When he reached the Rue1 Taranne he knocked at the door of a small furnished lodging-house at the corner of that street and the Rue du Dragon, took a candlestick from a table, a key numbered 12 from a nail, and climbed the stairs without exciting other attention than a well-known lodger2 would returning home. The clock was striking ten as he closed the door of his room. He listened attentively3 to the strokes, the light of his candle not reaching as far as the chimney-piece. He counted ten.
“Good!” he said to himself; “I shall not be too late.”
In spite of this probability, Morgan seemed determined4 to lose no time. He passed a bit of tinder-paper under the heater on the hearth5, which caught fire instantly. He lighted four wax-candles, all there were in the room, placed two on the mantel-shelf and two on a bureau opposite, and spread upon the bed a complete dress of the Incroyable of the very latest fashion. It consisted of a short coat, cut square across the front and long behind, of a soft shade between a pale-green and a pearl-gray; a waistcoat of buff plush, with eighteen mother-of-pearl buttons; an immense white cravat6 of the finest cambric; light trousers of white cashmere, decorated with a knot of ribbon where they buttoned above the calves7, and pearl-gray silk stockings, striped transversely with the same green as the coat, and delicate pumps with diamond buckles8. The inevitable9 eye-glass was not forgotten. As for the hat, it was precisely10 the same in which Carle Vernet painted his dandy of the Directory.
When these things were ready, Morgan waited with seeming impatience11. At the end of five minutes he rang the bell. A waiter appeared.
In those days wig-makers were not yet called hair-dressers.
“Yes, citizen,” replied the waiter, “he came, but you had not yet returned, so he left word that he’d come back. Some one knocked just as you rang; it’s probably—”
“Here, here,” cried a voice on the stairs.
“Ah! bravo,” exclaimed Morgan. “Come in, Master Cadenette; you must make a sort of Adonis of me.”
“Look here, look here; do you mean to compromise me, citizen Cadenette?”
“Monsieur le Baron, I entreat14 you, call me Cadenette; you’ll honor me by that proof of familiarity; but don’t call me citizen. Fie; that’s a revolutionary denomination15! Even in the worst of the Terror I always called my wife Madame Cadenette. Now, excuse me for not waiting for you; but there’s a great ball in the Rue du Bac this evening, the ball of the Victims (the wig-maker emphasized this word). I should have thought that M. le Baron would be there.”
“Why,” cried Morgan, laughing; “so you are still a royalist, Cadenette?”
The wig-maker laid his hand tragically16 on his heart.
“Monsieur le Baron,” said he, “it is not only a matter of conscience, but a matter of state.”
“Conscience, I can understand that, Master Cadenette, but state! What the devil has the honorable guild17 of wigmakers to do with politics?”
“What, Monsieur le Baron?” said Cadenette, all the while getting ready to dress his client’s hair; “you ask me that? You, an aristocrat18!”
“Hush, Cadenette!”
“Monsieur le Baron, we ci-devants can say that to each other.”
“So you are a ci-devant?”
“To the core! In what style shall I dress M. le Baron’s hair?”
“Dog’s ears, and tied up behind.”
“With a dash of powder?”
“Two, if you like, Cadenette.”
“Ah! monsieur, when one thinks that for five years I was the only man who had an atom of powder ‘à la maréchale.’ Why, Monsieur le Baron, a man was guillotined for owning a box of powder!”
“I’ve known people who were guillotined for less than that, Cadenette. But explain how you happen to be a ci-devant. I like to understand everything.”
“It’s very simple, Monsieur le Baron. You admit, don’t you, that among the guilds19 there were some that were more or less aristocratic.”
“Beyond doubt; accordingly as they were nearer to the higher classes of society.”
“That’s it, Monsieur le Baron. Well, we had the higher classes by the hair of their head. I, such as you see me, I have dressed Madame de Polignac’s hair; my father dressed Madame du Barry’s; my grandfather, Madame de Pompadour’s. We had our privileges, Monsieur; we carried swords. It is true, to avoid the accidents that were liable to crop up among hotheads like ourselves, our swords were usually of wood; but at any rate, if they were not the actual thing, they were very good imitations. Yes, Monsieur le Baron,” continued Cadenette with a sigh, “those days were the good days, not only for the wig-makers, but for all France. We were in all the secrets, all the intrigues20; nothing was hidden from us. And there is no known instance, Monsieur le Baron, of a wig-maker betraying a secret. Just look at our poor queen; to whom did she trust her diamonds? To the great, the illustrious Leonard, the prince of wig-makers. Well, Monsieur le Baron, two men alone overthrew22 the scaffolding of a power that rested on the wigs23 of Louis XIV., the puffs24 of the Regency, the frizettes of Louis-XV., and the cushions of Marie Antoinette.”
