Chapter III: Part 3

"'Halloa!' cried our thief. 'Keep still!' and so saying, hid the lantern under the skirt of his coat. I was dreadfully scared, for these dark caverns were full of mysterious noises. As yet we had heard none like this which now we heard. In the dark I seized the thief's coat-tail for company. At intervals there were lesser noises, and when at last they ceased, the Duke cried out, 'Heavens! What was that?'

"'I will see, Monsieur,' said the thief. 'I shall not go far.' This time the Duke made no remonstrance. The thief was away not more than five minutes. He left the lantern beside my mother.

"'Well?' said she, as he reappeared.

"'Madame,' he answered, the tunnel from the wine-cellar has fallen in: a great tumble of stone fills up all the way.'

"'And to go back is impossible,' said the Duke.

"'Heaven has willed for us that we go on, and at least now no one can pursue us,' said my mother.

"'That is so,' said the Duke; and we moved along, perceiving that the way grew broader until we were standing in a space so great that no walls could be seen.

"'And now where are we?' said the Duke. 'Light us another candle.' When this was done, we saw that the great chamber, quarried out in past centuries, was too vast to give us sight of all of it, or to enable us to get a notion of its height. Close by us a mighty pyramid of bones of men stood in the mid space, as if these had been cast down through some opening overhead, but long since closed. These were the dead of hundreds of years. There was no odor of decay, but only a dull, musty smell, like that of decayed cheese. Here and there on this great pile were faint tufts of bluish light, seen only where the lantern-light did not chance to fall. I was just getting a little used to this horrible sight when, as our steps disturbed the base of the pyramid, a good fourth of it came rattling down with crash and clatter, and dozens of tumbled skulls rolled by us and were lost to view in the darkness. This noise and movement alarmed not us alone; for scarce was it half over when myriads of rats ran out from among the bones and fled away. This pretty nearly made an end of my courage; and, indeed, these beasts were so big and so many that had they been brave we should, I think, have fallen an easy prey.

"My mother was trembling all over, as I could feel; but she laughed a queer little laugh when Francois said it was a mercy they were not mice, because ladies were afraid of these, but not, he had heard, of rats. As we had been kept in motion, by this time we were across this woeful space, and groping along the wall for a way out. Finding none, we went back whence we came, and started afresh, taking the extreme righthand passage, which seemed to lead, as we guessed, toward the Luxembourg. Every few yards were ways to left or right, some hard to crawl through, but most of such size that the Duke, a tall man, could walk in them erect. We saw no more bones, but rats in legions. How they lived, who can say? They may have come from the cellars of houses overhead. When we crossed beneath streets, the immense noise of the vehicles told us this much, but hours went by with no sound but the scamper of rats, or the dull dripping of water from the roof. In some places it was a foul-smelling rain, and in one place a small rill fell down the wall and ran off along the passage we were in.

"I do not know, Monsieur,"--and here the old gentleman, being next to me, leaned over and laid a hand on my knee,--"I do not know how I can ever make you or any one feel the increasing horror of day after day of darkness. When we walked, it was often with no light until the thief, who kept touching the wall, would tell us there was a passage to the right or left. Then we would light the candle and decide which way to go.

"This had been a sad day and full of more danger than we lads knew of, and of many fears; but if the day was bad, the night I shall never forget. The Duke said it was seven o'clock, and time to eat. We took our rations eagerly enough, and then the thief wrapped up Henri and me in blankets, and we two poor little dogs fell to discussing where we were, and when we should get out. At last we slept, and were awakened only by the Duke's shaking us. We got up from our damp bed, pretty well tired of our adventure. But the Duke declared we should soon be out in the air; and so, on this our seventh morning, we set forth again. As the thief had some positive notion of direction, and the Duke had none, our good thief took the lead, and would have it that we boys should come beside or after him. Except for his rattle of jokes and thieves' slang and queer stories well worth remembering, I think we boys would have given out early on that weary day.

"My mother moved along, saying nothing, but the Duke now and then flung a skeptical comment at our thief, who nevertheless kept on, insisting that we must soon come into daylight.

