The Red Cockade

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XIII.

  A LA LANTERNE.

  For, of all the things that had happened since I left the CommitteeRoom, the Captain's death remained the one most real and most deeplybitten into my mind. He had shared with me the walk from the inn tothe garden, and the petty annoyances that had then filled my thoughts.He had faced them with me, and bravely; and this late association, andthe picture of him as he walked beside me, full of life and coarsewrath, rose up now and cried out against his death; cried out that itwas impossible. So that it seemed horrible to me, and I shook withfear, and loathed the man whose hand had done it.

  Nor was that all. I had known Hugues barely forty-eight hours, myliking for him was only an hour born; but I had his story. I couldfollow him going about to borrow the small sum of money he hadpossessed. I could trace the hopes he had built on it. I could see himcoming here full of honest courage, believing that he had found anopening; a man strong, confident, looking forward, full of plans. Andthen of all, this was the end! He had hoped, he had purposed; and onthe other side of the Cathedral, he lay stark--stark and dead on thegrass.

  It seemed so sad and pitiful, I had the man so vividly in my mind,that I scarcely gave a thought to the St. Alais' danger and escape;that, and our hasty flight, had passed like a dream. I was content tolisten a moment beside the church door; and then satisfied that themurmur of the crowd was dying in the distance, and that the city wasquiet, I thanked the Vicar again, and warmly, and, taking leave ofhim, in my turn walked up the passage.

  It was so still that it echoed my footsteps; and presently I began tothink the silence odd. I began to wonder why the mob, which a fewminutes before had shown itself so vindictive, had not found its wayround; why the neighbourhood had become on a sudden so quiet. A fewpaces would show, however; I hastened on, and in a moment stood in themarket-place.

  To my astonishment it lay sunny, tranquil, utterly deserted; a dog ranhere and there with tail high, nosing among the garbage; a few oldwomen were at the stalls on the farther side; about as many peoplewere busy, putting up shutters and closing shops. But the crowd whichhad filled the place so short a time before, the _queue_ about thecorn measures, the white cockades, all were gone; I stood astonished.

  For a moment only, however. Then, in place of the silence which hadprevailed between the high walls of the passage, a dull sound, distantand heavy, began to speak to me; a sullen roar, as of breakers fallingon the beach. I started and listened. A moment more, and I was acrossthe Square, and at the door of the inn. I darted into the passage, andup the stairs, my heart beating fast.

  Here, too, I had left a crowd in the passages, and on the stairs. Nota man remained. The house seemed to be dead; at noon-day with the sunshining outside. I saw no one, heard no one, until I reached the doorof the room in which I had left the Committee and entered. Here, atlast, I found life; but the same silence.

  Round the table were seated some dozen of the members of theCommittee. On seeing me they started, like men detected in an act ofwhich they were ashamed, some continuing to sit, sullen and scowling,with their elbows on the table, others stooping to their neighbours'ears to whisper, or listen. I noticed that many were pale and allgloomy; and though the room was light, and hot noon poured in throughthree windows, a something grim in the silence, and the air ofexpectation which prevailed, struck a chill to my heart.

  Father Benoit was not of them, but Baton was, and the lawyer, and thegrocer, and the two gentlemen, and one of the Cures, and Doury--thelast-named pale and cringing, with fear sitting heavily on him. Imight have thought, at a first glance round, that nothing which hadhappened outside was known to them; that they were ignorant alike ofthe duel and the riot; but a second glance assured me that they knewall, and more than I did; so many of them, when they had once met myeyes, looked away.

  "What has happened?" I asked, standing half-way between the door andthe long table.

  "Don't you know, Monsieur?"

  "No," I muttered, staring at them. Even here that distant murmurfilled the air.

  "But you were at the duel, M. le Vicomte?" The speaker was Buton.

  "Yes," I said nervously. "But what of that? I saw M. le Marquis safeon his way home, and I thought that the crowd had separated. Now--"and I paused, listening.