“And those two men, those levellers, those two revolutionaries, who were they, Cadenette? that I may doom25 them, so far as it lies in my power, to public execration26.”
“M. Rousseau and citizen Talma: Monsieur Rousseau who said that absurdity27, ‘We must return to Nature,’ and citizen Talma, who invented the Titus head-dress.”
“That’s true, Cadenette; that’s true.”
“When the Directory came in there was a moment’s hope. M. Barras never gave up powder, and citizen Moulins stuck to his queue. But, you see, the 18th Brumaire has knocked it all down; how could any one friz Bonaparte’s hair! Ah! there,” continued Cadenette, puffing28 out the dog’s ears of his client—“there’s aristocratic hair for you, soft and fine as silk, and takes the tongs29 so well one would think you wore a wig. See, Monsieur le Baron, you wanted to be as handsome as Adonis! Ah! if Venus had seen you, it’s not of Adonis that Mars would have been jealous!”
And Cadenette, now at the end of his labors30 and satisfied with the result, presented a hand-mirror to Morgan, who examined himself complacently31.
“Come, come!” he said to the wig-maker, “you are certainly an artist, my dear fellow! Remember this style, for if ever they cut off my head I shall choose to have it dressed like that, for there will probably be women at my execution.”
“And M. le Baron wants them to regret him,” said the wig-maker gravely.
“Yes, and in the meantime, my dear Cadenette, here is a crown to reward your labors. Have the goodness to tell them below to call a carriage for me.”
Cadenette sighed.
“Monsieur le Baron,” said he, “time was when I should have answered: ‘Show yourself at court with your hair dressed like that, and I shall be paid.’ But there is no court now, Monsieur le Baron, and one must live. You shall have your carriage.”
With which Cadenette sighed again, slipped Morgan’s crown in his pocket, made the reverential bow of wig-makers and dancing-masters, and left the young man to complete his toilet.
The head being now dressed, the rest was soon done; the cravat alone took time, owing to the many failures that occurred; but Morgan concluded the difficult task with an experienced hand, and as eleven o’clock was striking he was ready to start. Cadenette had not forgotten his errand; a hackney-coach was at the door. Morgan jumped into it, calling out: “Rue du Bac, No. 60.”
The coach turned into the Rue de Grenelle, went up the Rue du Bac, and stopped at No. 60.
“Here’s a double fare, friend,” said Morgan, “on condition that you don’t stand before the door.”
The driver took the three francs and disappeared around the corner of the Rue de Varennes. Morgan glanced up the front of the house; it seemed as though he must be mistaken, so dark and silent was it. But he did not hesitate; he rapped in a peculiar32 fashion.
The door opened. At the further end of the courtyard was a building, brilliantly lighted. The young man went toward it, and, as he approached, the sound of instruments met his ear. He ascended33 a flight of stairs and entered the dressing-room. There he gave his cloak to the usher34 whose business it was to attend to the wraps.
“Here is your number,” said the usher. “As for your weapons, you are to place them in the gallery where you can find them easily.”
Morgan put the number in his trousers pocket, and entered the great gallery transformed into an arsenal35. It contained a complete collection of arms of all kinds, pistols, muskets36, carbines, swords, and daggers38. As the ball might at any moment be invaded by the police, it was necessary that every dancer be prepared to turn defender40 at an instant’s notice. Laying his weapons aside, Morgan entered the ballroom41.
We doubt if any pen could give the reader an adequate idea of the scene of that ball. Generally, as the name “Ball of the Victims” indicated, no one was admitted except by the strange right of having relatives who had either been sent to the scaffold by the Convention or the Commune of Paris, blown to pieces by Collot d’Herbois, or drowned by Carrier. As, however, the victims guillotined during the three years of the Terror far outnumbered the others, the dresses of the majority of those who were present were the clothes of the victims of the scaffold. Thus, most of the young girls, whose mothers and older sisters had fallen by the hands of the executioner, wore the same costume their mothers and sisters had worn for that last lugubrious42 ceremony; that is to say, a white gown and red shawl, with their hair cut short at the nape of the neck. Some added to this costume, already so characteristic, a detail that was even more significant; they knotted around their necks a thread of scarlet43 silk, fine as the blade of a razor, which, as in Faust’s Marguerite, at the Witches’ Sabbath, indicated the cut of the knife between the throat and the collar bone.
As for the men who were in the same case, they wore the collars of their coats turned down behind, those of their shirt wide open, their necks bare, and their hair, cut short.
