park and the forest
had become, under the title of state property, the property of the
republic; that is to say, they belonged to nobody, or were at the best
neglected. The republic having, for the last seven years, other things
to think of than pointing walls, cultivating an orchard and cutting
timber.
For seven years, therefore, the Chartreuse had been completely
abandoned, and if by chance curious eyes peered through the keyhole,
they caught glimpses of grass-grown courtyards, brambles in the orchard,
and brush in the forest, which, except for one road and two or three
paths that crossed it, had become almost impenetrable. The Correrie, a
species of pavilion belonging to the monastery and distant from it about
three-quarters of a mile, was mossgrown too in the tangle of the forest,
which, profiting by its liberty, grew at its own sweet will, and had
long since encircled it in a mantle of foliage which hid it from sight.
For the rest, the strangest rumors were current about these two
buildings. They were said to be haunted by guests invisible by day,
terrifying at night. The woodsmen and the belated peasants, who went to
the forest to exercise against the Republic the rights which the town of
Bourg had enjoyed in the days of the monks, pretended that, through the
cracks of the closed blinds, they had seen flames of fire dancing along
the corridors and stairways, and had distinctly heard the noise of
chains clanking over the cloister tilings and the pavement of the
courtyards. The strong-minded denied these things; but two very opposite
classes opposed the unbelievers, confirming the rumors, attributing
these terrifying noises and nocturnal lights to two different causes
according to their beliefs. The patriots declared that they were
the ghosts of the poor monks buried alive by cloister tyranny in the
In-pace, who were now returned to earth, dragging after them their
fetters to call down the vengeance of Heaven upon their persecutors.
The royalists said that they were the imps of the devil, who, finding
an empty convent, and fearing no further danger from holy water, were
boldly holding their revels where once they had not dared show a claw.
One fact, however, left everything uncertain. Not one of the believers
or unbelievers--whether he elected for the souls of the martyred monks
or for the Witches’ Sabbath of Beelzebub--had ever had the courage to
venture among the shadows, and to seek during the solemn hours of night
confirmation of the truth, in order to tell on the morrow whether the
Chartreuse were haunted, and if haunted by whom.
But doubtless these tales, whether well founded or not, had no influence
over our mysterious horseman; for although, as we have said, nine
o’clock had chimed from the steeples of Bourg, and night had fallen,
he reined in his horse in front of the great portal of the deserted
monastery, and, without dismounting, drew a pistol from his holster,
striking three measured blows with the butt on the gate, after the
manner of the Freemasons. Then he listened. For an instant he doubted if
the meeting were really there; for though he looked closely and listened
attentively, he could perceive no light, nor could he hear a sound.
Still he fancied he heard a cautious step approaching the portal from
within. He knocked a second time with the same weapon and in the same
manner.
“Who knocks?” demanded a voice.
“He who comes from Elisha,” replied the traveller.
“What king do the sons of Isaac obey?”
“Jehu.”
“What house are they to exterminate?”
“That of Ahab.”
“Are you prophet or disciple?”
“Prophet.”
“Welcome then to the House of the Lord!” said the voice.
Instantly the iron bars which secured the massive portal swung back, the
bolts grated in their sockets, half of the gate opened silently, and the
horse and his rider passed beneath the sombre vault, which immediately
closed behind them.
The person who had opened the gate, so slow to open, so quick to close,
was attired in the long white robe of a Chartreuse monk, of which the
hood, falling over his face, completely concealed his features.