CHAPTER XXXIX
THE GROTTO OF CEYZERIAT
The two young men plunged into the shadow of the trees. Morgan
guided his companion, less familiar than he with the windings
of the park, until they reached the exact spot where he was in
the habit of scaling the wall. It took but an instant for both
of them to accomplish that feat. The next moment they were on
the banks of the Reissouse.
A boat was fastened to the foot of a willow; they jumped into
it, and three strokes of the oar brought them to the other side.
There a path led along the bank of the river to a little wood
which extends from Ceyzeriat to Etrez, a distance of about nine
miles, and thus forms, on the other side of the river, a pendant
to the forest of Seillon.
On reaching the edge of the wood they stopped. Until then they
had been walking as rapidly as it was possible to do without
running, and neither of them had uttered a word. The whole way
was deserted; it was probable, in fact certain, that no one had
seen them. They could breathe freely.
"Where are the Companions?" asked Morgan.
"In the grotto," replied Montbar.
"Why don't we go there at once?"
"Because we shall find one of them at the foot of that beech,
who will tell us if we can go further without danger."
"Which one?"
"D'Assas."
A shadow came from behind the tree.
"Here I am," it said.
"Ah! there you are," exclaimed the two young men.
"Anything new?" inquired Montbar.
"Nothing; they are waiting for you to come to a decision."
"In that case, let us hurry."
The three young men continued on their way. After going about
three hundred yards, Montbar stopped again, and said softly:
"Armand!"
The dry leaves rustled at the call, and a fourth shadow stepped
from behind a clump of trees, and approached his companions.
"Anything new?" asked Montbar.
"Yes; a messenger from Cadoudal."
"The same one who came before?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"With the brothers, in the grotto."
"Come."
Montbar rushed on ahead; the path had grown so narrow that the
four young men could only walk in single file. It rose for about
five hundred paces with an easy but winding slope. Coming to an
opening, Montbar stopped and gave, three times, the same owl's
cry with which he had called Morgan. A single hoot answered him;
then a man slid down from the branches of a bushy oak. It was
the sentinel who guarded the entrance to the grotto, which was
not more than thirty feet from the oak. The position of the trees
surrounding it made it almost impossible of detection.
The sentinel exchanged a few whispered words with Montbar, who
seemed, by fulfilling the duties of leader, desirous of leaving
Morgan entirely to his thoughts. Then, as his watch was probably
not over, the bandit climbed the oak again, and was soon so
completely blended with the body of the tree that those he had
left might have looked for him in vain in that aerial bastion.
The glade became narrower as they neared the entrance to the
grotto. Montbar reached it first, and from a hiding-place known
to him he took a flint, a steel, some tinder, matches, and a
torch. The sparks flew, the tinder caught fire, the match cast a
quivering bluish flame, to which succeeded the crackling, resinous
flames of the torch.
Three or four paths were then visible. Montbar took one without
hesitation. The path sank, winding into the earth, and turned
back upon itself, as if the young men were retracing their steps
underground, along the path that had brought them. It was evident
that they were following the windings of an ancient quarry, probably
the one from which were built, nineteen hundred years earlier,
the three Roman towns which are now mere villages, and Cæsar's
camp which overlooked them.
At intervals this subterraneous path was cut entirely across by
a deep ditch, impassable except with the aid of a plank, that
could, with a kick, be precipitated into the hollow beneath. Also,
from place to place, breastworks could still be seen, behind
which men could intrench themselves and fire without exposing
their persons to the sight or fire of the enemy. Finally, at
five hundred yards from the entrance, a barricade of the height
of a man presented a final obstacle to those who sought to enter
a circular space in which ten or a dozen men were now seated
or lying around, some reading, others playing cards.
Neither the readers nor the players moved at the noise made by
the new-comers, or at the gleam of their light playing upon the
walls of the quarry, so certain were they that none but friends
could reach this spot, guarded as it was.
For the rest, the scene of this encampment was extremely picturesque;
wax candles were burning in profusion (the Companions of Jehu
were too aristocratic to make use of any other light) and cast
their reflection upon stands of arms of all kinds, among which
double-barrelled muskets and pistols held first place. Foils
and masks were hanging here and there upon the walls; several
musical instruments were lying about, and a few mirrors in gilt
frames proclaimed the fact that dress was a pastime by no means
unappreciated by the strange inhabitants of that subterranean
dwelling.