But many had other rights of entrance to this ball besides that of having Victims in their families; some had made victims themselves. These latter were increasing. There were present men of forty or forty-five years of age, who had been trained in the boudoirs of the beautiful courtesans of the seventeenth century—who had known Madame du Barry in the attics44 of Versailles, Sophie Arnoult with M. de Lauraguais, La Duthé with the Comte d’Artois—who had borrowed from the courtesies of vice45 the polish with which they covered their ferocity. They were still young and handsome; they entered a salon46, tossing their perfumed locks and their scented47 handkerchiefs; nor was it a useless precaution, for if the odor of musk37 or verbena had not masked it they would have smelled of blood.
There were men there twenty-five or thirty years old, dressed with extreme elegance48, members of the association of Avengers, who seemed possessed49 with the mania50 of assassination51, the lust21 of slaughter52, the frenzy53 of blood, which no blood could quench—men who, when the order came to kill, killed all, friends or enemies; men who carried their business methods into the business of murder, giving their bloody54 checks for the heads of such or such Jacobins, and paying on sight.
There were younger men, eighteen and twenty, almost children, but children fed, like Achilles, on the marrow55 of wild beasts, like Pyrrhus, on the flesh of bears; here were the pupil-bandits of Schiller, the apprentice-judges of the Sainte-Vehme—that strange generation that follows great political convulsions, like the Titans after chaos56, the hydras after the Deluge57; as the vultures and crows follow the carnage.
Here was the spectre of iron impassible, implacable, inflexible58, which men call Retaliation59; and this spectre mingled60 with the guests. It entered the gilded61 salons62; it signalled with a look, a gesture, a nod, and men followed where it led. It was, as says the author from whom we have borrowed these hitherto unknown but authentic63 details, “a merry lust for extermination64.”
The Terror had affected65 great cynicism in clothes, a Spartan66 austerity in its food, the profound contempt of a barbarous people for arts and enjoyments67. The Thermidorian reaction was, on the contrary, elegant, opulent, adorned68; it exhausted69 all luxuries, all voluptuous70 pleasures, as in the days of Louis XV.; with one addition, the luxury of vengeance71, the lust of blood.
Fréron’s name was given to the youth of the day, which was called the jeunesse Fréron, or the jéunesse dorée (gilded youth). Why Fréron? Why should he rather than others receive that strange and fatal honor?
I cannot tell you—my researches (those who know me will do me the justice to admit that when I have an end in view, I do not count them)—my researches have not discovered an answer. It was a whim72 of Fashion, and Fashion is the one goddess more capricious than Fortune.
Our readers will hardly know to-day who Fréron was. The Fréron who was Voltaire’s assailant was better known than he who was the patron of these elegant assassins; one was the son of the other. Louis Stanislas was son of Elie-Catherine. The father died of rage when Miromesnil, Keeper of the Seals, suppressed his journal. The other, irritated by the injustices73 of which his father had been the victim, had at first ardently74 embraced the revolutionary doctrines75. Instead of the “Année Littéraire,” strangled to death in 1775, he created the “Orateur du Peuple,” in 1789. He was sent to the Midi on a special mission, and Marseilles and Toulon retain to this day the memory of his cruelty. But all was forgotten when, on the 9th Thermidor, he proclaimed himself against Robespierre, and assisted in casting from the altar the Supreme76 Being, the colossus who, being an apostle, had made himself a god. Fréron, repudiated77 by the Mountain, which abandoned him to the heavy jaws78 of Moise Bayle; Fréron, disdainfully repulsed79 by the Girondins, who delivered him over to the imprecations of Isnard; Fréron, as the terrible and picturesque80 orator81 of the Var said, “Fréron naked and covered with the leprosy of crime,” was accepted, caressed82 and petted by the Thermidorians. From them he passed into the camp of the royalists, and without any reason whatever for obtaining that fatal honor, found himself suddenly at the head of a powerful party of youth, energy and vengeance, standing83 between the passions of the day, which led to all, and the impotence of the law, which permitted all.
It was to the midst of this jeunesse Fréron, mouthing its words, slurring84 its r’s, giving its “word of honor” about everything, that Morgan now made his way.
It must be admitted that this jeunesse, in spite of the clothes it wore, in spite of the memories these clothes evoked85, was wildly gay. This seems incomprehensible, but it is true. Explain if you can that Dance of Death at the beginning of the fifteenth century, which, with all the fury of a modern galop, led by Musard, whirled its chain through the very Cemetery86 of the Innocents, and left amid its tombs fifty thousand of its votaries87.
Morgan was evidently seeking some one.
