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diff --git a/28657-0.txt b/28657-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed354d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/28657-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9056 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Winter Amid the Ice, by Jules Verne + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: A Winter Amid the Ice + and Other Thrilling Stories + +Author: Jules Verne + +Release Date: May 1, 2009 [eBook #28657] +[Most recently updated: February 5, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Alan Winterrowd + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WINTER AMID THE ICE *** + + + + +A Winter Amid the Ice + +AND +OTHER THRILLING STORIES + +by Jules Verne + + +with sixty illustrations + +[Illustration: ] + +NEW YORK: +THE WORLD PUBLISHING HOUSE +21 ASTOR PLACE AND 142 EIGHTH ST. +1877 + + + + +Contents + +DOCTOR OX’S EXPERIMENT + +CHAPTER I. +How it is useless to seek, even on the best maps, for the small town of +Quiquendone + +CHAPTER II. +In which the Burgomaster Van Tricasse and the Counsellor Niklausse consult +about the affairs of the town + +CHAPTER III. +In which the Commissary Passauf enters as noisily as unexpectedly + +CHAPTER IV. +In which Doctor Ox reveals himself as a physiologist of the first rank, and as +an audacious experimentalist + +CHAPTER V. +In which the burgomaster and the counsellor pay a visit to Doctor Ox, and what +follows + +CHAPTER VI. +In which Frantz Niklausse and Suzel Van Tricasse form certain projects for the +future + +CHAPTER VII. +In which the Andantes become Allegros, and the Allegros Vivaces + +CHAPTER VIII. +In which the ancient and solemn German waltz becomes a whirlwind + +CHAPTER IX. +In which Doctor Ox and Ygène, his assistant, say a few words + +CHAPTER X. +In which it will be seen that the epidemic invades the entire town, and what +effect it produces + +CHAPTER XI. +In which the Quiquendonians adopt a heroic resolution + +CHAPTER XII. +In which Ygène, the assistant, gives a reasonable piece of advice, which is +eagerly rejected by Doctor Ox + +CHAPTER XIII. +In which it is once more proved that by taking high ground all human +littlenesses may be overlooked + +CHAPTER XIV. +In which matters go so far that the inhabitants of Quiquendone, the reader, and +even the author, demand an immediate dénouement + +CHAPTER XV. +In which the dénouement takes place + +CHAPTER XVI. +In which the intelligent reader sees that he has guessed correctly, despite all +the author’s precautions + +CHAPTER XVII. +In which Doctor Ox’s theory is explained + +MASTER ZACHARIUS. + +CHAPTER I. +A winter night + +CHAPTER II. +The pride of science + +CHAPTER III. +A strange visit + +CHAPTER IV. +The Church of St. Pierre + +CHAPTER V. +The hour of death + +A DRAMA IN THE AIR + +A WINTER AMID THE ICE + +CHAPTER I. +The black flag + +CHAPTER II. +Jean Cornbutte’s project + +CHAPTER III. +A ray of hope + +CHAPTER IV. +In the passes + +CHAPTER V. +Liverpool Island + +CHAPTER VI. +The quaking of the ice + +CHAPTER VII. +Settling for the winter + +CHAPTER VIII. +Plan of the explorations + +CHAPTER IX. +The house of snow + +CHAPTER X. +Buried alive + +CHAPTER XI. +A cloud of smoke + +CHAPTER XII. +The return to the ship + +CHAPTER XIII. +The two rivals + +CHAPTER XIV. +Distress + +CHAPTER XV. +The white bears + +CHAPTER XVI. +Conclusion + +ASCENT OF MONT BLANC + + +[Illustration: ] + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + + She handed her father a pipe + The worthy Madame Brigitte Van Tricasse had now her second husband + “I have just come from Dr. Ox’s” + “It is in the interests of science” + “The workmen, whom we have had to choose in Quiquendone, are not very expeditious” + The young girl took the line + “Good-bye, Frantz,” said Suzel + Fiovaranti had been achieving a brilliant success in “Les Huguenots” + They hustle each other to get out + It was no longer a waltz + It required two persons to eat a strawberry + “To Virgamen! to Virgamen!” + “A burgomaster’s place is in the front rank” + The two friends, arm in arm + The whole army of Quiquendone fell to the earth + He would raise the trap-door constructed in the floor of his workshop + The young girl prayed + “Thou wilt see that I have discovered the secrets of existence”. + “Father, what is the matter?” + Then he resumed, in an ironical tone + From morning till night discontented purchasers besieged the house + This proud old man remained motionless + “It is there—there!” + “See this man,—he is Time” + He was dead + “Monsieur, I salute you” + “Monsieur!” cried I, in a rage + “He continued his observations for seven or eight hours with General Morlot” + “The balloon became less and less inflated” + “Zambecarri fell, and was killed!” + The madman disappeared in space + “Monsieur the curè,” said he, “stop a moment, if you please” + André Vasling, the mate, apprised Jean Cornbutte of the dreadful event + A soft voice said in his ear, “Have good courage, uncle” + André Vasling showed himself more attentive than ever + On the 12th September the sea consisted of one solid plain + They found themselves in a most perilous position, for an icequake had occurred + Map in hand, he clearly explained their situation + The caravan set out + “Thirty-two degrees below zero!” + Despair and determination were struggling in his rough features for the mastery + It was Louis Cornbutte + Penellan advanced towards the Norwegians + Marie begged Vasling on her knees to produce the lemons, but he did not reply + Marie rose with cries of despair, and hurried to the bed of old Jean Cornbutte + The bear, having descended from the mast, had fallen on the two men + The old curè received Louis Cornbutte and Marie + View of Mont Blanc from the Brevent + View of Bossons glacier, near the Grands-Mulets + Passage of the Bossons Glacier + Crevasse and bridge + View of the “Seracs” + View of “Seracs” + Passage of the “Junction” + Hut at the Grands-Mulets + View of Mont Blanc from Grands-Mulets + Crossing the plateau + Summit of Mont Blanc + Grands-Mulets:—Party descending from the hut + + + + +DOCTOR OX’S EXPERIMENT. + + + + +CHAPTER I. +HOW IT IS USELESS TO SEEK, EVEN ON THE BEST MAPS, FOR THE SMALL TOWN OF +QUIQUENDONE. + + +If you try to find, on any map of Flanders, ancient or modern, the +small town of Quiquendone, probably you will not succeed. Is +Quiquendone, then, one of those towns which have disappeared? No. A +town of the future? By no means. It exists in spite of geographies, and +has done so for some eight or nine hundred years. It even numbers two +thousand three hundred and ninety-three souls, allowing one soul to +each inhabitant. It is situated thirteen and a half kilometres +north-west of Oudenarde, and fifteen and a quarter kilometres +south-east of Bruges, in the heart of Flanders. The Vaar, a small +tributary of the Scheldt, passes beneath its three bridges, which are +still covered with a quaint mediæval roof, like that at Tournay. An old +château is to be seen there, the first stone of which was laid so long +ago as 1197, by Count Baldwin, afterwards Emperor of Constantinople; +and there is a Town Hall, with Gothic windows, crowned by a chaplet of +battlements, and surrounded by a turreted belfry, which rises three +hundred and fifty-seven feet above the soil. Every hour you may hear +there a chime of five octaves, a veritable aerial piano, the renown of +which surpasses that of the famous chimes of Bruges. Strangers—if any +ever come to Quiquendone—do not quit the curious old town until they +have visited its “Stadtholder’s Hall”, adorned by a full-length +portrait of William of Nassau, by Brandon; the loft of the Church of +Saint Magloire, a masterpiece of sixteenth century architecture; the +cast-iron well in the spacious Place Saint Ernuph, the admirable +ornamentation of which is attributed to the artist-blacksmith, Quentin +Metsys; the tomb formerly erected to Mary of Burgundy, daughter of +Charles the Bold, who now reposes in the Church of Notre Dame at +Bruges; and so on. The principal industry of Quiquendone is the +manufacture of whipped creams and barley-sugar on a large scale. It has +been governed by the Van Tricasses, from father to son, for several +centuries. And yet Quiquendone is not on the map of Flanders! Have the +geographers forgotten it, or is it an intentional omission? That I +cannot tell; but Quiquendone really exists; with its narrow streets, +its fortified walls, its Spanish-looking houses, its market, and its +burgomaster—so much so, that it has recently been the theatre of some +surprising phenomena, as extraordinary and incredible as they are true, +which are to be recounted in the present narration. + +Surely there is nothing to be said or thought against the Flemings of +Western Flanders. They are a well-to-do folk, wise, prudent, sociable, +with even tempers, hospitable, perhaps a little heavy in conversation +as in mind; but this does not explain why one of the most interesting +towns of their district has yet to appear on modern maps. + +This omission is certainly to be regretted. If only history, or in +default of history the chronicles, or in default of chronicles the +traditions of the country, made mention of Quiquendone! But no; neither +atlases, guides, nor itineraries speak of it. M. Joanne himself, that +energetic hunter after small towns, says not a word of it. It might be +readily conceived that this silence would injure the commerce, the +industries, of the town. But let us hasten to add that Quiquendone has +neither industry nor commerce, and that it does very well without them. +Its barley-sugar and whipped cream are consumed on the spot; none is +exported. In short, the Quiquendonians have no need of anybody. Their +desires are limited, their existence is a modest one; they are calm, +moderate, phlegmatic—in a word, they are Flemings; such as are still to +be met with sometimes between the Scheldt and the North Sea. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +IN WHICH THE BURGOMASTER VAN TRICASSE AND THE COUNSELLOR NIKLAUSSE +CONSULT ABOUT THE AFFAIRS OF THE TOWN. + + +“You think so?” asked the burgomaster. + +“I—think so,” replied the counsellor, after some minutes of silence. + +“You see, we must not act hastily,” resumed the burgomaster. + +“We have been talking over this grave matter for ten years,” replied +the Counsellor Niklausse, “and I confess to you, my worthy Van +Tricasse, that I cannot yet take it upon myself to come to a decision.” + +“I quite understand your hesitation,” said the burgomaster, who did not +speak until after a good quarter of an hour of reflection, “I quite +understand it, and I fully share it. We shall do wisely to decide upon +nothing without a more careful examination of the question.” + +“It is certain,” replied Niklausse, “that this post of civil commissary +is useless in so peaceful a town as Quiquendone.” + +“Our predecessor,” said Van Tricasse gravely, “our predecessor never +said, never would have dared to say, that anything is certain. Every +affirmation is subject to awkward qualifications.” + +The counsellor nodded his head slowly in token of assent; then he +remained silent for nearly half an hour. After this lapse of time, +during which neither the counsellor nor the burgomaster moved so much +as a finger, Niklausse asked Van Tricasse whether his predecessor—of +some twenty years before—had not thought of suppressing this office of +civil commissary, which each year cost the town of Quiquendone the sum +of thirteen hundred and seventy-five francs and some centimes. + +“I believe he did,” replied the burgomaster, carrying his hand with +majestic deliberation to his ample brow; “but the worthy man died +without having dared to make up his mind, either as to this or any +other administrative measure. He was a sage. Why should I not do as he +did?” + +Counsellor Niklausse was incapable of originating any objection to the +burgomaster’s opinion. + +“The man who dies,” added Van Tricasse solemnly, “without ever having +decided upon anything during his life, has very nearly attained to +perfection.” + +This said, the burgomaster pressed a bell with the end of his little +finger, which gave forth a muffled sound, which seemed less a sound +than a sigh. Presently some light steps glided softly across the tile +floor. A mouse would not have made less noise, running over a thick +carpet. The door of the room opened, turning on its well-oiled hinges. +A young girl, with long blonde tresses, made her appearance. It was +Suzel Van Tricasse, the burgomaster’s only daughter. She handed her +father a pipe, filled to the brim, and a small copper brazier, spoke +not a word, and disappeared at once, making no more noise at her exit +than at her entrance. + + +[Illustration: She handed her father a pipe] + + +The worthy burgomaster lighted his pipe, and was soon hidden in a cloud +of bluish smoke, leaving Counsellor Niklausse plunged in the most +absorbing thought. + +The room in which these two notable personages, charged with the +government of Quiquendone, were talking, was a parlour richly adorned +with carvings in dark wood. A lofty fireplace, in which an oak might +have been burned or an ox roasted, occupied the whole of one of the +sides of the room; opposite to it was a trellised window, the painted +glass of which toned down the brightness of the sunbeams. In an antique +frame above the chimney-piece appeared the portrait of some worthy man, +attributed to Memling, which no doubt represented an ancestor of the +Van Tricasses, whose authentic genealogy dates back to the fourteenth +century, the period when the Flemings and Guy de Dampierre were engaged +in wars with the Emperor Rudolph of Hapsburgh. + +This parlour was the principal apartment of the burgomaster’s house, +which was one of the pleasantest in Quiquendone. Built in the Flemish +style, with all the abruptness, quaintness, and picturesqueness of +Pointed architecture, it was considered one of the most curious +monuments of the town. A Carthusian convent, or a deaf and dumb asylum, +was not more silent than this mansion. Noise had no existence there; +people did not walk, but glided about in it; they did not speak, they +murmured. There was not, however, any lack of women in the house, +which, in addition to the burgomaster Van Tricasse himself, sheltered +his wife, Madame Brigitte Van Tricasse, his daughter, Suzel Van +Tricasse, and his domestic, Lotchè Janshéu. We may also mention the +burgomaster’s sister, Aunt Hermance, an elderly maiden who still bore +the nickname of Tatanémance, which her niece Suzel had given her when a +child. But in spite of all these elements of discord and noise, the +burgomaster’s house was as calm as a desert. + +The burgomaster was some fifty years old, neither fat nor lean, neither +short nor tall, neither rubicund nor pale, neither gay nor sad, neither +contented nor discontented, neither energetic nor dull, neither proud +nor humble, neither good nor bad, neither generous nor miserly, neither +courageous nor cowardly, neither too much nor too little of anything—a +man notably moderate in all respects, whose invariable slowness of +motion, slightly hanging lower jaw, prominent eyebrows, massive +forehead, smooth as a copper plate and without a wrinkle, would at once +have betrayed to a physiognomist that the burgomaster Van Tricasse was +phlegm personified. Never, either from anger or passion, had any +emotion whatever hastened the beating of this man’s heart, or flushed +his face; never had his pupils contracted under the influence of any +irritation, however ephemeral. He invariably wore good clothes, neither +too large nor too small, which he never seemed to wear out. He was shod +with large square shoes with triple soles and silver buckles, which +lasted so long that his shoemaker was in despair. Upon his head he wore +a large hat which dated from the period when Flanders was separated +from Holland, so that this venerable masterpiece was at least forty +years old. But what would you have? It is the passions which wear out +body as well as soul, the clothes as well as the body; and our worthy +burgomaster, apathetic, indolent, indifferent, was passionate in +nothing. He wore nothing out, not even himself, and he considered +himself the very man to administer the affairs of Quiquendone and its +tranquil population. + +The town, indeed, was not less calm than the Van Tricasse mansion. It +was in this peaceful dwelling that the burgomaster reckoned on +attaining the utmost limit of human existence, after having, however, +seen the good Madame Brigitte Van Tricasse, his wife, precede him to +the tomb, where, surely, she would not find a more profound repose than +that she had enjoyed on earth for sixty years. + +This demands explanation. + +The Van Tricasse family might well call itself the “Jeannot family.” +This is why:— + +Every one knows that the knife of this typical personage is as +celebrated as its proprietor, and not less incapable of wearing out, +thanks to the double operation, incessantly repeated, of replacing the +handle when it is worn out, and the blade when it becomes worthless. A +precisely similar operation had been going on from time immemorial in +the Van Tricasse family, to which Nature had lent herself with more +than usual complacency. From 1340 it had invariably happened that a Van +Tricasse, when left a widower, had remarried a Van Tricasse younger +than himself; who, becoming in turn a widow, had married again a Van +Tricasse younger than herself; and so on, without a break in the +continuity, from generation to generation. Each died in his or her turn +with mechanical regularity. Thus the worthy Madame Brigitte Van +Tricasse had now her second husband; and, unless she violated her every +duty, would precede her spouse—he being ten years younger than +herself—to the other world, to make room for a new Madame Van Tricasse. +Upon this the burgomaster calmly counted, that the family tradition +might not be broken. Such was this mansion, peaceful and silent, of +which the doors never creaked, the windows never rattled, the floors +never groaned, the chimneys never roared, the weathercocks never +grated, the furniture never squeaked, the locks never clanked, and the +occupants never made more noise than their shadows. The god Harpocrates +would certainly have chosen it for the Temple of Silence. + + +[Illustration: the worthy Madame Brigitte Van Tricasse had now her +second husband] + + + + +CHAPTER III. +IN WHICH THE COMMISSARY PASSAUF ENTERS AS NOISILY AS UNEXPECTEDLY. + + +When the interesting conversation which has been narrated began, it was +a quarter before three in the afternoon. It was at a quarter before +four that Van Tricasse lighted his enormous pipe, which could hold a +quart of tobacco, and it was at thirty-five minutes past five that he +finished smoking it. + +All this time the two comrades did not exchange a single word. + +About six o’clock the counsellor, who had a habit of speaking in a very +summary manner, resumed in these words,— + +“So we decide—” + +“To decide nothing,” replied the burgomaster. + +“I think, on the whole, that you are right, Van Tricasse.” + +“I think so too, Niklausse. We will take steps with reference to the +civil commissary when we have more light on the subject— later on. +There is no need for a month yet.” + +“Nor even for a year,” replied Niklausse, unfolding his +pocket-handkerchief and calmly applying it to his nose. + +There was another silence of nearly a quarter of an hour. Nothing +disturbed this repeated pause in the conversation; not even the +appearance of the house-dog Lento, who, not less phlegmatic than his +master, came to pay his respects in the parlour. Noble dog!— a model +for his race. Had he been made of pasteboard, with wheels on his paws, +he would not have made less noise during his stay. + +Towards eight o’clock, after Lotchè had brought the antique lamp of +polished glass, the burgomaster said to the counsellor,— + +“We have no other urgent matter to consider?” + +“No, Van Tricasse; none that I know of.” + +“Have I not been told, though,” asked the burgomaster, “that the tower +of the Oudenarde gate is likely to tumble down?” + +“Ah!” replied the counsellor; “really, I should not be astonished if it +fell on some passer-by any day.” + +“Oh! before such a misfortune happens I hope we shall have come to a +decision on the subject of this tower.” + +“I hope so, Van Tricasse.” + +“There are more pressing matters to decide.” + +“No doubt; the question of the leather-market, for instance.” + +“What, is it still burning?” + +“Still burning, and has been for the last three weeks.” + +“Have we not decided in council to let it burn?” + +“Yes, Van Tricasse—on your motion.” + +“Was not that the surest and simplest way to deal with it?” + +“Without doubt.” + +“Well, let us wait. Is that all?” + +“All,” replied the counsellor, scratching his head, as if to assure +himself that he had not forgotten anything important. + +“Ah!” exclaimed the burgomaster, “haven’t you also heard something of +an escape of water which threatens to inundate the low quarter of Saint +Jacques?” + +“I have. It is indeed unfortunate that this escape of water did not +happen above the leather-market! It would naturally have checked the +fire, and would thus have saved us a good deal of discussion.” + +“What can you expect, Niklausse? There is nothing so illogical as +accidents. They are bound by no rules, and we cannot profit by one, as +we might wish, to remedy another.” + +It took Van Tricasse’s companion some time to digest this fine +observation. + +“Well, but,” resumed the Counsellor Niklausse, after the lapse of some +moments, “we have not spoken of our great affair!” + +“What great affair? Have we, then, a great affair?” asked the +burgomaster. + +“No doubt. About lighting the town.” + +“O yes. If my memory serves me, you are referring to the lighting plan +of Doctor Ox.” + +“Precisely.” + +“It is going on, Niklausse,” replied the burgomaster. “They are already +laying the pipes, and the works are entirely completed.” + +“Perhaps we have hurried a little in this matter,” said the counsellor, +shaking his head. + +“Perhaps. But our excuse is, that Doctor Ox bears the whole expense of +his experiment. It will not cost us a sou.” + +“That, true enough, is our excuse. Moreover, we must advance with the +age. If the experiment succeeds, Quiquendone will be the first town in +Flanders to be lighted with the oxy—What is the gas called?” + +“Oxyhydric gas.” + +“Well, oxyhydric gas, then.” + +At this moment the door opened, and Lotchè came in to tell the +burgomaster that his supper was ready. + +Counsellor Niklausse rose to take leave of Van Tricasse, whose appetite +had been stimulated by so many affairs discussed and decisions taken; +and it was agreed that the council of notables should be convened after +a reasonably long delay, to determine whether a decision should be +provisionally arrived at with reference to the really urgent matter of +the Oudenarde gate. + +The two worthy administrators then directed their steps towards the +street-door, the one conducting the other. The counsellor, having +reached the last step, lighted a little lantern to guide him through +the obscure streets of Quiquendone, which Doctor Ox had not yet +lighted. It was a dark October night, and a light fog overshadowed the +town. + +Niklausse’s preparations for departure consumed at least a quarter of +an hour; for, after having lighted his lantern, he had to put on his +big cow-skin socks and his sheep-skin gloves; then he put up the furred +collar of his overcoat, turned the brim of his felt hat down over his +eyes, grasped his heavy crow-beaked umbrella, and got ready to start. + +When Lotchè, however, who was lighting her master, was about to draw +the bars of the door, an unexpected noise arose outside. + +Yes! Strange as the thing seems, a noise—a real noise, such as the town +had certainly not heard since the taking of the donjon by the Spaniards +in 1513—terrible noise, awoke the long-dormant echoes of the venerable +Van Tricasse mansion. + +Some one knocked heavily upon this door, hitherto virgin to brutal +touch! Redoubled knocks were given with some blunt implement, probably +a knotty stick, wielded by a vigorous arm. With the strokes were +mingled cries and calls. These words were distinctly heard:— + +“Monsieur Van Tricasse! Monsieur the burgomaster! Open, open quickly!” + +The burgomaster and the counsellor, absolutely astounded, looked at +each other speechless. + +This passed their comprehension. If the old culverin of the château, +which had not been used since 1385, had been let off in the parlour, +the dwellers in the Van Tricasse mansion would not have been more +dumbfoundered. + +Meanwhile, the blows and cries were redoubled. Lotchè, recovering her +coolness, had plucked up courage to speak. + +“Who is there?” + +“It is I! I! I!” + +“Who are you?” + +“The Commissary Passauf!” + +The Commissary Passauf! The very man whose office it had been +contemplated to suppress for ten years. What had happened, then? Could +the Burgundians have invaded Quiquendone, as they did in the fourteenth +century? No event of less importance could have so moved Commissary +Passauf, who in no degree yielded the palm to the burgomaster himself +for calmness and phlegm. + +On a sign from Van Tricasse—for the worthy man could not have +articulated a syllable—the bar was pushed back and the door opened. + +Commissary Passauf flung himself into the antechamber. One would have +thought there was a hurricane. + +“What’s the matter, Monsieur the commissary?” asked Lotchè, a brave +woman, who did not lose her head under the most trying circumstances. + +“What’s the matter!” replied Passauf, whose big round eyes expressed a +genuine agitation. “The matter is that I have just come from Doctor +Ox’s, who has been holding a reception, and that there—” + + +[Illustration: I have just come from Doctor Ox’s] + + +“There?” + +“There I have witnessed such an altercation as—Monsieur the +burgomaster, they have been talking politics!” + +“Politics!” repeated Van Tricasse, running his fingers through his wig. + +“Politics!” resumed Commissary Passauf, “which has not been done for +perhaps a hundred years at Quiquendone. Then the discussion got warm, +and the advocate, André Schut, and the doctor, Dominique Custos, became +so violent that it may be they will call each other out.” + +“Call each other out!” cried the counsellor. “A duel! A duel at +Quiquendone! And what did Advocate Schut and Doctor Gustos say?” + +“Just this: ‘Monsieur advocate,’ said the doctor to his adversary, ‘you +go too far, it seems to me, and you do not take sufficient care to +control your words!’” + +The Burgomaster Van Tricasse clasped his hands—the counsellor turned +pale and let his lantern fall—the commissary shook his head. That a +phrase so evidently irritating should be pronounced by two of the +principal men in the country! + +“This Doctor Custos,” muttered Van Tricasse, “is decidedly a dangerous +man—a hare-brained fellow! Come, gentlemen!” + +On this, Counsellor Niklausse and the commissary accompanied the +burgomaster into the parlour. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +IN WHICH DOCTOR OX REVEALS HIMSELF AS A PHYSIOLOGIST OF THE FIRST RANK, +AND AS AN AUDACIOUS EXPERIMENTALIST. + + +Who, then, was this personage, known by the singular name of Doctor Ox? + +An original character for certain, but at the same time a bold savant, +a physiologist, whose works were known and highly estimated throughout +learned Europe, a happy rival of the Davys, the Daltons, the Bostocks, +the Menzies, the Godwins, the Vierordts—of all those noble minds who +have placed physiology among the highest of modern sciences. + +Doctor Ox was a man of medium size and height, aged—: but we cannot +state his age, any more than his nationality. Besides, it matters +little; let it suffice that he was a strange personage, impetuous and +hot-blooded, a regular oddity out of one of Hoffmann’s volumes, and one +who contrasted amusingly enough with the good people of Quiquendone. He +had an imperturbable confidence both in himself and in his doctrines. +Always smiling, walking with head erect and shoulders thrown back in a +free and unconstrained manner, with a steady gaze, large open nostrils, +a vast mouth which inhaled the air in liberal draughts, his appearance +was far from unpleasing. He was full of animation, well proportioned in +all parts of his bodily mechanism, with quicksilver in his veins, and a +most elastic step. He could never stop still in one place, and relieved +himself with impetuous words and a superabundance of gesticulations. + +Was Doctor Ox rich, then, that he should undertake to light a whole +town at his expense? Probably, as he permitted himself to indulge in +such extravagance,—and this is the only answer we can give to this +indiscreet question. + +Doctor Ox had arrived at Quiquendone five months before, accompanied by +his assistant, who answered to the name of Gédéon Ygène; a tall, +dried-up, thin man, haughty, but not less vivacious than his master. + +And next, why had Doctor Ox made the proposition to light the town at +his own expense? Why had he, of all the Flemings, selected the +peaceable Quiquendonians, to endow their town with the benefits of an +unheard-of system of lighting? Did he not, under this pretext, design +to make some great physiological experiment by operating _in anima +vili?_ In short, what was this original personage about to attempt? We +know not, as Doctor Ox had no confidant except his assistant Ygène, +who, moreover, obeyed him blindly. + +In appearance, at least, Doctor Ox had agreed to light the town, which +had much need of it, “especially at night,” as Commissary Passauf +wittily said. Works for producing a lighting gas had accordingly been +established; the gasometers were ready for use, and the main pipes, +running beneath the street pavements, would soon appear in the form of +burners in the public edifices and the private houses of certain +friends of progress. Van Tricasse and Niklausse, in their official +capacity, and some other worthies, thought they ought to allow this +modern light to be introduced into their dwellings. + +If the reader has not forgotten, it was said, during the long +conversation of the counsellor and the burgomaster, that the lighting +of the town was to be achieved, not by the combustion of common +carburetted hydrogen, produced by distilling coal, but by the use of a +more modern and twenty-fold more brilliant gas, oxyhydric gas, produced +by mixing hydrogen and oxygen. + +The doctor, who was an able chemist as well as an ingenious +physiologist, knew how to obtain this gas in great quantity and of good +quality, not by using manganate of soda, according to the method of M. +Tessié du Motay, but by the direct decomposition of slightly acidulated +water, by means of a battery made of new elements, invented by himself. +Thus there were no costly materials, no platinum, no retorts, no +combustibles, no delicate machinery to produce the two gases +separately. An electric current was sent through large basins full of +water, and the liquid was decomposed into its two constituent parts, +oxygen and hydrogen. The oxygen passed off at one end; the hydrogen, of +double the volume of its late associate, at the other. As a necessary +precaution, they were collected in separate reservoirs, for their +mixture would have produced a frightful explosion if it had become +ignited. Thence the pipes were to convey them separately to the various +burners, which would be so placed as to prevent all chance of +explosion. Thus a remarkably brilliant flame would be obtained, whose +light would rival the electric light, which, as everybody knows, is, +according to Cassellmann’s experiments, equal to that of eleven hundred +and seventy-one wax candles,—not one more, nor one less. + +It was certain that the town of Quiquendone would, by this liberal +contrivance, gain a splendid lighting; but Doctor Ox and his assistant +took little account of this, as will be seen in the sequel. + +The day after that on which Commissary Passauf had made his noisy +entrance into the burgomaster’s parlour, Gédéon Ygène and Doctor Ox +were talking in the laboratory which both occupied in common, on the +ground-floor of the principal building of the gas-works. + +“Well, Ygène, well,” cried the doctor, rubbing his hands. “You saw, at +my reception yesterday, the cool-bloodedness of these worthy +Quiquendonians. For animation they are midway between sponges and +coral! You saw them disputing and irritating each other by voice and +gesture? They are already metamorphosed, morally and physically! And +this is only the beginning. Wait till we treat them to a big dose!” + +“Indeed, master,” replied Ygène, scratching his sharp nose with the end +of his forefinger, “the experiment begins well, and if I had not +prudently closed the supply-tap, I know not what would have happened.” + +“You heard Schut, the advocate, and Custos, the doctor?” resumed Doctor +Ox. “The phrase was by no means ill-natured in itself, but, in the +mouth of a Quiquendonian, it is worth all the insults which the Homeric +heroes hurled at each other before drawing their swords, Ah, these +Flemings! You’ll see what we shall do some day!” + +“We shall make them ungrateful,” replied Ygène, in the tone of a man +who esteems the human race at its just worth. + +“Bah!” said the doctor; “what matters it whether they think well or ill +of us, so long as our experiment succeeds?” + +“Besides,” returned the assistant, smiling with a malicious expression, +“is it not to be feared that, in producing such an excitement in their +respiratory organs, we shall somewhat injure the lungs of these good +people of Quiquendone?” + +“So much the worse for them! It is in the interests of science. What +would you say if the dogs or frogs refused to lend themselves to the +experiments of vivisection?” + + +[Illustration: It is in the interests of Science.] + + +It is probable that if the frogs and dogs were consulted, they would +offer some objection; but Doctor Ox imagined that he had stated an +unanswerable argument, for he heaved a great sigh of satisfaction. + +“After all, master, you are right,” replied Ygène, as if quite +convinced. “We could not have hit upon better subjects than these +people of Quiquendone for our experiment.” + +“We—could—not,” said the doctor, slowly articulating each word. + +“Have you felt the pulse of any of them?” + +“Some hundreds.” + +“And what is the average pulsation you found?” + +“Not fifty per minute. See—this is a town where there has not been the +shadow of a discussion for a century, where the carmen don’t swear, +where the coachmen don’t insult each other, where horses don’t run +away, where the dogs don’t bite, where the cats don’t scratch,—a town +where the police-court has nothing to do from one year’s end to +another,—a town where people do not grow enthusiastic about anything, +either about art or business,—a town where the gendarmes are a sort of +myth, and in which an indictment has not been drawn up for a hundred +years,—a town, in short, where for three centuries nobody has struck a +blow with his fist or so much as exchanged a slap in the face! You see, +Ygène, that this cannot last, and that we must change it all.” + +“Perfectly! perfectly!” cried the enthusiastic assistant; “and have you +analyzed the air of this town, master?” + +“I have not failed to do so. Seventy-nine parts of azote and twenty-one +of oxygen, carbonic acid and steam in a variable quantity. These are +the ordinary proportions.” + +“Good, doctor, good!” replied Ygène. “The experiment will be made on a +large scale, and will be decisive.” + +“And if it is decisive,” added Doctor Ox triumphantly, “we shall reform +the world!” + + + + +CHAPTER V. +IN WHICH THE BURGOMASTER AND THE COUNSELLOR PAY A VISIT TO DOCTOR OX, +AND WHAT FOLLOWS. + + +The Counsellor Niklausse and the Burgomaster Van Tricasse at last knew +what it was to have an agitated night. The grave event which had taken +place at Doctor Ox’s house actually kept them awake. What consequences +was this affair destined to bring about? They could not imagine. Would +it be necessary for them to come to a decision? Would the municipal +authority, whom they represented, be compelled to interfere? Would they +be obliged to order arrests to be made, that so great a scandal should +not be repeated? All these doubts could not but trouble these soft +natures; and on that evening, before separating, the two notables had +“decided” to see each other the next day. + +On the next morning, then, before dinner, the Burgomaster Van Tricasse +proceeded in person to the Counsellor Niklausse’s house. He found his +friend more calm. He himself had recovered his equanimity. + +“Nothing new?” asked Van Tricasse. + +“Nothing new since yesterday,” replied Niklausse. + +“And the doctor, Dominique Custos?” + +“I have not heard anything, either of him or of the advocate, André +Schut.” + +After an hour’s conversation, which consisted of three remarks which it +is needless to repeat, the counsellor and the burgomaster had resolved +to pay a visit to Doctor Ox, so as to draw from him, without seeming to +do so, some details of the affair. + +Contrary to all their habits, after coming to this decision the two +notables set about putting it into execution forthwith. They left the +house and directed their steps towards Doctor Ox’s laboratory, which +was situated outside the town, near the Oudenarde gate—the gate whose +tower threatened to fall in ruins. + +They did not take each other’s arms, but walked side by side, with a +slow and solemn step, which took them forward but thirteen inches per +second. This was, indeed, the ordinary gait of the Quiquendonians, who +had never, within the memory of man, seen any one run across the +streets of their town. + +From time to time the two notables would stop at some calm and tranquil +crossway, or at the end of a quiet street, to salute the passers-by. + +“Good morning, Monsieur the burgomaster,” said one. + +“Good morning, my friend,” responded Van Tricasse. + +“Anything new, Monsieur the counsellor?” asked another. + +“Nothing new,” answered Niklausse. + +But by certain agitated motions and questioning looks, it was evident +that the altercation of the evening before was known throughout the +town. Observing the direction taken by Van Tricasse, the most obtuse +Quiquendonians guessed that the burgomaster was on his way to take some +important step. The Custos and Schut affair was talked of everywhere, +but the people had not yet come to the point of taking the part of one +or the other. The Advocate Schut, having never had occasion to plead in +a town where attorneys and bailiffs only existed in tradition, had, +consequently, never lost a suit. As for the Doctor Custos, he was an +honourable practitioner, who, after the example of his fellow-doctors, +cured all the illnesses of his patients, except those of which they +died—a habit unhappily acquired by all the members of all the faculties +in whatever country they may practise. + +On reaching the Oudenarde gate, the counsellor and the burgomaster +prudently made a short detour, so as not to pass within reach of the +tower, in case it should fall; then they turned and looked at it +attentively. + +“I think that it will fall,” said Van Tricasse. + +“I think so too,” replied Niklausse. + +“Unless it is propped up,” added Van Tricasse. “But must it be propped +up? That is the question.” + +“That is—in fact—the question.” + +Some moments after, they reached the door of the gasworks. + +“Can we see Doctor Ox?” they asked. + +Doctor Ox could always be seen by the first authorities