THE ALARM.
At that time, a brazier in the market-place, and three or four
lanterns at street crossings, made up the most of the public lighting.
When I paused, therefore, to breathe my horse on the brow of the
slope, beyond the Valandre bridge, and looked back on Cahors, I saw
only darkness, broken here and there by a blur of yellow light; that
still, by throwing up a fragment of wall or eaves, told in a
mysterious way of the sleeping city.
The river, a faint, shimmering line, conjectured rather than seen,
wound round all. Above, clouds were flying across the sky, and a wind,
cold for the time of year--cold, at least, after the heat of the
day--chilled the blood, and slowly filled the mind with the solemnity
of night.
As I stood listening to the breathing of the horses, the excitement in
which I had passed the last few hours died away, and left me
wondering--wondering, and a little regretful. The exaltation gone, I
found the scene I had just left flavourless; I even presently began to
find it worse. Some false note in the cynical, boastful voices and the
selfish--the utterly selfish--plans, to which I had been listening for
hours, made itself heard in the stillness. Madame's "We are France,"
which had sounded well amid the lights and glitter of the _salon_,
among laces and _fripons_ and rose-pink coats, seemed folly in the
face of the infinite night, behind which lay twenty-five millions of
Frenchmen.
However, what I had done, I had done. I had the white cockade on my
breast; I was pledged to order--and to my order. And it might be the
better course. But, with reflection, enthusiasm faded; and, by some
strange process, as it faded, and the scene in which I had just taken
part lost its hold, the errand that had brought me to Cahors recovered
importance. As Madame St. Alais' influence grew weak, the memory of
Mademoiselle, sitting lonely and scared in her coach, grew vivid,
until I turned my horse fretfully, and endeavoured to lose the thought
in rapid movement.
But it is not so easy to escape from oneself at night, as in the day.
The soughing of the wind through the chestnut trees, the drifting
clouds, and the sharp ring of hoofs on the road, all laid as it were a
solemn finger on the pulses and stilled them. The men behind me talked
in sleepy voices, or rode silently. The town lay a hundred leagues
behind. Not a light appeared on the upland. In the world of night
through which we rode, a world of black, mysterious bulks rising
suddenly against the grey sky, and as suddenly sinking, we were the
only inhabitants.
At last we reached the hill above St. Alais, and I looked eagerly for
lights in the valley; forgetting that, as it wanted only an hour of
midnight, the village would have retired hours before. The
disappointment, and the delay--for the steepness of the hill forbade
any but a walking pace--fretted me; and when I heard, a moment later,
a certain noise behind me, a noise I knew only too well, I flared up.
"Stay, fool!" I cried, reining in my horse, and turning in the saddle.
"That mare has broken her shoe again, and you are riding on as if
nothing were the matter! Get down--and see. Do you think that I----"
"Pardon, Monsieur," Gil muttered. He had been sleeping in his saddle.
He scrambled down. The mare he rode, a valuable one, had a knack of
breaking her hind shoe; after which she never failed to lame herself
at the first opportunity. Buton had tried every method of shoeing, but
without success.
I sprang to the ground while he lifted the foot. My ear had not
deceived me; the shoe was broken. Gil tried to remove the jagged
fragment left on the hoof, but the mare was restive, and he had to
desist.
"She cannot go to Saux in that state," I said angrily.
The men were silent for a moment, peering at the mare. Then Gil spoke.
"The St. Alais forge is not three hundred yards down the lane,
Monsieur," he said. "And the turn is yonder. We could knock up Petit
Jean, and get him to bring his pincers here. Only----"
"Only what?" I said peevishly.
"I quarrelled with him at Cahors Fair, Monsieur," Gil answered
sheepishly; "and he might not come for us."
"Very well," I said gruffly, "I will go. And do you stay here, and
keep the mare quiet."