"At last the Duke called a halt about five in the evening, and, disheartened, in total silence we ate our meal. We decided to go no further until morning. I drew Henri close up to me, and tucked in the blankets and tried to sleep. Unluckily, the water-drops fell thick, and the rats were so bold and fierce that I was afraid. Assuredly, they lacked no courage, for during my brief lapses into slumber they stole out of my coat pocket a bit of cheese, a biscuit, and a roll of twine. Once the baby set up such a yell that the thief, who stayed on guard, lit a candle, and then we saw that a rat had bitten the little fellow's finger.

"About six o'clock our thief called, 'Breakfast is served,' and we tumbled out of our covers, dazed. 'The sun is up,' said the thief, as he lit the candle; and this was our eighth day since my father left us shut in the cave. The candles were giving out, despite our most economical care, and this day we ate in darkness. I suppose this may have upset me, since I began to have for the first time strange fears. I wanted to keep touch of some one. I thought I felt things go by me. I was afraid, and yet neither as a child nor as a man have I been called timid. Indeed, I was not altogether sorry when the baby cried; and, as the thief said, he cried very solid. Somehow I also felt that my mother was growing weak, and was feeling the long strain of doubt and danger and deep darkness. Even the Duke grew downcast, or at least ceased from his efforts to encourage my mother and to cheer up his son and me. Our thief alone never gave up. He insisted on taking the child from my mother, and crooned to it amazing lullabies. And to us he sang queer ballads, and once, when we rested for two hours, he told us some astonishing tales such as I shall some day delight to relate to you. They were very queer stories, I assure you.

"When our sorry meal was over, and the wine was circulating hope with our blood, our thief proposed to try to take those ways which seemed to lead along under streets. I do not see now why this should have seemed desirable, but it did, and we were busy all that day following this clue, if such it were, by waiting until we heard the sound of wagons. It was time we got somewhere; for although we still had a fair allowance of food, it was no more than would serve with economy for two days longer. Still more alarming was it that our candles were giving out.

"About five that afternoon of July 28th we came to a full stop where a long tunnel ended in a _cul-de-sac_. It was a weary way back, and as for us boys, we held on to one another and choked down our tears. The thief seemed to understand, for when we again got to the turn we had last taken, he gave us in the dark a good dose of wine, and saying, as he lit the lantern candle, 'Rest, Madame; I must see where now to go,' he ran down the next alley of stone, and we heard the sound of his feet until they were lost. Overhead the rumble and roar of wagons were no longer heard, and the stillness was as the darkness, complete.

"On the morning of the day before, these noises now and then shook down small fragments of stone, to our great alarm. Once the thief said, 'If only a nice little house would drop down, and we could just go up-stairs and walk out.' In fact, many houses had thus fallen into these caves, and it was by no means an impossible thing. It served to season our fears with a laugh; but since then the constant silence had made us hope we were going out into the suburbs and toward some opening. Alas! it came not, and now when our thief left us we were so dispirited that for a time no one said a word of his sudden departure. Then the Duke, seeming to understand how we felt, said, 'He will come back soon'; and my mother, whose sweet hopefulness was sapped by this long fatigue, answered, 'Or perhaps he will not. God knows.' Even I, a lad, heard her with astonishment, because she was one who never doubted that all things would come out right, and all people would do what they should.

"I liked our thief, and when an hour went by, and there was borne in on me the idea that he had deserted us, I burst into tears. Just as my mother drew me to her, saying, 'Do not cry, my boy. God will take care of us,' I heard our thief, beside me, cry cheerily, 'This way, Madame. I will show you the light of day.' As we heard him we all leaped up. He cried out, 'This way, and now to the left, Monsieur le Duc; and now this way,' and so through several alleys until he paused and said, 'See! The light of day,' and certainly there was, a little way off, a pale reflection against the gray stone wall beyond us.