They all seemed as tranquil as though the news which had drawn
Morgan from Amélie's arms was unknown to them, or considered
of no importance.
Nevertheless, when the little group from outside approached,
and the words: "The captain! the captain!" were heard, all rose,
not with the servility of soldiers toward their approaching chief,
but with the affectionate deference of strong and intelligent
men for one stronger and more intelligent than they.
Then Morgan shook his head, raised his eyes, and, passing before
Montbar, advanced to the centre of the circle which had formed
at his appearance, and said:
"Well, friends, it seems you have had some news."
"Yes, captain," answered a voice; "the police of the First Consul
does us the honor to be interested in us."
"Where is the messenger?" asked Morgan.
"Here," replied a young man, wearing the livery of a cabinet courier,
who was still covered with mud and dust.
"Have you any despatches?"
"Written, no, verbal, yes."
"Where do they come from?"
"The private office of the minister of police."
"Can they be trusted?"
"I'll answer for them; they are positively official,"
("It's a good thing to have friends everywhere," observed Montbar,
parenthetically.)
"Especially near M. Fouché," resumed Morgan; "let us hear the
news."
"Am I to tell it aloud, or to you privately?"
"I presume we are all interested, so tell it aloud."
"Well, the First Consul sent for citizen Fouché at the Louvre,
and lectured him on our account."
"Capital! what next?"
"Citizen Fouché replied that we were clever scamps, very difficult
to find, and still more difficult to capture when we had been
found, in short, he praised us highly."
"Very amiable of him. What next?"
"Next, the First Consul replied that that did not concern him,
that we were brigands, and that it was our brigandage which
maintained the war in Vendée, and that the day we ceased sending
money to Brittany there would be no more Brittany."
"Excellent reasoning, it seems to me."
"He said the West must be fought in the East and the Midi."
"Like England in India."
"Consequently he gave citizen Fouché full powers, and, even if
it cost a million and he had to kill five hundred men, he must
have our heads."
"Well, he knows his man when he makes his demand; remains to be
seen if we let him have them."
"So citizen Fouché went home furious, and vowed that before eight
days passed there should not be a single Companion of Jehu left
in France."
"The time is short."
"That same day couriers started for Lyons, Mâcon, Sons-le-Saulnier,
Besançon and Geneva, with orders to the garrison commanders to
do personally all they could for our destruction; but above all
to obey unquestioningly M. Roland de Montrevel, aide-de-camp
to the First Consul, and to put at his disposal as many troops
as he thought needful."
"And I can add," said Morgan, "that M. Roland de Montrevel is
already in the field. He had a conference with the captain of
the gendarmerie, in the prison at Bourg, yesterday."
"Does any one know why?" asked a voice.
"The deuce!" said another, "to engage our cells."
"Do you still mean to protect him?" asked d'Assas.
"More than ever."
"Ah! that's too much!" muttered a voice.
"Why so," retorted Morgan imperiously, "isn't it my right as a
Companion?"
"Certainly," said two other voices.
"Then I use it; both as a Companion and as your leader."
"But suppose in the middle of the fray a stray ball should take
him?" said a voice.
"Then, it is not a right I claim, nor an order that I give, but
an entreaty I make. My friends, promise me, on your honor, that
the life of Roland de Montrevel will be sacred to you."
With unanimous voice, all stretching out their hands, they replied:
"We swear on our honor!"
"Now," resumed Morgan, "let us look at our position under its
true aspect, without deluding ourselves in any way. Once an
intelligent police force starts out to pursue us, and makes actual
war against us, it will be impossible for us to resist. We may
trick them like a fox, or double like a boar, but our resistance
will be merely a matter of time, that's all. At least that is
my opinion."
Morgan questioned his companions with his eyes, and their
acquiescence was unanimous, though it was with a smile on their
lips that they recognized their doom. But that was the way in
those strange days. Men went to their death without fear, and
they dealt it to others without emotion.
"And now," asked Montbar, "have you anything further to say?"
"Yes," replied Morgan, "I have to add that nothing is easier
than to procure horses, or even to escape on foot; we are all
hunters and more or less mountaineers. It will take us six hours
on horse back to get out of France, or twelve on foot. Once in
Switzerland we can snap our fingers at citizen Fouché and his
police. That's all I have to say."