of the town, +and they were at once introduced into the celebrated physiologist’s +study. + +Perhaps the two notables waited for the doctor at least an hour; at +least it is reasonable to suppose so, as the burgomaster—a thing that +had never before happened in his life—betrayed a certain amount of +impatience, from which his companion was not exempt. + +Doctor Ox came in at last, and began to excuse himself for having kept +them waiting; but he had to approve a plan for the gasometer, rectify +some of the machinery—But everything was going on well! The pipes +intended for the oxygen were already laid. In a few months the town +would be splendidly lighted. The two notables might even now see the +orifices of the pipes which were laid on in the laboratory. + +Then the doctor begged to know to what he was indebted for the honour +of this visit. + +“Only to see you, doctor; to see you,” replied Van Tricasse. “It is +long since we have had the pleasure. We go abroad but little in our +good town of Quiquendone. We count our steps and measure our walks. We +are happy when nothing disturbs the uniformity of our habits.” + +Niklausse looked at his friend. His friend had never said so much at +once—at least, without taking time, and giving long intervals between +his sentences. It seemed to him that Van Tricasse expressed himself +with a certain volubility, which was by no means common with him. +Niklausse himself experienced a kind of irresistible desire to talk. + +As for Doctor Ox, he looked at the burgomaster with sly attention. + +Van Tricasse, who never argued until he had snugly ensconced himself in +a spacious armchair, had risen to his feet. I know not what nervous +excitement, quite foreign to his temperament, had taken possession of +him. He did not gesticulate as yet, but this could not be far off. As +for the counsellor, he rubbed his legs, and breathed with slow and long +gasps. His look became animated little by little, and he had “decided” +to support at all hazards, if need be, his trusty friend the +burgomaster. + +Van Tricasse got up and took several steps; then he came back, and +stood facing the doctor. + +“And in how many months,” he asked in a somewhat emphatic tome, “do you +say that your work will be finished?” + +“In three or four months, Monsieur the burgomaster,” replied Doctor Ox. + +“Three or four months,—it’s a very long time!” said Van Tricasse. + +“Altogether too long!” added Niklausse, who, not being able to keep his +seat, rose also. + +“This lapse of time is necessary to complete our work,” returned Doctor +Ox. “The workmen, whom we have had to choose in Quiquendone, are not +very expeditious.” + + +[Illustration: “The workmen, whom we have had to choose in +Quiquendone, are not very expeditious.”] + + +“How not expeditious?” cried the burgomaster, who seemed to take the +remark as personally offensive. + +“No, Monsieur Van Tricasse,” replied Doctor Ox obstinately. “A French +workman would do in a day what it takes ten of your workmen to do; you +know, they are regular Flemings!” + +“Flemings!” cried the counsellor, whose fingers closed together. “In +what sense, sir, do you use that word?” + +“Why, in the amiable sense in which everybody uses it,” replied Doctor +Ox, smiling. + +“Ah, but doctor,” said the burgomaster, pacing up and down the room, “I +don’t like these insinuations. The workmen of Quiquendone are as +efficient as those of any other town in the world, you must know; and +we shall go neither to Paris nor London for our models! As for your +project, I beg you to hasten its execution. Our streets have been +unpaved for the putting down of your conduit-pipes, and it is a +hindrance to traffic. Our trade will begin to suffer, and I, being the +responsible authority, do not propose to incur reproaches which will be +but too just.” + +Worthy burgomaster! He spoke of trade, of traffic, and the wonder was +that those words, to which he was quite unaccustomed, did not scorch +his lips. What could be passing in his mind? + +“Besides,” added Niklausse, “the town cannot be deprived of light much +longer.” + +“But,” urged Doctor Ox, “a town which has been un-lighted for eight or +nine hundred years—” + +“All the more necessary is it,” replied the burgomaster, emphasizing +his words. “Times alter, manners alter! The world advances, and we do +not wish to remain behind. We desire our streets to be lighted within a +month, or you must pay a large indemnity for each day of delay; and +what would happen if, amid the darkness, some affray should take +place?” + +“No doubt,” cried Niklausse. “It requires but a spark to inflame a +Fleming! Fleming! Flame!” + +“Apropos of this,” said the burgomaster, interrupting his friend, +“Commissary Passauf, our chief of police, reports to us that a +discussion took place in your drawing-room last evening, Doctor Ox. Was +he wrong in declaring that it was a political discussion?” + +“By no means, Monsieur the burgomaster,” replied Doctor Ox, who with +difficulty repressed a sigh of satisfaction. + +“So an altercation did take place between Dominique Gustos and André +Schut?” + +“Yes, counsellor; but the words which passed were not of grave import.” + +“Not of grave import!” cried the burgomaster. “Not of grave import, +when one man tells another that he does not measure the effect of his +words! But of what stuff are you made, monsieur? Do you not know that +in Quiquendone nothing more is needed to bring about extremely +disastrous results? But monsieur, if you, or any one else, presume to +speak thus to me—” + +“Or to me,” added Niklausse. + +As they pronounced these words with a menacing air, the two notables, +with folded arms and bristling air, confronted Doctor Ox, ready to do +him some violence, if by a gesture, or even the expression of his eye, +he manifested any intention of contradicting them. + +But the doctor did not budge. + +“At all events, monsieur,” resumed the burgomaster, “I propose to hold +you responsible for what passes in your house. I am bound to insure the +tranquillity of this town, and I do not wish it to be disturbed. The +events of last evening must not be repeated, or I shall do my duty, +sir! Do you hear? Then reply, sir.” + +The burgomaster, as he spoke, under the influence of extraordinary +excitement, elevated his voice to the pitch of anger. He was furious, +the worthy Van Tricasse, and might certainly be heard outside. At last, +beside himself, and seeing that Doctor Ox did not reply to his +challenge, “Come, Niklausse,” said he. + +And, slamming the door with a violence which shook the house, the +burgomaster drew his friend after him. + +Little by little, when they had taken twenty steps on their road, the +worthy notables grew more calm. Their pace slackened, their gait became +less feverish. The flush on their faces faded away; from being crimson, +they became rosy. A quarter of an hour after quitting the gasworks, Van +Tricasse said softly to Niklausse, “An amiable man, Doctor Ox! It is +always a pleasure to see him!” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +IN WHICH FRANTZ NIKLAUSSE AND SUZEL VAN TRICASSE FORM CERTAIN PROJECTS +FOR THE FUTURE. + + +Our readers know that the burgomaster had a daughter, Suzel But, shrewd +as they may be, they cannot have divined that the counsellor Niklausse +had a son, Frantz; and had they divined this, nothing could have led +them to imagine that Frantz was the betrothed lover of Suzel. We will +add that these young people were made for each other, and that they +loved each other, as folks did love at Quiquendone. + +It must not be thought that young hearts did not beat in this +exceptional place; only they beat with a certain deliberation. There +were marriages there, as in every other town in the world; but they +took time about it. Betrothed couples, before engaging in these +terrible bonds, wished to study each other; and these studies lasted at +least ten years, as at college. It was rare that any one was “accepted” +before this lapse of time. + +Yes, ten years! The courtships last ten years! And is it, after all, +too long, when the being bound for life is in consideration? One +studies ten years to become an engineer or physician, an advocate or +attorney, and should less time be spent in acquiring the knowledge to +make a good husband? Is it not reasonable? and, whether due to +temperament or reason with them, the Quiquendonians seem to us to be in +the right in thus prolonging their courtship. When marriages in other +more lively and excitable cities are seen taking place within a few +months, we must shrug our shoulders, and hasten to send our boys to the +schools and our daughters to the _pensions_ of Quiquendone. + +For half a century but a single marriage was known to have taken place +after the lapse of two years only of courtship, and that turned out +badly! + +Frantz Niklausse, then, loved Suzel Van Tricasse, but quietly, as a man +would love when he has ten years before him in which to obtain the +beloved object. Once every week, at an hour agreed upon, Frantz went to +fetch Suzel, and took a walk with her along the banks of the Vaar. He +took good care to carry his fishing-tackle, and Suzel never forgot her +canvas, on which her pretty hands embroidered the most unlikely +flowers. + +Frantz was a young man of twenty-two, whose cheeks betrayed a soft, +peachy down, and whose voice had scarcely a compass of one octave. + +As for Suzel, she was blonde and rosy. She was seventeen, and did not +dislike fishing. A singular occupation this, however, which forces you +to struggle craftily with a barbel. But Frantz loved it; the pastime +was congenial to his temperament. As patient as possible, content to +follow with his rather dreamy eye the cork which bobbed on the top of +the water, he knew how to wait; and when, after sitting for six hours, +a modest barbel, taking pity on him, consented at last to be caught, he +was happy—but he knew how to control his emotion. + +On this day the two lovers—one might say, the two betrothed— were +seated upon the verdant bank. The limpid Vaar murmured a few feet below +them. Suzel quietly drew her needle across the canvas. Frantz +automatically carried his line from left to right, then permitted it to +descend the current from right to left. The fish made capricious rings +in the water, which crossed each other around the cork, while the hook +hung useless near the bottom. + +From time to time Frantz would say, without raising his eyes,— + +“I think I have a bite, Suzel.” + +“Do you think so, Frantz?” replied Suzel, who, abandoning her work for +an instant, followed her lover’s line with earnest eye. + +“N-no,” resumed Frantz; “I thought I felt a little twitch; I was +mistaken.” + +“You _will_ have a bite, Frantz,” replied Suzel, in her pure, soft +voice. “But do not forget to strike at the right moment. You are always +a few seconds too late, and the barbel takes advantage to escape.” + +“Would you like to take my line, Suzel?” + +“Willingly, Frantz.” + +“Then give me your canvas. We shall see whether I am more adroit with +the needle than with the hook.” + +And the young girl took the line with trembling hand, while her swain +plied the needle across the stitches of the embroidery. For hours +together they thus exchanged soft words, and their hearts palpitated +when the cork bobbed on the water. Ah, could they ever forget those +charming hours, during which, seated side by side, they listened to the +murmurs of the river? + + +[Illustration: the young girl took the line] + + +The sun was fast approaching the western horizon, and despite the +combined skill of Suzel and Frantz, there had not been a bite. The +barbels had not shown themselves complacent, and seemed to scoff at the +two young people, who were too just to bear them malice. + +“We shall be more lucky another time, Frantz,” said Suzel, as the young +angler put up his still virgin hook. + +“Let us hope so,” replied Frantz. + +Then walking side by side, they turned their steps towards the house, +without exchanging a word, as mute as their shadows which stretched out +before them. Suzel became very, very tall under the oblique rays of the +setting sun. Frantz appeared very, very thin, like the long rod which +he held in his hand. + +They reached the burgomaster’s house. Green tufts of grass bordered the +shining pavement, and no one would have thought of tearing them away, +for they deadened the noise made by the passers-by. + +As they were about to open the door, Frantz thought it his duty to say +to Suzel,— + +“You know, Suzel, the great day is approaching?” + +“It is indeed, Frantz,” replied the young girl, with downcast eyes. + +“Yes,” said Frantz, “in five or six years—” + +“Good-bye, Frantz,” said Suzel. + + +[Illustration: “Good-bye, Frantz,” said Suzel.] + + +“Good-bye, Suzel,” replied Frantz. + +And, after the door had been closed, the young man resumed the way to +his father’s house with a calm and equal pace. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +IN WHICH THE ANDANTES BECOME ALLEGROS, AND THE ALLEGROS VIVACES. + + +The agitation caused by the Schut and Custos affair had subsided. The +affair led to no serious consequences. It appeared likely that +Quiquendone would return to its habitual apathy, which that unexpected +event had for a moment disturbed. + +Meanwhile, the laying of the pipes destined to conduct the oxyhydric +gas into the principal edifices of the town was proceeding rapidly. The +main pipes and branches gradually crept beneath the pavements. But the +burners were still wanting; for, as it required delicate skill to make +them, it was necessary that they should be fabricated abroad. Doctor Ox +was here, there, and everywhere; neither he nor Ygène, his assistant, +lost a moment, but they urged on the workmen, completed the delicate +mechanism of the gasometer, fed day and night the immense piles which +decomposed the water under the influence of a powerful electric +current. Yes, the doctor was already making his gas, though the +pipe-laying was not yet done; a fact which, between ourselves, might +have seemed a little singular. But before long,—at least there was +reason to hope so,—before long Doctor Ox would inaugurate the +splendours of his invention in the theatre of the town. + +For Quiquendone possessed a theatre—a really fine edifice, in truth—the +interior and exterior arrangement of which combined every style of +architecture. It was at once Byzantine, Roman, Gothic, Renaissance, +with semicircular doors, Pointed windows, Flamboyant rose-windows, +fantastic bell-turrets,—in a word, a specimen of all sorts, half a +Parthenon, half a Parisian Grand Café. Nor was this surprising, the +theatre having been commenced under the burgomaster Ludwig Van +Tricasse, in 1175, and only finished in 1837, under the burgomaster +Natalis Van Tricasse. It had required seven hundred years to build it, +and it had, been successively adapted to the architectural style in +vogue in each period. But for all that it was an imposing structure; +the Roman pillars and Byzantine arches of which would appear to +advantage lit up by the oxyhydric gas. + +Pretty well everything was acted at the theatre of Quiquendone; but the +opera and the opera comique were especially patronized. It must, +however, be added that the composers would never have recognized their +own works, so entirely changed were the “movements” of the music. + +In short, as nothing was done in a hurry at Quiquendone, the dramatic +pieces had to be performed in harmony with the peculiar temperament of +the Quiquendonians. Though the doors of the theatre were regularly +thrown open at four o’clock and closed again at ten, it had never been +known that more than two acts were played during the six intervening +hours. “Robert le Diable,” “Les Huguenots,” or “Guillaume Tell” usually +took up three evenings, so slow was the execution of these +masterpieces. The _vivaces_, at the theatre of Quiquendone, lagged like +real _adagios_. The _allegros_ were “long-drawn out” indeed. The +demisemiquavers were scarcely equal to the ordinary semibreves of other +countries. The most rapid runs, performed according to Quiquendonian +taste, had the solemn march of a chant. The gayest shakes were +languishing and measured, that they might not shock the ears of the +_dilettanti_. To give an example, the rapid air sung by Figaro, on his +entrance in the first act of “Le Barbiér de Séville,” lasted +fifty-eight minutes—when the actor was particularly enthusiastic. + +Artists from abroad, as might be supposed, were forced to conform +themselves to Quiquendonian fashions; but as they were well paid, they +did not complain, and willingly obeyed the leader’s baton, which never +beat more than eight measures to the minute in the _allegros_. + +But what applause greeted these artists, who enchanted without ever +wearying the audiences of Quiquendone! All hands clapped one after +another at tolerably long intervals, which the papers characterized as +“frantic applause;” and sometimes nothing but the lavish prodigality +with which mortar and stone had been used in the twelfth century saved +the roof of the hall from falling in. + +Besides, the theatre had only one performance a week, that these +enthusiastic Flemish folk might not be too much excited; and this +enabled the actors to study their parts more thoroughly, and the +spectators to digest more at leisure the beauties of the masterpieces +brought out. + +Such had long been the drama at Quiquendone. Foreign artists were in +the habit of making engagements with the director of the town, when +they wanted to rest after their exertions in other scenes; and it +seemed as if nothing could ever change these inveterate customs, when, +a fortnight after the Schut-Custos affair, an unlooked-for incident +occurred to throw the population into fresh agitation. + +It was on a Saturday, an opera day. It was not yet intended, as may +well be supposed, to inaugurate the new illumination. No; the pipes had +reached the hall, but, for reasons indicated above, the burners had not +yet been placed, and the wax-candles still shed their soft light upon +the numerous spectators who filled the theatre. The doors had been +opened to the public at one o’clock, and by three the hall was half +full. A queue had at one time been formed, which extended as far as the +end of the Place Saint Ernuph, in front of the shop of Josse Lietrinck +the apothecary. This eagerness was significant of an unusually +attractive performance. + +“Are you going to the theatre this evening?” inquired the counsellor +the same morning of the burgomaster. + +“I shall not fail to do so,” returned Van Tricasse, “and I shall take +Madame Van Tricasse, as well as our daughter Suzel and our dear +Tatanémance, who all dote on good music.” + +“Mademoiselle Suzel is going then?” + +“Certainly, Niklausse.” + +“Then my son Frantz will be one of the first to arrive,” said +Niklausse. + +“A spirited boy, Niklausse,” replied the burgomaster sententiously; +“but hot-headed! He will require watching!” + +“He loves, Van Tricasse,—he loves your charming Suzel.” + +“Well, Niklausse, he shall marry her. Now that we have agreed on this +marriage, what more can he desire?” + +“He desires nothing, Van Tricasse, the dear boy! But, in short— we’ll +say no more about it—he will not be the last to get his ticket at the +box-office.” + +“Ah, vivacious and ardent youth!” replied the burgomaster, recalling +his own past. “We have also been thus, my worthy counsellor! We have +loved—we too! We have danced attendance in our day! Till to-night, +then, till to-night! By-the-bye, do you know this Fiovaranti is a great +artist? And what a welcome he has received among us! It will be long +before he will forget the applause of Quiquendone!” + +The tenor Fiovaranti was, indeed, going to sing; Fiovaranti, who, by +his talents as a virtuoso, his perfect method, his melodious voice, +provoked a real enthusiasm among the lovers of music in the town. + +For three weeks Fiovaranti had been achieving a brilliant success in +“Les Huguenots.” The first act, interpreted according to the taste of +the Quiquendonians, had occupied an entire evening of the first week of +the month.—Another evening in the second week, prolonged by infinite +_andantes_, had elicited for the celebrated singer a real ovation. His +success had been still more marked in the third act of Meyerbeer’s +masterpiece. But now Fiovaranti was to appear in the fourth act, which +was to be performed on this evening before an impatient public. Ah, the +duet between Raoul and Valentine, that pathetic love-song for two +voices, that strain so full of _crescendos_, _stringendos_, and _piu +crescendos_—all this, sung slowly, compendiously, interminably! Ah, how +delightful! + + +[Illustration: Fiovaranti had been achieving a brilliant success in +“Les Huguenots.”] + + +At four o’clock the hall was full. The boxes, the orchestra, the pit, +were overflowing. In the front stalls sat the Burgomaster Van Tricasse, +Mademoiselle Van Tricasse, Madame Van Tricasse, and the amiable +Tatanémance in a green bonnet; not far off were the Counsellor +Niklausse and his family, not forgetting the amorous Frantz. The +families of Custos the doctor, of Schut the advocate, of Honoré Syntax +the chief judge, of Norbet Sontman the insurance director, of the +banker Collaert, gone mad on German music, and himself somewhat of an +amateur, and the teacher Rupp, and the master of the academy, Jerome +Resh, and the civil commissary, and so many other notabilities of the +town that they could not be enumerated here without wearying the +reader’s patience, were visible in different parts of the hall. + +It was customary for the Quiquendonians, while awaiting the rise of the +curtain, to sit silent, some reading the paper, others whispering low +to each other, some making their way to their seats slowly and +noiselessly, others casting timid looks towards the bewitching beauties +in the galleries. + +But on this evening a looker-on might have observed that, even before +the curtain rose, there was unusual animation among the audience. +People were restless who were never known to be restless before. The +ladies’ fans fluttered with abnormal rapidity. All appeared to be +inhaling air of exceptional stimulating power. Every one breathed more +freely. The eyes of some became unwontedly bright, and seemed to give +forth a light equal to that of the candles, which themselves certainly +threw a more brilliant light over the hall. It was evident that people +saw more clearly, though the number of candles had not been increased. +Ah, if Doctor Ox’s experiment were being tried! But it was not being +tried, as yet. + +The musicians of the orchestra at last took their places. The first +violin had gone to the stand to give a modest la to his colleagues. The +stringed instruments, the wind instruments, the drums and cymbals, were +in accord. The conductor only waited the sound of the bell to beat the +first bar. + +The bell sounds. The fourth act begins. The _allegro appassionato_ of +the inter-act is played as usual, with a majestic deliberation which +would have made Meyerbeer frantic, and all the majesty of which was +appreciated by the Quiquendonian dilettanti. + +But soon the leader perceived that he was no longer master of his +musicians. He found it difficult to restrain them, though usually so +obedient and calm. The wind instruments betrayed a tendency to hasten +the movements, and it was necessary to hold them back with a firm hand, +for they would otherwise outstrip the stringed instruments; which, from +a musical point of view, would have been disastrous. The bassoon +himself, the son of Josse Lietrinck the apothecary, a well-bred young +man, seemed to lose his self-control. + +Meanwhile Valentine has begun her recitative, “I am alone,” etc.; but +she hurries it. + +The leader and all his musicians, perhaps unconsciously, follow her in +her _cantabile_, which should be taken deliberately, like a 12/8 as it +is. When Raoul appears at the door at the bottom of the stage, between +the moment when Valentine goes to him and that when she conceals +herself in the chamber at the side, a quarter of an hour does not +elapse; while formerly, according to the traditions of the Quiquendone +theatre, this recitative of thirty-seven bars was wont to last just +thirty-seven minutes. + +Saint Bris, Nevers, Cavannes, and the Catholic nobles have appeared, +somewhat prematurely, perhaps, upon the scene. The composer has marked +_allergo pomposo_ on the score. The orchestra and the lords proceed +_allegro_ indeed, but not at all _pomposo_, and at the chorus, in the +famous scene of the “benediction of the poniards,” they no longer keep +to the enjoined _allegro_. Singers and musicians broke away +impetuously. The leader does not even attempt to restrain them. Nor do +the public protest; on the contrary, the people find themselves carried +away, and see that they are involved in the movement, and that the +movement responds to the impulses of their souls. + +“Will you, with me, deliver the land, +From troubles increasing, an impious band?” + + +They promise, they swear. Nevers has scarcely time to protest, and to +sing that “among his ancestors were many soldiers, but never an +assassin.” He is arrested. The police and the aldermen rush forward and +rapidly swear “to strike all at once.” Saint Bris shouts the recitative +which summons the Catholics to vengeance. The three monks, with white +scarfs, hasten in by the door at the back of Nevers’s room, without +making any account of the stage directions, which enjoin on them to +advance slowly. Already all the artists have drawn sword or poniard, +which the three monks bless in a trice. The soprani tenors, bassos, +attack the _allegro furioso_ with cries of rage, and of a dramatic 6/8 +time they make it 6/8 quadrille time. Then they rush out, bellowing,— + +“At midnight, +Noiselessly, +God wills it, +Yes, +At midnight.” + + +At this moment the audience start to their feet. Everybody is +agitated—in the boxes, the pit, the galleries. It seems as if the +spectators are about to rush upon the stage, the Burgomaster Van +Tricasse at their head, to join with the conspirators and annihilate +the Huguenots, whose religious opinions, however, they share. They +applaud, call before the curtain, make loud acclamations! Tatanémance +grasps her bonnet with feverish hand. The candles throw out a lurid +glow of light. + +Raoul, instead of slowly raising the curtain, tears it apart with a +superb gesture and finds himself confronting Valentine. + +At last! It is the grand duet, and it starts off _allegro vivace_. +Raoul does not wait for Valentine’s pleading, and Valentine does not +wait for Raoul’s responses. + +The fine passage beginning, “Danger is passing, time is flying,” +becomes one of those rapid airs which have made Offenbach famous, when +he composes a dance for conspirators. The _andante amoroso_, “Thou hast +said it, aye, thou lovest me,” becomes a real _vivace furioso_, and the +violoncello ceases to imitate the inflections of the singer’s voice, as +indicated in the composer’s score. In vain Raoul cries, “Speak on, and +prolong the ineffable slumber of my soul.” Valentine cannot “prolong.” +It is evident that an unaccustomed fire devours her. Her _b’s_ and her +_c’s_ above the stave were dreadfully shrill. He struggles, he +gesticulates, he is all in a glow. + +The alarum is heard; the bell resounds; but what a panting bell! The +bell-ringer has evidently lost his self-control. It is a frightful +tocsin, which violently struggles against the fury of the orchestra. + +Finally the air which ends this magnificent act, beginning, “No more +love, no more intoxication, O the remorse that oppresses me!” which the +composer marks _allegro con moto_, becomes a wild _prestissimo_. You +would say an express-train was whirling by. The alarum resounds again. +Valentine falls fainting. Raoul precipitates himself from the window. + +It was high time. The orchestra, really intoxicated, could not have +gone on. The leader’s baton is no longer anything but a broken stick on +the prompter’s box. The violin strings are broken, and their necks +twisted. In his fury the drummer has burst his drum. The +counter-bassist has perched on the top of his musical monster. The +first clarionet has swallowed the reed of his instrument, and the +second hautboy is chewing his reed keys. The groove of the trombone is +strained, and finally the unhappy cornist cannot withdraw his hand from +the bell of his horn, into which he had thrust it too far. + +And the audience! The audience, panting, all in a heat, gesticulates +and howls. All the faces are as red as if a fire were burning within +their bodies. They crowd each other, hustle each other to get out—the +men without hats, the women without mantles! They elbow each other in +the corridors, crush between the doors, quarrel, fight! There are no +longer any officials, any burgomaster. All are equal amid this infernal +frenzy! + + +[Illustration: They hustle each other to get out] + + +Some moments after, when all have reached the street, each one resumes +his habitual tranquillity, and peaceably enters his house, with a +confused remembrance of what he has just experienced. + +The fourth act of the “Huguenots,” which formerly lasted six hours, +began, on this evening at half-past four, and ended at twelve minutes +before five. + +It had only lasted eighteen minutes! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +IN WHICH THE ANCIENT AND SOLEMN GERMAN WALTZ BECOMES A WHIRLWIND. + + +But if the spectators, on leaving the theatre, resumed their customary +calm, if they quietly regained their homes, preserving only a sort of +passing stupefaction, they had none the less undergone a remarkable +exaltation, and overcome and weary as if they had committed some excess +of dissipation, they fell heavily upon their beds. + +The next day each Quiquendonian had a kind of recollection of what had +occurred the evening before. One missed his hat, lost in the hubbub; +another a coat-flap, torn in the brawl; one her delicately fashioned +shoe, another her best mantle. Memory returned to these worthy people, +and with it a certain shame for their unjustifiable agitation. It +seemed to them an orgy in which they were the unconscious heroes and +heroines. They did not speak of it; they did not wish to think of it. +But the most astounded personage in the town was Van Tricasse the +burgomaster. + +The next morning, on waking, he could not find his wig. Lotchè looked +everywhere for it, but in vain. The wig had remained on the field of +battle. As for having it publicly claimed by Jean Mistrol, the +town-crier,—no, it would not do. It were better to lose the wig than to +advertise himself thus, as he had the honour to be the first magistrate +of Quiquendone. + +The worthy Van Tricasse was reflecting upon this, extended beneath his +sheets, with bruised body, heavy head, furred tongue, and burning +breast. He felt no desire to get up; on the contrary; and his brain +worked more during this morning than it had probably worked before for +forty years. The worthy magistrate recalled to his mind all the +incidents of the incomprehensible performance. He connected them with +the events which had taken place shortly before at Doctor Ox’s +reception. He tried to discover the causes of the singular excitability +which, on two occasions, had betrayed itself in the best citizens of +the town. + +“What _can_ be going on?” he asked himself. “What giddy spirit has +taken possession of my peaceable town of Quiquendone? Are we about to +go mad, and must we make the town one vast asylum? For yesterday we +were all there, notables, counsellors, judges, advocates, physicians, +schoolmasters; and ail, if my memory serves me,—all of us were assailed +by this excess of furious folly! But what was there in that infernal +music? It is inexplicable! Yet I certainly ate or drank nothing which +could put me into such a state. No; yesterday I had for dinner a slice +of overdone veal, several spoonfuls of spinach with sugar, eggs, and a +little beer and water,—that couldn’t get into my head! No! There is +something that I cannot explain, and as, after all, I am responsible +for the conduct of the citizens, I will have an investigation.” + +But the investigation, though decided upon by the municipal council, +produced no result. If the facts were clear, the causes escaped the +sagacity of the magistrates. Besides, tranquillity had been restored in +the public mind, and with tranquillity, forgetfulness of the strange +scenes of the theatre. The newspapers avoided speaking of them, and the +account of the performance which appeared in the “Quiquendone +Memorial,” made no allusion to this intoxication of the entire +audience. + +Meanwhile, though the town resumed its habitual phlegm, and became +apparently Flemish as before, it was observable that, at bottom, the +character and temperament of the people changed little by little. One +might have truly said, with Dominique Custos, the doctor, that “their +nerves were affected.” + +Let us explain. This undoubted change only took place under certain +conditions. When the Quiquendonians passed through the streets of the +town, walked in the squares or along the Vaar, they were always the +cold and methodical people of former days. So, too, when they remained +at home, some working with their hands and others with their +heads,—these doing nothing, those thinking nothing,—their private life +was silent, inert, vegetating as before. No quarrels, no household +squabbles, no acceleration in the beating of the heart, no excitement +of the brain. The mean of their pulsations remained as it was of old, +from fifty to fifty-two per minute. + +But, strange and inexplicable phenomenon though it was, which would +have defied the sagacity of the most ingenious physiologists of the +day, if the inhabitants of Quiquendone did not change in their home +life, they were visibly changed in their civil life and in their +relations between man and man, to which it leads. + +If they met together in some public edifice, it did not “work well,” as +Commissary Passauf expressed it. On ’change, at the town-hall, in the +amphitheatre of the academy, at the sessions of the council, as well as +at the reunions of the _savants_, a strange excitement seized the +assembled citizens. Their relations with each other became embarrassing +before they had been together an hour. In two hours the discussion +degenerated into an angry dispute. Heads became heated, and +personalities were used. Even at church, during the sermon, the +faithful could not listen to Van Stabel, the minister, in patience, and +he threw himself about in the pulpit and lectured his flock with far +more than his usual severity. At last this state of things brought +about altercations more grave, alas! than that between Gustos and +Schut, and if they did not require the interference of the authorities, +it was because the antagonists, after returning home, found there, with +its calm, forgetfulness of the offences offered and received. + +This peculiarity could not be observed by these minds, which were +absolutely incapable of recognizing what was passing in them. One +person only in the town, he whose office the council had thought of +suppressing for thirty years, Michael Passauf, had remarked that this +excitement, which was absent from private houses, quickly revealed +itself in public edifices; and he asked himself, not without a certain +anxiety, what would happen if this infection should ever develop itself +in the family mansions, and if the epidemic—this was the word he +used—should extend through the streets of the town. Then there would be +no more forgetfulness of insults, no more tranquillity, no intermission +in the delirium; but a permanent inflammation, which would inevitably +bring the Quiquendonians into collision with each other. + +“What would happen then?” Commissary Passauf asked himself in terror. +“How could these furious savages be arrested? How check these goaded +temperaments? My office would be no longer a sinecure, and the council +would be obliged to double my salary— unless it should arrest me +myself, for disturbing the public peace!” + +These very reasonable fears began to be realized. The infection spread +from ’change, the theatre, the church, the town-hall, the academy, the +market, into private houses, and that in less than a fortnight after +the terrible performance of the “Huguenots.” + +Its first symptoms appeared in the house of Collaert, the banker. + +That wealthy personage gave a ball, or at least a dancing-party, to the +notabilities of the town. He had issued, some months before, a loan of +thirty thousand francs, three quarters of which had been subscribed; +and to celebrate this financial success, he had opened his +drawing-rooms, and given a party to his fellow-citizens. + +Everybody knows that Flemish parties are innocent and tranquil enough, +the principal expense of which is usually in beer and syrups. Some +conversation on the weather, the appearance of the crops, the fine +condition of the gardens, the care of flowers, and especially of +tulips; a slow and measured dance, from time to time, perhaps a minuet; +sometimes a waltz, but one of those German waltzes which achieve a turn +and a half per minute, and during which the dancers hold each other as +far apart as their arms will permit,—such is the usual fashion of the +balls attended by the aristocratic society of Quiquendone. The polka, +after being altered to four time, had tried to become accustomed to it; +but the dancers always lagged behind the orchestra, no matter how slow +the measure, and it had to be abandoned. + +These peaceable reunions, in which the youths and maidens enjoyed an +honest and moderate pleasure, had never been attended by any outburst +of ill-nature. Why, then, on this evening at Collaert the banker’s, did +the syrups seem to be transformed into heady wines, into sparkling +champagne, into heating punches? Why, towards the middle of the +evening, did a sort of mysterious intoxication take possession of the +guests? Why did the minuet become a jig? Why did the orchestra hurry +with its harmonies? Why did the candles, just as at the theatre, burn +with unwonted refulgence? What electric current invaded the banker’s +drawing-rooms? How happened it that the couples held each other so +closely, and clasped each other’s hands so convulsively, that the +“cavaliers seuls” made themselves conspicuous by certain extraordinary +steps in that figure usually so grave, so solemn, so majestic, so very +proper? + +Alas! what OEdipus could have answered these unsolvable questions? +Commissary Passauf, who was present at the party, saw the storm coming +distinctly, but he could not control it or fly from it, and he felt a +kind of intoxication entering his own brain. All his physical and +emotional faculties increased in intensity. He was seen, several times, +to throw himself upon the confectionery and devour the dishes, as if he +had just broken a long fast. + +The animation of the ball was increasing all this while. A long murmur, +like a dull buzzing, escaped from all breasts. They danced—really +danced. The feet were agitated by increasing frenzy. The faces became +as purple as those of Silenus. The eyes shone like carbuncles. The +general fermentation rose to the highest pitch. + +And when the orchestra thundered out the waltz in “Der +Freyschütz,”—when this waltz, so German, and with a movement so slow, +was attacked with wild arms by the musicians,—ah! it was no longer a +waltz, but an insensate whirlwind, a giddy rotation, a gyration worthy +of being led by some Mephistopheles, beating the measure with a +firebrand! Then a galop, an infernal galop, which