Andre held the stirrup for me to mount. The smithy, the first hovel in
the village, was a quarter of a mile away, and, in reason, I should
have ridden to it. But, in my irritation, I was ready to do anything
they did not propose, and, roughly rejecting his help, I started on
foot. Fifty paces brought me to the branch road that led to St. Alais,
and, making out the turning with a little difficulty, I plunged into
it; losing, in a moment, the cheerful sound of jingling bits and the
murmur of the men's voices.
Poplars rose on high banks on either side of the lane, and made the
place as dark as a pit, and I had almost to grope my way. A stumble
added to my irritation, and I cursed the St. Alais for the ruts, and
the moon for its untimely setting. The ceaseless whispering of the
poplar leaves went with me, and, in some unaccountable way, annoyed
me. I stumbled again, and swore at Gil, and then stopped to listen. I
was in the road, and yet I heard the jingling of bits again, as if the
horses were following me.
I stopped angrily to listen, thinking that the men had disobeyed my
orders. Then I found that the sound came from the front, and was
heavier and harder than the ringing of bit or bridle. I groped my way
forward, wondering somewhat, until a faint, ruddy light, shining on
the darkness and the poplars, prepared me for the truth--welcome,
though it seemed of the strangest--that the forge was at work.
As I took this in, I turned a corner, and came within sight of the
smithy; and stood in astonishment. The forge was in full blast. Two
hammers were at work; I could see them rising and falling, and hear,
though they seemed to be muffled, the rhythmical jarring clang as they
struck the metal. The ruddy glare of the fire flooded the road and
burnished the opposite trees, and flung long, black shadows on the
sky.
Such a sight filled me with the utmost astonishment, for it was nearly
midnight. Fortunately something else I saw astonished me still more,
and stayed my foot. Between the point where I stood by the hedge and
the forge a number of men were moving, and flitting to and fro; men
with bare arms and matted heads, half-naked, with skins burned black.
It would have been hard to count them, they shifted so quickly; and I
did not try. It was enough for me that one half of them carried pikes
and pitchforks, that one man seemed to be detailing them into groups,
and giving them directions; and that, notwithstanding the occasional
jar of the hammers, an air of ferocious stealth marked their
movements.
For a moment I stood rooted to the spot. Then, instinctively, I
stepped aside into the shadow of the hedge, and looked again. The man
who acted as the leader carried an axe on his shoulder, the broad
blade of which, as it caught the glow of the furnace, seemed to be
bathed in blood. He was never still--this man. One moment he moved
from group to group, gesticulating, ordering, encouraging. Now he
pulled a man out of one troop and thrust him forcibly into another;
now he made a little speech, which was dumb play to me, a hundred
paces away; now he went into the forge, and his huge bulk for a moment
intercepted the light. It was Petit Jean, the smith.
I made use of the momentary darkness which he caused on one of these
occasions, and stole a little nearer. For I knew now what was before
me. I knew perfectly that all this meant blood, fire, outrage, flames
rising to heaven, screams startling the stricken night! But I must
know more, if I would do anything. I went nearer therefore, creeping
along the hedge, and crouching in the ditch, until no more than twelve
yards separated me from the muster. Then I stood still, as Petit Jean
came out again, to distribute another bundle of weapons, clutched
instantly and eagerly by grimy hands. I could hear now, and I
shuddered at what I heard. Gargouf was in every mouth. Gargouf, the
St. Alais' steward, coupled with grisly tortures and slow deaths, with
old sins, and outrages, and tyrannies, now for the first time voiced,
now to be expiated!
At last, one man laid the torch by crying aloud, "To the Chateau! To
the Chateau!" and in an instant the words changed the feelings with
which I had hitherto stared into immediate horror. I started forward.
My impulse, for a moment, was to step into the light and confront
them--to persuade, menace, cajole, turn them any way from their
purpose. But, in the same moment, reflection showed me the
hopelessness of the attempt. These were no longer peasants, dull,
patient clods, such as I had known all my life; but maddened beasts; I
read it in their gestures and the growl of their voices. To step
forward would be only to sacrifice myself; and with this thought I
crept back, gained the deeper shadow, and, turning on my heel, sped
down the lane. The ruts and the darkness were no longer anything to
me. If I stumbled, I did not notice it. If I fell, it was no matter.