"It would be very amusing to laugh at citizen Fouché," said Montbar,
"but very dull to leave France."
"For that reason, I shall not put this extreme measure to a vote
until after we have talked with Cadoudal's messenger."
"Ah, true," exclaimed two or three voices; "the Breton! where
is the Breton?"
"He was asleep when I left," said Montbar.
"And he is still sleeping," said Adler, pointing to a man lying
on a heap of straw in a recess of the grotto.
They wakened the Breton, who rose to his knees, rubbing his eyes
with one hand and feeling for his carbine with the other.
"You are with friends," said a voice; "don't be afraid."
"Afraid!" said the Breton; "who are you, over there, who thinks
I am afraid?"
"Some one who probably does not know what fear is, my dear
Branche-d'Or," said Morgan, who recognized in Cadoudal's messenger
the same man whom they had received at the Chartreuse the night
he himself arrived from Avignon. "I ask pardon on his behalf."
Branche-d'Or looked at the young men before him with an air that
left no doubt of his repugnance for a certain sort of pleasantry;
but as the group had evidently no offensive intention, their
gayety having no insolence about it, he said, with a tolerably
gracious air: "Which of you gentlemen is captain? I have a letter
for him from my captain."
Morgan advanced a step and said: "I am."
"Your name?"
"I have two."
"Your fighting name?"
"Morgan."
"Yes, that's the one the general told me; besides, I recognize
you. You gave me a bag containing sixty thousand francs the night
I saw the monks. The letter is for you then."
"Give it to me."
The peasant took off his hat, pulled out the lining, and from
between it and the felt he took a piece of paper which resembled
another lining, and seemed at first sight to be blank. Then, with
a military salute, he offered the paper to Morgan, who turned it
over and over and could see no writing; at least none was apparent.
"A candle," he said.
They brought a wax light; Morgan held the paper to the flame.
Little by little, as the paper warmed, the writing appeared.
The experience appeared familiar to the young men; the Breton
alone seemed surprised. To his naive mind the operation probably
seemed like witchcraft; but so long as the devil was aiding the
royalist cause the Chouan was willing to deal with him.
"Gentlemen," said Morgan, "do you want to know what the master
says?"
All bowed and listened, while the young man read:
MY DEAR MORGAN--If you hear that I have abandoned the cause, and
am in treaty with the government of the First Consul and the
Vendéan leaders, do not believe it. I am a Breton of Brittany,
and consequently as stubborn as a true Breton. The First Consul
sent one of his aides-de-camp to offer me an amnesty for all my
men, and the rank of colonel for myself. I have not even consulted
my men, I refused for them and for me.
Now, all depends on us; as we receive from the princes neither
money nor encouragement, you are our only treasurer; close your
coffers, or rather cease to open those of the government for us,
and the royalist opposition, the heart of which beats only in
Brittany, will subside little by little, and end before long.
I need not tell you that my life will have ended first.
Our mission is dangerous; probably it will cost us our heads; but
what can be more glorious than to hear posterity say of us, if
one can hear beyond the grave: "All others despaired; but they,
never!"
One of us will survive the other, but only to succumb later. Let
that survivor say as he dies: _Etiamsi omnes, ego non._
Count on me as I count on you. CADOUDAL.
P.S.--You know that you can safely give Branche-d'Or all the money
you have for the Cause. He has promised me not to let himself be
taken, and I trust his word.
A murmur of enthusiasm ran through the group, as Morgan finished
the last words of the letter.
"You have heard it, gentlemen?" he said.
"Yes, yes, yes," repeated every voice.
"In the first place, how much money have we to give to Branche-d'Or?"
"Thirteen thousand francs from the Lake of Silans, twenty-two
thousand from Les Carronnières, fourteen thousand from Meximieux,
forty-nine thousand in all," said one of the group.
"You hear, Branche-d'Or?" said Morgan; "it is not much--only
half what we gave you last time, but you know the proverb: 'The
handsomest girl in the world can only give what she has.'"
"The general knows what you risk to obtain this money, and he
says that, no matter how little you send, he will receive it
gratefully."
"All the more, that the next will be better," said a young man
who had just joined the group, unperceived, so absorbed were
all present in Cadoudal's letter. "More especially if we say two
words to the mail-coach from Chambéry next Saturday."
"Ah! is that you, Valensolle?" said Morgan.