lasted an hour +without any one being able to stop it, whirled off, in its windings, +across the halls, the drawing-rooms, the antechambers, by the +staircases, from the cellar to the garret of the opulent mansion, the +young men and young girls, the fathers and mothers, people of every +age, of every weight, of both sexes; Collaert, the fat banker, and +Madame Collaert, and the counsellors, and the magistrates, and the +chief justice, and Niklausse, and Madame Van Tricasse, and the +Burgomaster Van Tricasse, and the Commissary Passauf himself, who never +could recall afterwards who had been his partner on that terrible +evening. + + +[Illustration: it was no longer a waltz] + + +But she did not forget! And ever since that day she has seen in her +dreams the fiery commissary, enfolding her in an impassioned embrace! +And “she”—was the amiable Tatanémance! + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +IN WHICH DOCTOR OX AND YGÈNE, HIS ASSISTANT, SAY A FEW WORDS. + + +“Well, Ygène?” + +“Well, master, all is ready. The laying of the pipes is finished.” + +“At last! Now, then, we are going to operate on a large scale, on the +masses!” + + + + +CHAPTER X. +IN WHICH IT WILL BE SEEN THAT THE EPIDEMIC INVADES THE ENTIRE TOWN, AND +WHAT EFFECT IT PRODUCES. + + +During the following months the evil, in place of subsiding, became +more extended. From private houses the epidemic spread into the +streets. The town of Quiquendone was no longer to be recognized. + +A phenomenon yet stranger than those which had already happened, now +appeared; not only the animal kingdom, but the vegetable kingdom +itself, became subject to the mysterious influence. + +According to the ordinary course of things, epidemics are special in +their operation. Those which attack humanity spare the animals, and +those which attack the animals spare the vegetables. A horse was never +inflicted with smallpox, nor a man with the cattle-plague, nor do sheep +suffer from the potato-rot. But here all the laws of nature seemed to +be overturned. Not only were the character, temperament, and ideas of +the townsfolk changed, but the domestic animals—dogs and cats, horses +and cows, asses and goats—suffered from this epidemic influence, as if +their habitual equilibrium had been changed. The plants themselves were +infected by a similar strange metamorphosis. + +In the gardens and vegetable patches and orchards very curious symptoms +manifested themselves. Climbing plants climbed more audaciously. Tufted +plants became more tufted than ever. Shrubs became trees. Cereals, +scarcely sown, showed their little green heads, and gained, in the same +length of time, as much in inches as formerly, under the most +favourable circumstances, they had gained in fractions. Asparagus +attained the height of several feet; the artichokes swelled to the size +of melons, the melons to the size of pumpkins, the pumpkins to the size +of gourds, the gourds to the size of the belfry bell, which measured, +in truth, nine feet in diameter. The cabbages were bushes, and the +mushrooms umbrellas. + +The fruits did not lag behind the vegetables. It required two persons +to eat a strawberry, and four to consume a pear. The grapes also +attained the enormous proportions of those so well depicted by Poussin +in his “Return of the Envoys to the Promised Land.” + + +[Illustration: It required two persons to eat a strawberry] + + +It was the same with the flowers: immense violets spread the most +penetrating perfumes through the air; exaggerated roses shone with the +brightest colours; lilies formed, in a few days, impenetrable copses; +geraniums, daisies, camelias, rhododendrons, invaded the garden walks, +and stifled each other. And the tulips,—those dear liliaceous plants so +dear to the Flemish heart, what emotion they must have caused to their +zealous cultivators! The worthy Van Bistrom nearly fell over backwards, +one day, on seeing in his garden an enormous “Tulipa gesneriana,” a +gigantic monster, whose cup afforded space to a nest for a whole family +of robins! + +The entire town flocked to see this floral phenomenon, and renamed it +the “Tulipa quiquendonia”. + +But alas! if these plants, these fruits, these flowers, grew visibly to +the naked eye, if all the vegetables insisted on assuming colossal +proportions, if the brilliancy of their colours and perfume intoxicated +the smell and the sight, they quickly withered. The air which they +absorbed rapidly exhausted them, and they soon died, faded, and dried +up. + +Such was the fate of the famous tulip, which, after several days of +splendour, became emaciated, and fell lifeless. + +It was soon the same with the domestic animals, from the house-dog to +the stable pig, from the canary in its cage to the turkey of the +back-court. It must be said that in ordinary times these animals were +not less phlegmatic than their masters. The dogs and cats vegetated +rather than lived. They never betrayed a wag of pleasure nor a snarl of +wrath. Their tails moved no more than if they had been made of bronze. +Such a thing as a bite or scratch from any of them had not been known +from time immemorial. As for mad dogs, they were looked upon as +imaginary beasts, like the griffins and the rest in the menagerie of +the apocalypse. + +But what a change had taken place in a few months, the smallest +incidents of which we are trying to reproduce! Dogs and cats began to +show teeth and claws. Several executions had taken place after +reiterated offences. A horse was seen, for the first time, to take his +bit in his teeth and rush through the streets of Quiquendone; an ox was +observed to precipitate itself, with lowered horns, upon one of his +herd; an ass was seen to turn himself ever, with his legs in the air, +in the Place Saint Ernuph, and bray as ass never brayed before; a +sheep, actually a sheep, defended valiantly the cutlets within him from +the butcher’s knife. + +Van Tricasse, the burgomaster, was forced to make police regulations +concerning the domestic animals, as, seized with lunacy, they rendered +the streets of Quiquendone unsafe. + +But alas! if the animals were mad, the men were scarcely less so. No +age was spared by the scourge. Babies soon became quite insupportable, +though till now so easy to bring up; and for the first time Honoré +Syntax, the judge, was obliged to apply the rod to his youthful +offspring. + +There was a kind of insurrection at the high school, and the +dictionaries became formidable missiles in the classes. The scholars +would not submit to be shut in, and, besides, the infection took the +teachers themselves, who overwhelmed the boys and girls with +extravagant tasks and punishments. + +Another strange phenomenon occurred. All these Quiquendonians, so sober +before, whose chief food had been whipped creams, committed wild +excesses in their eating and drinking. Their usual regimen no longer +sufficed. Each stomach was transformed into a gulf, and it became +necessary to fill this gulf by the most energetic means. The +consumption of the town was trebled. Instead of two repasts they had +six. Many cases of indigestion were reported. The Counsellor Niklausse +could not satisfy his hunger. Van Tricasse found it impossible to +assuage his thirst, and remained in a state of rabid semi-intoxication. + +In short, the most alarming symptoms manifested themselves and +increased from day to day. Drunken people staggered in the streets, and +these were often citizens of high position. + +Dominique Custos, the physician, had plenty to do with the heartburns, +inflammations, and nervous affections, which proved to what a strange +degree the nerves of the people had been irritated. + +There were daily quarrels and altercations in the once deserted but now +crowded streets of Quiquendone; for nobody could any longer stay at +home. It was necessary to establish a new police force to control the +disturbers of the public peace. A prison-cage was established in the +Town Hall, and speedily became full, night and day, of refractory +offenders. Commissary Passauf was in despair. + +A marriage was concluded in less than two months,—such a thing had +never been seen before. Yes, the son of Rupp, the schoolmaster, wedded +the daughter of Augustine de Rovere, and that fifty-seven days only +after he had petitioned for her hand and heart! + +Other marriages were decided upon, which, in old times, would have +remained in doubt and discussion for years. The burgomaster perceived +that his own daughter, the charming Suzel, was escaping from his hands. + +As for dear Tatanémance, she had dared to sound Commissary Passauf on +the subject of a union, which seemed to her to combine every element of +happiness, fortune, honour, youth! + +At last,—to reach the depths of abomination,—a duel took place! Yes, a +duel with pistols—horse-pistols—at seventy-five paces, with +ball-cartridges. And between whom? Our readers will never believe! + +Between M. Frantz Niklausse, the gentle angler, and young Simon +Collaert, the wealthy banker’s son. + +And the cause of this duel was the burgomaster’s daughter, for whom +Simon discovered himself to be fired with passion, and whom he refused +to yield to the claims of an audacious rival! + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +IN WHICH THE QUIQUENDONIANS ADOPT A HEROIC RESOLUTION. + + +We have seen to what a deplorable condition the people of Quiquendone +were reduced. Their heads were in a ferment. They no longer knew or +recognized themselves. The most peaceable citizens had become +quarrelsome. If you looked at them askance, they would speedily send +you a challenge. Some let their moustaches grow, and several—the most +belligerent—curled them up at the ends. + +This being their condition, the administration of the town and the +maintenance of order in the streets became difficult tasks, for the +government had not been organized for such a state of things. The +burgomaster—that worthy Van Tricasse whom we have seen so placid, so +dull, so incapable of coming to any decision— the burgomaster became +intractable. His house resounded with the sharpness of his voice. He +made twenty decisions a day, scolding his officials, and himself +enforcing the regulations of his administration. + +Ah, what a change! The amiable and tranquil mansion of the burgomaster, +that good Flemish home—where was its former calm? What changes had +taken place in your household economy! Madame Van Tricasse had become +acrid, whimsical, harsh. Her husband sometimes succeeded in drowning +her voice by talking louder than she, but could not silence her. The +petulant humour of this worthy dame was excited by everything. Nothing +went right. The servants offended her every moment. Tatanémance, her +sister-in-law, who was not less irritable, replied sharply to her. M. +Van Tricasse naturally supported Lotchè, his servant, as is the case in +all good households; and this permanently exasperated Madame, who +constantly disputed, discussed, and made scenes with her husband. + +“What on earth is the matter with us?” cried the unhappy burgomaster. +“What is this fire that is devouring us? Are we possessed with the +devil? Ah, Madame Van Tricasse, Madame Van Tricasse, you will end by +making me die before you, and thus violate all the traditions of the +family!” + +The reader will not have forgotten the strange custom by which M. Van +Tricasse would become a widower and marry again, so as not to break the +chain of descent. + +Meanwhile, this disposition of all minds produced other curious effects +worthy of note. This excitement, the cause of which has so far escaped +us, brought about unexpected physiological changes. Talents, hitherto +unrecognized, betrayed themselves. Aptitudes were suddenly revealed. +Artists, before common-place, displayed new ability. Politicians and +authors arose. Orators proved themselves equal to the most arduous +debates, and on every question inflamed audiences which were quite +ready to be inflamed. From the sessions of the council, this movement +spread to the public political meetings, and a club was formed at +Quiquendone; whilst twenty newspapers, the “Quiquendone Signal,” the +“Quiquendone Impartial,” the “Quiquendone Radical,” and so on, written +in an inflammatory style, raised the most important questions. + +But what about? you will ask. Apropos of everything, and of nothing; +apropos of the Oudenarde tower, which was falling, and which some +wished to pull down, and others to prop up; apropos of the police +regulations issued by the council, which some obstinate citizens +threatened to resist; apropos of the sweeping of the gutters, repairing +the sewers, and so on. Nor did the enraged orators confine themselves +to the internal administration of the town. Carried on by the current +they went further, and essayed to plunge their fellow-citizens into the +hazards of war. + +Quiquendone had had for eight or nine hundred years a _casus belli_ of +the best quality; but she had preciously laid it up like a relic, and +there had seemed some probability that it would become effete, and no +longer serviceable. + +This was what had given rise to the _casus belli_. + +It is not generally known that Quiquendone, in this cosy corner of +Flanders, lies next to the little town of Virgamen. The territories of +the two communities are contiguous. + +Well, in 1185, some time before Count Baldwin’s departure to the +Crusades, a Virgamen cow—not a cow belonging to a citizen, but a cow +which was common property, let it be observed—audaciously ventured to +pasture on the territory of Quiquendone. This unfortunate beast had +scarcely eaten three mouthfuls; but the offence, the abuse, the +crime—whatever you will—was committed and duly indicted, for the +magistrates, at that time, had already begun to know how to write. + +“We will take revenge at the proper moment,” said simply Natalis Van +Tricasse, the thirty-second predecessor of the burgomaster of this +story, “and the Virgamenians will lose nothing by waiting.” + +The Virgamenians were forewarned. They waited thinking, without doubt, +that the remembrance of the offence would fade away with the lapse of +time; and really, for several centuries, they lived on good terms with +their neighbours of Quiquendone. + +But they counted without their hosts, or rather without this strange +epidemic, which, radically changing the character of the +Quiquendonians, aroused their dormant vengeance. + +It was at the club of the Rue Monstrelet that the truculent orator +Schut, abruptly introducing the subject to his hearers, inflamed them +with the expressions and metaphors used on such occasions. He recalled +the offence, the injury which had been done to Quiquendone, and which a +nation “jealous of its rights” could not admit as a precedent; he +showed the insult to be still existing, the wound still bleeding: he +spoke of certain special head-shakings on the part of the people of +Virgamen, which indicated in what degree of contempt they regarded the +people of Quiquendone; he appealed to his fellow-citizens, who, +unconsciously perhaps, had supported this mortal insult for long +centuries; he adjured the “children of the ancient town” to have no +other purpose than to obtain a substantial reparation. And, lastly, he +made an appeal to “all the living energies of the nation!” + +With what enthusiasm these words, so new to Quiquendonian ears, were +greeted, may be surmised, but cannot be told. All the auditors rose, +and with extended arms demanded war with loud cries. Never had the +Advocate Schut achieved such a success, and it must be avowed that his +triumphs were not few. + +The burgomaster, the counsellor, all the notabilities present at this +memorable meeting, would have vainly attempted to resist the popular +outburst. Besides, they had no desire to do so, and cried as loud, if +not louder, than the rest,— + +“To the frontier! To the frontier!” + +As the frontier was but three kilometers from the walls of Quiquendone, +it is certain that the Virgamenians ran a real danger, for they might +easily be invaded without having had time to look about them. + +Meanwhile, Josse Liefrinck, the worthy chemist, who alone had preserved +his senses on this grave occasion, tried to make his fellow-citizens +comprehend that guns, cannon, and generals were equally wanting to +their design. + +They replied to him, not without many impatient gestures, that these +generals, cannons, and guns would be improvised; that the right and +love of country sufficed, and rendered a people irresistible. + +Hereupon the burgomaster himself came forward, and in a sublime +harangue made short work of those pusillanimous people who disguise +their fear under a veil of prudence, which veil he tore off with a +patriotic hand. + +At this sally it seemed as if the hall would fall in under the +applause. + +The vote was eagerly demanded, and was taken amid acclamations. + +The cries of “To Virgamen! to Virgamen!” redoubled. + + +[Illustration: “To Virgamen! to Virgamen!”] + + +The burgomaster then took it upon himself to put the armies in motion, +and in the name of the town he promised the honours of a triumph, such +as was given in the times of the Romans to that one of its generals who +should return victorious. + +Meanwhile, Josse Liefrinck, who was an obstinate fellow, and did not +regard himself as beaten, though he really had been, insisted on making +another observation. He wished to remark that the triumph was only +accorded at Rome to those victorious generals who had killed five +thousand of the enemy. + +“Well, well!” cried the meeting deliriously. + +“And as the population of the town of Virgamen consists of but three +thousand five hundred and seventy-five inhabitants, it would be +difficult, unless the same person was killed several times—” + +But they did not let the luckless logician finish, and he was turned +out, hustled and bruised. + +“Citizens,” said Pulmacher the grocer, who usually sold groceries by +retail, “whatever this cowardly apothecary may have said, I engage by +myself to kill five thousand Virgamenians, if you will accept my +services!” + +“Five thousand five hundred!” cried a yet more resolute patriot. + +“Six thousand six hundred!” retorted the grocer. + +“Seven thousand!” cried Jean Orbideck, the confectioner of the Rue +Hemling, who was on the road to a fortune by making whipped creams. + +“Adjudged!” exclaimed the burgomaster Van Tricasse, on finding that no +one else rose on the bid. + +And this was how Jean Orbideck the confectioner became general-in-chief +of the forces of Quiquendone. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +IN WHICH YGÈNE, THE ASSISTANT, GIVES A REASONABLE PIECE OF ADVICE, +WHICH IS EAGERLY REJECTED BY DOCTOR OX. + + +“Well, master,” said Ygène next day, as he poured the pails of +sulphuric acid into the troughs of the great battery. + +“Well,” resumed Doctor Ox, “was I not right? See to what not only the +physical developments of a whole nation, but its morality, its dignity, +its talents, its political sense, have come! It is only a question of +molecules.” + +“No doubt; but—” + +“But—” + +“Do you not think that matters have gone far enough, and that these +poor devils should not be excited beyond measure?” + +“No, no!” cried the doctor; “no! I will go on to the end!” + +“As you will, master; the experiment, however, seems to me conclusive, +and I think it time to—” + +“To—” + +“To close the valve.” + +“You’d better!” cried Doctor Ox. “If you attempt it, I’ll throttle +you!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +IN WHICH IT IS ONCE MORE PROVED THAT BY TAKING HIGH GROUND ALL HUMAN +LITTLENESSES MAY BE OVERLOOKED. + + +“You say?” asked the Burgomaster Van Tricasse of the Counsellor +Niklausse. + +“I say that this war is necessary,” replied Niklausse, firmly, “and +that the time has come to avenge this insult.” + +“Well, I repeat to you,” replied the burgomaster, tartly, “that if the +people of Quiquendone do not profit by this occasion to vindicate their +rights, they will be unworthy of their name.” + +“And as for me, I maintain that we ought, without delay, to collect our +forces and lead them to the front.” + +“Really, monsieur, really!” replied Van Tricasse. “And do you speak +thus to _me_?” + +“To yourself, monsieur the burgomaster; and you shall hear the truth, +unwelcome as it may be.” + +“And you shall hear it yourself, counsellor,” returned Van Tricasse in +a passion, “for it will come better from my mouth than from yours! Yes, +monsieur, yes, any delay would be dishonourable. The town of +Quiquendone has waited nine hundred years for the moment to take its +revenge, and whatever you may say, whether it pleases you or not, we +shall march upon the enemy.” + +“Ah, you take it thus!” replied Niklausse harshly. “Very well, +monsieur, we will march without you, if it does not please you to go.” + +“A burgomaster’s place is in the front rank, monsieur!” + + +[Illustration: “A burgomaster’s place is in the front rank, +monsieur!”] + + +“And that of a counsellor also, monsieur.” + +“You insult me by thwarting all my wishes,” cried the burgomaster, +whose fists seemed likely to hit out before long. + +“And you insult me equally by doubting my patriotism,” cried Niklausse, +who was equally ready for a tussle. + +“I tell you, monsieur, that the army of Quiquendone shall be put in +motion within two days!” + +“And I repeat to you, monsieur, that forty-eight hours shall not pass +before we shall have marched upon the enemy!” + +It is easy to see, from this fragment of conversation, that the two +speakers supported exactly the same idea. Both wished for hostilities; +but as their excitement disposed them to altercation, Niklausse would +not listen to Van Tricasse, nor Van Tricasse to Niklausse. Had they +been of contrary opinions on this grave question, had the burgomaster +favoured war and the counsellor insisted on peace, the quarrel would +not have been more violent. These two old friends gazed fiercely at +each other. By the quickened beating of their hearts, their red faces, +their contracted pupils, the trembling of their muscles, their harsh +voices, it might be conjectured that they were ready to come to blows. + +But the striking of a large clock happily checked the adversaries at +the moment when they seemed on the point of assaulting each other. + +“At last the hour has come!” cried the burgomaster. + +“What hour?” asked the counsellor. + +“The hour to go to the belfry tower.” + +“It is true, and whether it pleases you or not, I shall go, monsieur.” + +“And I too.” + +“Let us go!” + +“Let us go!” + +It might have been supposed from these last words that a collision had +occurred, and that the adversaries were proceeding to a duel; but it +was not so. It had been agreed that the burgomaster and the counsellor, +as the two principal dignitaries of the town, should repair to the Town +Hall, and there show themselves on the high tower which overlooked +Quiquendone; that they should examine the surrounding country, so as to +make the best strategetic plan for the advance of their troops. + +Though they were in accord on this subject, they did not cease to +quarrel bitterly as they went. Their loud voices were heard resounding +in the streets; but all the passers-by were now accustomed to this; the +exasperation of the dignitaries seemed quite natural, and no one took +notice of it. Under the circumstances, a calm man would have been +regarded as a monster. + +The burgomaster and the counsellor, having reached the porch of the +belfry, were in a paroxysm of fury. They were no longer red, but pale. +This terrible discussion, though they had the same idea, had produced +internal spasms, and every one knows that paleness shows that anger has +reached its last limits. + +At the foot of the narrow tower staircase there was a real explosion. +Who should go up first? Who should first creep up the winding steps? +Truth compels us to say that there was a tussle, and that the +Counsellor Niklausse, forgetful of all that he owed to his superior, to +the supreme magistrate of the town, pushed Van Tricasse violently back, +and dashed up the staircase first. + +Both ascended, denouncing and raging at each other at every step. It +was to be feared that a terrible climax would occur on the summit of +the tower, which rose three hundred and fifty-seven feet above the +pavement. + +The two enemies soon got out of breath, however, and in a little while, +at the eightieth step, they began to move up heavily, breathing loud +and short. + +Then—was it because of their being out of breath?—their wrath subsided, +or at least only betrayed itself by a succession of unseemly epithets. +They became silent, and, strange to say, it seemed as if their +excitement diminished as they ascended higher above the town. A sort of +lull took place in their minds. Their brains became cooler, and +simmered down like a coffee-pot when taken away from the fire. Why? + +We cannot answer this “why;” but the truth is that, having reached a +certain landing-stage, two hundred and sixty-six feet above ground, the +two adversaries sat down and, really more calm, looked at each other +without any anger in their faces. + +“How high it is!” said the burgomaster, passing his handkerchief over +his rubicund face. + +“Very high!” returned the counsellor. “Do you know that we have gone +fourteen feet higher than the Church of Saint Michael at Hamburg?” + +“I know it,” replied the burgomaster, in a tone of vanity very +pardonable in the chief magistrate of Quiquendone. + +The two notabilities soon resumed their ascent, casting curious glances +through the loopholes pierced in the tower walls. The burgomaster had +taken the head of the procession, without any remark on the part of the +counsellor. It even happened that at about the three hundred and fourth +step, Van Tricasse being completely tired out, Niklausse kindly pushed +him from behind. The burgomaster offered no resistance to this, and, +when he reached the platform of the tower, said graciously,— + +“Thanks, Niklausse; I will do the same for you one day.” + +A little while before it had been two wild beasts, ready to tear each +other to pieces, who had presented themselves at the foot of the tower; +it was now two friends who reached its summit. + +The weather was superb. It was the month of May. The sun had absorbed +all the vapours. What a pure and limpid atmosphere! The most minute +objects over a broad space might be discerned. The walls of Virgamen, +glistening in their whiteness,—its red, pointed roofs, its belfries +shining in the sunlight—appeared a few miles off. And this was the town +that was foredoomed to all the horrors of fire and pillage! + +The burgomaster and the counsellor sat down beside each other on a +small stone bench, like two worthy people whose souls were in close +sympathy. As they recovered breath, they looked around; then, after a +brief silence,— + +“How fine this is!” cried the burgomaster. + +“Yes, it is admirable!” replied the counsellor. “Does it not seem to +you, my good Van Tricasse, that humanity is destined to dwell rather at +such heights, than to crawl about on the surface of our globe?” + +“I agree with you, honest Niklausse,” returned the burgomaster, “I +agree with you. You seize sentiment better when you get clear of +nature. You breathe it in every sense! It is at such heights that +philosophers should be formed, and that sages should live, above the +miseries of this world!” + +“Shall we go around the platform?” asked the counsellor. + +“Let us go around the platform,” replied the burgomaster. + +And the two friends, arm in arm, and putting, as formerly, long pauses +between their questions and answers, examined every point of the +horizon. + + +[Illustration: The two friends, arm in arm] + + +“It is at least seventeen years since I have ascended the belfry +tower,” said Van Tricasse. + +“I do not think I ever came up before,” replied Niklausse; “and I +regret it, for the view from this height is sublime! Do you see, my +friend, the pretty stream of the Vaar, as it winds among the trees?” + +“And, beyond, the heights of Saint Hermandad! How gracefully they shut +in the horizon! Observe that border of green trees, which Nature has so +picturesquely arranged! Ah, Nature, Nature, Niklausse! Could the hand +of man ever hope to rival her?” + +“It is enchanting, my excellent friend,” replied the counsellor. “See +the flocks and herds lying in the verdant pastures,—the oxen, the cows, +the sheep!” + +“And the labourers going to the fields! You would say they were +Arcadian shepherds; they only want a bagpipe!” + +“And over all this fertile country the beautiful blue sky, which no +vapour dims! Ah, Niklausse, one might become a poet here! I do not +understand why Saint Simeon Stylites was not one of the greatest poets +of the world.” + +“It was because, perhaps, his column was not high enough,” replied the +counsellor, with a gentle smile. + +At this moment the chimes of Quiquendone rang out. The clear bells +played one of their most melodious airs. The two friends listened in +ecstasy. + +Then in his calm voice, Van Tricasse said,— + +“But what, friend Niklausse, did we come to the top of this tower to +do?” + +“In fact,” replied the counsellor, “we have permitted ourselves to be +carried away by our reveries—” + +“What did we come here to do?” repeated the burgomaster. + +“We came,” said Niklausse, “to breathe this pure air, which human +weaknesses have not corrupted.” + +“Well, shall we descend, friend Niklausse?” + +“Let us descend, friend Van Tricasse.” + +They gave a parting glance at the splendid panorama which was spread +before their eyes; then the burgomaster passed down first, and began to +descend with a slow and measured pace. The counsellor followed a few +steps behind. They reached the landing-stage at which they had stopped +on ascending. Already their cheeks began to redden. They tarried a +moment, then resumed their descent. + +In a few moments Van Tricasse begged Niklausse to go more slowly, as he +felt him on his heels, and it “worried him.” It even did more than +worry him; for twenty steps lower down he ordered the counsellor to +stop, that he might get on some distance ahead. + +The counsellor replied that he did not wish to remain with his leg in +the air to await the good pleasure of the burgomaster, and kept on. + +Van Tricasse retorted with a rude expression. + +The counsellor responded by an insulting allusion to the burgomaster’s +age, destined as he was, by his family traditions, to marry a second +time. + +The burgomaster went down twenty steps more, and warned Niklausse that +this should not pass thus. + +Niklausse replied that, at all events, he would pass down first; and, +the space being very narrow, the two dignitaries came into collision, +and found themselves in utter darkness. The words “blockhead” and +“booby” were the mildest which they now applied to each other. + +“We shall see, stupid beast!” cried the burgomaster,—“we shall see what +figure you will make in this war, and in what rank you will march!” + +“In the rank that precedes yours, you silly old fool!” replied +Niklausse. + +Then there were other cries, and it seemed as if bodies were rolling +over each other. What was going on? Why were these dispositions so +quickly changed? Why were the gentle sheep of the tower’s summit +metamorphosed into tigers two hundred feet below it? + +However this might be, the guardian of the tower, hearing the noise, +opened the door, just at the moment when the two adversaries, bruised, +and with protruding eyes, were in the act of tearing each other’s +hair,—fortunately they wore wigs. + +“You shall give me satisfaction for this!” cried the burgomaster, +shaking his fist under his adversary’s nose. + +“Whenever you please!” growled the Counsellor Niklausse, attempting to +respond with a vigorous kick. + +The guardian, who was himself in a passion,—I cannot say why,— thought +the scene a very natural one. I know not what excitement urged him to +take part in it, but he controlled himself, and went off to announce +throughout the neighbourhood that a hostile meeting was about to take +place between the Burgomaster Van Tricasse and the Counsellor +Niklausse. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +IN WHICH MATTERS GO SO FAR THAT THE INHABITANTS OF QUIQUENDONE, THE +READER, AND EVEN THE AUTHOR, DEMAND AN IMMEDIATE DÉNOUEMENT. + + +The last incident proves to what a pitch of excitement the +Quiquendonians had been wrought. The two oldest friends in the town, +and the most gentle—before the advent of the epidemic, to reach this +degree of violence! And that, too, only a few minutes after their old +mutual sympathy, their amiable instincts, their contemplative habit, +had been restored at the summit of the tower! + +On learning what was going on, Doctor Ox could not contain his joy. He +resisted the arguments which Ygène, who saw what a serious turn affairs +were taking, addressed to him. Besides, both of them were infected by +the general fury. They were not less excited than the rest of the +population, and they ended by quarrelling as violently as the +burgomaster and the counsellor. + +Besides, one question eclipsed all others, and the intended duels were +postponed to the issue of the Virgamenian difficulty. No man had the +right to shed his blood uselessly, when it belonged, to the last drop, +to his country in danger. The affair was, in short, a grave one, and +there was no withdrawing from it. + +The Burgomaster Van Tricasse, despite the warlike ardour with which he +was filled, had not thought it best to throw himself upon the enemy +without warning him. He had, therefore, through the medium of the rural +policeman, Hottering, sent to demand reparation of the Virgamenians for +the offence committed, in 1195, on the Quiquendonian territory. + +The authorities of Virgamen could not at first imagine of what the +envoy spoke, and the latter, despite his official character, was +conducted back to the frontier very cavalierly. + +Van Tricasse then sent one of the aides-de-camp of the +confectioner-general, citizen Hildevert Shuman, a manufacturer of +barley-sugar, a very firm and energetic man, who carried to the +authorities of Virgamen the original minute of the indictment drawn up +in 1195 by order of the Burgomaster Natalís Van Tricasse. + +The authorities of Virgamen burst out laughing, and served the +aide-de-camp in the same manner as the rural policeman. + +The burgomaster then assembled the dignitaries of the town. + +A letter, remarkably and vigorously drawn up, was written as an +ultimatum; the cause of quarrel was plainly stated, and a delay of +twenty-four hours was accorded to the guilty city in which to repair +the outrage done to Quiquendone. + +The letter was sent off, and returned a few hours afterwards, torn to +bits, which made so many fresh insults. The Virgamenians knew of old +the forbearance and equanimity of the Quiquendonians, and made sport of +them and their demand, of their _casus belli_ and their _ultimatum_. + +There was only one thing left to do,—to have recourse to arms, to +invoke the God of battles, and, after the Prussian fashion, to hurl +themselves upon the Virgamenians before the latter could be prepared. + +This decision was made by the council in solemn conclave, in which +cries, objurgations, and menacing gestures were mingled with unexampled +violence. An assembly of idiots, a congress of madmen, a club of +maniacs, would not have been more tumultuous. + +As soon as the declaration of war was known, General Jean Orbideck +assembled his troops, perhaps two thousand three hundred and +ninety-three combatants from a population of two thousand three hundred +and ninety-three souls. The women, the children, the old men, were +joined with the able-bodied males. The guns of the town had been put +under requisition. Five had been found, two of which were without +cocks, and these had been distributed to the advance-guard. The +artillery was composed of the old culverin of the château, taken in +1339 at the attack on Quesnoy, one of the first occasions of the use of +cannon in history, and which had not been fired off for five centuries. +Happily for those who were appointed to take it in charge there were no +projectiles with which to load it; but such as it was, this engine +might well impose on the enemy. As for side-arms, they had been taken +from the museum of antiquities,—flint hatchets, helmets, Frankish +battle-axes, javelins, halberds, rapiers, and so on; and also in those +domestic arsenals commonly known as “cupboards” and “kitchens.” But +courage, the right, hatred of the foreigner, the yearning for +vengeance, were to take the place of more perfect engines, and to +replace—at least it was hoped so—the modern mitrailleuses and +breech-loaders. + +The troops were passed in review. Not a citizen failed at the +roll-call. General Orbideck, whose seat on horseback was far from firm, +and whose steed was a vicious beast, was thrown three times in front of +the army; but he got up again without injury, and this was regarded as +a favourable omen. The burgomaster, the counsellor, the civil +commissary, the chief justice, the school-teacher, the banker, the +rector,—in short, all the notabilities of the town,—marched at the +head. There were no tears shed, either by mothers, sisters, or +daughters. They urged on their husbands, fathers, brothers, to the +combat, and even followed them and formed the rear-guard, under the +orders of the courageous Madame Van Tricasse. + +The crier, Jean Mistrol, blew his trumpet; the army moved off, and +directed itself, with ferocious cries, towards the Oudenarde gate. + + +At the moment when the head of the column was about to pass the walls +of the town, a man threw himself before it. + +“Stop! stop! Fools that you are!” he cried. “Suspend your blows! Let me +shut the valve! You are not changed in nature! You are good citizens, +quiet and peaceable! If you are so excited, it is my master, Doctor +Ox’s, fault! It is an experiment! Under the pretext of lighting your +streets with oxyhydric gas, he has saturated—” + +The assistant was beside himself; but he could not finish. At the +instant that the doctor’s secret was about to escape his lips, Doctor +Ox himself pounced upon the unhappy Ygène in an indescribable rage, and +shut his mouth by blows with his fist. + +It was a battle. The burgomaster, the counsellor, the dignitaries, who +had stopped short on Ygène’s sudden appearance, carried away in turn by +their exasperation, rushed upon the two strangers, without waiting to +hear either the one or the other. + +Doctor Ox and his assistant, beaten and lashed, were about to be +dragged, by order of Van Tricasse, to the round-house, when,— + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +IN WHICH THE DÉNOUEMENT TAKES PLACE. + + +When a formidable explosion resounded. All the atmosphere which +enveloped Quiquendone seemed on fire. A flame of an intensity and +vividness quite unwonted shot up into the heavens like a meteor. Had it +been night, this flame would have been visible for ten leagues around. + +The whole army of Quiquendone fell to the earth, like an army of monks. +Happily there were no victims; a few scratches and slight hurts were +the only result. The confectioner, who, as chance would have it, had +not fallen from his horse this time, had his plume singed, and escaped +without any further injury. + + +[Illustration: The whole army of Quiquendone fell to the earth] + + +What had happened? + +Something very simple, as was soon learned; the gasworks had just blown +up. During the absence of the doctor and his assistant, some careless +mistake had no doubt been made. It is not known how or why a +communication had been established between the reservoir which +contained