"'I thought,' said our thief, 'that as we turned into the _impasse_ I felt a current of air. I was not sure enough to speak, and I went just now to see whence it came. We have gone under the Luxembourg or perhaps Val-de-Grace, and past the barrier.' Then he explained that this cross-passage, whence came the light, was short and tortuous, and was partly blocked by debris; that it opened into a disused quarry; and that it was beyond the city barrier. Upon this, it seemed needful to think over what was best to be done when once we were out; but my mother cried, 'Wait a little,' and knelt down, as we all did, and said aloud a sweet and thankful prayer for our safety, and concerning the thief God had so strangely sent to help us in our extremity.

"As she ended, I looked at the man, and as we stood I saw that now the rascal was shedding tears. A moment later he passed his sleeve across his eyes, and said: 'If it please you, Monsieur le Duc, let us go to the opening and see more of the neighborhood.' We went with them a little way, and stood waiting. It was so wonderful and so lovely to get a glimpse even of the fading light of day! It came straight up the cave from the west. We made no objection to being left alone, and just stayed, as it were, feeding on the ruddy glare, and blinking at it like young owlets. Every now and then my mother turned to St. Maur or me, and smiled and nodded, as much as to say, 'We have light.'

"Before long they came back, and there was then a long talk of which we did not hear all, but not for want of eager ears. This council of war being over, Francois went back into the caves, and soon after returned laughing, and dressed in the clothes of the unlucky municipal guard.

"'One must not criticize what one inherits,' he said. 'The pantaloons are brief, and the waistcoat is of such vastness as I would choose to wear to-day to a good dinner.'

"As the light was now quite good, I saw this comical figure as I had not seen him before. He was tall and gaunt, with a nose of unusual length, and was very ruddy for so thin a man. He seemed to be all the time on a broad grin. He looked queer enough, too, in the short pantaloons and baggy waistcoat.

"'Now,' he said, 'I am to tie the Duke's hands behind his back. He is, you see, an aristocrat I am taking to Sainte Pelagie. Madame his wife and these children follow as I shall order. Poor things! they do not want to escape.'

"At this the Duke, whom most things amused, submitted to be tied, but laughed heartily at the comedy, as he called it.

"'_Dieu!_' said the thief. 'This is an affair of all our lives. See, Monsieur; you have but to turn the wrist, and you are free, in case of need.'

"The Duke, still smiling, promised to be a perfect and indignant aristocrat, and our thief entreated us all to look as sorrowful as we could. Of this lesson, my mother, poor lady, had small need; but we boys had recovered our spirits with sight of day, and when the thief besought us and showed us how we were to look, we were seized with such mirth that the Duke at last bade us understand that it was no laughing matter, and we promised to act our parts. Finally we were made to fill our pockets with the most of the gold found in the bag, and the rest the Duke and my mother stowed away, while the thief took the Duke's pistols, and, leaving the others, girded on the dead man's sword.

"'Now, guard yourselves,' said the thief, as we went out of the catacombs and across the debris of stone, stumbling, still unaccustomed to the light, and so down a slope and around a pond in the middle of the unused quarry. On the far side a road led out between the broken walls of stone. Here the thief halted. 'Have you a handkerchief, Madame?' he said. 'Use it. Weep if ever you did. Never may tears be of so much use again. And you, lads, if you laugh we are as good as dead.'

"'What day is it?' said my mother, and the tears were quite ready enough.

"'It is July the twenty-eighth,' answered the Duke.

"'Oh, no,' said I. 'Mama, it is the 10th Thermidor.'

"'That is better,' said our thief. 'Let us move on.'

"The quarry road opened into a lane, and here were market-gardens and rare houses, and a deserted convent or two, and a network of crossways through which Francois directed the Duke, who walked ahead, as if under arrest. We followed them anxiously beneath the ruddy evening sky, wondering, as we went, to see scarce a soul. The Rue d'Enfer was the first street we came upon as we left the suburban lanes; but still it, too, was deserted. The Duke remarked on this singular absence of people; but as we were now near a small cabaret Francois called out, 'Get along, aristocrat.' The Duke said some wicked words, and we went on. A man came out of the cafe and cried after us: 'Family of the guillotine! _A bas les aristocrats!_' and would Francois have a _petit verre_? But our thief said no, he was on duty, and our comedy went on.