"No real names, if you please, baron; let us be shot, guillotined,
drawn and quartered, but save our family honor. My name is Adler;
I answer to no other."
"Pardon me, I did wrong--you were saying?"
"That the mail-coach from Paris to Chambéry will pass through
Chapelle-de-Guinchay and Belleville next Saturday, carrying fifty
thousand francs of government money to the monks of Saint-Bernard;
to which I may add that there is between those two places a spot
called the Maison-Blanche, which seems to me admirably adapted
for an ambuscade."
"What do you say, gentlemen?" asked Morgan, "Shall we do citizen
Fouché the honor to worry about his police? Shall we leave France?
Or shall we still remain faithful Companions of Jehu?"
There was but one reply--"We stay."
"Right!" said Morgan. "Brothers, I recognize you there. Cadoudal
points out our duty in that admirable letter we have just received.
Let us adopt his heroic motto: _Etiamsi omnes, ego non._" Then
addressing the peasant, he said, "Branche-d'Or, the forty-nine
thousand francs are at your disposal; you can start when you
like. Promise something better next time, in our name, and tell
the general for me that, wherever he goes, even though it be to
the scaffold, I shall deem it an honor to follow, or to precede
him. Au revoir, Branche-d'Or." Then, turning to the young man who
seemed so anxious to preserve his incognito, "My dear Adler,"
he said, like a man who has recovered his gayety, lost for an
instant, "I undertake to feed and lodge you this night, if you
will deign to accept me as a host."
"Gratefully, friend Morgan," replied the new-comer. "Only let
me tell you that I could do without a bed, for I am dropping
with fatigue, but not without supper, for I am dying of hunger."
"You shall have a good bed and an excellent supper."
"Where must I go for them."
"Follow me."
"I'm ready."
"Then come on. Good-night, gentlemen! Are you on watch, Montbar?"
"Yes."
"Then we can sleep in peace."
So saying, Morgan passed his arm through that of his friend,
took a torch in his other hand, and passed into the depths of
the grotto, where we will follow him if our readers are not too
weary of this long session.
It was the first time that Valensolle, who came, as we have said,
from the neighborhood of Aix, had had occasion to visit the grotto
of Ceyzeriat, recently adopted as the meeting-place of the Companions
of Jehu. At the preceding meetings he had occasion to explore
only the windings and intricacies of the Chartreuse of Seillon,
which he now knew so well that in the farce played before Roland
the part of ghost was intrusted to him. Everything was, therefore,
curious and unknown to him in this new domicile, where he now
expected to take his first sleep, and which seemed likely to be,
for some days at least, Morgan's headquarters.
As is always the case in abandoned quarries--which, at the first
glance, partake somewhat of the character of subterranean cities--the
different galleries excavated by the removal of the stone end in a
cul de sac; that is to say, at a point in the mine where the work
stops. One of these streets seemed to prolong itself indefinitely.
Nevertheless, there came a point where the mine would naturally
have ended, but there, in the angle of the tunnelled way, was
cut (For what purpose? The thing remains a mystery to this day
among the people of the neigbborhood) an opening two-thirds the
width of the gallery, wide enough, or nearly so, to give passage
to two men abreast.
The two friends passed through this opening. The air there became
so rarefied that their torch threatened to go out at every step.
Vallensolle felt drops of ice-cold water falling on his hands
and face.
"Bless me," said he, "does it rain down here?"
"No," replied Morgan, laughing; "only we are passing under the
Reissouse."
"Then we are going to Bourg?"
"That's about it."
"All right; you are leading me; you have promised me supper and
a bed, so I have nothing to worry about--unless that light goes
out," added the young man, looking at the paling flame of the
torch.
"That wouldn't matter; we can always find ourselves here."
"In the end!" said Valensolle. "And when one reflects that we
are wandering through a grotto under rivers at three o'clock in
the morning, sleeping the Lord knows where, with the prospect
of being taken, tried, and guillotined some fine morning, and
all for princes who don't even know our names, and who if they
did know them one day would forget them the next--I tell you,
Morgan, it's stupid!"
"My dear fellow," said Morgan, "what we call stupid, what ordinary
minds never do understand in such a case, has many a chance to
become sublime."
"Well, well," said Valensolle, "I see that you will lose more
than I do in this business; I put devotion into it, but you put
enthusiasm."