the oxygen and that which enclosed the hydrogen. An explosive +mixture had resulted from the union of these two gases, to which fire +had accidentally been applied. + +This changed everything; but when the army got upon its feet again, +Doctor Ox and his assistant Ygène had disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +IN WHICH THE INTELLIGENT READER SEES THAT HE HAS GUESSED CORRECTLY, +DESPITE ALL THE AUTHOR’S PRECAUTIONS. + + +After the explosion, Quiquendone immediately became the peaceable, +phlegmatic, and Flemish town it formerly was. + +After the explosion, which indeed did not cause a very lively +sensation, each one, without knowing why, mechanically took his way +home, the burgomaster leaning on the counsellor’s arm, the advocate +Schut going arm in arm with Custos the doctor, Frantz Niklausse walking +with equal familiarity with Simon Collaert, each going tranquilly, +noiselessly, without even being conscious of what had happened, and +having already forgotten Virgamen and their revenge. The general +returned to his confections, and his aide-de-camp to the barley-sugar. + +Thus everything had become calm again; the old existence had been +resumed by men and beasts, beasts and plants; even by the tower of +Oudenarde gate, which the explosion—these explosions are sometimes +astonishing—had set upright again! + +And from that time never a word was spoken more loudly than another, +never a discussion took place in the town of Quiquendone. There were no +more politics, no more clubs, no more trials, no more policemen! The +post of the Commissary Passauf became once more a sinecure, and if his +salary was not reduced, it was because the burgomaster and the +counsellor could not make up their minds to decide upon it. + +From time to time, indeed, Passauf flitted, without any one suspecting +it, through the dreams of the inconsolable Tatanémance. + +As for Frantz’s rival, he generously abandoned the charming Suzel to +her lover, who hastened to wed her five or six years after these +events. + +And as for Madame Van Tricasse, she died ten years later, at the proper +time, and the burgomaster married Mademoiselle Pélagie Van Tricasse, +his cousin, under excellent conditions—for the happy mortal who should +succeed him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +IN WHICH DOCTOR OX’S THEORY IS EXPLAINED. + + +What, then, had this mysterious Doctor Ox done? Tried a fantastic +experiment,—nothing more. + +After having laid down his gas-pipes, he had saturated, first the +public buildings, then the private dwellings, finally the streets of +Quiquendone, with pure oxygen, without letting in the least atom of +hydrogen. + +This gas, tasteless and odorless, spread in generous quantity through +the atmosphere, causes, when it is breathed, serious agitation to the +human organism. One who lives in an air saturated with oxygen grows +excited, frantic, burns! + +You scarcely return to the ordinary atmosphere before you return to +your usual state. For instance, the counsellor and the burgomaster at +the top of the belfry were themselves again, as the oxygen is kept, by +its weight, in the lower strata of the air. + +But one who lives under such conditions, breathing this gas which +transforms the body physiologically as well as the soul, dies speedily, +like a madman. + +It was fortunate, then, for the Quiquendonians, that a providential +explosion put an end to this dangerous experiment, and abolished Doctor +Ox’s gas-works. + +To conclude: Are virtue, courage, talent, wit, imagination,—are all +these qualities or faculties only a question of oxygen? + +Such is Doctor Ox’s theory; but we are not bound to accept it, and for +ourselves we utterly reject it, in spite of the curious experiment of +which the worthy old town of Quiquendone was the theatre. + + + + +MASTER ZACHARIUS + + + + +CHAPTER I. +A WINTER NIGHT. + + +The city of Geneva lies at the west end of the lake of the same name. +The Rhone, which passes through the town at the outlet of the lake, +divides it into two sections, and is itself divided in the centre of +the city by an island placed in mid-stream. A topographical feature +like this is often found in the great depôts of commerce and industry. +No doubt the first inhabitants were influenced by the easy means of +transport which the swift currents of the rivers offered them—those +“roads which walk along of their own accord,” as Pascal puts it. In the +case of the Rhone, it would be the road that ran along. + +Before new and regular buildings were constructed on this island, which +was enclosed like a Dutch galley in the middle of the river, the +curious mass of houses, piled one on the other, presented a +delightfully confused _coup-d’oeil_. The small area of the island had +compelled some of the buildings to be perched, as it were, on the +piles, which were entangled in the rough currents of the river. The +huge beams, blackened by time, and worn by the water, seemed like the +claws of an enormous crab, and presented a fantastic appearance. The +little yellow streams, which were like cobwebs stretched amid this +ancient foundation, quivered in the darkness, as if they had been the +leaves of some old oak forest, while the river engulfed in this forest +of piles, foamed and roared most mournfully. + +One of the houses of the island was striking for its curiously aged +appearance. It was the dwelling of the old clockmaker, Master +Zacharius, whose household consisted of his daughter Gerande, Aubert +Thun, his apprentice, and his old servant Scholastique. + +There was no man in Geneva to compare in interest with this Zacharius. +His age was past finding out. Not the oldest inhabitant of the town +could tell for how long his thin, pointed head had shaken above his +shoulders, nor the day when, for the first time, he had-walked through +the streets, with his long white locks floating in the wind. The man +did not live; he vibrated like the pendulum of his clocks. His spare +and cadaverous figure was always clothed in dark colours. Like the +pictures of Leonardo di Vinci, he was sketched in black. + +Gerande had the pleasantest room in the whole house, whence, through a +narrow window, she had the inspiriting view of the snowy peaks of Jura; +but the bedroom and workshop of the old man were a kind of cavern close +on to the water, the floor of which rested on the piles. + +From time immemorial Master Zacharius had never come out except at meal +times, and when he went to regulate the different clocks of the town. +He passed the rest of his time at his bench, which was covered with +numerous clockwork instruments, most of which he had invented himself. +For he was a clever man; his works were valued in all France and +Germany. The best workers in Geneva readily recognized his superiority, +and showed that he was an honour to the town, by saying, “To him +belongs the glory of having invented the escapement.” In fact, the +birth of true clock-work dates from the invention which the talents of +Zacharius had discovered not many years before. + +After he had worked hard for a long time, Zacharius would slowly put +his tools away, cover up the delicate pieces that he had been adjusting +with glasses, and stop the active wheel of his lathe; then he would +raise a trap-door constructed in the floor of his workshop, and, +stooping down, used to inhale for hours together the thick vapours of +the Rhone, as it dashed along under his eyes. + + +[Illustration: he would raise the trap door constructed in the floor +of his workshop.] + + +One winter’s night the old servant Scholastique served the supper, +which, according to old custom, she and the young mechanic shared with +their master. Master Zacharius did not eat, though the food carefully +prepared for him was offered him in a handsome blue and white dish. He +scarcely answered the sweet words of Gerande, who evidently noticed her +father’s silence, and even the clatter of Scholastique herself no more +struck his ear than the roar of the river, to which he paid no +attention. + +After the silent meal, the old clockmaker left the table without +embracing his daughter, or saying his usual “Good-night” to all. He +left by the narrow door leading to his den, and the staircase groaned +under his heavy footsteps as he went down. + +Gerande, Aubert, and Scholastique sat for some minutes without +speaking. On this evening the weather was dull; the clouds dragged +heavily on the Alps, and threatened rain; the severe climate of +Switzerland made one feel sad, while the south wind swept round the +house, and whistled ominously. + +“My dear young lady,” said Scholastique, at last, “do you know that our +master has been out of sorts for several days? Holy Virgin! I know he +has had no appetite, because his words stick in his inside, and it +would take a very clever devil to drag even one out of him.” + +“My father has some secret cause of trouble, that I cannot even guess,” +replied Gerande, as a sad anxiety spread over her face. + +“Mademoiselle, don’t let such sadness fill your heart. You know the +strange habits of Master Zacharius. Who can read his secret thoughts in +his face? No doubt some fatigue has overcome him, but to-morrow he will +have forgotten it, and be very sorry to have given his daughter pain.” + +It was Aubert who spoke thus, looking into Gerande’s lovely eyes. +Aubert was the first apprentice whom Master Zacharius had ever admitted +to the intimacy of his labours, for he appreciated his intelligence, +discretion, and goodness of heart; and this young man had attached +himself to Gerande with the earnest devotion natural to a noble nature. + +Gerande was eighteen years of age. Her oval face recalled that of the +artless Madonnas whom veneration still displays at the street corners +of the antique towns of Brittany. Her eyes betrayed an infinite +simplicity. One would love her as the sweetest realization of a poet’s +dream. Her apparel was of modest colours, and the white linen which was +folded about her shoulders had the tint and perfume peculiar to the +linen of the church. She led a mystical existence in Geneva, which had +not as yet been delivered over to the dryness of Calvinism. + +While, night and morning, she read her Latin prayers in her +iron-clasped missal, Gerande had also discovered a hidden sentiment in +Aubert Thun’s heart, and comprehended what a profound devotion the +young workman had for her. Indeed, the whole world in his eyes was +condensed into this old clockmaker’s house, and he passed all his time +near the young girl, when he left her father’s workshop, after his work +was over. + +Old Scholastique saw all this, but said nothing. Her loquacity +exhausted itself in preference on the evils of the times, and the +little worries of the household. Nobody tried to stop its course. It +was with her as with the musical snuff-boxes which they made at Geneva; +once wound up, you must break them before you will prevent their +playing all their airs through. + +Finding Gerande absorbed in a melancholy silence, Scholastique left her +old wooden chair, fixed a taper on the end of a candlestick, lit it, +and placed it near a small waxen Virgin, sheltered in her niche of +stone. It was the family custom to kneel before this protecting Madonna +of the domestic hearth, and to beg her kindly watchfulness during the +coming night; but on this evening Gerande remained silent in her seat. + +“Well, well, dear demoiselle,” said the astonished Scholastique, +“supper is over, and it is time to go to bed. Why do you tire your eyes +by sitting up late? Ah, Holy Virgin! It’s much better to sleep, and to +get a little comfort from happy dreams! In these detestable times in +which we live, who can promise herself a fortunate day?” + +“Ought we not to send for a doctor for my father?” asked Gerande. + +“A doctor!” cried the old domestic. “Has Master Zacharius ever listened +to their fancies and pompous sayings? He might accept medicines for the +watches, but not for the body!” + +“What shall we do?” murmured Gerande. “Has he gone to work, or to +rest?” + +“Gerande,” answered Aubert softly, “some mental trouble annoys your +father, that is all.” + +“Do you know what it is, Aubert?” + +“Perhaps, Gerande” + +“Tell us, then,” cried Scholastique eagerly, economically extinguishing +her taper. + +“For several days, Gerande,” said the young apprentice, “something +absolutely incomprehensible has been going on. All the watches which +your father has made and sold for some years have suddenly stopped. +Very many of them have been brought back to him. He has carefully taken +them to pieces; the springs were in good condition, and the wheels well +set. He has put them together yet more carefully; but, despite his +skill, they will not go.” + +“The devil’s in it!” cried Scholastique. + +“Why say you so?” asked Gerande. “It seems very natural to me. Nothing +lasts for ever in this world. The infinite cannot be fashioned by the +hands of men.” + +“It is none the less true,” returned Aubert, “that there is in this +something very mysterious and extraordinary. I have myself been helping +Master Zacharius to search for the cause of this derangement of his +watches; but I have not been able to find it, and more than once I have +let my tools fall from my hands in despair.” + +“But why undertake so vain a task?” resumed Scholastique. “Is it +natural that a little copper instrument should go of itself, and mark +the hours? We ought to have kept to the sun-dial!” + +“You will not talk thus, Scholastique,” said Aubert, “when you learn +that the sun-dial was invented by Cain.” + +“Good heavens! what are you telling me?” + +“Do you think,” asked Gerande simply, “that we might pray to God to +give life to my father’s watches?” + +“Without doubt,” replied Aubert. + +“Good! They will be useless prayers,” muttered the old servant, “but +Heaven will pardon them for their good intent.” + +The taper was relighted. Scholastique, Gerande, and Aubert knelt down +together upon the tiles of the room. The young girl prayed for her +mother’s soul, for a blessing for the night, for travellers and +prisoners, for the good and the wicked, and more earnestly than all for +the unknown misfortunes of her father. + + +[Illustration: The young girl prayed] + + +Then the three devout souls rose with some confidence in their hearts, +because they had laid their sorrow on the bosom of God. + +Aubert repaired to his own room; Gerande sat pensively by the window, +whilst the last lights were disappearing from the city streets; and +Scholastique, having poured a little water on the flickering embers, +and shut the two enormous bolts on the door, threw herself upon her +bed, where she was soon dreaming that she was dying of fright. + +Meanwhile the terrors of this winter’s night had increased. Sometimes, +with the whirlpools of the river, the wind engulfed itself among the +piles, and the whole house shivered and shook; but the young girl, +absorbed in her sadness, thought only of her father. After hearing what +Aubert told her, the malady of Master Zacharius took fantastic +proportions in her mind; and it seemed to her as if his existence, so +dear to her, having become purely mechanical, no longer moved on its +worn-out pivots without effort. + +Suddenly the pent-house shutter, shaken by the squall, struck against +the window of the room. Gerande shuddered and started up without +understanding the cause of the noise which thus disturbed her reverie. +When she became a little calmer she opened the sash. The clouds had +burst, and a torrent-like rain pattered on the surrounding roofs. The +young girl leaned out of the window to draw to the shutter shaken by +the wind, but she feared to do so. It seemed to her that the rain and +the river, confounding their tumultuous waters, were submerging the +frail house, the planks of which creaked in every direction. She would +have flown from her chamber, but she saw below the flickering of a +light which appeared to come from Master Zacharius’s retreat, and in +one of those momentary calms during which the elements keep a sudden +silence, her ear caught plaintive sounds. She tried to shut her window, +but could not. The wind violently repelled her, like a thief who was +breaking into a dwelling. + +Gerande thought she would go mad with terror. What was her father +doing? She opened the door, and it escaped from her hands, and slammed +loudly with the force of the tempest. Gerande then found herself in the +dark supper-room, succeeded in gaining, on tiptoe, the staircase which +led to her father’s shop, and pale and fainting, glided down. + +The old watchmaker was upright in the middle of the room, which +resounded with the roaring of the river. His bristling hair gave him a +sinister aspect. He was talking and gesticulating, without seeing or +hearing anything. Gerande stood still on the threshold. + +“It is death!” said Master Zacharius, in a hollow voice; “it is death! +Why should I live longer, now that I have dispersed my existence over +the earth? For I, Master, Zacharius, am really the creator of all the +watches that I have fashioned! It is a part of my very soul that I have +shut up in each of these cases of iron, silver, or gold! Every time +that one of these accursed watches stops, I feel my heart cease +beating, for I have regulated them with its pulsations!” + +As he spoke in this strange way, the old man cast his eyes on his +bench. There lay all the pieces of a watch that he had carefully taken +apart. He took up a sort of hollow cylinder, called a barrel, in which +the spring is enclosed, and removed the steel spiral, but instead of +relaxing itself, according to the laws of its elasticity, it remained +coiled on itself like a sleeping viper. It seemed knotted, like +impotent old men whose blood has long been congealed. Master Zacharius +vainly essayed to uncoil it with his thin fingers, the outlines of +which were exaggerated on the wall; but he tried in vain, and soon, +with a terrible cry of anguish and rage, he threw it through the +trap-door into the boiling Rhone. + +Gerande, her feet riveted to the floor, stood breathless and +motionless. She wished to approach her father, but could not. Giddy +hallucinations took possession of her. Suddenly she heard, in the +shade, a voice murmur in her ears,— + +“Gerande, dear Gerande! grief still keeps you awake. Go in again, I beg +of you; the night is cold.” + +“Aubert!” whispered the young girl. “You!” + +“Ought I not to be troubled by what troubles you?” + +These soft words sent the blood back into the young girl’s heart. She +leaned on Aubert’s arm, and said to him,— + +“My father is very ill, Aubert! You alone can cure him, for this +disorder of the mind would not yield to his daughter’s consolings. His +mind is attacked by a very natural delusion, and in working with him, +repairing the watches, you will bring him back to reason. Aubert,” she +continued, “it is not true, is it, that his life is mixed up with that +of his watches?” + +Aubert did not reply. + +“But is my father’s a trade condemned by God?” asked Gerande, +trembling. + +“I know not,” returned the apprentice, warming the cold hands of the +girl with his own. “But go back to your room, my poor Gerande, and with +sleep recover hope!” + +Gerande slowly returned to her chamber, and remained there till +daylight, without sleep closing her eyelids. Meanwhile, Master +Zacharius, always mute and motionless, gazed at the river as it rolled +turbulently at his feet. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +THE PRIDE OF SCIENCE. + + +The severity of the Geneva merchant in business matters has become +proverbial. He is rigidly honourable, and excessively just. What must, +then, have been the shame of Master Zacharius, when he saw these +watches, which he had so carefully constructed, returning to him from +every direction? + +It was certain that these watches had suddenly stopped, and without any +apparent reason. The wheels were in a good condition and firmly fixed, +but the springs had lost all elasticity. Vainly did the watchmaker try +to replace them; the wheels remained motionless. These unaccountable +derangements were greatly to the old man’s discredit. His noble +inventions had many times brought upon him suspicions of sorcery, which +now seemed confirmed. These rumours reached Gerande, and she often +trembled for her father, when she saw malicious glances directed +towards him. + +Yet on the morning after this night of anguish, Master Zacharius seemed +to resume work with some confidence. The morning sun inspired him with +some courage. Aubert hastened to join him in the shop, and received an +affable “Good-day.” + +“I am better,” said the old man. “I don’t know what strange pains in +the head attacked me yesterday, but the sun has quite chased them away, +with the clouds of the night.” + +“In faith, master,” returned Aubert, “I don’t like the night for either +of us!” + +“And thou art right, Aubert. If you ever become a great man, you will +understand that day is as necessary to you as food. A great savant +should be always ready to receive the homage of his fellow-men.” + +“Master, it seems to me that the pride of science has possessed you.” + +“Pride, Aubert! Destroy my past, annihilate my present, dissipate my +future, and then it will be permitted to me to live in obscurity! Poor +boy, who comprehends not the sublime things to which my art is wholly +devoted! Art thou not but a tool in my hands?” + +“Yet. Master Zacharius,” resumed Aubert, “I have more than once merited +your praise for the manner in which I adjusted the most delicate parts +of your watches and clocks.” + +“No doubt, Aubert; thou art a good workman, such as I love; but when +thou workest, thou thinkest thou hast in thy hands but copper, silver, +gold; thou dost not perceive these metals, which my genius animates, +palpitating like living flesh! So that thou wilt not die, with the +death of thy works!” + +Master Zacharius remained silent after these words; but Aubert essayed +to keep up the conversation. + +“Indeed, master,” said he, “I love to see you work so unceasingly! You +will be ready for the festival of our corporation, for I see that the +work on this crystal watch is going forward famously.” + +“No doubt, Aubert,” cried the old watchmaker, “and it will be no slight +honour for me to have been able to cut and shape the crystal to the +durability of a diamond! Ah, Louis Berghem did well to perfect the art +of diamond-cutting, which has enabled me to polish and pierce the +hardest stones!” + +Master Zacharius was holding several small watch pieces of cut crystal, +and of exquisite workmanship. The wheels, pivots, and case of the watch +were of the same material, and he had employed remarkable skill in this +very difficult task. + +“Would it not be fine,” said he, his face flushing, “to see this watch +palpitating beneath its transparent envelope, and to be able to count +the beatings of its heart?” + +“I will wager, sir,” replied the young apprentice, “that it will not +vary a second in a year.” + +“And you would wager on a certainty! Have I not imparted to it all that +is purest of myself? And does my heart vary? My heart, I say?” + +Aubert did not dare to lift his eyes to his master’s face. + +“Tell me frankly,” said the old man sadly. “Have you never taken me for +a madman? Do you not think me sometimes subject to dangerous folly? +Yes; is it not so? In my daughter’s eyes and yours, I have often read +my condemnation. Oh!” he cried, as if in pain, “to be misunderstood by +those whom one most loves in the world! But I will prove victoriously +to thee, Aubert, that I am right! Do not shake thy head, for thou wilt +be astounded. The day on which thou understandest how to listen to and +comprehend me, thou wilt see that I have discovered the secrets of +existence, the secrets of the mysterious union of the soul with the +body!” + + +[Illustration: “Thou wilt see that I have discovered the secrets of +existence.”] + + +As he spoke thus, Master Zacharius appeared superb in his vanity. His +eyes glittered with a supernatural fire, and his pride illumined every +feature. And truly, if ever vanity was excusable, it was that of Master +Zacharius! + +The watchmaking art, indeed, down to his time, had remained almost in +its infancy. From the day when Plato, four centuries before the +Christian era, invented the night watch, a sort of clepsydra which +indicated the hours of the night by the sound and playing of a flute, +the science had continued nearly stationary. The masters paid more +attention to the arts than to mechanics, and it was the period of +beautiful watches of iron, copper, wood, silver, which were richly +engraved, like one of Cellini’s ewers. They made a masterpiece of +chasing, which measured time imperfectly, but was still a masterpiece. +When the artist’s imagination was not directed to the perfection of +modelling, it set to work to create clocks with moving figures and +melodious sounds, whose appearance took all attention. Besides, who +troubled himself, in those days, with regulating the advance of time? +The delays of the law were not as yet invented; the physical and +astronomical sciences had not as yet established their calculations on +scrupulously exact measurements; there were neither establishments +which were shut at a given hour, nor trains which departed at a precise +moment. In the evening the curfew bell sounded; and at night the hours +were cried amid the universal silence. Certainly people did not live so +long, if existence is measured by the amount of business done; but they +lived better. The mind was enriched with the noble sentiments born of +the contemplation of chefs-d’oeuvré. They built a church in two +centuries, a painter painted but few pictures in the course of his +life, a poet only composed one great work; but these were so many +masterpieces for after-ages to appreciate. + +When the exact sciences began at last to make some progress, watch and +clock making followed in their path, though it was always arrested by +an insurmountable difficulty,—the regular and continuous measurement of +time. + +It was in the midst of this stagnation that Master Zacharius invented +the escapement, which enabled him to obtain a mathematical regularity +by submitting the movement of the pendulum to a sustained force. This +invention had turned the old man’s head. Pride, swelling in his heart, +like mercury in the thermometer, had attained the height of +transcendent folly. By analogy he had allowed himself to be drawn to +materialistic conclusions, and as he constructed his watches, he +fancied that he had discovered the secrets of the union of the soul +with the body. + +Thus, on this day, perceiving that Aubert listened to him attentively, +he said to him in a tone of simple conviction,— + +“Dost thou know what life is, my child? Hast thou comprehended the +action of those springs which produce existence? Hast thou examined +thyself? No. And yet, with the eyes of science, thou mightest have seen +the intimate relation which exists between God’s work and my own; for +it is from his creature that I have copied the combinations of the +wheels of my clocks.” + +“Master,” replied Aubert eagerly, “can you compare a copper or steel +machine with that breath of God which is called the soul, which +animates our bodies as the breeze stirs the flowers? What mechanism +could be so adjusted as to inspire us with thought?” + +“That is not the question,” responded Master Zacharius gently, but with +all the obstinacy of a blind man walking towards an abyss. “In order to +understand me, thou must recall the purpose of the escapement which I +have invented. When I saw the irregular working of clocks, I understood +that the movements shut up in them did not suffice, and that it was +necessary to submit them to the regularity of some independent force. I +then thought that the balance-wheel might accomplish this, and I +succeeded in regulating the movement! Now, was it not a sublime idea +that came to me, to return to it its lost force by the action of the +clock itself, which it was charged with regulating?” + +Aubert made a sign of assent. + +“Now, Aubert,” continued the old man, growing animated, “cast thine +eyes upon thyself! Dost thou not understand that there are two distinct +forces in us, that of the soul and that of the body—that is, a movement +and a regulator? The soul is the principle of life; that is, then, the +movement. Whether it is produced by a weight, by a spring, or by an +immaterial influence, it is none the less in the heart. But without the +body this movement would be unequal, irregular, impossible! Thus the +body regulates the soul, and, like the balance-wheel, it is submitted +to regular oscillations. And this is so true, that one falls ill when +one’s drink, food, sleep—in a word, the functions of the body—are not +properly regulated; just as in my watches the soul renders to the body +the force lost by its oscillations. Well, what produces this intimate +union between soul and body, if not a marvellous escapement, by which +the wheels of the one work into the wheels of the other? This is what I +have discovered and applied; and there are no longer any secrets for me +in this life, which is, after all, only an ingenious mechanism!” + +Master Zacharius looked sublime in this hallucination, which carried +him to the ultimate mysteries of the Infinite. But his daughter +Gerande, standing on the threshold of the door, had heard all. She +rushed into her father’s arms, and he pressed her convulsively to his +breast. + +“What is the matter with thee, my daughter?” he asked. + +“If I had only a spring here,” said she, putting her hand on her heart, +“I would not love you as I do, father.” + +Master Zacharius looked intently at Gerande, and did not reply. +Suddenly he uttered a cry, carried his hand eagerly to his heart, and +fell fainting on his old leathern chair. + +“Father, what is the matter?” + + +[Illustration: “Father, what is the matter?”] + + +“Help!” cried Aubert. “Scholastique!” + +But Scholastique did not come at once. Some one was knocking at the +front door; she had gone to open it, and when she returned to the shop, +before she could open her mouth, the old watchmaker, having recovered +his senses, spoke:— + +“I divine, my old Scholastique, that you bring me still another of +those accursed watches which have stopped.” + +“Lord, it is true enough!” replied Scholastique, handing a watch to +Aubert. + +“My heart could not be mistaken!” said the old man, with a sigh. + +Meanwhile Aubert carefully wound up the watch, but it would not go. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +A STRANGE VISIT. + + +Poor Gerande would have lost her life with that of her father, had it +not been for the thought of Aubert, who still attached her to the +world. + +The old watchmaker was, little by little, passing away. His faculties +evidently grew more feeble, as he concentrated them on a single +thought. By a sad association of ideas, he referred everything to his +monomania, and a human existence seemed to have departed from him, to +give place to the extra-natural existence of the intermediate powers. +Moreover, certain malicious rivals revived the sinister rumours which +had spread concerning his labours. + +The news of the strange derangements which his watches betrayed had a +prodigious effect upon the master clockmakers of Geneva. What signified +this sudden paralysis of their wheels, and why these strange relations +which they seemed to have with the old man’s life? These were the kind +of mysteries which people never contemplate without a secret terror. In +the various classes of the town, from the apprentice to the great lord +who used the watches of the old horologist, there was no one who could +not himself judge of the singularity of the fact. The citizens wished, +but in vain, to get to see Master Zacharius. He fell very ill; and this +enabled his daughter to withdraw him from those incessant visits which +had degenerated into reproaches and recriminations. + +Medicines and physicians were powerless in presence of this organic +wasting away, the cause of which could not be discovered. It sometimes +seemed as if the old man’s heart had ceased to beat; then the +pulsations were resumed with an alarming irregularity. + +A custom existed in those days of publicly exhibiting the works of the +masters. The heads of the various corporations sought to distinguish +themselves by the novelty or the perfection of their productions; and +it was among these that the condition of Master Zacharius excited the +most lively, because most interested, commiseration. His rivals pitied +him the more willingly because they feared him the less. They never +forgot the old man’s success, when he exhibited his magnificent clocks +with moving figures, his repeaters, which provoked general admiration, +and commanded such high prices in the cities of France, Switzerland, +and Germany. + +Meanwhile, thanks to the constant and tender care of Gerande and +Aubert, his strength seemed to return a little; and in the tranquillity +in which his convalescence left him, he succeeded in detaching himself +from the thoughts which had absorbed him. As soon as he could walk, his +daughter lured him away from the house, which was still besieged with +dissatisfied customers. Aubert remained in the shop, vainly adjusting +and readjusting the rebel watches; and the poor boy, completely +mystified, sometimes covered his face with his hands, fearful that he, +like his master, might go mad. + +Gerande led her father towards the more pleasant promenades of the +town. With his arm resting on hers, she conducted him sometimes through +the quarter of Saint Antoine, the view from which extends towards the +Cologny hill, and over the lake; on fine mornings they caught sight of +the gigantic peaks of Mount Buet against the horizon. Gerande pointed +out these spots to her father, who had well-nigh forgotten even their +names. His memory wandered; and he took a childish interest in learning +anew what had passed from his mind. Master Zacharius leaned upon his +daughter; and the two heads, one white as snow and the other covered +with rich golden tresses, met in the same ray of sunlight. + +So it came about that the old watchmaker at last perceived that he was +not alone in the world. As he looked upon his young and lovely +daughter, and on himself old and broken, he reflected that after his +death she would be left alone without support. Many of the young +mechanics of Geneva had already sought to win Gerande’s love; but none +of them had succeeded in gaining access to the impenetrable retreat of +the watchmaker’s household. It was natural, then, that during this +lucid interval, the old man’s choice should fall on Aubert Thun. Once +struck with this thought, he remarked to himself that this young couple +had been brought up with the same ideas and the same beliefs; and the +oscillations of their hearts seemed to him, as he said one day to +Scholastique, “isochronous.” + +The old servant, literally delighted with the word, though she did not +understand it, swore by her holy patron saint that the whole town +should hear it within a quarter of an hour. Master Zacharius found it +difficult to calm her; but made her promise to keep on this subject a +silence which she never was known to observe. + +So, though Gerande and Aubert were ignorant of it, all Geneva was soon +talking of their speedy union. But it happened also that, while the +worthy folk were gossiping, a strange chuckle was often heard, and a +voice saying, “Gerande will not wed Aubert.” + +If the talkers turned round, they found themselves facing a little old +man who was quite a stranger to them. + +How old was this singular being? No one could have told. People +conjectured that he must have existed for several centuries, and that +was all. His big flat head rested upon shoulders the width of which was +equal to the height of his body; this was not above three feet. This +personage would have made a good figure to support a pendulum, for the +dial would have naturally been placed on his face, and the +balance-wheel would have oscillated at its ease in his chest. His nose +might readily have been taken for the style of a sun-dial, for it was +narrow and sharp; his teeth, far apart, resembled the cogs of a wheel, +and ground themselves between his lips; his voice had the metallic +sound of a bell, and you could hear his heart beat like the tick of a +clock. This little man, whose arms moved like the hands on a dial, +walked with jerks, without ever turning round. If any one followed him, +it was found that he walked a league an hour, and that his course was +nearly circular. + +This strange being had not long been seen wandering, or rather +circulating, around the town; but it had already been observed that, +every day, at the moment when the sun passed the meridian, he stopped +before the Cathedral of Saint Pierre, and resumed his course after the +twelve strokes of noon had sounded. Excepting at this precise moment, +he seemed to become a part of all the conversations in which the old +watchmaker was talked of; and people asked each other, in terror, what +relation could exist between him and Master Zacharius. It was remarked, +too, that he never lost sight of the old man and his daughter while +they were taking their promenades. + +One day Gerande perceived this monster looking at her with a hideous +smile. She clung to her father with a frightened motion. + +“What is the matter, my Gerande?” asked Master Zacharius. + +“I do not know,” replied the young girl. + +“But thou art changed, my child. Art thou going to fall ill in thy +turn? Ah, well,” he added, with a sad smile, “then I must take care of +thee, and I will do it tenderly.” + +“O father, it will be nothing. I am cold, and I imagine that it is—” + +“What, Gerande?” + +“The presence of that man, who always follows us,” she replied in a low +tone. + +Master Zacharius turned towards the little old man. + +“Faith, he goes well,” said he, with a satisfied air, “for it is just +four o’clock. Fear nothing, my child; it is not a man, it is a clock!” + +Gerande looked at her father in terror. How could Master Zacharius read +the hour on this strange creature’s visage? + +“By-the-bye,” continued the old watchmaker, paying no further attention +to the matter, “I have not seen Aubert for several days.” + +“He has not left us, however, father,” said Gerande, whose thoughts +turned into a gentler channel. + +“What is he doing then?” + +“He is working.” + +“Ah!” cried the old man. “He is at work repairing my watches, is he +not? But he will never succeed; for it is not repair they need, but a +resurrection!” + +Gerande remained silent. + +“I must know,” added the old man, “if they have brought back any more +of those accursed watches upon which the Devil has sent this epidemic!” + +After these words Master Zacharius fell into complete silence, till he +knocked at the door of his house, and for the first time since his +convalescence descended to his shop, while Gerande sadly repaired to +her chamber. + +Just as Master Zacharius crossed the threshold of his shop, one of the +many clocks suspended on the wall struck five o’clock. Usually the +bells of these clocks—admirably regulated as they were—struck +simultaneously, and this rejoiced the old man’s heart; but on this day +the bells struck one after another, so that for a quarter of an hour +the ear was deafened by the successive noises. Master Zacharius +suffered acutely; he could not remain still, but went from one clock to +the other, and beat the time to them, like a conductor who no longer +has control over his musicians. + +When the last had ceased striking, the door of the shop opened, and +Master Zacharius shuddered from head to foot to see before him the +little old man, who looked fixedly at him and said,— + +“Master, may I not speak with you a few moments?” + +“Who are you?” asked the watchmaker abruptly. + +“A colleague. It is my business to regulate the sun.” + +“Ah, you regulate the sun?” replied Master Zacharius eagerly, without +wincing. “I can scarcely compliment you upon it. Your sun goes badly, +and in order to make ourselves agree with it, we have to keep putting +our clocks forward so much or back so much.” + +“And by the cloven foot,” cried this weird personage, “you are right, +my master! My sun does not always mark noon at the same moment as your +clocks; but some day it will be known that this is because of the +inequality of the earth’s transfer, and a mean noon will be invented +which will regulate this irregularity!” + +“Shall I live till then?” asked the old man, with glistening eyes. + +“Without doubt,” replied the little old man, laughing. “Can you believe +that you will ever die?” + +“Alas! I am very ill now.” + +“Ah, let us talk of that. By Beelzebub! that will lead to just what I +wish to speak to you about.” + +Saying this, the strange being leaped upon the old leather chair, and +carried his legs one under the other, after the fashion of the bones +which the painters of funeral hangings cross beneath death’s heads. +Then he resumed, in an ironical tone,— + + +[Illustration: Then he resumed, in an ironical tone] + + +“Let us see, Master Zacharius, what is going on in this good town of +Geneva? They say that your health is failing, that your watches have +need of a doctor!” + +“Ah, do you believe that there is an intimate relation between their +existence and mine?” cried Master Zacharius. + +“Why, I imagine that these watches have faults, even vices. If these +wantons do not preserve a regular conduct, it is right that they should +bear the consequences of their irregularity. It seems to me that they +have need of reforming a little!” + +“What do you call faults?” asked Master Zacharius, reddening at the +sarcastic tone in which these words were uttered. “Have they not a +right to be proud of their origin?” + +“Not too proud, not too proud,” replied the little old man. “They bear +a celebrated name, and an illustrious signature is graven on their +cases, it is true, and theirs is the exclusive privilege of being +introduced among the noblest families; but for some time they have got +out of order, and you can do nothing in the matter, Master Zacharius; +and the stupidest apprentice in Geneva could prove it to you!” + +“To me, to me,—Master Zacharius!” cried the old man, with a flush of +outraged pride. + +“To you, Master Zacharius,—you, who cannot restore life to your +watches!” + +“But it is because I have a fever, and so have they also!” replied the +old man, as a cold sweat broke out upon him. + +“Very well, they will die with you, since you cannot impart a little +elasticity to their springs.” + +“Die! No, for you yourself have said it! I cannot die,—I, the first +watchmaker in the world; I, who, by means of these pieces and diverse +wheels, have been able to regulate the movement with absolute +precision! Have I not subjected time to exact laws, and can I not +dispose of it like a despot? Before a sublime genius had arranged these +wandering hours regularly, in what vast uncertainty was human destiny +plunged? At what certain moment could the acts of life be connected +with each other? But you, man or devil, whatever you may be, have never +considered the magnificence of my art, which calls every science to its +aid! No, no! I, Master Zacharius, cannot die, for, as I have regulated +time, time would end with me! It would return to the infinite, whence +my genius has rescued it, and it would lose itself irreparably in the +abyss of nothingness! No, I can no more die than the Creator of this +universe, that submitted to His laws! I have become His equal, and I +have partaken of His power! If God has created eternity, Master +Zacharius has created time!” + +The old watchmaker now resembled the fallen angel, defiant in the +presence of the Creator. The little old man gazed at him, and even +seemed to breathe into him this impious transport. + +“Well said, master,” he replied. “Beelzebub had less right than you to +compare himself with God! Your glory must not perish! So your servant +here desires to give you the method of controlling these rebellious +watches.” + +“What is it? what is it?” cried Master Zacharius. + +“You shall know on the day after that on which you have given me your +daughter’s hand.” + +“My Gerande?” + +“Herself!” + +“My daughter’s heart is not free,” replied Master Zacharius, who seemed +neither astonished nor shocked at the strange demand. + +“Bah! She is not the least beautiful of watches; but she will end by +stopping also—” + +“My daughter,—my Gerande! No!” + +“Well, return to your watches, Master Zacharius. Adjust and readjust +them. Get ready the marriage of your daughter and your apprentice. +Temper your springs with your best steel. Bless Aubert and the pretty +Gerande. But remember, your watches will never go, and Gerande will +not wed Aubert!” + +Thereupon the little old man disappeared, but not so quickly that +Master Zacharius could not hear six o’clock strike in his breast. