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