  "You fancy that you still hear them?" he said, eying me closely andsmiling.

  "Yes; I fear that they are at mischief."

  "We are afraid of that, too," the smith answered drily, setting hiselbows on the table, and looking at me anew. "It is not impossible."

  Then I understood. I caught Doury's eye--which would fain have escapedmine--and read it there. The hooting of the distant crowd rose moreloudly on the summer stillness; as it did so, faces round the tablegrew graver, lips grew longer, some trembled and looked down; and Iunderstood. "My God!" I cried in excitement, trembling myself. "Is noone going to do anything, then? Are you going to sit here, while thesedemons work their will? While houses are sacked and women andchildren----"

  "Why not?" Buton said curtly.

  "Why not?" I cried.

  "Ay, why not?" he answered sternly--and I began to see that hedominated the others; that he would not and they dared not. "We wentabout to keep the peace, and see that others kept it. But your whitecockades, your gentlemen bullies, your soldierless officers, M. leVicomte--I speak without offence--would not have it. They undertook tobully us; and unless they learn a lesson now, they will bully usagain. No, Monsieur," he continued, looking round with a hardsmile--already power had changed him wondrously--"let the people havetheir way for half an hour, and----"

  "The people?" I cried. "Are the rascals and sweepings of the streets,the gaol-birds, the beggars and _forcats_ of the town--are they thepeople?"

  "No matter," he said frowning.

  "But this is murder!"

  Two or three shivered, and some looked sullenly from me, but theblacksmith only shrugged his shoulders. Still I did not despair, I wasgoing to say more--to try threats, even prayers; but before I couldspeak, the man nearest to the windows raised his hand for silence, andwe heard the distant riot sink, and in the momentary quiet whichfollowed the sharp report of a gun ring out, succeeded by another andanother. Then a roar of rage--distinct, articulate, full of menace.

  "Oh, _mon Dieu!_" I cried, looking round, while I trembled withindignation, "I cannot stand this! Will no one act? Will no one doanything? There must be some authority. There must be some one to curbthis _canaille_; or presently, I warn you, I warn you all, that theywill cut your throats also; yours, M. l'Avoue, and yours, Doury!"

  "There was some one; and he is dead," Buton answered. The rest of theCommittee fidgeted gloomily.

  "And was he the only one?"

  "They've killed him," the smith said bluntly. "They must take theconsequences."

  "They?" I cried, in a passion of wrath and pity. "Ay, and you! Andyou! I tell you that you are using this scum of the people to crushyour enemies! But presently they will crush you too!"

  Still no one spoke, no one answered me; no eyes met mine; then I sawhow it was; that nothing I could say would move them; and I turnedwithout another word, and I ran downstairs. I knew already, or couldguess, whither the crowd had gone, and whence came the shouting andthe shots; and the moment I reached the Square I turned in thedirection of the St. Alais' house, and ran through the streets;through quiet streets under windows from which women looked down whiteand curious, past neat green blinds of modern houses, past a fewstaring groups; ran on, with all about me smiling, but always withthat murmur in my ears, and at my heart grim fear.

  They were sacking the St. Alais' house! And Mademoiselle! And Madame!

  The thought of them came to me late; but having come it was not to bedisplaced. It gripped my heart and seemed to stop it. Had I savedMademoiselle only for this? Had I risked all to save her from thefrenzied peasants, only that she might fall into the more cruel handsof these maddened wretches, these sweepings of the city
?

  It was a dreadful thought; for I loved her, and knew, as I ran, that Iloved her. Had I not known it I must have known it now, by the verymeasure of agony which the thought of that horror caused me. Thedistance from the Trois Rois to the house was barely four hundredyards, but it seemed infinite to me. It seemed an age before I stoppedbreathless and panting on the verge of the crowd, and strove to see,across the plain of heads, what was happening in front.