In less than a minute I was standing, breathless, by the astonished
servants, striving to tell them quickly what they must do.
"The village is rising!" I panted. "They are going to burn the
Chateau, and Mademoiselle is in it! Gil, ride, gallop, lose not a
minute, to Cahors, and tell M. le Marquis. He must bring what forces
he can. And do you, Andre, go to Saux. Tell Father Benoit. Bid him do
his utmost--bring all he can."
For answer, they stared, open-mouthed, through the dusk. "And the
mare, Monsieur?" one asked at last dully.
"Fool! let her go!" I cried. "The mare? Do you understand? The Chateau
is----"
"And you, Monsieur?"
"I am going to the house by the garden wing. Now go! Go, men!" I
continued'. "A hundred livres to each of you if the house is saved!"
I said the house because I dared not speak what was really in my mind;
because I dared not picture the girl, young, helpless, a woman, in the
hands of those monsters. Yet it was that which goaded me now, it was
that which gave me such strength that, before the men had ridden many
yards, I had forced my way through the thick fence, as if it had been
a mass of cobwebs. Once on the other side, in the open, I hastened
across one field and a second, skirted the village, and made for the
gardens which abutted on the east wing of the Chateau. I knew these
well; the part farthest from the house, and most easy of entrance, was
a wilderness, in which I had often played as a child. There was no
fence round this, except a wooden paling, and none between it and the
more orderly portion; while a side door opened from the latter into a
passage leading to the great hall of the Chateau. The house, a long,
regular building, reared by the Marquis's father, was composed of two
wings and a main block. All faced the end of the village street at a
distance of a hundred paces; a wide, dusty, ill-planted avenue leading
from the iron gates, which stood always open, to the state entrance.
The rioters had only a short distance to go, therefore, and no
obstacle between them and the house; none when they reached it of
greater consequence than ordinary doors and shutters, should the
latter be closed. As I ran, I shuddered to think how defenceless all
lay; and how quickly the wretches, bursting in the doors, would
overrun the shining parquets, and sweep up the spacious staircase.
The thought added wings to my feet. I had farther to go than they had,
and over hedges, but before the first sounds of their approach reached
the house I was already in the wilderness, and forcing my way through
it, stumbling over stumps and bushes, falling more than once, covered
with dust and sweat, but still pushing on.
At last I sprang into the open garden, with its shadowy walks, and
nymphs, and fauns; and looked towards the village. A dull red light
was beginning to show among the trunks of the avenue; a murmur of
voices sounded in the distance. They were coming! I wasted no more
than a single glance; then I ran down the walk, between the statues.
In a moment I passed into the darker shadow under the house, I was at
the door. I thrust my shoulder against it. It resisted; it resisted!
and every moment was precious. I could no longer see the approaching
lights nor hear the voices of the crowd--the angle of the house
intervened; but I could imagine only too vividly how they were coming
on; I fancied them already at the great door.
I hammered on the panels with my fist; then I fumbled for the latch,
and found it. It rose, but the door held. I shook it. I shook it again
in a frenzy; at last, forgetting caution, I shouted--shouted more
loudly. Then, after an age, as it seemed to me, standing panting in
the darkness, I heard halting footsteps come along the passage, and
saw a line of light grow, and brighten under the door. At last a
quavering voice asked:----
"Who is it?"
"M. de Saux," I answered impatiently. "M. de Saux! Let me in. Let me
in, do you hear?" And I struck the panels wrathfully.
"Monsieur," the voice answered, quavering more and more, "is there
anything the matter?"
"Matter? They are going to burn the house, fool!" I cried. "Open!
open! if you do not wish to be burned in your beds!"
For a moment I fancied that the man still hesitated. Then he unbarred.
In a twinkling I was inside, in a narrow passage, with dingy, stained
walls. An old man, lean-jawed and feeble, an old valet whom I had
often seen at worsted work in the ante-room, confronted me, holding an
iron candlestick. The light shook in his hands, and his jaw fell as he
looked at me. I saw that I had nothing to expect from him, and I
snatched the bar from his hands, and set it back in its place myself.