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +THE CHURCH OF SAINT PIERRE. + + +Meanwhile Master Zacharius became more feeble in mind and body every +day. An unusual excitement, indeed, impelled him to continue his work +more eagerly than ever, nor could his daughter entice him from it. + +His pride was still more aroused after the crisis to which his strange +visitor had hurried him so treacherously, and he resolved to overcome, +by the force of genius, the malign influence which weighed upon his +work and himself. He first repaired to the various clocks of the town +which were confided to his care. He made sure, by a scrupulous +examination, that the wheels were in good condition, the pivots firm, +the weights exactly balanced. Every part, even to the bells, was +examined with the minute attention of a physician studying the breast +of a patient. Nothing indicated that these clocks were on the point of +being affected by inactivity. + +Gerande and Aubert often accompanied the old man on these visits. He +would no doubt have been pleased to see them eager to go with him, and +certainly he would not have been so much absorbed in his approaching +end, had he thought that his existence was to be prolonged by that of +these cherished ones, and had he understood that something of the life +of a father always remains in his children. + +The old watchmaker, on returning home, resumed his labours with +feverish zeal. Though persuaded that he would not succeed, it yet +seemed to him impossible that this could be so, and he unceasingly took +to pieces the watches which were brought to his shop, and put them +together again. + +Aubert tortured his mind in vain to discover the causes of the evil. + +“Master,” said he, “this can only come from the wear of the pivots and +gearing.” + +“Do you want, then, to kill me, little by little?” replied Master +Zacharius passionately. “Are these watches child’s work? Was it lest I +should hurt my fingers that I worked the surface of these copper pieces +in the lathe? Have I not forged these pieces of copper myself, so as to +obtain a greater strength? Are not these springs tempered to a rare +perfection? Could anybody have used finer oils than mine? You must +yourself agree that it is impossible, and you avow, in short, that the +devil is in it!” + +From morning till night discontented purchasers besieged the house, and +they got access to the old watchmaker himself, who knew not which of +them to listen to. + + +[Illustration: From morning till night discontented purchasers +besieged the house] + + +“This watch loses, and I cannot succeed in regulating it,” said one. + +“This,” said another, “is absolutely obstinate, and stands still, as +did Joshua’s sun.” + +“If it is true,” said most of them, “that your health has an influence +on that of your watches, Master Zacharius, get well as soon as +possible.” + +The old man gazed at these people with haggard eyes, and only replied +by shaking his head, or by a few sad words,— + +“Wait till the first fine weather, my friends. The season is coming +which revives existence in wearied bodies. We want the sun to warm us +all!” + +“A fine thing, if my watches are to be ill through the winter!” said +one of the most angry. “Do you know, Master Zacharius, that your name +is inscribed in full on their faces? By the Virgin, you do little +honour to your signature!” + +It happened at last that the old man, abashed by these reproaches, took +some pieces of gold from his old trunk, and began to buy back the +damaged watches. At news of this, the customers came in a crowd, and +the poor watchmaker’s money fast melted away; but his honesty remained +intact. Gerande warmly praised his delicacy, which was leading him +straight towards ruin; and Aubert soon offered his own savings to his +master. + +“What will become of my daughter?” said Master Zacharius, clinging now +and then in the shipwreck to his paternal love. + +Aubert dared not answer that he was full of hope for the future, and of +deep devotion to Gerande. Master Zacharius would have that day called +him his son-in-law, and thus refuted the sad prophecy, which still +buzzed in his ears,— + +“Gerande will not wed Aubert.” + +By this plan the watchmaker at last succeeded in entirely despoiling +himself. His antique vases passed into the hands of strangers; he +deprived himself of the richly-carved panels which adorned the walls of +his house; some primitive pictures of the early Flemish painters soon +ceased to please his daughter’s eyes, and everything, even the precious +tools that his genius had invented, were sold to indemnify the +clamorous customers. + +Scholastique alone refused to listen to reason on the subject; but her +efforts failed to prevent the unwelcome visitors from reaching her +master, and from soon departing with some valuable object. Then her +chattering was heard in all the streets of the neighbourhood, where she +had long been known. She eagerly denied the rumours of sorcery and +magic on the part of Master Zacharius, which gained currency; but as at +bottom she was persuaded of their truth, she said her prayers over and +over again to redeem her pious falsehoods. + +It had been noticed that for some time the old watchmaker had neglected +his religious duties. Time was, when he had accompanied Gerande to +church, and had seemed to find in prayer the intellectual charm which +it imparts to thoughtful minds, since it is the most sublime exercise +of the imagination. This voluntary neglect of holy practices, added to +the secret habits of his life, had in some sort confirmed the +accusations levelled against his labours. So, with the double purpose +of drawing her father back to God, and to the world, Gerande resolved +to call religion to her aid. She thought that it might give some +vitality to his dying soul; but the dogmas of faith and humility had to +combat, in the soul of Master Zacharius, an insurmountable pride, and +came into collision with that vanity of science which connects +everything with itself, without rising to the infinite source whence +first principles flow. + +It was under these circumstances that the young girl undertook her +father’s conversion; and her influence was so effective that the old +watchmaker promised to attend high mass at the cathedral on the +following Sunday. Gerande was in an ecstasy, as if heaven had opened to +her view. Old Scholastique could not contain her joy, and at last found +irrefutable arguments’ against the gossiping tongues which accused her +master of impiety. She spoke of it to her neighbours, her friends, her +enemies, to those whom she knew not as well as to those whom she knew. + +“In faith, we scarcely believe what you tell us, dame Scholastique,” +they replied; “Master Zacharius has always acted in concert with the +devil!” + +“You haven’t counted, then,” replied the old servant, “the fine bells +which strike for my master’s clocks? How many times they have struck +the hours of prayer and the mass!” + +“No doubt,” they would reply. “But has he not invented machines which +go all by themselves, and which actually do the work of a real man?” + +“Could a child of the devil,” exclaimed dame Scholastique wrathfully, +“have executed the fine iron clock of the château of Andernatt, which +the town of Geneva was not rich enough to buy? A pious motto appeared +at each hour, and a Christian who obeyed them, would have gone straight +to Paradise! Is that the work of the devil?” + +This masterpiece, made twenty years before, had carried Master +Zacharius’s fame to its acme; but even then there had been accusations +of sorcery against him. But at least the old man’s visit to the +Cathedral ought to reduce malicious tongues to silence. + +Master Zacharius, having doubtless forgotten the promise made to his +daughter, had returned to his shop. After being convinced of his +powerlessness to give life to his watches, he resolved to try if he +could not make some new ones. He abandoned all those useless works, and +devoted himself to the completion of the crystal watch, which he +intended to be his masterpiece; but in vain did he use his most perfect +tools, and employ rubies and diamonds for resisting friction. The watch +fell from his hands the first time that he attempted to wind it up! + +The old man concealed this circumstance from every one, even from his +daughter; but from that time his health rapidly declined. There were +only the last oscillations of a pendulum, which goes slower when +nothing restores its original force. It seemed as if the laws of +gravity, acting directly upon him, were dragging him irresistibly down +to the grave. + +The Sunday so ardently anticipated by Gerande at last arrived. The +weather was fine, and the temperature inspiriting. The people of Geneva +were passing quietly through the streets, gaily chatting about the +return of spring. Gerande, tenderly taking the old man’s arm, directed +her steps towards the cathedral, while Scholastique followed behind +with the prayer-books. People looked curiously at them as they passed. +The old watchmaker permitted himself to be led like a child, or rather +like a blind man. The faithful of Saint Pierre were almost frightened +when they saw him cross the threshold, and shrank back at his approach. + +The chants of high mass were already resounding through the church. +Gerande went to her accustomed bench, and kneeled with profound and +simple reverence. Master Zacharius remained standing upright beside +her. + +The ceremonies continued with the majestic solemnity of that faithful +age, but the old man had no faith. He did not implore the pity of +Heaven with cries of anguish of the “Kyrie;” he did not, with the +“Gloria in Excelsis,” sing the splendours of the heavenly heights; the +reading of the Testament did not draw him from his materialistic +reverie, and he forgot to join in the homage of the “Credo.” This proud +old man remained motionless, as insensible and silent as a stone +statue; and even at the solemn moment when the bell announced the +miracle of transubstantiation, he did not bow his head, but gazed +directly at the sacred host which the priest raised above the heads of +the faithful. Gerande looked at her father, and a flood of tears +moistened her missal. At this moment the clock of Saint Pierre struck +half-past eleven. Master Zacharius turned quickly towards this ancient +clock which still spoke. It seemed to him as if its face was gazing +steadily at him; the figures of the hours shone as if they had been +engraved in lines of fire, and the hands shot forth electric sparks +from their sharp points. + + +[Illustration: This proud old man remained motionless] + + +The mass ended. It was customary for the “Angelus” to be said at noon, +and the priests, before leaving the altar, waited for the clock to +strike the hour of twelve. In a few moments this prayer would ascend to +the feet of the Virgin. + +But suddenly a harsh noise was heard. Master Zacharius uttered a +piercing cry. + +The large hand of the clock, having reached twelve, had abruptly +stopped, and the clock did not strike the hour. + +Gerande hastened to her father’s aid. He had fallen down motionless, +and they carried him outside the church. + +“It is the death-blow!” murmured Gerande, sobbing. + +When he had been borne home, Master Zacharius lay upon his bed utterly +crushed. Life seemed only to still exist on the surface of his body, +like the last whiffs of smoke about a lamp just extinguished. When he +came to his senses, Aubert and Gerande were leaning over him. In these +last moments the future took in his eyes the shape of the present. He +saw his daughter alone, without a protector. + +“My son,” said he to Aubert, “I give my daughter to thee.” + +So saying, he stretched out his hands towards his two children, who +were thus united at his death-bed. + +But soon Master Zacharius lifted himself up in a paroxysm of rage. The +words of the little old man recurred to his mind. + +“I do not wish to die!” he cried; “I cannot die! I, Master Zacharius, +ought not to die! My books—my accounts!—” + +With these words he sprang from his bed towards a book in which the +names of his customers and the articles which had been sold to them +were inscribed. He seized it and rapidly turned over its leaves, and +his emaciated finger fixed itself on one of the pages. + +“There!” he cried, “there! this old iron clock, sold to Pittonaccio! It +is the only one that has not been returned to me! It still exists—it +goes—it lives! Ah, I wish for it—I must find it! I will take such care +of it that death will no longer seek me!” + +And he fainted away. + +Aubert and Gerande knelt by the old man’s bed-side and prayed together. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +THE HOUR OF DEATH. + + +Several days passed, and Master Zacharius, though almost dead, rose +from his bed and returned to active life under a supernatural +excitement. He lived by pride. But Gerande did not deceive herself; her +father’s body and soul were for ever lost. + +The old man got together his last remaining resources, without thought +of those who were dependent upon him. He betrayed an incredible energy, +walking, ferreting about, and mumbling strange, incomprehensible words. + +One morning Gerande went down to his shop. Master Zacharius was not +there. She waited for him all day. Master Zacharius did not return. + +Gerande wept bitterly, but her father did not reappear. + +Aubert searched everywhere through the town, and soon came to the sad +conviction that the old man had left it. + +“Let us find my father!” cried Gerande, when the young apprentice told +her this sad news. + +“Where can he be?” Aubert asked himself. + +An inspiration suddenly came to his mind. He remembered the last words +which Master Zacharius had spoken. The old man only lived now in the +old iron clock that had not been returned! Master Zacharius must have +gone in search of it. + +Aubert spoke of this to Gerande. + +“Let us look at my father’s book,” she replied. + +They descended to the shop. The book was open on the bench. All the +watches or clocks made by the old man, and which had been returned to +him because they were out of order, were stricken out excepting one:— + +“Sold to M. Pittonaccio, an iron clock, with bell and moving figures; +sent to his château at Andernatt.” + +It was this “moral” clock of which Scholastique had spoken with so much +enthusiasm. + +“My father is there!” cried Gerande. + +“Let us hasten thither,” replied Aubert. “We may still save him!” + +“Not for this life,” murmured Gerande, “but at least for the other.” + +“By the mercy of God, Gerande! The château of Andernatt stands in the +gorge of the ‘Dents-du-Midi’ twenty hours from Geneva. Let us go!” + +That very evening Aubert and Gerande, followed by the old servant, set +out on foot by the road which skirts Lake Leman. They accomplished five +leagues during the night, stopping neither at Bessinge nor at Ermance, +where rises the famous château of the Mayors. They with difficulty +forded the torrent of the Dranse, and everywhere they went they +inquired for Master Zacharius, and were soon convinced that they were +on his track. + +The next morning, at daybreak, having passed Thonon, they reached +Evian, whence the Swiss territory may be seen extended over twelve +leagues. But the two betrothed did not even perceive the enchanting +prospect. They went straight forward, urged on by a supernatural force. +Aubert, leaning on a knotty stick, offered his arm alternately to +Gerande and to Scholastique, and he made the greatest efforts to +sustain his companions. All three talked of their sorrow, of their +hopes, and thus passed along the beautiful road by the water-side, and +across the narrow plateau which unites the borders of the lake with the +heights of the Chalais. They soon reached Bouveret, where the Rhone +enters the Lake of Geneva. + +On leaving this town they diverged from the lake, and their weariness +increased amid these mountain districts. Vionnaz, Chesset, Collombay, +half lost villages, were soon left behind. Meanwhile their knees shook, +their feet were lacerated by the sharp points which covered the ground +like a brushwood of granite;—but no trace of Master Zacharius! + +He must be found, however, and the two young people did not seek repose +either in the isolated hamlets or at the château of Monthay, which, +with its dependencies, formed the appanage of Margaret of Savoy. At +last, late in the day, and half dead with fatigue, they reached the +hermitage of Notre-Dame-du-Sex, which is situated at the base of the +Dents-du-Midi, six hundred feet above the Rhone. + +The hermit received the three wanderers as night was falling. They +could not have gone another step, and here they must needs rest. + +The hermit could give them no news of Master Zacharius. They could +scarcely hope to find him still living amid these sad solitudes. The +night was dark, the wind howled amid the mountains, and the avalanches +roared down from the summits of the broken crags. + +Aubert and Gerande, crouching before the hermit’s hearth, told him +their melancholy tale. Their mantles, covered with snow, were drying in +a corner; and without, the hermit’s dog barked lugubriously, and +mingled his voice with that of the tempest. + +“Pride,” said the hermit to his guests, “has destroyed an angel created +for good. It is the stumbling-block against which the destinies of man +strike. You cannot reason with pride, the principal of all the vices, +since, by its very nature, the proud man refuses to listen to it. It +only remains, then, to pray for your father!” + +All four knelt down, when the barking of the dog redoubled, and some +one knocked at the door of the hermitage. + +“Open, in the devil’s name!” + +The door yielded under the blows, and a dishevelled, haggard, +ill-clothed man appeared. + +“My father!” cried Gerande. + +It was Master Zacharius. + +“Where am I?” said he. “In eternity! Time is ended—the hours no longer +strike—the hands have stopped!” + +“Father!” returned Gerande, with so piteous an emotion that the old man +seemed to return to the world of the living. + +“Thou here, Gerande?” he cried; “and thou, Aubert? Ah, my dear +betrothed ones, you are going to be married in our old church!” + +“Father,” said Gerande, seizing him by the arm, “come home to +Geneva,—come with us!” + +The old man tore away from his daughter’s embrace and hurried towards +the door, on the threshold of which the snow was falling in large +flakes. + +“Do not abandon your children!” cried Aubert. + +“Why return,” replied the old man sadly, “to those places which my life +has already quitted, and where a part of myself is for ever buried?” + +“Your soul is not dead,” said the hermit solemnly. + +“My soul? O no,—its wheels are good! I perceive it beating regularly—” + +“Your soul is immaterial,—your soul is immortal!” replied the hermit +sternly. + +“Yes—like my glory! But it is shut up in the château of Andernatt, and +I wish to see it again!” + +The hermit crossed himself; Scholastique became almost inanimate. +Aubert held Gerande in his arms. + +“The château of Andernatt is inhabited by one who is lost,” said the +hermit, “one who does not salute the cross of my hermitage.” + +“My father, go not thither!” + +“I want my soul! My soul is mine—” + +“Hold him! Hold my father!” cried Gerande. + +But the old man had leaped across the threshold, and plunged into the +night, crying, “Mine, mine, my soul!” + +Gerande, Aubert, and Scholastique hastened after him. They went by +difficult paths, across which Master Zacharius sped like a tempest, +urged by an irresistible force. The snow raged around them, and mingled +its white flakes with the froth of the swollen torrents. + +As they passed the chapel erected in memory of the massacre of the +Theban legion, they hurriedly crossed themselves. Master Zacharius was +not to be seen. + +At last the village of Evionnaz appeared in the midst of this sterile +region. The hardest heart would have been moved to see this hamlet, +lost among these horrible solitudes. The old man sped on, and plunged +into the deepest gorge of the Dents-du-Midi, which pierce the sky with +their sharp peaks. + +Soon a ruin, old and gloomy as the rocks at its base, rose before him. + +“It is there—there!” he cried, hastening his pace still more +frantically. + + +[Illustration: “It is there—there!”] + + +The château of Andernatt was a ruin even then. A thick, crumbling tower +rose above it, and seemed to menace with its downfall the old gables +which reared themselves below. The vast piles of jagged stones were +gloomy to look on. Several dark halls appeared amid the debris, with +caved-in ceilings, now become the abode of vipers. + +A low and narrow postern, opening upon a ditch choked with rubbish, +gave access to the château. Who had dwelt there none knew. No doubt +some margrave, half lord, half brigand, had sojourned in it; to the +margrave had succeeded bandits or counterfeit coiners, who had been +hanged on the scene of their crime. The legend went that, on winter +nights, Satan came to lead his diabolical dances on the slope of the +deep gorges in which the shadow of these ruins was engulfed. + +But Master Zacharius was not dismayed by their sinister aspect. He +reached the postern. No one forbade him to pass. A spacious and gloomy +court presented itself to his eyes; no one forbade him to cross it. He +passed along the kind of inclined plane which conducted to one of the +long corridors, whose arches seemed to banish daylight from beneath +their heavy springings. His advance was unresisted. Gerande, Aubert, +and Scholastique closely followed him. + +Master Zacharius, as if guided by an irresistible hand, seemed sure of +his way, and strode along with rapid step. He reached an old worm-eaten +door, which fell before his blows, whilst the bats described oblique +circles around his head. + +An immense hall, better preserved than the rest, was soon reached. High +sculptured panels, on which serpents, ghouls, and other strange figures +seemed to disport themselves confusedly, covered its walls. Several +long and narrow windows, like loopholes, shivered beneath the bursts of +the tempest. + +Master Zacharius, on reaching the middle of this hall, uttered a cry of +joy. + +On an iron support, fastened to the wall, stood the clock in which now +resided his entire life. This unequalled masterpiece represented an +ancient Roman church, with buttresses of wrought iron, with its heavy +bell-tower, where there was a complete chime for the anthem of the day, +the “Angelus,” the mass, vespers, compline, and the benediction. Above +the church door, which opened at the hour of the services, was placed a +“rose,” in the centre of which two hands moved, and the archivault of +which reproduced the twelve hours of the face sculptured in relief. +Between the door and the rose, just as Scholastique had said, a maxim, +relative to the employment of every moment of the day, appeared on a +copper plate. Master Zacharius had once regulated this succession of +devices with a really Christian solicitude; the hours of prayer, of +work, of repast, of recreation, and of repose, followed each other +according to the religious discipline, and were to infallibly insure +salvation to him who scrupulously observed their commands. + +Master Zacharius, intoxicated with joy, went forward to take possession +of the clock, when a frightful roar of laughter resounded behind him. + +He turned, and by the light of a smoky lamp recognized the little old +man of Geneva. + +“You here?” cried he. + +Gerande was afraid. She drew closer to Aubert. + +“Good-day, Master Zacharius,” said the monster. + +“Who are you?” + +“Signor Pittonaccio, at your service! You have come to give me your +daughter! You have remembered my words, ‘Gerande will not wed Aubert.’” + +The young apprentice rushed upon Pittonaccio, who escaped from him like +a shadow. + +“Stop, Aubert!” cried Master Zacharius. + +“Good-night,” said Pittonaccio, and he disappeared. + +“My father, let us fly from this hateful place!” cried Gerande. “My +father!” + +Master Zacharius was no longer there. He was pursuing the phantom of +Pittonaccio across the rickety corridors. Scholastique, Gerande, and +Aubert remained, speechless and fainting, in the large gloomy hall. The +young girl had fallen upon a stone seat; the old servant knelt beside +her, and prayed; Aubert remained erect, watching his betrothed. Pale +lights wandered in the darkness, and the silence was only broken by the +movements of the little animals which live in old wood, and the noise +of which marks the hours of “death watch.” + +When daylight came, they ventured upon the endless staircase which +wound beneath these ruined masses; for two hours they wandered thus +without meeting a living soul, and hearing only a far-off echo +responding to their cries. Sometimes they found themselves buried a +hundred feet below the ground, and sometimes they reached places whence +they could overlook the wild mountains. + +Chance brought them at last back again to the vast hall, which had +sheltered them during this night of anguish. It was no longer empty. +Master Zacharius and Pittonaccio were talking there together, the one +upright and rigid as a corpse, the other crouching over a marble table. + +Master Zacharius, when he perceived Gerande, went forward and took her +by the hand, and led her towards Pittonaccio, saying, “Behold your lord +and master, my daughter. Gerande, behold your husband!” + +Gerande shuddered from head to foot. + +“Never!” cried Aubert, “for she is my betrothed.” + +“Never!” responded Gerande, like a plaintive echo. + +Pittonaccio began to laugh. + +“You wish me to die, then!” exclaimed the old man. “There, in that +clock, the last which goes of all which have gone from my hands, my +life is shut up; and this man tells me, ‘When I have thy daughter, this +clock shall belong to thee.’ And this man will not rewind it. He can +break it, and plunge me into chaos. Ah, my daughter, you no longer love +me!” + +“My father!” murmured Gerande, recovering consciousness. + +“If you knew what I have suffered, far away from this principle of my +existence!” resumed the old man. “Perhaps no one looked after this +timepiece. Perhaps its springs were left to wear out, its wheels to get +clogged. But now, in my own hands, I can nourish this health so dear, +for I must not die,—I, the great watchmaker of Geneva. Look, my +daughter, how these hands advance with certain step. See, five o’clock +is about to strike. Listen well, and look at the maxim which is about +to be revealed.” + +Five o’clock struck with a noise which resounded sadly in Gerande’s +soul, and these words appeared in red letters: + +“YOU MUST EAT OF THE FRUITS OF THE TREE OF SCIENCE.” + + +Aubert and Gerande looked at each other stupefied. These were no longer +the pious sayings of the Catholic watchmaker. The breath of Satan must +have passed over it. But Zacharius paid no attention to this, and +resumed— + +“Dost thou hear, my Gerande? I live, I still live! Listen to my +breathing,—see the blood circulating in my veins! No, thou wouldst not +kill thy father, and thou wilt accept this man for thy husband, so that +I may become immortal, and at last attain the power of God!” + +At these blasphemous words old Scholastique crossed herself, and +Pittonaccio laughed aloud with joy. + +“And then, Gerande, thou wilt be happy with him. See this man,—he is +Time! Thy existence will be regulated with absolute precision. Gerande, +since I gave thee life, give life to thy father!” + + +[Illustration: “See this man,—he is Time!”] + + +“Gerande,” murmured Aubert, “I am thy betrothed.” + +“He is my father!” replied Gerande, fainting. + +“She is thine!” said Master Zacharius. “Pittonaccio, them wilt keep thy +promise!” + +“Here is the key of the clock,” replied the horrible man. + +Master Zacharius seized the long key, which resembled an uncoiled +snake, and ran to the clock, which he hastened to wind up with +fantastic rapidity. The creaking of the spring jarred upon the nerves. +The old watchmaker wound and wound the key, without stopping a moment, +and it seemed as if the movement were beyond his control. He wound more +and more quickly, with strange contortions, until he fell from sheer +weariness. + +“There, it is wound up for a century!” he cried. + +Aubert rushed from the hall as if he were mad. After long wandering, he +found the outlet of the hateful château, and hastened into the open +air. He returned to the hermitage of Notre-Dame-du-Sex, and talked so +despairingly to the holy recluse, that the latter consented to return +with him to the château of Andernatt. + +If, during these hours of anguish, Gerande had not wept, it was because +her tears were exhausted. + +Master Zacharius had not left the hall. He ran every moment to listen +to the regular beating of the old clock. + +Meanwhile the clock had struck, and to Scholastique’s great terror, +these words had appeared on the silver face:— + +“MAN OUGHT TO BECOME THE EQUAL OF GOD.” + + +The old man had not only not been shocked by these impious maxims, but +read them deliriously, and flattered himself with thoughts of pride, +whilst Pittonaccio kept close by him. + +The marriage-contract was to be signed at midnight. Gerande, almost +unconscious, saw or heard nothing. The silence was only broken by the +old man’s words, and the chuckling of Pittonaccio. + +Eleven o’clock struck. Master Zacharius shuddered, and read in a loud +voice:— + +“MAN SHOULD BE THE SLAVE OF SCIENCE, AND SACRIFICE TO IT RELATIVES AND +FAMILY.” + + +“Yes!” he cried, “there is nothing but science in this world!” + +The hands slipped over the face of the clock with the hiss of a +serpent, and the pendulum beat with accelerated strokes. + +Master Zacharius no longer spoke. He had fallen to the floor, his +throat rattled, and from his oppressed bosom came only these +half-broken words: “Life—science!” + +The scene had now two new witnesses, the hermit and Aubert. Master +Zacharius lay upon the floor; Gerande was praying beside him, more dead +than alive. + +Of a sudden a dry, hard noise was heard, which preceded the strike. + +Master Zacharius sprang up. + +“Midnight!” he cried. + +The hermit stretched out his hand towards the old clock,—and midnight +did not sound. + +Master Zacharius uttered a terrible cry, which must have been heard in +hell, when these words appeared:— + +“WHO EVER SHALL ATTEMPT TO MAKE HIMSELF THE EQUAL OF GOD, SHALL BE FOR +EVER DAMNED!” + + +The old clock burst with a noise like thunder, and the spring, +escaping, leaped across the hall with a thousand fantastic contortions; +the old man rose, ran after it, trying in vain to seize it, and +exclaiming, “My soul,—my soul!” + +The spring bounded before him, first on one side, then on the other, +and he could not reach it. + +At last Pittonaccio seized it, and, uttering a horrible blasphemy, +ingulfed himself in the earth. + +Master Zacharius fell backwards. He was dead. + + +[Illustration: He was dead.] + + +The old watchmaker was buried in the midst of the peaks of Andernatt. + +Then Aubert and Gerande returned to Geneva, and during the long life +which God accorded to them, they made it a duty to redeem by prayer the +soul of the castaway of science. + + + + +A DRAMA IN THE AIR. + + +In the month of September, 185—, I arrived at Frankfort-on-the-Maine. +My passage through the principal German cities had been brilliantly +marked by balloon ascents; but as yet no German had accompanied me in +my car, and the fine experiments made at Paris by MM. Green, Eugene +Godard, and Poitevin had not tempted the grave Teutons to essay aerial +voyages. + +But scarcely had the news of my approaching ascent spread through +Frankfort, than three of the principal citizens begged the favour of +being allowed to ascend with me. Two days afterwards we were to start +from the Place de la Comédie. I began at once to get my balloon ready. +It was of silk, prepared with gutta percha, a substance impermeable by +acids or gasses; and its volume, which was three thousand cubic yards, +enabled it to ascend to the loftiest heights. + +The day of the ascent was that of the great September fair, which +attracts so many people to Frankfort. Lighting gas, of a perfect +quality and of great lifting power, had been furnished to me in +excellent condition, and about eleven o’clock the balloon was filled; +but only three-quarters filled,—an indispensable precaution, for, as +one rises, the atmosphere diminishes in density, and the fluid enclosed +within the balloon, acquiring more elasticity, might burst its sides. +My calculations had furnished me with exactly the quantity of gas +necessary to carry up my companions and myself. + +We were to start at noon. The impatient crowd which pressed around the +enclosed space, filling the enclosed square, overflowing into the +contiguous streets, and covering the houses from the ground-floor to +the slated gables, presented a striking scene. The high winds of the +preceding days had subsided. An oppressive heat fell from the cloudless +sky. Scarcely a breath animated the atmosphere. In such weather, one +might descend again upon the very spot whence he had risen. + +I carried three hundred pounds of ballast in bags; the car, quite +round, four feet in diameter, was comfortably arranged; the hempen +cords which supported it stretched symmetrically over the upper +hemisphere of the balloon; the compass was in place, the barometer +suspended in the circle which united the supporting cords, and the +anchor carefully put in order. All was now ready for the ascent. + +Among those who pressed around the enclosure, I remarked a young man +with a pale face and agitated features. The sight of him impressed me. +He was an eager spectator of my ascents, whom I had already met in +several German cities. With an uneasy air, he closely watched the +curious machine, as it lay motionless a few feet above the ground; and +he remained silent among those about him. + +Twelve o’clock came. The moment had arrived, but my travelling +companions did not appear. + +I sent to their houses, and learnt that one had left for Hamburg, +another for Vienna, and the third for London. Their courage had failed +them at the moment of undertaking one of those excursions which, thanks +to the ability of living aeronauts, are free from all danger. As they +formed, in some sort, a part of the programme of the day, the fear had +seized them that they might be forced to execute it faithfully, and +they had fled far