  A moment, and I made out enough to relieve me; and I breathed morefreely. The crowd had not yet won its will. It filled the street oneither side of the St. Alais' house from wall to wall; but in front ofthe house itself, a space was still kept clear by the fire of thosewithin. Now and again, a man or a knot of men would spring out of theranks of the mob, and darting across this open space to the door,would strive to beat it in with axes and bars, and even with nakedhands; but always there came a puff of smoke from the shuttered andloop-holed windows, and a second and a third, and the men fell back,or sank down on the stones, and lay bleeding in the sunshine.

  It was a terrible sight. The wild beast rage of the mob, as theywatched their leaders fall, yet dared not make the rush _en masse_which must carry the place, was enough, of itself, to appal thestoutest. But when to this and their fiendish cries were added othersounds as horrid--the screams of the wounded and the rattle ofmusketry--for some of the mob had arms, and were firing fromneighbouring houses at the St. Alais' windows--the effect wasappalling. I do not know why, but the sunshine, and the tall whitehouses which formed the street, and the very neatness of thesurroundings, seemed to aggravate the bloodshed; so that for a whilethe whole, the writhing crowd, the open space with its wounded, theugly cries and curses and shots, seemed unreal. I, who had comehot-foot to risk all, hesitated; if this was Cahors, if this was thequiet town I had known all my life, things had come to a pass indeed.If not, I was dreaming.

  But this last was a thought too wild to be entertained for more than afew seconds; and with a groan I thrust myself into the press, bentdesperately on getting through and reaching the open space; thoughwhat I should do when I got there, or how I could help, I had notconsidered. I had scarcely moved, however, when I felt my arm gripped,and some one clinging obstinately to me, held me back. I turned toresent the action with a blow,--I was beside myself; but the man wasFather Benoit, and my hand fell. I caught hold of him with a cry ofjoy, and he drew me out of the press.

  His face was pale and full of grief and consternation; yet by awonderful chance I had found him, and I hoped. "You can do something!"I cried in his ear, gripping his hand hard. "The Committee will notact, and this is murder! Murder, man! Do you see?"

  "What can I do?" he wailed; and he threw up his other hand with agesture of despair.

  "Speak to them."

  "Speak to them?" he answered. "Will mad dogs stand when you speak tothem? Or will mad dogs listen? How can you get to them? Where can youspeak to them? It is impossible. It is impossible, Monsieur. Theywould kill their fathers to-day, if they stood between them andvengeance."

  "Then, what will you do?" I cried passionately. "What will you do?"

  He shook his head; and I saw that he meant nothing, that he could donothing. And then my soul revolted. "You must! You shall!" I criedfiercely. "You have raised this devil, and you must lay him! Are thesethe liberties about which you have talked to us? Are these the peoplefor whom you have pleaded? Answer, answer me, what you will do!" Icried. And I shook him furiously.

  He covered his face with his hand. "God forgive us!" he said. "Godhelp us!"

  I looked at him for the first and only time in my life withcontempt--with rage. "God help you?" I cried--I was beside myself."God helps those who help themselves! You have brought this about!You! You! You have preached this! Now mend it!"

  He trembled, and was silent. Unsupported by the passion which animatedme, in face of the brute rage of the people, his courage sank.

  "Now mend it!" I repeated furiously.

  "I cannot get to them," he muttered.

  "Then I will make a way for you!" I answered madly, recklessly."Follow me! Do you hear that noise? Well, we will play a part in it!"

  A dozen guns had gone off, almost in a volley. We could not see theresult, nor what was passing; but the hoarse roar of the mobintoxicated me. I cried to him to follow, and rushed into the press.

  Again he caught and stayed me, clinging to me with a stubbornnesswhich would not be denied. "If you will go, go through the houses! Gothrough the opposite houses!" he muttered in my ear.