"It was necessary to pass the Barriere d'Enfer, where usually was a guard and close scrutiny. To our surprise, there were but two men. One of them said. 'Ah, Citizen, what have you here?'

"'Aristocrats under arrest--a _ci-devant_ duke.'

"'Have an eye to these,' said the officer to his fellow; 'and you, Citizen, come into the guardroom and register their names.' 'Certainly,' said the thief, and we were set aside while he passed into the room with the guard. After some ten minutes he came out alone very quietly, and said to the other guard, 'It is all correct and in order, Citizen,' waited to tease a black cat on the door-step, asked the hour, and at last, giving the Duke a rude push, cried out, 'Get on there, aristocrat! I have no time to waste.'

"At this we moved away, and he hurried us along the Rue d'Enfer past the Observatory. A little further he struck hastily to the left into the Rue Notre Dame des Champs. By the Rue de Cimetiere, along past the Nouvelle Foire St. Germain, he hurried us, and hardly gave us leave to breathe until we came out amongst the trampled gardens and tall alleys of box back of the Luxembourg. Never pausing, he wound in and out, until by these roundabout ways he came forth into the Rue Vaugirard. As we went across the great ruined gardens, a few people scattered among the parterres looked at us, as if curious, and whispered to one another. Our thief was still in great haste.

"'Must I get you a grand carriage to help you?' he cried. 'Get on, aristocrat! Soon the Republic will give you a carriage; come along. Make haste, or we are lost,' he added in a lower voice.

"'What the deuce is it?' said the Duke. The thief's uneasiness was visible enough.

"'_Mille tonnerres_! Duke,' said the thief; 'that child of Satan at the barrier knew me.'

"'And what then?'

"'Now he does not know me.'

"'_Mon Dieu!_' exclaimed the Duke. 'You are a brave _garcon_.'

"As we entered the Rue de Varennes, an old woman glared at the false municipal, crying out, 'Thy day is over, accursed!' She shook her fist at him. Not understanding, we hurried on. As I looked back, her gray hair was hanging about her; she stood at the wayside, shaking her upraised hands. I could not comprehend what it meant.

"Here, as we went on, for the first time we met great numbers of people, all coming from the river. A few were talking in suppressed voices; and some, turning, stared after us as we went by. Most were silent, as folks not often are in France. At one place it was not easy to get on as fast as our thief desired. In place of quickly making way for an officer, as was usual in those days, the people in our path jostled the municipal, or made room sullenly. At last Francois cried out to some young fellows who blocked our way, 'Let these suspects go by, citizens; they are under arrest.' This was like a spark to powder. A woman cried out, 'Poor children! Are they yours, Citoyenne?' My mother, bewildered, said, 'Yes, yes.' Then a young man near me shouted, 'Down with tyrants!' Our thief was puzzled. 'Hold, there!' he cried. 'What is this?' 'Down with the Terror! Robespierre is dead.' And as if it were a signal, the great crowd, ever increasing, cried out, 'He is dead! Robespierre is dead!'

"In a moment we were pushed about and separated. Francois, our thief, was cuffed and kicked hither and thither. The silence became an uproar of wild cries. 'He is dead! Robespierre is dead!' It was a great madness of release from fear, and a tumult of cries, sharp and hoarse--an outburst of human emotion, sudden and strange to see. Near me a woman fell in a fit. Men ran about yelling, 'He is dead!' All was confusion and tears and mad laughter, any one embracing the citizen next to him. There were others who ran here and there through the crowd, jumping up and down, or catching some woman and whirling her as if in a dance. I lost sight of the Duke, and Mama, and the thief, who kept hold of this my friend; but no one of them all did I see again until late that night.

"As I was now where I knew my way, I went to and fro, afraid to ask questions, until I got to the quay. There I saw a lad of my own years, and it being by this time quite near to dark, I felt that I had a good chance to run at need. 'Halloa!' I said. 'I am a boy from the country. What is the news?'