Then I seized the light.
"Quick!" I said passionately. "To your mistress."
"Monsieur?"
"Upstairs! Upstairs!"
He had more to say, but I did not wait to hear it. Knowing the way,
and having the candle, I left him, and hurried along the passage.
Stumbling over three or four mattresses that lay on the floor,
doubtless for the servants, I reached the hall. Here my taper shone a
mere speck in a cavern of blackness; but it gave me light enough to
see that the door was barred, and I turned to the staircase. As I set
my foot on the lowest step the old valet, who was following me as
fast as his trembling legs would carry him, blundered against a
spinning-wheel that stood in the hall. It fell with a clatter, and in
a moment a chorus of screams and cries broke out above. I sprang
up the stairs three at a stride, and on the lobby came on the
screamers--a terrified group, whose alarm the doubtful light of a
tallow candle, that stood beside them on the floor, could not
exaggerate. Nearest to me stood an old footman and a boy--their
terror-stricken eyes met mine as I mounted the last stairs. Behind
them, and crouching against a tapestry-covered seat that ran along the
wall, were the rest; three or four women, who shrieked and hid their
faces in one another's garments. They did not look up or take any heed
of me; but continued to scream steadily.
The old man with a quavering oath tried to still them.
"Where is Gargouf?" I asked him.
"He has gone to fasten the back doors, Monsieur," he answered.
"And Mademoiselle?"
"She is yonder."
He turned as he spoke; and I saw behind him a heavy curtain hiding the
oriel window of the lobby. It moved while I looked, and Mademoiselle
emerged from its folds, her small, childish face pale, but strangely
composed. She wore a light, loose robe, hastily arranged, and had her
hair hanging free at her back. In the gloom and confusion, which the
feeble candles did little to disperse, she did not at first see me.
"Has Gargouf come back?" she asked.
"No, Mademoiselle, but----"
The man was going to point me out; she interrupted him with a sharp
cry of anger.
"Stop these fools," she said. "Oh, stop these fools! I cannot hear
myself speak. Let some one call Gargouf! Is there no one to do
anything?"
One of the old men pottered off to do it, leaving her standing in the
middle of the terror-stricken group; a white pathetic little figure,
keeping fear at bay with both hands. The dark curtains behind threw
her face and form into high relief; but admiration was the last
thought in my mind.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "you must fly by the garden door."
She started and stared at me, her eyes dilating.
"Monsieur de Saux," she muttered. "Are you here? I do not--I do not
understand. I thought----"
"The village is rising," I said. "In a moment they will be here."
"They are here already," she answered faintly.
She meant only that she had seen their approach from the window; but a
dull murmur that at the moment rose on the air outside, and
penetrating the walls, grew each instant louder and more sinister,
seemed to give another significance to her words. The women listened
with white faces, then began to scream afresh. A reckless movement of
one of them dashed out the nearer of the two lights. The old man who
had admitted me began to whimper.
"O _mon Dieu!_" I cried fiercely, "can no one still these cravens?"
For the noise almost robbed me of the power of thought, and never had
thought been more necessary. "Be still, fools," I continued, "no one
will hurt _you_. And do you, Mademoiselle, please to come with me.
There is not a moment to be lost. The garden by which I entered----"
But she looked at me in such a way that I stopped.
"Is it necessary to go?" she said doubtfully. "Is there no other way,
Monsieur?"
The noise outside was growing louder. "What men have you?" I said.
"Here is Gargouf," she answered promptly. "He will tell you."
I turned to the staircase and saw the steward's face, at all times
harsh and grim, rising out of the well of the stairs. He had a candle
in one hand and a pistol in the other; and his features as his eyes
met mine wore an expression of dogged anger, the sight of which drew
fresh cries from the women. But I rejoiced to see him, for he at least
betrayed no signs of flinching. I asked him what men he had.
"You see them," he answered drily, betraying no surprise at my
presence.
"Only these?"