  I had sense enough, when he had spoken twice, to understand him andcomply. I let him lead me aside, and in a moment we were out of thepress, and hurrying through an alley at the back of the houses thatfaced the St. Alais' mansion. We were not the first to go that way;some of the more active of the rioters had caught the idea before us,and gone by this path to the windows, whence they were firing. Wefound two or three of the doors open, therefore, and heard the excitedcries and curses of the men who had taken possession. However, we didnot go far. I chose the first door, and, passing quickly by a huddled,panic-stricken group of women and children--probably the occupants ofthe house--who were clustered about it, I went straight through to thestreet door.

  Two or three ruffianly men with smoke-grimed faces were firing througha window on the ground floor, and one of these, looking behind him asI passed, saw me. He called to me to stop, adding with an oath that ifI went into the street I should be shot by the aristocrats. But in myexcitement I took no heed; in a second I had the door open, and wasstanding in the street--alone in the sunny, cleared space. On eitherside of me, fifty paces distant, were the close ranks of the mob; infront of me rose the white blind face of the St. Alais' house, fromwhich, even as I appeared, there came a little spit of smoke and thebang of a musket.

  The crowd, astonished to see me there alone and standing still, fellsilent, and I held up my hand. A gun went off above my head, andanother; and a splinter flew from one of the green shutters opposite.Then a voice from the crowd cried out to cease firing; and for amoment all was still. I stood in the midst of a hot breathless hush,my hand raised. It was my opportunity--I had got it by a miracle; butfor a moment I was silent, I could find no words.

  At last, as a low murmur began to make itself heard, I spoke.

  "Men of Cahors!" I cried. "In the name of the Tricolour, stand!" Andtrembling with agitation, acting on the impulse of the instant, Iwalked slowly across the street to the door of the besieged house, andunder the eyes of all I took the Tricolour from my bosom, and hung iton the knocker of the door. Then I turned. "I take possession," Icried hoarsely, at the top of my voice, that all might hear, "I takepossession of this house and all that are in it in the name of theTricolour, and the Nation, and the Committee of Cahors. Those withinshall be tried, and justice done upon them. But for you, I call uponyou to depart, and go to your homes in peace, and the Committee----"

  I got no farther. With the word a shot whizzed by my ear, and struckthe plaster from the wall; and then, as if the sound released all thepassions of the people, a roar of indignation shook the air. Theyhissed and swore at me, yelled "_A la lanterne!_" and "_A bas letraitre!_" and in an instant burst their bounds. As if invisiblefloodgates gave way, the mob on either side rushed suddenly forward,and, rolling towards the door in a solid mass, were in an instant uponme.

  I expected that I should be torn to pieces, but instead I was onlybuffeted and flung aside and forgotten, and in a moment was lost inthe struggling, writhing mass of men, who flung themselves pell-mellupon the door, and fell over one another, and wounded one another inthe fury with which they attacked it. Men, injured earlier, weretrodden under foot now; but no one stayed for their cries. Twice a gunwas fired from the house, and each shot took effect; but the press wasso great, and the fury of the assailants, as they swarmed about thedoor, so blind, that those who were hit sank down unobserved, andperished under their comrades' feet.

  Thrust against the iron railings that flanked the door, I clun
g tothem, and protected from the pressure by a pillar of the porch,managed with some difficulty to keep my place. I could not move,however; I had to stand there while the crowd swayed round me, and Iwaited in dizzy, sickening horror for the crisis. It came at last. Thepanels of the door, riven and shattered, gave way; the foremostassailants sprang at the gap. Yet still the frame, held by one hinge,stood, and kept them out. As that yielded at length under their blows,and the door fell inward with a crash, I flung myself into the stream,and was carried into the house among the foremost, fortunately--forseveral fell--on my feet.

  I had the thought that I might outpace the others, and, getting firstto the rooms upstairs, might at least fight for Mademoiselle if Icould not save her. For I had caught the infection of the mob, myblood was on fire. There was no one in all the crowd more set to killthan I was. I raced in, therefore, with the rest; but when I reachedthe foot of the stairs I saw, and they saw, that which stopped us all.