A young dandy, who was dipping into the silver-gilt comfit-box of a charming victim, with an ensanguined finger, the only part of his delicate hand that had escaped the almond paste, tried to stop him, to relate the particulars of the expedition from which he had brought back this bloody trophy88. But Morgan smiled, pressed his other hand which was gloved, and contented89 himself with replying: “I am looking for some one.”
“Important?”
“Company of Jehu.”
The young man with the bloody finger let him pass. An adorable Fury, as Corneille would have called her, whose hair was held up by a dagger39 with a blade as sharp as a needle, barred his way, saying: “Morgan, you are the handsomest, the bravest, the most deserving of love of all the men present. What have you to say to the woman who tells you that?”
“I answer that I love,” replied Morgan, “and that my heart is too narrow to hold one hatred90 and two loves.” And he continued on his search.
Two young men who were arguing, one saying, “He was English,” the other, “He was German,” stopped him.
“The deuce,” cried one; “here is the man who can settle it for us.”
“No,” replied Morgan, trying to push past them; “I’m in a hurry.”
“There’s only a word to say,” said the other. “We have made a bet, Saint-Amand and I, that the man who was tried and executed at the Chartreuse du Seillon, was, according to him, a German, and, according to me, an Englishman.”
“I don’t know,” replied Morgan; “I wasn’t there. Ask Hector; he presided that night.”
“Tell us where Hector is?”
“Tell me rather where Tiffauges is; I am looking for him.”
“Over there, at the end of the room,” said the young man, pointing to a part of the room where the dance was more than usually gay and animated91. “You will recognize him by his waistcoat; and his trousers are not to be despised. I shall have a pair like them made with the skin of the very first hound I meet.”
Morgan did not take time to ask in what way Tiffauges’ waistcoat was remarkable92, or by what queer cut or precious material his trousers had won the approbation93 of a man as expert in such matters as he who had spoken to him. He went straight to the point indicated by the young man, saw the person he was seeking dancing an été, which seemed, by the intricacy of its weaving, if I may be pardoned for this technical term, to have issued from the salons of Vestris himself.
Morgan made a sign to the dancer. Tiffauges stopped instantly, bowed to his partner, led her to her seat, excused himself on the plea of the urgency of the matter which called him away, and returned to take Morgan’s arm.
“Did you see him,” Tiffauges asked Morgan.
“I have just left him,” replied the latter.
“Did you deliver the King’s letter?”
“To himself.”
“Did he read it?”
“At once.”
“Has he sent an answer?”
“You have it?”
“Here it is.”
“Do you know the contents?”
“A refusal.”
“Positive?”
“Nothing could be more positive.”
“Does he know that from the moment he takes all hope away from us we shall treat him as an enemy?”
“I told him so.”
“What did he answer?”
“What do you think his intentions are?”
“It’s not difficult to guess.”
“Does he mean to keep the power himself?”
“It looks like it.”
“The power, but not the throne?”
“Why not the throne?”
“He would never dare to make himself king.”
“Oh! I can’t say he means to be absolutely king, but I’ll answer for it that he means to be something.”
“But he is nothing but a soldier of fortune!”
“My dear fellow, better in these days to be the son of his deeds, than the grandson of a king.”
The young man thought a moment.
“I shall report it all to Cadoudal,” he said.
“And add that the First Consul96 said these very words: ‘I hold the Vendée in the hollow of my hand, and if I choose in three months not another shot will be fired.’”
“It’s a good thing to know.”
“You know it; let Cadoudal know it, and take measures.”
Just then the music ceased; the hum of the dancers died away; complete silence prevailed; and, in the midst of this silence, four names were pronounced in a sonorous97 and emphatic98 voice.
These four names were Morgan, Montbar, Adler and d’Assas.
“Pardon me,” Morgan said to Tiffauges, “they are probably arranging some expedition in which I am to take part. I am forced, therefore, to my great regret, to bid you farewell. Only before I leave you let me look closer at your waistcoat and trousers, of which I have heard—curiosity of an amateur; I trust you will excuse it.”
“Surely!” exclaimed the young Vendéan, “most willingly.”
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1
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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6
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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7
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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denomination
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| n.命名，取名，(度量衡、货币等的)单位 | |
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tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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guilds
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| 行会，同业公会，协会( guild的名词复数 ) | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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overthrew
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| overthrow的过去式 | |
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wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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musk
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| n.麝香, 能发出麝香的各种各样的植物，香猫 | |
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38
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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40
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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43
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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44
attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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46
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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salons
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| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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spartan
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| adj.简朴的，刻苦的；n.斯巴达；斯巴达式的人 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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slurring
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| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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votaries
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| n.信徒( votary的名词复数 )；追随者；（天主教）修士；修女 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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dispenses
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| v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药） | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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97
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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