"'Oh, a fine sight, and you have missed it. They have cut off the heads of Robespierre and Henriot and twenty more. He had nankeen breeches and a blue coat, and my father says that is the end of the Terror. You ought to have got there three hours ago. Chop--chop--like carrots.'

"Now I was old enough to have heard much of Robespierre, and to have some idea of the great relief his death might mean. So I thanked my news-teller, and ran as fast as I could go to my home, in this present house. I stood, however, a moment, uneasy, at the opening of the long covered way. Of a sudden I screamed, for a man caught me by the arm. _Mon Dieu_! It was our neighbor, the charcutier opposite.

"He said, 'Have no fear, my lad. Fear is dead to-day. Get thee home; they look for thee. Robespierre is dead. _A bas les Jacobins!_'

"'And my father is here?' I heard him cry, 'Yes,' as he caught me up and ran with me along the court, kissing me. And there, at the door, was my mama, and behind her Duke Philip and his son, and, to my joy, the thief in short breeches. There was much to say as to how my father had made believe he was the Duke, to give us a chance to escape a search, and how, long before the miscreant's death, he had been released through the help of Fouquier, and came home to find us all gone. It was, in fact, the day after we fled from the cave that he was put in possession of his house. When the municipal who went with him as a matter of form came into the sitting-room where now we are, my father said, 'Wait and let me give you a glass of good wine. I will fetch it.' So saying, he took a lantern and went across the garden in deadly terror and anxiety, not dreaming but what he would find us in the lower cave. When he saw the trap open in the floor of the plant-house, he was filled with dread, and quickly descended to the upper wine-cellar. There was the municipal the Duke had wounded, lying dead in a great pool of blood and wine; for the ball had gone through him and tapped a great cask of wine, of which, indeed, I think I spoke. My father then opened the trap in the floor of the cellar, and went down the steps. A great wind came through the opening in the wall, to his surprise. He called, but none answered. At the foot of the stone stair lay the naked body of the municipal whom the Duke killed outright with his first pistol. Imagine my father's perplexity on finding the gap in the wall leading into the great dark labyrinth of the catacombs, and the rush of damp, malodorous air, and the black gulf beyond, and the answerless silence when he called.

"He came up at once with a bottle, and made fast the traps and covered them with rubbish. Then he gave the officer his drink and a handful of assignats, which may have been five francs, and after that sat down to think. _Eh bien!_ it is a long tale, and here comes supper.

"Another day you shall hear how my father carried the dead officers into the catacombs and left them there, and of two dangerous quests he made in those caves in search of us, and of a strange adventure which befell him. On Sunday week come and dine, and hear it all."

"It is most interesting," I said.

"And this is the house, and we were in the cave," said Pierce.

"And," said I, "that was your mother's glove we saw moldering on the cask, where she left it?"

"Yes. A few years ago we found in a corner the baby's rattle. The little fellow died last June, an old man, and the mother and the good, brave Duke are gone. And now you will sup with his son and grandson."

"Ah," exclaimed young St. Maur. "Here is Francois and supper." Upon this the long, lean man who had admitted us said, "Monsieur is served. I shall carry in the wine." And he added, to me, "Monsieur may have let fall his handkerchief," and, so saying, he returned it, lying on a salver. Upon this the Duke and the rest of them laughed outright, but made haste to explain at once.

"Francois," said Des Illes, "will you never be old enough to acquire a little virtue? My dear M. Michel, we have had our good thief Francois with us all these days, ever since that adventure in the cave. He has money in bank, but to steal a handkerchief now and then he cannot resist. I must say, he always returns it."

"Monsieur will have his little jest," said Francois. "The supper waits." With this he left us.

"What a delightful character!" said Pierce. "And did he really pick my friend's pocket?"

"Assuredly," said the Duke. "For many years he used now and then to ask a holiday. He commonly came back rather forlorn, and apt for a while to keep the house and be shy of gendarmes. It was our belief that he went off to get a little amusement in his old fashion. I suspect that he got into serious trouble once, but Des Illes is secretive."