  It was M. de Gontaut, lifted, in that moment of extreme danger, abovehimself. He stood alone on the stairs, looking down on the invaders,and smiling--smiling, with everything of senility and frivolity gonefrom his face, and only the courage of his caste left. He saw hisworld tottering, the scum and rabble overwhelming it, everything whichhe had loved, and in which he had lived, passing; he saw death waitingfor him seven steps below, and he smiled. With his slender swordhanging at his wrist, he tapped his snuff-box and looked down at us;no longer garrulous, feeble, almost--with his stories of staleintrigues and his pagan creed--contemptible; but steady and proud,with eyes that gleamed with defiance.

  "Well, dogs," he said, "will you earn the gallows?"

  For a second no one moved. For a second the old noble's presence andfearlessness imposed on the vilest; and they stared at him, cowed byhis eye. Then he stirred. With a quiet gesture, as of a man salutingbefore a duel, he caught up the hilt of his sword, and presented thelower point. "Well," he said with bitter scorn in his tone, "you havecome to do it. Which of you will go to hell for the rest? For I shalltake one."

  That broke the spell. With a howl, a dozen ruffians sprang up thestairs. I saw the bright steel flash once, twice; and one reeled back,and rolled down under his fellows' feet. Then a great bar swept up andfell on the smiling face, and the old noble dropped without a cry or agroan, under a storm of blows that in a moment beat the life out ofhis body.

  It was over in a moment, and before I could interfere. The next, ascore of men leaped over the corpse and up the stairs, with horridcries--I after them. To the right and left were locked doors, withpanels Waetteau-painted; they dashed these in with brutal shouts, and,in a twinkling, flooded the splendid rooms, sweeping away, andbreaking, and flinging down in wanton mischief, everything that cameto hand--vases, statues, glasses, miniatures. With shrieks of triumph,they filled the _salon_ that had known for generations only the gracesand beauty of life; and clattered over the shining parquets that hadbeen swept so long by the skirts of fair women. Everything they couldnot understand was snatched up and dashed down; in a moment the greatVenetian mirrors were shattered, the pictures pierced and torn, thebooks flung through the windows into the street.

  I had a glimpse of the scene as I paused on the landing. But a glancesufficed to convince me that the fugitives were not in these rooms,and I sprang on, and up the next flight. Here, short as had been mydelay, I found others before me. As I turned the corner of the stairsI came on three men, listening at a door; before I could reach themone rose. "Here they are!" he cried. "That is a woman's voice! Standback!" And he lifted a crowbar to beat in the door.

  "Hold!" I cried in a voice that shook him, and made him lower hisweapon. "Hold! In the name of the Committee, I command you to leavethat door. The rest of the house is yours. Go and plunder it."

  The men glared at me. "_Sacre ventre!_" one of them hissed. "Who areyou?"

  "The Committee!" I answered.

  He cursed me, and raised his hand. "Stand back!" I cried furiously,"or you shall hang!"

  "Ho! ho! An aristocrat!" he retorted; and he raised his voice. "Thisway, friends--this way! An aristocrat! An aristocrat!" he cried.

  At the word a score of his fellows came swarming up the stairs. I sawmyself in an instant surrounded by grimy, pocked faces and scowlingeyes,--by haggard creatures sprung from the sewers of the town.Another second and they would have laid hands on me; but desperate andfull of rage I rushed instead on the man with the bar, and, snatchingit from him before he guessed my intention, in a twinkling laid him atmy feet.

  In the act, however, I lost my balance, and stumbled. Before I couldrecover myself one of his comrades struck me on the head with hiswooden shoe. The blow partially stunned me; still I got to my feetagain and hit out wildly, and drove them back, and for a momentcleared the landing round me. But I was dizzy; I saw all now through ared haze, the figures danced before me; I could no longer think oraim, but only hear taunts and jeers on every side. Some one plucked mycoat. I turned blindly. In a moment another struck me a crushingblow--how, or with what, I never knew--and I fell senseless and asgood as dead.