"There were three more," he said. "But I found the doors unbarred, and
the men gone. I am keeping this," he continued, with a dark glance at
his pistol, "for one of them."
"Mademoiselle must go!" I said.
He shrugged his shoulders with an indifference that maddened me.
"How?" he asked.
"By the garden door."
"They are there. The house is surrounded."
I cried out at that in despair; and on the instant, as if to give
point to his words, a furious blow fell on the great doors below, and
awakening every echo in the house, proclaimed that the moment was
come. A second shock followed; then a rain of blows. While the maids
shrieked and clung to one another, I looked at Mademoiselle, and she
at me.
"We must hide you," I muttered.
"No," she said.
"There must be some place," I said, looking round me desperately, and
disregarding her answer. The noise of the blows was deafening. "In
the----"
"I will not hide, Monsieur," she answered. Her cheeks were white, and
her eyes seemed to flicker with each blow. But the maiden who had been
dumb before me a few days earlier was gone; in her place I saw
Mademoiselle de St. Alais, conscious of a hundred ancestors. "They are
our people. I will meet them," she continued, stepping forward
bravely, though her lip trembled. "Then if they dare----"
"They are mad," I answered. "They are mad! Yet it is a chance; and we
have few! If I can get to them before they break in, I may do
something. One moment, Mademoiselle; screen the light, will you?"
Some one did so, and I turned feverishly and caught hold of the
curtain. But Gargouf was before me. He seized my arm, and for the
moment checked me.
"What is it? What are you going to do?" he growled.
"Speak to them from the window."
"They will not listen."
"Still I will try. What else is there?"
"Lead and iron," he answered in a tone that made me shiver. "Here are
M. le Marquis's sporting guns; they shoot straight. Take one, M. le
Vicomte; I will take the other. There are two more, and the men can
shoot. We can hold the staircase, at least."
I took one of the guns mechanically, amid a dismal uproar; wailing and
the thunder of blows within, outside the savage booing of the crowd.
No help could come for another hour; and for a moment in this
desperate strait my heart failed me. I wondered at the steward's
courage.
"You are not afraid?" I said. I knew how he had trampled on the poor
wretches outside; how he had starved them and ground them down, and
misused them through long years.
He cursed the dogs.
"You will stand by Mademoiselle?" I said feverishly. I think it was to
hearten myself by his assurance.
He squeezed my hand in a grip of iron, and I asked no more. In a
moment, however, I cried aloud.
"Ah, but they will burn the house!" I said. "What is the use of
holding the staircase, when they can burn us like rats?"
"We shall die together," was his only answer. And he kicked one of the
weeping, crouching women. "Be still, you whelp!" he said. "Do you
think that will help you?"
But I heard the door below groan, and I sprang to the window and
dragged aside the curtain, letting in a ruddy glow that dyed the
ceiling the colour of blood. My one fear was that I might be too late;
that the door would yield or the crowd break in at the back before I
could get a hearing. Luckily, the casement gave to the hand, and I
thrust it open, and, meeting a cold blast of air, in a twinkling was
outside, on the narrow ledge of the window over the great doors,
looking down on such a scene as few chateaux in France had witnessed
since the days of the third Henry--God be thanked!
A little to one side the great dovecot was burning, and sending up a
trail of smoke that, blown across the avenue, hid all beyond in a
murky reek, through which the flames now and again flickered hotly.
Men, busy as devils, black against the light, were plying the fire
with straw. Beyond the dovecot, an outhouse and a stack were blazing;
and nearer, immediately before the house, a crowd of moving figures
were hurrying to and fro, some battering the doors and windows, others
bringing fuel, all moving, yelling, laughing--laughing the laughter of
fiends to the music of crackling flames and shivering glass.
I saw Petit Jean in the forefront giving orders; and men round him.
There were women, too, hanging on the skirts of the men; and one
woman, in the midst of all, half-naked, screaming curses, and
brandishing her arms. It was she who added the last touch of horror to
the scene; and she, too, who saw me first, and pointed me out with
dreadful words, and cursed me, and the house, and cried for our blood.