Morgan sighed.
"Here we are," said he, letting the conversation drop, like a
burden too heavy to be carried longer. In fact, his foot had
just struck against the first step of a stairway.
Preceding Valensolle, for whom he lighted the way, Morgan went
up ten steps and reached the gate. Taking a key from his pocket,
he opened it. They found themselves in the burial vault. On each
side of the vault stood coffins on iron tripods: ducal crowns and
escutcheons, blazoned azure, with the cross argent, indicated
that these coffins belonged to the family of Savoy before it
came to bear the royal crown. A flight of stairs at the further
end of the cavern led to an upper floor.
Valensolle cast a curious glance around him, and by the vacillating
light of the torch, he recognized the funereal place he was in.
"The devil!" said he, "we are just the reverse of the Spartans,
it seems."
"Inasmuch as they were Republicans and we are royalists?" asked
Morgan.
"No; because they had skeletons at the end of their suppers, and
we have ours at the beginning."
"Are you sure it was the Spartans who proved their philosophy
in that way?" asked Morgan, closing the door.
"They or others--what matter?" said Vallensolle. "Faith! My citation
is made, and like the Abbé Vertot, who wouldn't rewrite his siege,
I'll not change it."
"Well, another time you had better say the Egyptians."
"Well," said Valensolle, with an indifference that was not without
a certain sadness, "I'll probably be a skeleton myself before I
have another chance to display my erudition. But what the devil
are you doing? Why did you put out the torch? You're not going
to make me eat and sleep here I hope?"
Morgan had in fact extinguished the torch at the foot of the steps
leading to the upper floor.
"Give me your hand," said the young man.
Valensolle seized his friend's band with an eagerness that showed
how very slight a desire he had to make a longer stay in the
gloomy vaults of the dukes of Savoy, no matter what honor there
might be in such illustrious companionship.
Morgan went up the steps. Then, by the tightening of his hand,
Valensolle knew he was making an effort. Presently a stone was
raised, and through the opening a trembling gleam of twilight
met the eyes of the young men, and a fragrant aromatic odor came
to comfort their sense of smell after the mephitic atmosphere
of the vaults.
"Ah!" cried Valensolle, "we are in a barn; I prefer that."
Morgan did not answer; he helped his companion to climb out of
the vault, and then let the stone drop back in its place.
Valensolle looked about him. He was in the midst of a vast building
filled with hay, into which the light filtered through windows
of such exquisite form that they certainly could not be those
of a barn.
"Why!" said Valensolle, "we are not in a barn!"
"Climb up the hay and sit down near that window," replied Morgan.
Valensolle obeyed and scrambled up the hay like a schoolboy in
his holidays; then he sat down, as Morgan had told him, before
a window. The next moment Morgan placed between his friend's
legs a napkin containing a paté, bread, a bottle of wine, two
glasses, two knives and two forks.
"The deuce!" cried Valensolle, "'Lucullus sups with Lucullus.'"
Then gazing through the panes at a building with numberless windows,
which seemed to be a wing of the one they were in, and before
which a sentry was pacing, he exclaimed: "Positively, I can't
eat my supper till I know where we are. What is this building?
And why that sentry at the door?"
"Well," said Morgan, "since you absolutely must know, I will
tell you. We are in the church of Brou, which was converted into
a fodder storehouse by a decree of the Municipal Council. That
adjoining building is now the barracks of the gendarmerie, and
that sentry is posted to prevent any one from disturbing our
supper or surprising us while we sleep."
"Brave fellows," said Valensolle, filling his glass; "their health,
Morgan!"
"And ours!" said the young man, laughing; "the devil take me if
any one could dream of finding us here."
Morgan had hardly drained his glass, when, as if the devil had
accepted the challenge, the sentinel's harsh, strident voice
cried: "_Qui vive!_"
"Hey!" exclaimed the two young men, "what does this mean?"
A body of thirty men came from the direction of Pont d'Ain, and,
after giving the countersign to the sentry, at once dispersed;
the larger number, led by two men, who seemed to be officers,
entered the barracks; the others continued on their way.
"Attention!" said Morgan.
And both young men, on their knees, their ears alert, their eyes
at the window, waited.
Let us now explain to the reader the cause of this interruption
of a repast which, though taken at three o'clock in the morning,
was not, as we have seen, over-tranquil.