"And how old is he?" said I.

"That no man knows," returned our host, rising. "To be asked his age is the one thing on earth known to annoy him. He says time is the only thief without honor among other thieves."

"Queer, that," said I, as our host rose. "The old have commonly a strange pride in their age."

"I have none," laughed the Duke.

"This way," said Des Illes, and we followed him into a pretty dining-room, and sat down below a half-dozen canvases of men and women of the days of the Regency.

It was a delightful little supper, with clarets of amazing age and in perfect condition. Toward the close, Des Illes retired for a few minutes to add the last charm to what the younger St. Maur called the toilette of the salad. When we had praised it and disposed of it, Des Illes said to me: "Monsieur, our good fortune has brought you here to-night, on the evening when once in each year we sup together in the mourning costume which may have excited your curiosity."

To this we both confessed, and Des Illes added: "On this day we, who are among the few who remember the Terror, meet because it is January the twenty-first. On this day died Louis Sixteenth. You will join us, I trust, in a glass of older wine in remembrance of our dead King." Thus speaking, he rose and himself took from the mantel-shelf a bottle. "It is of the vintage of 1793, an old Burgundy. Its name I do not know, but, as you see, each bottle was marked by my father with a black ribbon."

Standing beside me, he filled our glasses, the Duke's, that of St. Maur, and last his own. Pierce and I rose with the rest. The Duke said, "The King, to his memory." and threw the glass over his shoulder, that no meaner toast might be drunk from it. I glanced at Pierce, and we did as they had done.

"It shows its age." said Des Illes, "but still holds its bouquet. Fading--fading!"

"One would scarce know it for the wine we knew when it and we were young," said the Duke.

"Know it?" said Des Illes. "Ah me, dear Duke, if you yourself, aged twenty-five, were to walk in just now and say, '_Bon jour_, Duke, how is myself,' would you know him, think you?"

"_Pardie_, my friend; you have ghostly fancies. Give us some younger wine and a gayer jest."

"With all my heart," said Des Illes.

"Let it be the Clos Vougeot of '20," said the younger St. Maur. "It was with that wonderful vintage that I made my first entry into the highest society of the great wines."

"A fine seigneur is that," said Des Illes.

"It reminds me rather of some grande dame," returned St. Maur. "There is something haughty about the refinement of a high-caste Burgundy: a combination of decisive individual quality with good manners."

"How pretty that is!" said Pierce. "The good manners of a wine!"

"And is n't champagne just a bit like a grisette?" laughed the Duke. "But a Margaux like this, or the Romance I see yonder, are grandees, as my friend has said; and there might be more to say of them, but I leave the rest to your fancy. A little more Burgundy, Monsieur?"

As is, alas, true concerning most of the pleasant meals I remember, I can recall but faint reminiscences of the bright talk of that memorable supper.

The younger St. Maur told us a pretty story of a vineyard wooing; a thing so delicate and idyllic that I shall not dare to take it out of its social frame for you. Later, Des Illes stood up and in a queer, creaky tenor sang (and by no means ill) the song the girls sing when they trample out the juice of the grapes in the great vats. Upon this Pierce quoted:

Pink feet that bruise
The gold-green grapes of Andalouse.

I rashly tried to put it into French, and was much complimented upon what I knew to be a sorry failure.

I have a misty recollection of what came after, of old-time jests, of levities as to the Corsican, and, too, a pretty story the Duke told us of the fairy vineyards near to Dijon, which only a woman who loves has ever seen. I seem now, as I write of this delightful night, to see it all again: the little old gentleman; the clear-cut face of the Duke; his son, cynical and handsome; the sheen of jet; the somber, picturesque dresses; thief Francois behind Des Illes's chair, ruddy, gaunt, not less than ninety, with a smile of the same age. As I try to recall it, I remember--do I remember?--the flavor of that Clos Vougeot, and hear again the courteous voice of the Duke: "A little more Burgundy, Monsieur?"