from the scene at the instant when the balloon was +being filled. Their courage was evidently the inverse ratio of their +speed—in decamping. + +The multitude, half deceived, showed not a little ill-humour. I did not +hesitate to ascend alone. In order to re-establish the equilibrium +between the specific gravity of the balloon and the weight which had +thus proved wanting, I replaced my companions by more sacks of sand, +and got into the car. The twelve men who held the balloon by twelve +cords fastened to the equatorial circle, let them slip a little between +their fingers, and the balloon rose several feet higher. There was not +a breath of wind, and the atmosphere was so leaden that it seemed to +forbid the ascent. + +“Is everything ready?” I cried. + +The men put themselves in readiness. A last glance told me that I might +go. + +“Attention!” + +There was a movement in the crowd, which seemed to be invading the +enclosure. + +“Let go!” + +The balloon rose slowly, but I experienced a shock which threw me to +the bottom of the car. + +When I got up, I found myself face to face with an unexpected +fellow-voyager,—the pale young man. + +“Monsieur, I salute you,” said he, with the utmost coolness. + + +[Illustration: “Monsieur, I salute you,”] + + +“By what right—” + +“Am I here? By the right which the impossibility of your getting rid of +me confers.” + +I was amazed! His calmness put me out of countenance, and I had nothing +to reply. I looked at the intruder, but he took no notice of my +astonishment. + +“Does my weight disarrange your equilibrium, monsieur?” he asked. “You +will permit me—” + +And without waiting for my consent, he relieved the balloon of two +bags, which he threw into space. + +“Monsieur,” said I, taking the only course now possible, “you have +come; very well, you will remain; but to me alone belongs the +management of the balloon.” + +“Monsieur,” said he, “your urbanity is French all over: it comes from +my own country. I morally press the hand you refuse me. Make all +precautions, and act as seems best to you. I will wait till you have +done—” + +“For what?” + +“To talk with you.” + +The barometer had fallen to twenty-six inches. We were nearly six +hundred yards above the city; but nothing betrayed the horizontal +displacement of the balloon, for the mass of air in which it is +enclosed goes forward with it. A sort of confused glow enveloped the +objects spread out under us, and unfortunately obscured their outline. + +I examined my companion afresh. + +He was a man of thirty years, simply clad. The sharpness of his +features betrayed an indomitable energy, and he seemed very muscular. +Indifferent to the astonishment he created, he remained motionless, +trying to distinguish the objects which were vaguely confused below us. + +“Miserable mist!” said he, after a few moments. + +I did not reply. + +“You owe me a grudge?” he went on. “Bah! I could not pay for my +journey, and it was necessary to take you by surprise.” + +“Nobody asks you to descend, monsieur!” + +“Eh, do you not know, then, that the same thing happened to the Counts +of Laurencin and Dampierre, when they ascended at Lyons, on the 15th of +January, 1784? A young merchant, named Fontaine, scaled the gallery, at +the risk of capsizing the machine. He accomplished the journey, and +nobody died of it!” + +“Once on the ground, we will have an explanation,” replied I, piqued at +the light tone in which he spoke. + +“Bah! Do not let us think of our return.” + +“Do you think, then, that I shall not hasten to descend?” + +“Descend!” said he, in surprise. “Descend? Let us begin by first +ascending.” + +And before I could prevent it, two more bags had been thrown over the +car, without even having been emptied. + +“Monsieur!” cried I, in a rage. + + +[Illustration: “Monsieur!” cried I, in a rage.] + + +“I know your ability,” replied the unknown quietly, “and your fine +ascents are famous. But if Experience is the sister of Practice, she is +also a cousin of Theory, and I have studied the aerial art long. It has +got into my head!” he added sadly, falling into a silent reverie. + +The balloon, having risen some distance farther, now became stationary. +The unknown consulted the barometer, and said,— + +“Here we are, at eight hundred yards. Men are like insects. See! I +think we should always contemplate them from this height, to judge +correctly of their proportions. The Place de la Comédie is transformed +into an immense ant-hill. Observe the crowd which is gathered on the +quays; and the mountains also get smaller and smaller. We are over the +Cathedral. The Main is only a line, cutting the city in two, and the +bridge seems a thread thrown between the two banks of the river.” + +The atmosphere became somewhat chilly. + +“There is nothing I would not do for you, my host,” said the unknown. +“If you are cold, I will take off my coat and lend it to you.” + +“Thanks,” said I dryly. + +“Bah! Necessity makes law. Give me your hand. I am your +fellow-countryman; you will learn something in my company, and my +conversation will indemnify you for the trouble I have given you.” + +I sat down, without replying, at the opposite extremity of the car. The +young man had taken a voluminous manuscript from his great-coat. It was +an essay on ballooning. + +“I possess,” said he, “the most curious collection of engravings and +caricatures extant concerning aerial manias. How people admired and +scoffed at the same time at this precious discovery! We are happily no +longer in the age in which Montgolfier tried to make artificial clouds +with steam, or a gas having electrical properties, produced by the +combustion of moist straw and chopped-up wool.” + +“Do you wish to depreciate the talent of the inventors?” I asked, for I +had resolved to enter into the adventure. “Was it not good to have +proved by experience the possibility of rising in the air?” + +“Ah, monsieur, who denies the glory of the first aerial navigators? It +required immense courage to rise by means of those frail envelopes +which only contained heated air. But I ask you, has the aerial science +made great progress since Blanchard’s ascensions, that is, since nearly +a century ago? Look here, monsieur.” + +The unknown took an engraving from his portfolio. + +“Here,” said he, “is the first aerial voyage undertaken by Pilâtre des +Rosiers and the Marquis d’Arlandes, four months after the discovery of +balloons. Louis XVI. refused to consent to the venture, and two men who +were condemned to death were the first to attempt the aerial ascent. +Pilâtre des Rosiers became indignant at this injustice, and, by means +of intrigues, obtained permission to make the experiment. The car, +which renders the management easy, had not then been invented, and a +circular gallery was placed around the lower and contracted part of the +Montgolfier balloon. The two aeronauts must then remain motionless at +each extremity of this gallery, for the moist straw which filled it +forbade them all motion. A chafing-dish with fire was suspended below +the orifice of the balloon; when the aeronauts wished to rise, they +threw straw upon this brazier, at the risk of setting fire to the +balloon, and the air, more heated, gave it fresh ascending power. The +two bold travellers rose, on the 21st of November, 1783, from the +Muette Gardens, which the dauphin had put at their disposal. The +balloon went up majestically, passed over the Isle of Swans, crossed +the Seine at the Conference barrier, and, drifting between the dome of +the Invalides and the Military School, approached the Church of Saint +Sulpice. Then the aeronauts added to the fire, crossed the Boulevard, +and descended beyond the Enfer barrier. As it touched the soil, the +balloon collapsed, and for a few moments buried Pilâtre des Rosiers +under its folds.” + +“Unlucky augury,” I said, interested in the story, which affected me +nearly. + +“An augury of the catastrophe which was later to cost this unfortunate +man his life,” replied the unknown sadly. “Have you never experienced +anything like it?” + +“Never,” + +“Bah! Misfortunes sometimes occur unforeshadowed!” added my companion. + +He then remained silent. + +Meanwhile we were advancing southward, and Frankfort had already passed +from beneath us. + +“Perhaps we shall have a storm,” said the young man. + +“We shall descend before that,” I replied. + +“Indeed! It is better to ascend. We shall escape it more surely.” + +And two more bags of sand were hurled into space. + +The balloon rose rapidly, and stopped at twelve hundred yards. I became +colder; and yet the sun’s rays, falling upon the surface, expanded the +gas within, and gave it a greater ascending force. + +“Fear nothing,” said the unknown. “We have still three thousand five +hundred fathoms of breathing air. Besides, do not trouble yourself +about what I do.” + +I would have risen, but a vigorous hand held me to my seat. + +“Your name?” I asked. + +“My name? What matters it to you?” + +“I demand your name!” + +“My name is Erostratus or Empedocles, whichever you choose!” + +This reply was far from reassuring. + +The unknown, besides, talked with such strange coolness that I +anxiously asked myself whom I had to deal with. + +“Monsieur,” he continued, “nothing original has been imagined since the +physicist Charles. Four months after the discovery of balloons, this +able man had invented the valve, which permits the gas to escape when +the balloon is too full, or when you wish to descend; the car, which +aids the management of the machine; the netting, which holds the +envelope of the balloon, and divides the weight over its whole surface; +the ballast, which enables you to ascend, and to choose the place of +your landing; the india-rubber coating, which renders the tissue +impermeable; the barometer, which shows the height attained. Lastly, +Charles used hydrogen, which, fourteen times lighter than air, permits +you to penetrate to the highest atmospheric regions, and does not +expose you to the dangers of a combustion in the air. On the 1st of +December, 1783, three hundred thousand spectators were crowded around +the Tuileries. Charles rose, and the soldiers presented arms to him. He +travelled nine leagues in the air, conducting his balloon with an +ability not surpassed by modern aeronauts. The king awarded him a +pension of two thousand livres; for then they encouraged new +inventions.” + +The unknown now seemed to be under the influence of considerable +agitation. + +“Monsieur,” he resumed, “I have studied this, and I am convinced that +the first aeronauts guided their balloons. Without speaking of +Blanchard, whose assertions may be received with doubt, +Guyton-Morveaux, by the aid of oars and rudder, made his machine answer +to the helm, and take the direction he determined on. More recently, M. +Julien, a watchmaker, made some convincing experiments at the +Hippodrome, in Paris; for, by a special mechanism, his aerial +apparatus, oblong in form, went visibly against the wind. It occurred +to M. Petin to place four hydrogen balloons together; and, by means of +sails hung horizontally and partly folded, he hopes to be able to +disturb the equilibrium, and, thus inclining the apparatus, to convey +it in an oblique direction. They speak, also, of forces to overcome the +resistance of currents,—for instance, the screw; but the screw, working +on a moveable centre, will give no result. I, monsieur, have discovered +the only means of guiding balloons; and no academy has come to my aid, +no city has filled up subscriptions for me, no government has thought +fit to listen to me! It is infamous!” + +The unknown gesticulated fiercely, and the car underwent violent +oscillations. I had much trouble in calming him. + +Meanwhile the balloon had entered a more rapid current, and we advanced +south, at fifteen hundred yards above the earth. + +“See, there is Darmstadt,” said my companion, leaning over the car. “Do +you perceive the château? Not very distinctly, eh? What would you have? +The heat of the storm makes the outline of objects waver, and you must +have a skilled eye to recognize localities.” + +“Are you certain it is Darmstadt?” I asked. + +“I am sure of it. We are now six leagues from Frankfort.” + +“Then we must descend.” + +“Descend! You would not go down, on the steeples,” said the unknown, +with a chuckle. + +“No, but in the suburbs of the city.” + +“Well, let us avoid the steeples!” + +So speaking, my companion seized some bags of ballast. I hastened to +prevent him; but he overthrew me with one hand, and the unballasted +balloon ascended to two thousand yards. + +“Rest easy,” said he, “and do not forget that Brioschi, Biot, +Gay-Lussac, Bixio, and Barral ascended to still greater heights to make +their scientific experiments.” + +“Monsieur, we must descend,” I resumed, trying to persuade him by +gentleness. “The storm is gathering around us. It would be more +prudent—” + +“Bah! We will mount higher than the storm, and then we shall no longer +fear it!” cried my companion. “What is nobler than to overlook the +clouds which oppress the earth? Is it not an honour thus to navigate on +aerial billows? The greatest men have travelled as we are doing. The +Marchioness and Countess de Montalembert, the Countess of Podenas, +Mademoiselle la Garde, the Marquis de Montalembert, rose from the +Faubourg Saint-Antoine for these unknown regions, and the Duke de +Chartres exhibited much skill and presence of mind in his ascent on the +15th of July, 1784. At Lyons, the Counts of Laurencin and Dampierre; at +Nantes, M. de Luynes; at Bordeaux, D’Arbelet des Granges; in Italy, the +Chevalier Andreani; in our own time, the Duke of Brunswick,—have all +left the traces of their glory in the air. To equal these great +personages, we must penetrate still higher than they into the celestial +depths! To approach the infinite is to comprehend it!” + +The rarefaction of the air was fast expanding the hydrogen in the +balloon, and I saw its lower part, purposely left empty, swell out, so +that it was absolutely necessary to open the valve; but my companion +did not seem to intend that I should manage the balloon as I wished. I +then resolved to pull the valve cord secretly, as he was excitedly +talking; for I feared to guess with whom I had to deal. It would have +been too horrible! It was nearly a quarter before one. We had been gone +forty minutes from Frankfort; heavy clouds were coming against the wind +from the south, and seemed about to burst upon us. + +“Have you lost all hope of succeeding in your project?” I asked with +anxious interest. + +“All hope!” exclaimed the unknown in a low voice. “Wounded by slights +and caricatures, these asses’ kicks have finished me! It is the eternal +punishment reserved for innovators! Look at these caricatures of all +periods, of which my portfolio is full.” + +While my companion was fumbling with his papers, I had seized the +valve-cord without his perceiving it. I feared, however, that he might +hear the hissing noise, like a water-course, which the gas makes in +escaping. + +“How many jokes were made about the Abbé Miolan!” said he. “He was to +go up with Janninet and Bredin. During the filling their balloon caught +fire, and the ignorant populace tore it in pieces! Then this caricature +of ‘curious animals’ appeared, giving each of them a punning nickname.” + +I pulled the valve-cord, and the barometer began to ascend. It was +time. Some far-off rumblings were heard in the south. + +“Here is another engraving,” resumed the unknown, not suspecting what I +was doing. “It is an immense balloon carrying a ship, strong castles, +houses, and so on. The caricaturists did not suspect that their follies +would one day become truths. It is complete, this large vessel. On the +left is its helm, with the pilot’s box; at the prow are +pleasure-houses, an immense organ, and a cannon to call the attention +of the inhabitants of the earth or the moon; above the poop there are +the observatory and the balloon long-boat; in the equatorial circle, +the army barrack; on the left, the funnel; then the upper galleries for +promenading, sails, pinions; below, the cafés and general storehouse. +Observe this pompous announcement: ‘Invented for the happiness of the +human race, this globe will depart at once for the ports of the Levant, +and on its return the programme of its voyages to the two poles and the +extreme west will be announced. No one need furnish himself with +anything; everything is foreseen, and all will prosper. There will be a +uniform price for all places of destination, but it will be the same +for the most distant countries of our hemisphere—that is to say, a +thousand louis for one of any of the said journeys. And it must be +confessed that this sum is very moderate, when the speed, comfort, and +arrangements which will be enjoyed on the balloon are +considered—arrangements which are not to be found on land, while on the +balloon each passenger may consult his own habits and tastes. This is +so true that in the same place some will be dancing, others standing; +some will be enjoying delicacies; others fasting. Whoever desires the +society of wits may satisfy himself; whoever is stupid may find stupid +people to keep him company. Thus pleasure will be the soul of the +aerial company.’ All this provoked laughter; but before long, if I am +not cut off, they will see it all realized.” + +We were visibly descending. He did not perceive it! + +“This kind of ‘game at balloons,’” he resumed, spreading out before me +some of the engravings of his valuable collection, “this game contains +the entire history of the aerostatic art. It is used by elevated minds, +and is played with dice and counters, with whatever stakes you like, to +be paid or received according to where the player arrives.” + +“Why,” said I, “you seem to have studied the science of aerostation +profoundly.” + +“Yes, monsieur, yes! From Phaethon, Icarus, Architas, I have searched +for, examined, learnt everything. I could render immense services to +the world in this art, if God granted me life. But that will not be!” + +“Why?” + +“Because my name is Empedocles, or Erostratus.” + +Meanwhile, the balloon was happily approaching the earth; but when one +is falling, the danger is as great at a hundred feet as at five +thousand. + +“Do you recall the battle of Fleurus?” resumed my companion, whose face +became more and more animated. “It was at that battle that Contello, by +order of the Government, organized a company of balloonists. At the +siege of Manbenge General Jourdan derived so much service from this new +method of observation that Contello ascended twice a day with the +general himself. The communications between the aeronaut and his agents +who held the balloon were made by means of small white, red, and yellow +flags. Often the gun and cannon shot were directed upon the balloon +when he ascended, but without result. When General Jourdan was +preparing to invest Charleroi, Contello went into the vicinity, +ascended from the plain of Jumet, and continued his observations for +seven or eight hours with General Morlot, and this no doubt aided in +giving us the victory of Fleurus. General Jourdan publicly acknowledged +the help which the aeronautical observations had afforded him. Well, +despite the services rendered on that occasion and during the Belgian +campaign, the year which had seen the beginning of the military career +of balloons saw also its end. The school of Meudon, founded by the +Government, was closed by Buonaparte on his return from Egypt. And now, +what can you expect from the new-born infant? as Franklin said. The +infant was born alive; it should not be stifled!” + + +[Illustration: “He continued his observations for seven or eight +hours with General Morlot”] + + +The unknown bowed his head in his hands, and reflected for some +moments; then raising his head, he said,— + +“Despite my prohibition, monsieur, you have opened the valve.” + +I dropped the cord. + +“Happily,” he resumed, “we have still three hundred pounds of ballast.” + +“What is your purpose?” said I. + +“Have you ever crossed the seas?” he asked. + +I turned pale. + +“It is unfortunate,” he went on, “that we are being driven towards the +Adriatic. That is only a stream; but higher up we may find other +currents.” + +And, without taking any notice of me, he threw over several bags of +sand; then, in a menacing voice, he said,— + +“I let you open the valve because the expansion of the gas threatened +to burst the balloon; but do not do it again!” + +Then he went on as follows:— + +“You remember the voyage of Blanchard and Jeffries from Dover to +Calais? It was magnificent! On the 7th of January, 1785, there being a +north-west wind, their balloon was inflated with gas on the Dover +coast. A mistake of equilibrium, just as they were ascending, forced +them to throw out their ballast so that they might not go down again, +and they only kept thirty pounds. It was too little; for, as the wind +did not freshen, they only advanced very slowly towards the French +coast. Besides, the permeability of the tissue served to reduce the +inflation little by little, and in an hour and a half the aeronauts +perceived that they were descending. + +“‘What shall we do?’ said Jeffries. + +“‘We are only one quarter of the way over,’ replied Blanchard, ‘and +very low down. On rising, we shall perhaps meet more favourable winds.’ + +“‘Let us throw out the rest of the sand.’ + +“The balloon acquired some ascending force, but it soon began to +descend again. Towards the middle of the transit the aeronauts threw +over their books and tools. A quarter of an hour after, Blanchard said +to Jeffries,— + +“‘The barometer?’ + +“‘It is going up! We are lost, and yet there is the French coast.’ + +“A loud noise was heard. + +“‘Has the balloon burst?’ asked Jeffries. + +“‘No. The loss of the gas has reduced the inflation of the lower part +of the balloon. But we are still descending. We are lost! Out with +everything useless!’ + +“Provisions, oars, and rudder were thrown into the sea. The aeronauts +were only one hundred yards high. + +“‘We are going up again,’ said the doctor. + +“‘No. It is the spurt caused by the diminution of the weight, and not a +ship in sight, not a bark on the horizon! To the sea with our +clothing!’ + +“The unfortunates stripped themselves, but the balloon continued to +descend. + +“‘Blanchard,’ said Jeffries, ‘you should have made this voyage alone; +you consented to take me; I will sacrifice myself! I am going to throw +myself into the water, and the balloon, relieved of my weight, will +mount again.’ + +“‘No, no! It is frightful!’ + +“The balloon became less and less inflated, and as it doubled up its +concavity pressed the gas against the sides, and hastened its downward +course. + + +[Illustration: The balloon became less and less inflated] + + +“‘Adieu, my friend,” said the doctor. ‘God preserve you!’ + +“He was about to throw himself over, when Blanchard held him back. + +“‘There is one more chance,’ said he. ‘We can cut the cords which hold +the car, and cling to the net! Perhaps the balloon will rise. Let us +hold ourselves ready. But—the barometer is going down! The wind is +freshening! We are saved!’ + +“The aeronauts perceived Calais. Their joy was delirious. A few moments +more, and they had fallen in the forest of Guines. I do not doubt,” +added the unknown, “that, under similar circumstances, you would have +followed Doctor Jeffries’ example!” + +The clouds rolled in glittering masses beneath us. The balloon threw +large shadows on this heap of clouds, and was surrounded as by an +aureola. The thunder rumbled below the car. All this was terrifying. + +“Let us descend!” I cried. + +“Descend, when the sun is up there, waiting for us? Out with more +bags!” + +And more than fifty pounds of ballast were cast over. + +At a height of three thousand five hundred yards we remained +stationary. + +The unknown talked unceasingly. I was in a state of complete +prostration, while he seemed to be in his element. + +“With a good wind, we shall go far,” he cried. “In the Antilles there +are currents of air which have a speed of a hundred leagues an hour. +When Napoleon was crowned, Garnerin sent up a balloon with coloured +lamps, at eleven o’clock at night. The wind was blowing +north-north-west. The next morning, at daybreak, the inhabitants of +Rome greeted its passage over the dome of St. Peter’s. We shall go +farther and higher!” + +I scarcely heard him. Everything whirled around me. An opening appeared +in the clouds. + +“See that city,” said the unknown. “It is Spires!” + +I leaned over the car and perceived a small blackish mass. It was +Spires. The Rhine, which is so large, seemed an unrolled ribbon. The +sky was a deep blue over our heads. The birds had long abandoned us, +for in that rarefied air they could not have flown. We were alone in +space, and I in presence of this unknown! + +“It is useless for you to know whither I am leading you,” he said, as +he threw the compass among the clouds. “Ah! a fall is a grand thing! +You know that but few victims of ballooning are to be reckoned, from +Pilâtre des Rosiers to Lieutenant Gale, and that the accidents have +always been the result of imprudence. Pilâtre des Rosiers set out with +Romain of Boulogne, on the 13th of June, 1785. To his gas balloon he +had affixed a Montgolfier apparatus of hot air, so as to dispense, no +doubt, with the necessity of losing gas or throwing out ballast. It was +putting a torch under a powder-barrel. When they had ascended four +hundred yards, and were taken by opposing winds, they were driven over +the open sea. Pilâtre, in order to descend, essayed to open the valve, +but the valve-cord became entangled in the balloon, and tore it so +badly that it became empty in an instant. It fell upon the Montgolfier +apparatus, overturned it, and dragged down the unfortunates, who were +soon shattered to pieces! It is frightful, is it not?” + +I could only reply, “For pity’s sake, let us descend!” + +The clouds gathered around us on every side, and dreadful detonations, +which reverberated in the cavity of the balloon, took place beneath us. + +“You provoke me,” cried the unknown, “and you shall no longer know +whether we are rising or falling!” + +The barometer went the way of the compass, accompanied by several more +bags of sand. We must have been 5000 yards high. Some icicles had +already attached themselves to the sides of the car, and a kind of fine +snow seemed to penetrate to my very bones. Meanwhile a frightful +tempest was raging under us, but we were above it. + +“Do not be afraid,” said the unknown. “It is only the imprudent who are +lost. Olivari, who perished at Orleans, rose in a paper ‘Montgolfier;’ +his car, suspended below the chafing-dish, and ballasted with +combustible materials, caught fire; Olivari fell, and was killed! +Mosment rose, at Lille, on a light tray; an oscillation disturbed his +equilibrium; Mosment fell, and was killed! Bittorf, at Mannheim, saw +his balloon catch fire in the air; and he, too, fell, and was killed! +Harris rose in a badly constructed balloon, the valve of which was too +large and would not shut; Harris fell, and was killed! Sadler, deprived +of ballast by his long sojourn in the air, was dragged over the town of +Boston and dashed against the chimneys; Sadler fell, and was killed! +Cokling descended with a convex parachute which he pretended to have +perfected; Cokling fell, and was killed! Well, I love them, these +victims of their own imprudence, and I shall die as they did. Higher! +still higher!” + +All the phantoms of this necrology passed before my eyes. The +rarefaction of the air and the sun’s rays added to the expansion of the +gas, and the balloon continued to mount. I tried mechanically to open +the valve, but the unknown cut the cord several feet above my head. I +was lost! + +“Did you see Madame Blanchard fall?” said he. “I saw her; yes, I! I was +at Tivoli on the 6th of July, 1819. Madame Blanchard rose in a small +sized balloon, to avoid the expense of filling, and she was forced to +entirely inflate it. The gas leaked out below, and left a regular train +of hydrogen in its path. She carried with her a sort of pyrotechnic +aureola, suspended below her car by a wire, which she was to set off in +the air. This she had done many times before. On this day she also +carried up a small parachute ballasted by a firework contrivance, that +would go off in a shower of silver. She was to start this contrivance +after having lighted it with a port-fire made on purpose. She set out; +the night was gloomy. At the moment of lighting her fireworks she was +so imprudent as to pass the taper under the column of hydrogen which +was leaking from the balloon. My eyes were fixed upon her. Suddenly an +unexpected gleam lit up the darkness. I thought she was preparing a +surprise. The light flashed out, suddenly disappeared and reappeared, +and gave the summit of the balloon the shape of an immense jet of +ignited gas. This sinister glow shed itself over the Boulevard and the +whole Montmartre quarter. Then I saw the unhappy woman rise, try twice +to close the appendage of the balloon, so as to put out the fire, then +sit down in her car and try to guide her descent; for she did not fall. +The combustion of the gas lasted for several minutes. The balloon, +becoming gradually less, continued to descend, but it was not a fall. +The wind blew from the north-west and drove it towards Paris. There +were then some large gardens just by the house No. 16, Rue de Provence. +Madame Blanchard essayed to fall there without danger: but the balloon +and the car struck on the roof of the house with a light shock. ‘Save +me!’ cried the wretched woman. I got into the street at this moment. +The car slid along the roof, and encountered an iron cramp. At this +concussion, Madame Blanchard was thrown out of her car and precipitated +upon the pavement. She was killed!” + +These stories froze me with horror. The unknown was standing with bare +head, dishevelled hair, haggard eyes! + +There was no longer any illusion possible. I at last recognized the +horrible truth. I was in the presence of a madman! + +He threw out the rest of the ballast, and we must have now reached a +height of at least nine thousand yards. Blood spurted from my nose and +mouth! + +“Who are nobler than the martyrs of science?” cried the lunatic. “They +are canonized by posterity.” + +But I no longer heard him. He looked about him, and, bending down to my +ear, muttered,— + +“And have you forgotten Zambecarri’s catastrophe? Listen. On the 7th of +October, 1804, the clouds seemed to lift a little. On the preceding +days, the wind and rain had not ceased; but the announced ascension of +Zambecarri could not be postponed. His enemies were already bantering +him. It was necessary to ascend, to save the science and himself from +becoming a public jest. It was at Boulogne. No one helped him to +inflate his balloon. + +“He rose at midnight, accompanied by Andreoli and Grossetti. The +balloon mounted slowly, for it had been perforated by the rain, and the +gas was leaking out. The three intrepid aeronauts could only observe +the state of the barometer by aid of a dark lantern. Zambecarri had +eaten nothing for twenty-four hours. Grossetti was also fasting. + +“‘My friends,’ said Zambecarri, ‘I am overcome by cold, and exhausted. +I am dying.’ + +“He fell inanimate in the gallery. It was the same with Grossetti. +Andreoli alone remained conscious. After long efforts, he succeeded in +reviving Zambecarri. + +“‘What news? Whither are we going? How is the wind? What time is it?’ + +“‘It is two o’clock.’ + +“‘Where is the compass?’ + +“‘Upset!’ + +“‘Great God! The lantern has gone out!’ + +“‘It cannot burn in this rarefied air,’ said Zambecarri. + +“The moon had not risen, and the atmosphere was plunged in murky +darkness. + +“‘I am cold, Andreoli. What shall I do?’ + +“They slowly descended through a layer of whitish clouds. + +“‘Sh!’ said Andreoli. ‘Do you hear?’ + +“‘What?’ asked Zambecarri. + +“‘A strange noise.’ + +“‘You are mistaken.’ + +“‘No.’ + +“Consider these travellers, in the middle of the night, listening to +that unaccountable noise! Are they going to knock against a tower? Are +they about to be precipitated on the roofs? + +“‘Do you hear? One would say it was the noise of the sea.’ + +“‘Impossible!’ + +“‘It is the groaning of the waves!’ + +“‘It is true.’ + +“‘Light! light!’ + +“After five fruitless attempts, Andreoli succeeded in obtaining light. +It was three o’clock. + +“The voice of violent waves was heard. They were almost touching the +surface of the sea! + +“‘We are lost!’ cried Zambecarri, seizing a large bag of sand. + +“‘Help!’ cried Andreoli. + +“The car touched the water, and the waves came up to their breasts. + +“‘Throw out the instruments, clothes, money!’ + +“The aeronauts completely stripped themselves. The balloon, relieved, +rose with frightful rapidity. Zambecarri was taken with vomiting. +Grossetti bled profusely. The unfortunate men could not speak, so short +was their breathing. They were taken with cold, and they were soon +crusted over with ice. The moon looked as red as blood. + +“After traversing the high regions for a half-hour, the balloon again +fell into the sea. It was four in the morning. They were half submerged +in the water, and the balloon dragged them along, as if under sail, for +several hours. + +“At daybreak they found themselves opposite Pesaro, four miles from the +coast. They were about to reach it, when a gale blew them back into the +open sea. They were lost! The frightened boats fled at their approach. +Happily, a more intelligent boatman accosted them, hoisted them on +board, and they landed at Ferrada. + +“A frightful journey, was it not? But Zambecarri was a brave and +energetic man. Scarcely recovered from his sufferings, he resumed his +ascensions. During one of them he struck against a tree; his +spirit-lamp was broken on his clothes; he was enveloped in fire, his +balloon began to catch the flames, and he came down half consumed. + +“At last, on the 21st of September, 1812, he made another ascension at +Boulogne. The balloon clung to a tree, and his lamp again set it on +fire. Zambecarri fell, and was killed! And in presence of these facts, +we would still hesitate! No. The higher we go, the more glorious will +be our death!” + + +[Illustration: “Zambecarri fell, and was killed!”] + + +The balloon being now entirely relieved of ballast and of all it +contained, we were carried to an enormous height. It vibrated in the +atmosphere. The least noise resounded in the vaults of heaven. Our +globe, the only object which caught my view in immensity, seemed ready +to be annihilated, and above us the depths of the starry skies were +lost in thick darkness. + +I saw my companion rise up before me. + +“The hour is come!” he said. “We must die. We are rejected of men. They +despise us. Let us crush them!” + +“Mercy!” I cried. + +“Let us cut these cords! Let this car be abandoned in space. The +attractive force will change its direction, and we shall approach the +sun!” + +Despair galvanized me. I threw myself upon the madman, we struggled +together, and a terrible conflict took place. But I was thrown down, +and while he held me under his knee, the madman was cutting the cords +of the car. + +“One!” he cried. + +“My God!” + +“Two! Three!” + +I made a superhuman effort, rose up, and violently repulsed the madman. + +“Four!” + +The car fell, but I instinctively clung to the cords and hoisted myself +into the meshes of the netting. + +The madman disappeared in space! + + +[Illustration: The madman disappeared in space!] + + +The balloon was raised to an immeasurable height. A horrible cracking +was heard. The gas, too much dilated, had burst the balloon. I shut my +eyes— + +Some instants after, a damp warmth revived me. I was in the midst of +clouds on fire. The balloon turned over with dizzy velocity. Taken by +the wind, it made a hundred leagues an hour in a horizontal course, the +lightning flashing around it. + +Meanwhile my fall was not a very rapid one. When I opened my eyes, I +saw the country. I was two miles from the sea, and the tempest was +driving me violently towards it, when an abrupt shock forced me to +loosen my hold. My hands opened, a cord slipped swiftly between my +fingers, and I found myself on the solid earth! + +It was the cord of the anchor, which, sweeping along the surface of the +ground, was caught in a crevice; and my balloon, unballasted for the +last time, careered off to lose itself beyond the sea. + +When I came to myself, I was in bed in a peasant’s cottage, at +Harderwick, a village of La Gueldre, fifteen leagues from Amsterdam, on +the shores of the Zuyder-Zee. + +A miracle had saved my life, but my voyage had been a series of +imprudences, committed by a lunatic, and I had not been able to prevent +them. + +May this terrible narrative, though instructing those who read it, not +discourage the explorers of the air. + + + + +A WINTER AMID THE ICE + + + + +CHAPTER I +THE BLACK FLAG + + +The curé of the ancient church of Dunkirk rose at five o’clock on the +12th of May, 18—, to perform, according to his custom, low mass for the +benefit of a few pious sinners. + +Attired in his priestly robes, he was about to proceed to the altar, +when a man entered the sacristy, at once joyous and frightened. He was +a sailor of some sixty years, but still vigorous and sturdy, with, an +open, honest countenance. + +“Monsieur the curé,” said he, “stop a moment, if you please.” + + +[Illustration: “Monsieur the curé,” said he, “stop a moment, if you +please.”] + + +“What do you want so early in the morning, Jean Cornbutte?” asked the +curé. + +“What do I want? Why, to embrace you in my arms, i’ faith!” + +“Well, after the mass at which you are going to be present—” + +“The mass?” returned the old sailor, laughing. “Do you think you are +going to say your mass now, and that I will let you do so?” + +“And why should I not say my mass?” asked the curé. “Explain yourself. +The third bell has sounded—” + +“Whether it has or not,” replied Jean Cornbutte, “it will sound many +more times to-day, monsieur the curé, for you have promised me that you +will bless, with your own hands, the marriage of my son Louis and my +niece Marie!” + +“He has arrived, then,” said the curé “joyfully. + +“It is nearly the same thing,” replied Cornbutte, rubbing his hands. +“Our brig was signalled from the look out at sunrise,—our brig, which +you yourself christened by the good name of the ‘Jeune-Hardie’!” + +“I congratulate you with all my heart, Cornbutte,” said the curé, +taking off his chasuble and stole. “I remember our agreement. The vicar +will take my place, and I will put myself at your disposal against your +dear son’s arrival.” + +“And I promise you that he will not make you fast long,” replied the +sailor. “You have already published the banns, and you will only have +to absolve him from the sins he may have committed between sky and +water, in the Northern Ocean. I had a good idea, that the marriage +should be celebrated the very day he arrived, and that my son Louis +should leave his ship to repair at once to the church.” + +“Go, then, and arrange everything, Cornbutte.” + +“I fly, monsieur the curé. Good morning!” + +The sailor hastened with rapid steps to his house, which stood on the +quay, whence could be seen the Northern Ocean, of which he seemed so +proud. + +Jean Cornbutte had amassed a comfortable sum at his calling. After +having long commanded the vessels of a rich shipowner of Havre, he had +settled down in his native town, where he had caused the brig +“Jeune-Hardie” to be constructed at his own expense. Several successful +voyages had been made in the North, and the ship always found a good +sale for its cargoes of wood, iron, and tar. Jean Cornbutte then gave +up the command of her to his son Louis, a fine sailor of thirty, who, +according to all the coasting captains, was the boldest mariner in +Dunkirk. + +Louis Cornbutte had gone away deeply attached to Marie, his father’s +niece, who found the time of his absence very long and weary. Marie was +scarcely twenty. She was a pretty Flemish girl, with some Dutch blood +in her veins. Her mother, when she was dying, had confided her to her +brother, Jean Cornbutte. The brave old sailor loved her as a daughter, +and saw in her proposed union with Louis a source of real and durable +happiness. + +The arrival of the ship, already signalled off the coast, completed an +important business operation, from which Jean Cornbutte expected large +profits. The “Jeune-Hardie,” which had left three months before, came +last from Bodoë, on the west coast of Norway, and had made a quick +voyage thence. + +On returning home, Jean Cornbutte found the whole house alive. Marie, +with radiant face, had assumed her wedding-dress. + +“I hope the ship will not arrive before we are ready!” she said. + +“Hurry, little one,” replied Jean Cornbutte, “for the wind is north, +and she sails well, you know, when she goes freely.” + +“Have our friends been told, uncle?” asked Marie. + +“They have.” + +“The notary, and the curé?” + +“Rest easy. You alone are keeping us waiting.” + +At this moment Clerbaut, an old crony, came in. + +“Well, old Cornbutte,” cried he, “here’s luck! Your ship has arrived at +the very moment that the government has decided to contract for a large +quantity of wood for the navy!” + +“What is that to me?” replied Jean Cornbutte. “What care I for the +government?” + +“You see, Monsieur Clerbaut,” said Marie, “one thing only absorbs +us,—Louis’s return.” + +“I don’t dispute that,” replied Clerbaut. “But—in short—this purchase +of wood—” + +“And you shall be at the wedding,” replied Jean Cornbutte, interrupting +the merchant, and shaking his hand as if he would crush it. + +“This purchase of wood—” + +“And with all our friends, landsmen and seamen, Clerbaut. I have +already informed everybody, and I shall invite the whole crew of the +ship.” + +“And shall we go and await them on the pier?” asked Marie. + +“Indeed we will,” replied Jean Cornbutte. “We will defile, two by two, +with the violins at the head.” + +Jean Cornbutte’s invited guests soon arrived. Though it was very early, +not a single one failed to appear. All congratulated the honest old +sailor whom they loved. Meanwhile Marie, kneeling down, changed her +prayers to God into thanksgivings. She soon returned, lovely and decked +out, to the company; and all the women kissed her on the check, while +the men vigorously grasped her by the hand. Then Jean Cornbutte gave +the signal of departure. + +It was a curious sight to see this joyous group taking its way, at +sunrise, towards the sea. The news of the ship’s arrival had spread +through the port, and many heads, in nightcaps, appeared at the windows +and at the half-opened doors. Sincere compliments and pleasant nods +came from every side. + +The party reached the pier in the midst of a concert of praise and +blessings. The weather was magnificent, and the sun seemed to take part +in the festivity. A fresh north wind made the waves foam; and some +fishing-smacks, their sails trimmed for leaving port, streaked the sea +with their rapid wakes between the breakwaters. + +The two piers of Dunkirk stretch far out into the sea. The +wedding-party occupied the whole width of the northern pier, and soon +reached a small house situated at its extremity, inhabited by the +harbour-master. The wind freshened, and the “Jeune-Hardie” ran swiftly +under her topsails, mizzen, brigantine, gallant, and royal. There was +evidently rejoicing on board as well as on land. Jean Cornbutte, +spy-glass in hand, responded merrily to the questions of his friends. + +“See my ship!” he cried; “clean and steady as if she had been rigged at +Dunkirk! Not a bit of damage done,—not a rope wanting!” + +“Do you see your son, the captain?” asked one. + +“No, not yet. Why, he’s at his business!” + +“Why doesn’t he run up his flag?” asked Clerbaut. + +“I scarcely know, old friend. He has a reason for it, no doubt.” + +“Your spy-glass, uncle?” said Marie, taking it from him. “I want to be +the first to see him.” + +“But he is my son, mademoiselle!” + +“He has been your son for thirty years,” answered the young girl, +laughing, “and he has only been my betrothed for two!” + +The “Jeune-Hardie” was now entirely visible. Already the crew were +preparing to cast anchor. The upper sails had been reefed. The sailors +who were among the rigging might be recognized. But neither Marie nor +Jean Cornbutte had yet been able to wave their hands at the captain of +the ship. + +“Faith! there’s the first mate, André Vasling,” cried Clerbaut. + +“And there’s Fidèle Misonne, the carpenter,” said another. + +“And our friend Penellan,” said a third, saluting the sailor named. + +The “Jeune-Hardie” was only three cables’ lengths from the shore, when +a black flag ascended to the gaff of the brigantine. There was mourning +on board! + +A shudder of terror seized the party and the heart of the young girl. + +The ship sadly swayed into port, and an icy silence reigned on its +deck. Soon it had passed the end of the pier. Marie, Jean Cornbutte, +and all their friends hurried towards the quay at which she was to +anchor, and in a moment found themselves on board. + +“My son!” said Jean Cornbutte, who could only articulate these words. + +The sailors, with uncovered heads, pointed to the mourning flag. + +Marie uttered a cry of anguish, and fell into old Cornbutte’s arms. + +André Vasling had brought back the “Jeune-Hardie,” but Louis Cornbutte, +Marie’s betrothed, was not on board. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +JEAN CORNBUTTE’S PROJECT. + + +As soon as the young girl, confided to the care of the sympathizing +friends, had left the ship, André Vasling, the mate, apprised Jean +Cornbutte of the dreadful event which had deprived him of his son, +narrated in the ship’s journal as follows:— + + +[Illustration: André Vasling, the mate, apprised Jean Cornbutte of +the dreadful event] + + +“At the height of the Maëlstrom, on the 26th of April, the ship, +putting for the cape, by reason of bad weather and south-west winds, +perceived signals of distress made by a schooner to the leeward. This +schooner, deprived of its mizzen-mast, was running towards the +whirlpool, under bare poles. Captain Louis Cornbutte, seeing that this +vessel was hastening into imminent danger, resolved to go on board her. +Despite the remonstrances of his crew, he had the long-boat lowered +into the sea, and got into it, with the sailor Courtois and the +helmsman Pierre Nouquet. The crew watched them until they disappeared +in the fog. Night came on. The sea became more and more boisterous. The +“Jeune-Hardie”, drawn by the currents in those parts, was in danger of +being engulfed by the Maëlstrom. She was obliged to fly before the +wind. For several days she hovered near the place of the disaster, but +in vain. The long-boat, the schooner, Captain Louis, and the two +sailors did not reappear. André Vasling then called the crew together, +took command of the ship, and set sail for Dunkirk.” + +After reading this dry narrative, Jean Cornbutte wept for a long time; +and if he had any consolation, it was the thought that his son had died +in attempting to save his fellow-men. Then the poor father left the +ship, the sight of which made him wretched, and returned to his +desolate home. + +The sad news soon spread throughout Dunkirk. The many friends of the +old sailor came to bring him their cordial and sincere sympathy. Then +the sailors of the “Jeune-Hardie” gave a more particular account of the +event, and André Vasling told Marie, at great length, of the devotion +of her betrothed to the last. + +When he ceased weeping, Jean Cornbutte thought over the matter, and the +next day after the ship’s arrival, when Andre came to see him, said,— + +“Are you very sure, André, that my son has perished?” + +“Alas, yes, Monsieur Jean,” replied the mate. + +“And you made all possible search for him?” + +“All, Monsieur Cornbutte. But it is unhappily but too certain that he +and the two sailors were sucked down in the whirlpool of the +Maëlstrom.” + +“Would you like, André, to keep the second command of the ship?” + +“That will depend upon the captain, Monsieur Cornbutte.” + +“I shall be the captain,” replied the old sailor. “I am going to +discharge the cargo with all speed, make up my crew, and sail in search +of my son.” + +“Your son is dead!” said André obstinately. + +“It is possible, Andre,” replied Jean Cornbutte sharply, “but it is +also possible that he saved himself. I am going to rummage all the +ports of Norway whither he might have been driven, and when I am fully +convinced that I shall never see him again, I will return here to die!” + +André Vasling, seeing that this decision was irrevocable, did not +insist further, but went away. + +Jean Cornbutte at once apprised his niece of his intention, and he saw +a few rays of hope glisten across her tears. It had not seemed to the +young girl that her lover’s death might be doubtful; but scarcely had +this new hope entered her heart, than she embraced it without reserve. + +The old sailor determined that the “Jeune-Hardie” should put to sea +without delay. The solidly built ship had no need of repairs. Jean +Cornbutte gave his sailors notice that if they wished to re-embark, no +change in the crew would be made. He alone replaced his son in the +command of the brig. None of the comrades of Louis Cornbutte failed to +respond to his call, and there were hardy tars among them,—Alaine +Turquiette, Fidèle Misonne the carpenter, Penellan the Breton, who +replaced Pierre Nouquet as helmsman, and Gradlin, Aupic, and Gervique, +courageous and well-tried mariners. + +Jean Cornbutte again offered André Vasling his old rank on board. The +first mate was an able officer, who had proved his skill in bringing +the “Jeune-Hardie” into port. Yet, from what motive could not be told, +André made some difficulties and asked time for reflection. + +“As you will, André Vasling,” replied Cornbutte. “Only remember that if +you accept, you will be welcome among us.” + +Jean had a devoted sailor in Penellan the Breton, who had long been his +fellow-voyager. In times gone by, little Marie was wont to pass the +long winter evenings in the helmsman’s arms, when he was on shore. He +felt a fatherly friendship for her, and she had for him ah affection +quite filial. Penellan hastened the fitting out of the ship with all +his energy, all the more because, according to his opinion, André +Vasling had not perhaps made every effort possible to find the +castaways, although he was excusable from the responsibility which +weighed upon him as captain. + +Within a week the “Jeune-Hardie” was ready to put to sea. Instead of +merchandise, she was completely provided with salt meats, biscuits, +barrels of flour, potatoes, pork, wine, brandy, coffee, tea, and +tobacco. + +The departure was fixed for the 22nd of May. On the evening before, +André Vasling, who had not yet given his answer to Jean Cornbutte, came +to his house. He was still undecided, and did not know which course to +take. + +Jean was not at home, though the house-door was open. André went into +the passage, next to Marie’s chamber, where the sound of an animated +conversation struck his ear. He listened attentively, and recognized +the voices of Penellan and Marie. + +The discussion had no doubt been going on for some time, for the young +girl seemed to be stoutly opposing what the Breton sailor said. + +“How old is my uncle Cornbutte?” said Marie. + +“Something about sixty years,” replied Penellan. + +“Well, is he not going to brave danger to find his son?” + +“Our captain is still a sturdy man,” returned the sailor. “He has a +body of oak and muscles as hard as a spare spar. So I am not afraid to +have him go to sea again!’” + +“My good Penellan,” said Marie, “one is strong when one loves! Besides, +I have full confidence in the aid of Heaven. You understand me, and +will help me.” + +“No!” said Penellan. “It is impossible, Marie. Who knows whither we +shall drift, or what we must suffer? How many vigorous men have I seen +lose their lives in these seas!” + +“Penellan,” returned the young girl, “if you refuse me, I shall believe +that you do not love me any longer.” + +André Vasling understood the young girl’s resolution. He reflected a +moment, and his course was determined on. + +“Jean Cornbutte,” said he, advancing towards the old sailor, who now +entered, “I will go with you. The cause of my hesitation has +disappeared, and you may count upon my devotion.” + +“I have never doubted you, André Vasling,” replied Jean Cornbutte, +grasping him by the hand. “Marie, my child!” he added, calling in a +loud voice. + +Marie and Penellan made their appearance. + +“We shall set sail to-morrow at daybreak, with the outgoing tide,” said +Jean. “My poor Marie, this is the last evening that we shall pass +together. + +“Uncle!” cried Marie, throwing herself into his arms. + +“Marie, by the help of God, I will bring your lover back to you!” + +“Yes, we will find Louis,” added André Vasling. + +“You are going with us, then?” asked Penellan quickly. + +“Yes, Penellan, André Vasling is to be my first mate,” answered Jean. + +“Oh, oh!” ejaculated the Breton, in a singular tone. + +“And his advice will be useful to us, for he is able and enterprising. + +“And yourself, captain,” said André. “You will set us all a good +example, for you have still as much vigour as experience.” + +“Well, my friends, good-bye till to-morrow. Go on board and make the +final arrangements. Good-bye, André; good-bye, Penellan.” + +The mate and the sailor went out together, and Jean and Marie remained +alone. Many bitter tears were shed during that sad evening. Jean +Cornbutte, seeing Marie so wretched, resolved to spare her the pain of +separation by leaving the house on the morrow without her knowledge. So +he gave her a last kiss that evening, and at three o’clock next morning +was up and away. + +The departure of the brig had attracted all the old sailor’s friends to +the pier. The curé, who was to have blessed Marie’s union with Louis, +came to give a last benediction on the ship. Rough grasps of the hand +were silently exchanged, and Jean went on board. + +The crew were all there. André Vasling gave the last orders. The sails +were spread, and the brig rapidly passed out under a stiff north-west +breeze, whilst the cure, upright in the midst of the kneeling +spectators, committed the vessel to the hands of God. + +Whither goes this ship? She follows the perilous route upon which so +many castaways have been lost! She has no certain destination. She must +expect every peril, and be able to brave them without hesitating. God +alone knows where it will be her fate to anchor. May God guide her! + + + + +CHAPTER III. +A RAY OF HOPE. + + +At that time of the year the season was favourable, and the crew might +hope promptly to reach the scene of the shipwreck. + +Jean Cornbutte’s plan was naturally traced out. He counted on stopping +at the Feroë Islands, whither the north wind might have carried the +castaways; then, if he was convinced that they had not been received in +any of the ports of that locality, he would continue his search beyond +the Northern Ocean, ransack the whole western coast of Norway as far as +Bodoë, the place nearest the scene of the shipwreck; and, if necessary, +farther still. + +André Vasling thought, contrary to the captain’s opinion, that the +coast of Iceland should be explored; but Penellan observed that, at the +time of the catastrophe, the gale came from the west; which, while it +gave hope that the unfortunates had not been forced towards the gulf of +the Maëlstrom, gave ground for supposing that they might have been +thrown on the Norwegian coast. + +It was determined, then, that this coast should be followed as closely +as possible, so as to recognize any traces of them that might appear. + +The day after sailing, Jean Cornbutte, intent upon a map, was absorbed +in reflection, when a small hand touched his shoulder, and a soft voice +said in his ear,— + +“Have good courage, uncle.” + + +[Illustration: A soft voice said in his ear, “Have good courage, +uncle.”] + + +He turned, and was stupefied. Marie embraced him. + +“Marie, my daughter, on board!” he cried. + +“The wife may well go in search of her husband, when the father embarks +to save his child.” + +“Unhappy Marie! How wilt thou support our fatigues! Dost thou know that +thy presence may be injurious to our search?” + +“No, uncle, for I am strong.” + +“Who knows whither we shall be forced to go, Marie? Look at this map. +We are approaching places dangerous even for us sailors, hardened +though we are to the difficulties of the sea. And thou, frail child?” + +“But, uncle, I come from a family of sailors. I am used to stories of +combats and tempests. I am with you and my old friend Penellan!” + +“Penellan! It was he who concealed you on board?” + +“Yes, uncle; but only when he saw that I was determined to come without +his help.” + +“Penellan!” cried Jean. + +Penellan entered. + +“It is not possible to undo what you have done, Penellan; but remember +that you are responsible for Marie’s life.” + +“Rest easy, captain,” replied Penellan. “The little one has force and +courage, and will be our guardian angel. And then, captain, you know it +is my theory, that all in this world happens for the best.” + +The young girl was installed in a cabin, which the sailors soon got +ready for her, and which they made as comfortable as possible. + +A week later the “Jeune-Hardie” stopped at the Feroë Islands, but the +most minute search was fruitless. No wreck, or fragments of a ship had +come upon these coasts. Even the news of the event was quite unknown. +The brig resumed its voyage, after a stay of ten days, about the 10th +of June. The sea was calm, and the winds were favourable. The ship sped +rapidly towards the Norwegian coast, which it explored without better +result. + +Jean Cornbutte determined to proceed to Bodoë. Perhaps he would there +learn the name of the shipwrecked schooner to succour which Louis and +the sailors had sacrificed themselves. + +On the 30th of June the brig cast anchor in that port. + +The authorities of Bodoë gave Jean Cornbutte a bottle found on the +coast, which contained a document bearing these words:— + +“This 26th April, on board the ‘Froöern,’ after being accosted by the +long-boat of the ‘Jeune-Hardie,’ we were drawn by the currents towards +the ice. God have pity on us!” + +Jean Cornbutte’s first impulse was to thank Heaven. He thought himself +on his son’s track. The “Froöern” was a Norwegian sloop of which there +had been no news, but which had evidently been drawn northward. + +Not a day was to be lost. The “Jeune-Hardie” was at once put in +condition to brave the perils of the polar seas. Fidèle Misonne, the +carpenter, carefully examined her, and assured himself that her solid +construction might resist the shock of the ice-masses. + +Penellan, who had already engaged in whale-fishing in the arctic +waters, took care that woollen and fur coverings, many sealskin +moccassins, and wood for the making of sledges with which to cross the +ice-fields were put on board. The amount of provisions was increased, +and spirits and charcoal were added; for it might be that they would +have to winter at some point on the Greenland coast. They also +procured, with much difficulty and at a high price, a quantity of +lemons, for preventing or curing the scurvy, that terrible disease +which decimates crews in the icy regions. The ship’s hold was filled +with salt meat, biscuits, brandy, etc., as the steward’s room no longer +sufficed. They provided themselves, moreover, with a large quantity of +“pemmican,” an Indian preparation which concentrates a great deal of +nutrition within a small volume. + +By order of the captain, some saws were put on board for cutting the +ice-fields, as well as picks and wedges for separating them. The +captain determined to procure some dogs for drawing the sledges on the +Greenland coast. + +The whole crew was engaged in these preparations, and displayed great +activity. The sailors Aupic, Gervique, and Gradlin zealously obeyed +Penellan’s orders; and he admonished them not to accustom themselves to +woollen garments, though the temperature in this latitude, situated +just beyond the polar circle, was very low. + +Penellan, though he said nothing, narrowly watched every action of +André Vasling. This man was Dutch by birth, came from no one knew +whither, but was at least a good sailor, having made two voyages on +board the “Jeune-Hardie”. Penellan would not as yet accuse him of +anything, unless it was that he kept near Marie too constantly, but he +did not let him out of his sight. + +Thanks to the energy of the crew, the brig was equipped by the 16th of +July, a fortnight after its arrival at Bodoë. It was then the +favourable season for attempting explorations in the Arctic Seas. The +thaw had been going on for two months, and the search might be carried +farther north. The “Jeune-Hardie” set sail, and directed her way +towards Cape Brewster, on the eastern coast of Greenland, near the 70th +degree of latitude. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +IN THE PASSES. + + +About the 23rd of July a reflection, raised above the sea, announced +the presence of the first icebergs, which, emerging from Davis’ +Straits, advanced into the ocean. From this moment a vigilant watch was +ordered to the look-out men, for it was important not to come into +collision with these enormous masses. + +The crew was divided into two watches. The first was composed of Fidèle +Misonne, Gradlin, and Gervique; and the second of Andre Vasling, Aupic, +and Penellan. These watches were to last only two hours, for in those +cold regions a man’s strength is diminished one-half. Though the +“Jeune-Hardie” was not yet beyond the 63rd degree of latitude, the +thermometer already stood at nine degrees centigrade below zero. + +Rain and snow often fell abundantly. On fair days, when the wind was +not too violent, Marie remained on deck, and her eyes became accustomed +to the uncouth scenes of the Polar Seas. + +On the 1st of August she was promenading aft, and talking with her +uncle, Penellan, and André Vasling. The ship was then entering a +channel three miles wide, across which broken masses of ice were +rapidly descending southwards. + +“When shall we see land?” asked the young girl. + +“In three or four days at the latest,” replied Jean Cornbutte. + +“But shall we find there fresh traces of my poor Louis?” + +“Perhaps so, my daughter; but I fear that we are still far from the end +of our voyage. It is to be feared that the ‘Froöern’ was driven farther +northward.” + +“That may be,” added André Vasling, “for the squall which separated us +from the Norwegian boat lasted three days, and in three days a ship +makes good headway when it is no longer able to resist the wind.” + +“Permit me to tell you, Monsieur Vasling.” replied Penellan, “that that +was in April, that the thaw had not then begun, and that therefore the +‘Froöern’ must have been soon arrested by the ice.” + +“And no doubt dashed into a thousand pieces,” said the mate, “as her +crew could not manage her.” + +“But these ice-fields,” returned Penellan, “gave her an easy means of +reaching land, from which she could not have been far distant.” + +“Let us hope so,” said Jean Cornbutte, interrupting the discussion, +which was daily renewed between the mate and the helmsman. “I think we +shall see land before long.” + +“There it is!” cried Marie. “See those mountains!” + +“No, my child,” replied her uncle. “Those are mountains of ice, the +first we have met with. They would shatter us like glass if we got +entangled between them. Penellan and Vasling, overlook the men.” + +These floating masses, more than fifty of which now appeared at the +horizon, came nearer and nearer to the brig. Penellan took the helm, +and Jean Cornbutte, mounted on the gallant, indicated the route to +take. + +Towards evening the brig was entirely surrounded by these moving rocks, +the crushing force of which is irresistible. It was necessary, then, to +cross this fleet of mountains, for prudence prompted them to keep +straight ahead. Another difficulty was added to these perils. The +direction of the ship could not be accurately determined, as all the +surrounding points constantly changed position, and thus failed to +afford a fixed perspective. The darkness soon increased with the fog. +Marie descended to her cabin, and the whole crew, by the captain’s +orders, remained on deck. They were armed with long boat-poles, with +iron spikes, to preserve the ship from collision with the ice. + +The ship soon entered a strait so narrow that often the ends of her +yards were grazed by the drifting mountains, and her booms seemed about +to be driven in. They were even forced to trim the mainyard so as to +touch the shrouds. Happily these precautions did not deprive, the +vessel of any of its speed, for the wind could only reach the upper +sails, and these sufficed to carry her forward rapidly. Thanks to her +slender hull, she passed through these valleys, which were filled with +whirlpools of rain, whilst the icebergs crushed against each other with +sharp cracking and splitting. + +Jean Cornbutte returned to the deck. His eyes could not penetrate the +surrounding darkness. It became necessary to furl the upper sails, for +the ship threatened to ground, and if she did so she was lost. + +“Cursed voyage!” growled André Vasling among the sailors, who, forward, +were avoiding the most menacing ice-blocks with their boat-hooks. + +“Truly, if we escape we shall owe a fine candle to Our Lady of the +Ice!” replied Aupic. + +“Who knows how many floating mountains we have got to pass through +yet?” added the mate. + +“And who can guess what we shall find beyond them?” replied the sailor. + +“Don’t talk so much, prattler,” said Gervique, “and look out on your +side. When we have got by them, it’ll be time to grumble. Look out for +your boat-hook!” + +At this moment an enormous block of ice, in the narrow strait through +which the brig was passing, came rapidly down upon her, and it seemed +impossible to avoid it, for it barred the whole width of the channel, +and the brig could not heave-to. + +“Do you feel the tiller?” asked Cornbutte of Penellan. + +“No, captain. The ship does not answer the helm any longer.” + +“_Ohé_, boys!” cried the captain to the crew; “don’t be afraid, and +buttress your hooks against the gunwale.” + +The block was nearly sixty feet high, and if it threw itself upon the +brig she would be crushed. There was an undefinable moment of suspense, +and the crew retreated backward, abandoning their posts despite the +captain’s orders. + +But at the instant when the block was not more than half a cable’s +length from the “Jeune-Hardie,” a dull sound was heard, and a veritable +waterspout fell upon the bow of the vessel, which then rose on the back +of an enormous billow. + +The sailors uttered a cry of terror; but when they looked before them +the block had disappeared, the passage was free, and beyond an immense +plain of water, illumined by the rays of the declining sun, assured +them of an easy navigation. + +“All’s well!” cried Penellan. “Let’s trim our topsails and mizzen!” + +An incident very common in those parts had just occurred. When these +masses are detached from one another in the thawing season, they float +in a perfect equilibrium; but on reaching the ocean, where the water is +relatively warmer, they are speedily undermined at the base, which +melts little by little, and which is also shaken by the shock of other +ice-masses. A moment comes when the centre of gravity of these masses +is displaced, and then they are completely overturned. Only, if this +block had turned over two minutes later, it would have fallen on the +brig and carried her down in its fall. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +LIVERPOOL ISLAND. + + +The brig now sailed in a sea which was almost entirely open. At the +horizon only, a whitish light, this time motionless, indicated the +presence of fixed plains of ice. + +Jean Cornbutte now directed the “Jeune-Hardie” towards Cape Brewster. +They were already approaching the regions where the temperature is +excessively cold, for the sun’s rays, owing to their obliquity when +they reach them, are very feeble. + +On the 3rd of August the brig confronted immoveable and united +ice-masses. The passages were seldom more than a cable’s length in +width, and the ship was forced to make many turnings, which sometimes +placed her heading the wind. + +Penellan watched over Marie with paternal care, and, despite the cold, +prevailed upon her to spend two or three hours every day on deck, for +exercise had become one of the indispensable conditions of health. + +Marie’s courage did not falter. She even comforted the sailors with her +cheerful talk, and all of them became warmly attached to her. André +Vasling showed himself more attentive than ever, and seized every +occasion to be in her company; but the young girl, with a sort of +presentiment, accepted his services with some coldness. It may be +easily conjectured that André’s conversation referred more to the +future than to the present, and that he did not conceal the slight +probability there was of saving the castaways. He was convinced that +they were lost, and the young girl ought thenceforth to confide her +existence to some one else. + + +[Illustration: André Vasling showed himself more attentive than ever.] + + +Marie had not as yet comprehended André’s designs, for, to his great +disgust, he could never find an opportunity to talk long with her +alone. Penellan had always an excuse for interfering, and destroying +the effect of Andre’s words by the hopeful opinions he expressed. + +Marie, meanwhile, did not remain idle. Acting on the helmsman’s advice, +she set to work on her winter garments; for it was necessary that she +should completely change her clothing. The cut of her dresses was not +suitable for these cold latitudes. She made, therefore, a sort of +furred pantaloons, the ends of which were lined with seal-skin; and her +narrow skirts came only to her knees, so as not to be in contact with +the layers of snow with which the winter would cover the ice-fields. A +fur mantle, fitting closely to the figure and supplied with a hood, +protected the upper part of her body. + +In the intervals of their work, the sailors, too, prepared clothing +with which to shelter themselves from the cold. They made a quantity of +high seal-skin boots, with which to cross the snow during their +explorations. They worked thus all the time that the navigation in the +straits lasted. + +André Vasling, who was an excellent shot, several times brought down +aquatic birds with his gun; innumerable flocks of these were always +careering about the ship. A kind of eider-duck provided the crew with +very palatable food, which relieved the monotony of the salt meat. + +At last the brig, after many turnings, came in sight of Cape Brewster. +A long-boat was put to sea. Jean Cornbutte and Penellan reached the +coast, which was entirely deserted. + +The ship at once directed its course towards Liverpool Island, +discovered in 1821 by Captain Scoresby, and the crew gave a hearty +cheer when they saw the natives running along the shore. Communication +was speedily established with them, thanks to Penellan’s knowledge of a +few words of their language, and some phrases which the natives +themselves had learnt of the whalers who frequented those parts. + +These Greenlanders were small and squat; they were not more than four +feet ten inches high; they had red, round faces, and low foreheads; +their hair, flat and black, fell over their shoulders; their teeth were +decayed, and they seemed to be affected by the sort of leprosy which is +peculiar to ichthyophagous tribes. + +In exchange for pieces of iron and brass, of which they are extremely +covetous, these poor creatures brought bear furs, the skins of +sea-calves, sea-dogs, sea-wolves, and all the animals generally known +as seals. Jean Cornbutte obtained these at a low price, and they were +certain to become most useful. + +The captain then made the natives understand that he was in search of a +shipwrecked vessel, and asked them if they had heard of it. One of them +immediately drew something like a ship on the snow, and indicated that +a vessel of that sort had been carried northward three months before: +he also managed to make it understood that the thaw and breaking up of +the ice-fields had prevented the Greenlanders from going in search of +it; and, indeed, their very light canoes, which they managed with +paddles, could not go to sea at that time. + +This news, though meagre, restored hope to the hearts of the sailors, +and Jean Cornbutte had no difficulty in persuading them to advance +farther in the polar seas. + +Before quitting Liverpool Island, the captain purchased a pack of six +Esquimaux dogs, which were soon acclimatised on board. The ship weighed +anchor on the morning of the 10th of August, and entered the northern +straits under a brisk wind. + +The longest days of the year had now arrived; that is, the sun, in +these high latitudes, did not set, and reached the highest point of the +spirals which it described above the horizon. + +This total absence of night was not, however, very apparent, for the +fog, rain, and snow sometimes enveloped the ship in real darkness. + +Jean Cornbutte, who was resolved to advance as far as possible, began +to take measures of health. The space between decks was securely +enclosed, and every morning care was taken to ventilate it with fresh +air. The stoves were installed, and the pipes so disposed as to yield +as much heat as possible. The sailors were advised to wear only one +woollen shirt over their cotton shirts, and to hermetically close their +seal cloaks. The fires were not yet lighted, for it was important to +reserve the wood and charcoal for the most intense cold. + +Warm beverages, such as coffee and tea, were regularly distributed to +the sailors morning and evening; and as it was important to live on +meat, they shot ducks and teal, which abounded in these parts. + +Jean Cornbutte also placed at the summit of the mainmast a “crow’s +nest,” a sort of cask staved in at one end, in which a look-out +remained constantly, to observe the icefields. + +Two days after the brig had lost sight of Liverpool Island the +temperature became suddenly colder under the influence of a dry wind. +Some indications of winter were perceived. The ship had not a moment to +lose, for soon the way would be entirely closed to her. She advanced +across the straits, among which lay ice-plains thirty feet thick. + +On the morning of the 3rd of September the “Jeune-Hardie” reached the +head of Gaël-Hamkes Bay. Land was then thirty miles to the leeward. It +was the first time that the brig had stopped before a mass of ice which +offered no outlet, and which was at least a mile wide. The saws must +now be used to cut the ice. Penellan, Aupic, Gradlin, and Turquiette +were chosen to work the saws, which had been carried outside the ship. +The direction of the cutting was so determined that the current might +carry off the pieces detached from the mass. The whole crew worked at +this task for nearly twenty hours. They found it very painful to remain +on the ice, and were often obliged to plunge into the water up to their +middle; their seal-skin garments protected them but imperfectly from +the damp. + +Moreover all excessive toil in those high latitudes is soon followed by +an overwhelming weariness; for the breath soon fails, and the strongest +are forced to rest at frequent intervals. + +At last the navigation became free, and the brig was towed beyond the +mass which had so long obstructed her course. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +THE QUAKING OF THE ICE. + + +For several days the “Jeune-Hardie” struggled against formidable +obstacles. The crew were almost all the time at work with the saws, and +often powder had to be used to blow up the enormous blocks of ice which +closed the way. + +On the 12th of September the sea consisted of one solid plain, without +outlet or passage, surrounding the vessel on all sides, so that she +could neither advance nor retreat. The temperature remained at an +average of sixteen degrees below zero. The winter season had come on, +with its sufferings and dangers. + + +[Illustration: On the 12th of September the sea consisted of one +solid plain.] + + +The “Jeune-Hardie” was then near the 21st degree of longitude west and +the 76th degree of latitude north, at the entrance of Gaël-Hamkes Bay. + +Jean Cornbutte made his preliminary preparations for wintering. He +first searched for a creek whose position would shelter the ship from +the wind and breaking up of the ice. Land, which was probably thirty +miles west, could alone offer him secure shelter, and he resolved to +attempt to reach it. + +He set out on the 12th of September, accompanied by André Vasling, +Penellan, and the two sailors Gradlin and Turquiette. Each man carried +provisions for two days, for it was not likely that their expedition +would occupy a longer time, and they were supplied with skins on which +to sleep. + +Snow had fallen in great abundance and was not yet frozen over; and +this delayed them seriously. They often sank to their waists, and could +only advance very cautiously, for fear of falling into crevices. +Penellan, who walked in front, carefully sounded each depression with +his iron-pointed staff. + +About five in the evening the fog began to thicken, and the little band +were forced to stop. Penellan looked about for an iceberg which might +shelter them from the wind, and after refreshing themselves, with +regrets that they had no warm drink, they spread their skins on the +snow, wrapped themselves up, lay close to each other, and soon dropped +asleep from sheer fatigue. + +The next morning Jean Cornbutte and his companions were buried beneath +a bed of snow more than a foot deep. Happily their skins, perfectly +impermeable, had preserved them, and the snow itself had aided in +retaining their heat, which it prevented from escaping. + +The captain gave the signal of departure, and about noon they at last +descried the coast, which at first they could scarcely distinguish. +High ledges of ice, cut perpendicularly, rose on the shore; their +variegated summits, of all forms and shapes, reproduced on a large +scale the phenomena of crystallization. Myriads of aquatic fowl flew +about at the approach of the party, and the seals, lazily lying on the +ice, plunged hurriedly into the depths. + +“I’ faith!” said Penellan, “we shall not want for either furs or game!” + +“Those animals,” returned Cornbutte, “give every evidence of having +been already visited by men; for in places totally uninhabited they +would not be so wild.” + +“None but Greenlanders frequent these parts,” said André Vasling. + +“I see no trace of their passage, however; neither any encampment nor +the smallest hut,” said Penellan, who had climbed up a high peak. “O +captain!” he continued, “come here! I see a point of land which will +shelter us splendidly from the north-east wind.” + +“Come along, boys!” said Jean Cornbutte. + +His companions followed him, and they soon rejoined Penellan. The +sailor had said what was true. An elevated point of land jutted out +like a promontory, and curving towards the coast, formed a little inlet +of a mile in width at most. Some moving ice-blocks, broken by this +point, floated in the midst, and the sea, sheltered from the colder +winds, was not yet entirely frozen over. + +This was an excellent spot for wintering, and it only remained to get +the ship thither. Jean Cornbutte remarked that the neighbouring +ice-field was very thick, and it seemed very difficult to cut a canal +to bring the brig to its destination. Some other creek, then, must be +found; it was in vain that he explored northward. The coast remained +steep and abrupt for a long distance, and beyond the point it was +directly exposed to the attacks of the east-wind. The circumstance +disconcerted the captain all the more because André Vasling used strong +arguments to show how bad the situation was. Penellan, in this dilemma, +found it difficult to convince himself that all was for the best. + +But one chance remained—to seek a shelter on the southern side of the +coast. This was to return on their path, but hesitation was useless. +The little band returned rapidly in the direction of the ship, as their +provisions had begun to run short. Jean Cornbutte searched for some +practicable passage, or at least some fissure by which a canal might be +cut across the ice-fields, all along the route, but in vain. + +Towards evening the sailors came to the same place where they had +encamped over night. There had been no snow during the day, and they +could recognize the imprint of their bodies on the ice. They again +disposed themselves to sleep with their furs. + +Penellan, much disturbed by the bad success of the expedition, was +sleeping restlessly, when, at a waking moment, his attention was +attracted by a dull rumbling. He listened attentively, and the rumbling +seemed so strange that he nudged Jean Cornbutte with his elbow. + +“What is that?” said the latter, whose mind, according to a sailor’s +habit, was awake as soon as his body. + +“Listen, captain.” + +The noise increased, with perceptible violence. + +“It cannot be thunder, in so high a latitude,” said Cornbutte, rising. + +“I think we have come across some white bears,” replied Penellan. + +“The devil! We have not seen any yet.” + +“Sooner or later, we must have expected a visit from them. Let us give +them a good reception.” + +Penellan, armed with a gun, lightly crossed the ledge which sheltered +them. The darkness was very dense; he could discover nothing; but a new +incident soon showed him that the cause of the noise did not proceed +from around them. + +Jean Cornbutte rejoined him, and they observed with terror that this +rumbling, which awakened their companions, came from beneath them. + +A new kind of peril menaced them. To the noise, which resembled peals +of thunder, was added a distinct undulating motion of the ice-field. +Several of the party lost their balance and fell. + +“Attention!” cried Penellan. + +“Yes!” some one responded. + +“Turquiette! Gradlin! where are you?” + +“Here I am!” responded Turquiette, shaking off the snow with which he +was covered. + +“This way, Vasling,” cried Cornbutte to the mate. “And Gradlin?” + +“Present, captain. But we are lost!” shouted Gradlin, in fright. + +“No!” said Penellan. “Perhaps we are saved!” + +Hardly had he uttered these words when a frightful cracking noise was +heard. The ice-field broke clear through, and the sailors were forced +to cling to the block which was quivering just by them. Despite the +helmsman’s words, they found themselves in a most perilous position, +for an ice-quake had occurred. The ice masses had just “weighed +anchor,” as the sailors say. The movement lasted nearly two minutes, +and it was to be feared that the crevice would yawn at the very feet of +the unhappy sailors. They anxiously awaited daylight in the midst of +continuous shocks, for they could not, without risk of death, move a +step, and had to remain stretched out at full length to avoid being +engulfed. + + +[Illustration: they found themselves in a most perilous position, for +an ice-quake had occurred.] + + +As soon as it was daylight a very different aspect presented itself to +their eyes. The vast plain, a compact mass the evening before, was now +separated in a thousand places, and the waves, raised by some submarine +commotion, had broken the thick layer which sheltered them. + +The thought of his ship occurred to Jean Cornbutte’s mind. + +“My poor brig!” he cried. “It must have perished!” + +The deepest despair began to overcast the faces of his companions. The +loss of the ship inevitably preceded their own deaths. + +“Courage, friends,” said Penellan. “Reflect that this night’s disaster +has opened us a path across the ice, which will enable us to bring our +ship to the bay for wintering! And, stop! I am not mistaken. There is +the ‘Jeune-Hardie,’ a mile nearer to us!” + +All hurried forward, and so imprudently, that Turquiette slipped into a +fissure, and would have certainly perished, had not Jean Cornbutte +seized him by his hood. He got off with a rather cold bath. + +The brig was indeed floating two miles away. After infinite trouble, +the little band reached her. She was in good condition; but her rudder, +which they had neglected to lift, had been broken by the ice. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +SETTLING FOR THE WINTER. + + +Penellan was once more right; all was for the best, and this ice-quake +had opened a practicable channel for the ship to the bay. The sailors +had only to make skilful use of the currents to conduct her thither. + +On the 19th of September the brig was at last moored in her bay for +wintering, two cables’ lengths from the shore, securely anchored on a +good bottom. The ice began the next day to form around her hull; it +soon became strong enough to bear a man’s weight, and they could +establish a communication with land. + +The rigging, as is customary in arctic navigation, remained as it was; +the sails were carefully furled on the yards and covered with their +casings, and the “crow’s-nest” remained in place, as much to enable +them to make distant observations as to attract attention to the ship. + +The sun now scarcely rose above the horizon. Since the June solstice, +the spirals which it had described descended lower and lower; and it +would soon disappear altogether. + +The crew hastened to make the necessary preparations. Penellan +supervised the whole. The ice was soon thick around the ship, and it +was to be feared that its pressure might become dangerous; but Penellan +waited until, by reason of the going and coming of the floating +ice-masses and their adherence, it had reached a thickness of twenty +feet; he then had it cut around the hull, so that it united under the +ship, the form of which it assumed; thus enclosed in a mould, the brig +had no longer to fear the pressure of the ice, which could make no +movement. + +The sailors then elevated along the wales, to the height of the +nettings, a snow wall five or six feet thick, which soon froze as hard +as a rock. This envelope did not allow the interior heat to escape +outside. A canvas tent, covered with skins and hermetically closed, was +stretched aver the whole length of the deck, and formed a sort of walk +for the sailors. + +They also constructed on the ice a storehouse of snow, in which +articles which embarrassed the ship were stowed away. The partitions of +the cabins were taken down, so as to form a single vast apartment +forward, as well as aft. This single room, besides, was more easy to +warm, as the ice and damp found fewer corners in which to take refuge. +It was also less difficult to ventilate it, by means of canvas funnels +which opened without. + +Each sailor exerted great energy in these preparations, and about the +25th of September they were completed. André Vasling had not shown +himself the least active in this task. He devoted himself with especial +zeal to the young girl’s comfort, and if she, absorbed in thoughts of +her poor Louis, did not perceive this, Jean Cornbutte did not fail soon +to remark it. He spoke of it to Penellan; he recalled several incidents +which completely enlightened him regarding his mate’s intentions; André +Vasling loved Marie, and reckoned on asking her uncle for her hand, as +soon as it was proved beyond doubt that the castaways were irrevocably +lost; they would return then to Dunkirk, and André Vasling would be +well satisfied to wed a rich and pretty girl, who would then be the +sole heiress of Jean Cornbutte. + +But André, in his impatience, was often imprudent. He had several times +declared that the search for the castaways was useless, when some new +trace contradicted him, and enabled Penellan to exult over him. The +mate, therefore, cordially detested the helmsman, who returned his +dislike heartily. Penellan only feared that André might sow seeds of +dissension among the crew, and persuaded Jean Cornbutte to answer him +evasively on the first occasion. + +When the preparations for the winter were completed, the captain took +measures to preserve the health of the crew. Every morning the men were +ordered to air their berths, and carefully clean the interior walls, to +get rid of the night’s dampness. They received boiling tea or coffee, +which are excellent cordials to use against the cold, morning and +evening; then they were divided into hunting-parties, who should +procure as much fresh nourishment as possible for every day. + +Each one also took healthy exercise every day, so as not to expose +himself without motion to the cold; for in a temperature thirty degrees +below zero, some part of the body might suddenly become frozen. In such +cases friction of the snow was used, which alone could heal the +affected part. + +Penellan also strongly advised cold ablutions every morning. It +required some courage to plunge the hands and face in the snow, which +had to be melted within. But Penellan bravely set the example, and +Marie was not the last to imitate him. + +Jean Cornbutte did not forget to have readings and prayers, for it was +needful that the hearts of his comrades should not give way to despair +or weariness. Nothing is more dangerous in these desolate latitudes. + +The sky, always gloomy, filled the soul with sadness. A thick snow, +lashed by violent winds, added to the horrors of their situation. The +sun would soon altogether disappear. Had the clouds not gathered in +masses above their heads, they might have enjoyed the moonlight, which +was about to become really their sun during the long polar night; but, +with the west winds, the snow did not cease to fall. Every morning it +was necessary to clear off the sides of the ship, and to cut a new +stairway in the ice to enable them to reach the ice-field. They easily +succeeded in doing this with snow-knives; the steps once cut, a little +water was thrown over them, and they at once hardened. + +Penellan had a hole cut in the ice, not far from the ship. Every day +the new crust which formed over its top was broken, and the water which +was drawn thence, from a certain depth, was less cold than that at the +surface. + +All these preparations occupied about three weeks. It was then time to +go forward with the search. The ship was imprisoned for six or seven +months, and only the next thaw could open a new route across the ice. +It was wise, then, to profit by this delay, and extend their +explorations northward. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +PLAN OF THE EXPLORATIONS. + + +On the 9th of October, Jean Cornbutte held a council to settle the plan +of his operations, to which, that there might be union, zeal, and +courage on the part of every one, he admitted the whole crew. Map in +hand, he clearly explained their situation. + + +[Illustration: Map in hand, he clearly explained their situation.] + + +The eastern coast of Greenland advances perpendicularly northward. The +discoveries of the navigators have given the exact boundaries of those +parts. In the extent of five hundred leagues, which separates Greenland +from Spitzbergen, no land has been found. An island (Shannon Island) +lay a hundred miles north of Gaël-Hamkes Bay, where the “Jeune-Hardie” +was wintering. + +If the Norwegian schooner, as was most probable, had been driven in +this direction, supposing that she could not reach Shannon Island, it +was here that Louis Cornbutte and his comrades must have sought for a +winter asylum. + +This opinion prevailed, despite André Vasling’s opposition; and it was +decided to direct the explorations on the side towards Shannon Island. + +Arrangements for this were at once begun. A sledge like that used by +the Esquimaux had been procured on the Norwegian coast. This was +constructed of planks curved before and behind, and was made to slide +over the snow and ice. It was twelve feet long and four wide, and could +therefore carry provisions, if need were, for several weeks. Fidèle +Misonne soon put it in order, working upon it in the snow storehouse, +whither his tools had been carried. For the first time a coal-stove was +set up in this storehouse, without which all labour there would have +been impossible. The pipe was carried out through one of the lateral +walls, by a hole pierced in the snow; but a grave inconvenience +resulted from this,—for the heat of the stove, little by little, melted +the snow where it came in contact with it; and the opening visibly +increased. Jean Cornbutte contrived to surround this part of the pipe +with some metallic canvas, which is impermeable by heat. This succeeded +completely. + +While Misonne was at work upon the sledge, Penellan, aided by Marie, +was preparing the clothing necessary for the expedition. Seal-skin +boots they had, fortunately, in plenty. Jean Cornbutte and André +Vasling occupied themselves with the provisions. They chose a small +barrel of spirits-of-wine for heating a portable chafing-dish; reserves +of coffee and tea in ample quantity were packed; a small box of +biscuits, two hundred pounds of pemmican, and some gourds of brandy +completed the stock of viands. The guns would bring down some fresh +game every day. A quantity of powder was divided between several bags; +the compass, sextant, and spy-glass were put carefully out of the way +of injury. + +On the 11th of October the sun no longer appeared above the horizon. +They were obliged to keep a lighted lamp in the lodgings of the crew +all the time. There was no time to lose; the explorations must be +begun. For this reason: in the month of January it would become so cold +that it would be impossible to venture out without peril of life. For +two months at least the crew would be condemned to the most complete +imprisonment; then the thaw would begin, and continue till the time +when the ship should quit the ice. This thaw would, of course, prevent +any explorations. On the other hand, if Louis Cornbutte and his +comrades were still in existence, it was not probable that they would +be able to resist the severities of the arctic winter. They must +therefore be saved beforehand, or all hope would be lost. André Vasling +knew all this better than any one. He therefore resolved to put every +possible obstacle in the way of the expedition. + +The preparations for the journey were completed about the 20th of +October. It remained to select the men who should compose the party. +The young girl could not be deprived of the protection of Jean +Cornbutte or of Penellan; neither of these could, on the other hand, be +spared from the expedition. + +The question, then, was whether Marie could bear the fatigues of such a +journey. She had already passed through rough experiences without +seeming to suffer from them, for she was a sailor’s daughter, used from +infancy to the fatigues of the sea, and even Penellan was not dismayed +to see her struggling in the midst of this severe climate, against the +dangers of the polar seas. + +It was decided, therefore, after a long discussion, that she should go +with them, and that a place should be reserved for her, at need, on the +sledge, on which a little wooden hut was constructed, closed in +hermetically. As for Marie, she was delighted, for she dreaded to be +left alone without her two protectors. + +The expedition was thus formed: Marie, Jean Cornbutte, Penellan, André +Vasling, Aupic, and Fidèle Misonne were to go. Alaine Turquiette +remained in charge of the brig, and Gervique and Gradlin stayed behind +with him. New provisions of all kinds were carried; for Jean Cornbutte, +in order to carry the exploration as far as possible, had resolved to +establish depôts along the route, at each seven or eight days’ march. +When the sledge was ready it was at once fitted up, and covered with a +skin tent. The whole weighed some seven hundred pounds, which a pack of +five dogs might easily carry over the ice. + +On the 22nd of October, as the captain had foretold, a sudden change +took place in the temperature. The sky cleared, the stars emitted an +extraordinary light, and the moon shone above the horizon, no longer to +leave the heavens for a fortnight. The thermometer descended to +twenty-five degrees below zero. + +The departure was fixed for the following day. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +THE HOUSE OF SNOW. + + +On the 23rd of October, at eleven in the morning, in a fine moonlight, +the caravan set out. Precautions were this time taken that the journey +might be a long one, if necessary. Jean Cornbutte followed the coast, +and ascended northward. The steps of the travellers made no impression +on the hard ice. Jean was forced to guide himself by points which he +selected at a distance; sometimes he fixed upon a hill bristling with +peaks; sometimes on a vast iceberg which pressure had raised above the +plain. + + +[Illustration: The caravan set out] + + +At the first halt, after going fifteen miles, Penellan prepared to +encamp. The tent was erected against an ice-block. Marie had not +suffered seriously with the extreme cold, for luckily the breeze had +subsided, and was much more bearable; but the young girl had several +times been obliged to descend from her sledge to avert numbness from +impeding the circulation of her blood. Otherwise, her little hut, hung +with skins, afforded her all the comfort possible under the +circumstances. + +When night, or rather sleeping-time, came, the little hut was carried +under the tent, where it served as a bed-room for Marie. The evening +repast was composed of fresh meat, pemmican, and hot tea. Jean +Cornbutte, to avert danger of the scurvy, distributed to each of the +party a few drops of lemon-juice. Then all slept under God’s +protection. + +After eight hours of repose, they got ready to resume their march. A +substantial breakfast was provided to the men and the dogs; then they +set out. The ice, exceedingly compact, enabled these animals to draw +the sledge easily. The party sometimes found it difficult to keep up +with them. + +But the sailors soon began to suffer one discomfort—that of being +dazzled. Ophthalmia betrayed itself in Aupic and Misonne. The moon’s +light, striking on these vast white plains, burnt the eyesight, and +gave the eyes insupportable pain. + +There was thus produced a very singular effect of refraction. As they +walked, when they thought they were about to put foot on a hillock, +they stepped down lower, which often occasioned falls, happily so +little serious that Penellan made them occasions for bantering. Still, +he told them never to take a step without sounding the ground with the +ferruled staff with which each was equipped. + +About the 1st of November, ten days after they had set out, the caravan +had gone fifty leagues to the northward. Weariness pressed heavily on +all. Jean Cornbutte was painfully dazzled, and his sight sensibly +changed. Aupic and Misonne had to feel their way: for their eyes, +rimmed with red, seemed burnt by the white reflection. Marie had been +preserved from this misfortune by remaining within her hut, to which +she confined herself as much as possible. Penellan, sustained by an +indomitable courage, resisted all fatigue. But it was André Vasling who +bore himself best, and upon whom the cold and dazzling seemed to +produce no effect. His iron frame was equal to every hardship; and he +was secretly pleased to see the most robust of his companions becoming +discouraged, and already foresaw the moment when they would be forced +to retreat to the ship again. + +On the 1st of November it became absolutely necessary to halt for a day +or two. As soon as the place for the encampment had been selected, they +proceeded to arrange it. It was determined to erect a house of snow, +which should be supported against one of the rocks of the promontory. +Misonne at once marked out the foundations, which measured fifteen feet +long by five wide. Penellan, Aupic, and Misonne, by aid of their +knives, cut out great blocks of ice, which they carried to the chosen +spot and set up, as masons would have built stone walls. The sides of +the foundation were soon raised to a height and thickness of about five +feet; for the materials were abundant, and the structure was intended +to be sufficiently solid to last several days. The four walls were +completed in eight hours; an opening had been left on the southern +side, and the canvas of the tent, placed on these four walls, fell over +the opening and sheltered it. It only remained to cover the whole with +large blocks, to form the roof of this temporary structure. + +After three more hours of hard work, the house was done; and they all +went into it, overcome with weariness and discouragement. Jean +Cornbutte suffered so much that he could not walk, and André Vasling so +skilfully aggravated his gloomy feelings, that he forced from him a +promise not to pursue his search farther in those frightful solitudes. +Penellan did not know which saint to invoke. He thought it unworthy and +craven to give up his companions for reasons which had little weight, +and tried to upset them; but in vain. + +Meanwhile, though it had been decided to return, rest had become so +necessary that for three days no preparations for departure were made. + +On the 4th of November, Jean Cornbutte began to bury on a point of the +coast the provisions for which there was no use. A stake indicated the +place of the deposit, in the improbable event that new explorations +should be made in that direction. Every day since they had set out +similar deposits had been made, so that they were assured of ample +sustenance on the return, without the trouble of carrying them on the +sledge. + +The departure was fixed for ten in the morning, on the 5th. The most +profound sadness filled the little band. Marie with difficulty +restrained her tears, when she saw her uncle so completely discouraged. +So many useless sufferings! so much labour lost! Penellan himself +became ferocious in his ill-humour; he consigned everybody to the +nether regions, and did not cease to wax angry at the weakness and +cowardice of his comrades, who were more timid and tired, he said, than +Marie, who would have gone to the end of the world without complaint. + +André Vasling could not disguise the pleasure which this decision gave +him. He showed himself more attentive than ever to the young girl, to +whom he even held out hopes that a new search should be made when the +winter was over; knowing well that it would then be too late! + + + + +CHAPTER X. +BURIED ALIVE. + + +The evening before the departure, just as they were about to take +supper, Penellan was breaking up some empty casks for firewood, when he +was suddenly suffocated by a thick smoke. At the same instant the +snow-house was shaken as if by an earthquake. The party uttered a cry +of terror, and Penellan hurried outside. + +It was entirely dark. A frightful tempest—for it was not a thaw—was +raging, whirlwinds of snow careered around, and it was so exceedingly +cold that the helmsman felt his hands rapidly freezing. He was obliged +to go in again, after rubbing himself violently with snow. + +“It is a tempest,” said he. “May heaven grant that our house may +withstand it, for, if the storm should destroy it, we should be lost!” + +At the same time with the gusts of wind a noise was heard beneath the +frozen soil; icebergs, broken from the promontory, dashed away noisily, +and fell upon one another; the wind blew with such violence that it +seemed sometimes as if the whole house moved from its foundation; +phosphorescent lights, inexplicable in that latitude, flashed across +the whirlwinds of the snow. + +“Marie! Marie!” cried Penellan, seizing the young girl’s hands. + +“We are in a bad case!” said Misonne. + +“And I know not whether we shall escape,” replied Aupic. + +“Let us quit this snow-house!” said André Vasling. + +“Impossible!” returned Penellan. “The cold outside is terrible; perhaps +we can bear it by staying here.” + +“Give me the thermometer,” demanded Vasling. + +Aupic handed it to him. It showed ten degrees below zero inside the +house, though the fire was lighted. Vasling raised the canvas which +covered the opening, and pushed it aside hastily; for he would have +been lacerated by the fall of ice which the wind hurled around, and +which fell in a perfect hail-storm. + +“Well, Vasling,” said Penellan, “will you go out, then? You see that we +are more safe here.” + +“Yes,” said Jean Cornbutte; “and we must use every effort to strengthen +the house in the interior.” + +“But a still more terrible danger menaces us,” said Vasling. + +“What?” asked Jean. + +“The wind is breaking the ice against which we are propped, just as it +has that of the promontory, and we shall be either driven out or +buried!” + +“That seems doubtful,” said Penellan, “for it is freezing hard enough +to ice over all liquid surfaces. Let us see what the temperature is.” + +He raised the canvas so as to pass out his arm, and with difficulty +found the thermometer again, in the midst of the snow; but he at last +succeeded in seizing it, and, holding the lamp to it, said,— + +“Thirty-two degrees below zero! It is the coldest we have seen here +yet!” + + +[Illustration: “Thirty-two degrees below zero!”] + + +“Ten degrees more,” said Vasling, “and the mercury will freeze!” + +A mournful silence followed this remark. + +About eight in the morning Penellan essayed a second time to go out to +judge of their situation. It was necessary to give an escape to the +smoke, which the wind had several times repelled into the hut. The +sailor wrapped his cloak tightly about him, made sure of his hood by +fastening it to his head with a handkerchief, and raised the canvas. + +The opening was entirely obstructed by a resisting snow. Penellan took +his staff, and succeeded in plunging it into the compact mass; but +terror froze his blood when he perceived that the end of the staff was +not free, and was checked by a hard body! + +“Cornbutte,” said he to the captain, who had come up to him, “we are +buried under this snow!” + +“What say you?” cried Jean Cornbutte. + +“I say that the snow is massed and frozen around us and over us, and +that we are buried alive!” + +“Let us try to clear this mass of snow away,” replied the captain. + +The two friends buttressed themselves against the obstacle which +obstructed the opening, but they could not move it. The snow formed an +iceberg more than five feet thick, and had become literally a part of +the house. Jean could not suppress a cry, which awoke Misonne and +Vasling. An oath burst from the latter, whose features contracted. At +this moment the smoke, thicker than ever, poured into the house, for it +could not find an issue. + +“Malediction!” cried Misonne. “The pipe of the stove is sealed up by +the ice!” + +Penellan resumed his staff, and took down the pipe, after throwing snow +on the embers to extinguish them, which produced such a smoke that the +light of the lamp could scarcely be seen; then he tried with his staff +to clear out the orifice, but he only encountered a rock of ice! A +frightful end, preceded by a terrible agony, seemed to be their doom! +The smoke, penetrating the throats of the unfortunate party, caused an +insufferable pain, and air would soon fail them altogether! + +Marie here rose, and her presence, which inspired Cornbutte with +despair, imparted some courage to Penellan. He said to himself that it +could not be that the poor girl was destined to so horrible a death. + +“Ah!” said she, “you have made too much fire. The room is full of +smoke!” + +“Yes, yes,” stammered Penellan. + +“It is evident,” resumed Marie, “for it is not cold, and it is long +since we have felt too much heat.” + +No one dared to tell her the truth. + +“See, Marie,” said Penellan bluntly, “help us get breakfast ready. It +is too cold to go out. Here is the chafing-dish, the spirit, and the +coffee. Come, you others, a little pemmican first, as this wretched +storm forbids us from hunting.” + +These words stirred up his comrades. + +“Let us first eat,” added Penellan, “and then we shall see about +getting off.” + +Penellan set the example and devoured his share of the breakfast. His +comrades imitated him, and then drank a cup of boiling coffee, which +somewhat restored their spirits. Then Jean Cornbutte decided +energetically that they should at once set about devising means of +safety. + +André Vasling now said,— + +“If the storm is still raging, which is probable, we must be buried ten +feet under the ice, for we can hear no noise outside.” + +Penellan looked at Marie, who now understood the truth, and did not +tremble. The helmsman first heated, by the flame of the spirit, the +iron point of his staff, and successfully introduced it into the four +walls of ice, but he could find no issue in either. Cornbutte then +resolved to cut out an opening in the door itself. The ice was so hard +that it was difficult for the knives to make the least impression on +it. The pieces which were cut off soon encumbered the hut. After +working hard for two hours, they had only hollowed out a space three +feet deep. + +Some more rapid method, and one which was less likely to demolish the +house, must be thought of; for the farther they advanced the more +violent became the effort to break off the compact ice. It occurred to +Penellan to make use of the chafing-dish to melt the ice in the +direction they wanted. It was a hazardous method, for, if their +imprisonment lasted long, the spirit, of which they had but little, +would be wanting when needed to prepare the meals. Nevertheless, the +idea was welcomed on all hands, and was put in execution. They first +cut a hole three feet deep by one in diameter, to receive the water +which would result from the melting of the ice; and it was well that +they took this precaution, for the water soon dripped under the action +of the flames, which Penellan moved about under the mass of ice. The +opening widened little by little, but this kind of work could not be +continued long, for the water, covering their clothes, penetrated to +their bodies here and there. Penellan was obliged to pause in a quarter +of an hour, and to withdraw the chafing-dish in order to dry himself. +Misonne then took his place, and worked sturdily at the task. + +In two hours, though the opening was five feet deep, the points of the +staffs could not yet find an issue without. + +“It is not possible,” said Jean Cornbutte, “that snow could have fallen +in such abundance. It must have been gathered on this point by the +wind. Perhaps we had better think of escaping in some other direction.” + +“I don’t know,” replied Penellan; “but if it were only for the sake of +not discouraging our comrades, we ought to continue to pierce the wall +where we have begun. We must find an issue ere long.” + +“Will not the spirit fail us?” asked the captain. + +“I hope not. But let us, if necessary, dispense with coffee and hot +drinks. Besides, that is not what most alarms me.” + +“What is it, then, Penellan?” + +“Our lamp is going out, for want of oil, and we are fast exhausting our +provisions.—At last, thank God!” + +Penellan went to replace André Vasling, who was vigorously working for +the common deliverance. + +“Monsieur Vasling,” said he, “I am going to take your place; but look +out well, I beg of you, for every tendency of the house to fall, so +that we may have time to prevent it.” + +The time for rest had come, and when Penellan had added one more foot +to the opening, he lay down beside his comrades. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +A CLOUD OF SMOKE. + + +The next day, when the sailors awoke, they were surrounded by complete +darkness. The lamp had gone out. Jean Cornbutte roused Penellan to ask +him for the tinder-box, which was passed to him. Penellan rose to light +the fire, but in getting up, his head struck against the ice ceiling. +He was horrified, for on the evening before he could still stand +upright. The chafing-dish being lighted up by the dim rays of the +spirit, he perceived that the ceiling was a foot lower than before. + +Penellan resumed work with desperation. + +At this moment the young girl observed, by the light which the +chafing-dish cast upon Penellan’s face, that despair and determination +were struggling in his rough features for the mastery. She went to him, +took his hands, and tenderly pressed them. + + +[Illustration: despair and determination were struggling in his rough +features for the mastery.] + + +“She cannot, must not die thus!” he cried. + +He took his chafing-dish, and once more attacked the narrow opening. He +plunged in his staff, and felt no resistance. Had he reached the soft +layers of the snow? He drew out his staff, and a bright ray penetrated +to the house of ice! + +“Here, my friends!” he shouted. + +He pushed back the snow with his hands and feet, but the exterior +surface was not thawed, as he had thought. With the ray of light, a +violent cold entered the cabin and seized upon everything moist, to +freeze it in an instant. Penellan enlarged the opening with his +cutlass, and at last was able to breathe the free air. He fell on his +knees to thank God, and was soon joined by Marie and his comrades. + +A magnificent moon lit up the sky, but the cold was so extreme that +they could not bear it. They re-entered their retreat; but Penellan +first looked about him. The promontory was no longer there, and the hut +was now in the midst of a vast plain of ice. Penellan thought he would +go to the sledge, where the provisions were. The sledge had +disappeared! + +The cold forced him to return. He said nothing to his companions. It +was necessary, before all, to dry their clothing, which was done with +the chafing-dish. The thermometer, held for an instant in the air, +descended to thirty degrees below zero. + +An hour after, Vasling and Penellan resolved to venture outside. They +wrapped themselves up in their still wet garments, and went out by the +opening, the sides of which had become as hard as a rock. + +“We have been driven towards the north-east,” said Vasling, reckoning +by the stars, which shone with wonderful brilliancy. + +“That would not be bad,” said Penellan, “if our sledge had come with +us.” + +“Is not the sledge there?” cried Vasling. “Then we are lost!” + +“Let us look for it,” replied Penellan. + +They went around the hut, which formed a block more than fifteen feet +high. An immense quantity of snow had fallen during the whole of the +storm, and the wind had massed it against the only elevation which the +plain presented. The entire block had been driven by the wind, in the +midst of the broken icebergs, more than twenty-five miles to the +north-east, and the prisoners had suffered the same fate as their +floating prison. The sledge, supported by another iceberg, had been +turned another way, for no trace of it was to be seen, and the dogs +must have perished amid the frightful tempest. + +André Vasling and Penellan felt despair taking possession of them. They +did not dare to return to their companions. They did not dare to +announce this fatal news to their comrades in misfortune. They climbed +upon the block of ice in which the hut was hollowed, and could perceive +nothing but the white immensity which encompassed them on all sides. +Already the cold was beginning to stiffen their limbs, and the damp of +their garments was being transformed into icicles which hung about +them. + +Just as Penellan was about to descend, he looked towards André. He saw +him suddenly gaze in one direction, then shudder and turn pale. + +“What is the matter, Vasling?” he asked. + +“Nothing,” replied the other. “Let us go down and urge the captain to +leave these parts, where we ought never to have come, at once!” + +Instead of obeying, Penellan ascended again, and looked in the +direction which had drawn the mate’s attention. A very different effect +was produced on him, for he uttered a shout of joy, and cried,— + +“Blessed be God!” + +A light smoke was rising in the north-east. There was no possibility of +deception. It indicated the presence of human beings. Penellan’s cries +of joy reached the rest below, and all were able to convince themselves +with their eyes that he was not mistaken. + +Without thinking of their want of provisions or the severity of the +temperature, wrapped in their hoods, they were all soon advancing +towards the spot whence the smoke arose in the north-east. This was +evidently five or six miles off, and it was very difficult to take +exactly the right direction. The smoke now disappeared, and no +elevation served as a guiding mark, for the ice-plain was one united +level. It was important, nevertheless, not to diverge from a straight +line. + +“Since we cannot guide ourselves by distant objects,” said Jean +Cornbutte, “we must use this method. Penellan will go ahead, Vasling +twenty steps behind him, and I twenty steps behind Vasling. I can then +judge whether or not Penellan diverges from the straight line.” + +They had gone on thus for half an hour, when Penellan suddenly stopped +and listened. The party hurried up to him. + +“Did you hear nothing?” he asked. + +“Nothing!” replied Misonne. + +“It is strange,” said Penellan. “It seemed to me I heard cries from +this direction.” + +“Cries?” replied Marie. “Perhaps we are near our destination, then.” + +“That is no reason,” said André Vasling. “In these high latitudes and +cold regions sounds may be heard to a great distance.” + +“However that may be,” replied Jean Cornbutte, “let us go forward, or +we shall be frozen.” + +“No!” cried Penellan. “Listen!” + +Some feeble sounds—quite perceptible, however—were heard. They seemed +to be cries of distress. They were twice repeated. They seemed like +cries for help. Then all became silent again. + +“I was not mistaken,” said Penellan. “Forward!” + +He began to run in the direction whence the cries had proceeded. He +went thus two miles, when, to his utter stupefaction, he saw a man +lying on the ice. He went up to him, raised him, and lifted his arms to +heaven in despair. + +André Vasling, who was following close behind with the rest of the +sailors, ran up and cried,— + +“It is one of the castaways! It is our sailor Courtois!” + +“He is dead!” replied Penellan. “Frozen to death!” + +Jean Cornbutte and Marie came up beside the corpse, which was already +stiffened by the ice. Despair was written on every face. The dead man +was one of the comrades of Louis Cornbutte! + +“Forward!” cried Penellan. + +They went on for half an hour in perfect silence, and perceived an +elevation which seemed without doubt to be land. + +“It is Shannon Island,” said Jean Cornbutte. + +A mile farther on they distinctly perceived smoke escaping from a +snow-hut, closed by a wooden door. They shouted. Two men rushed out of +the hut, and Penellan recognized one of them as Pierre Nouquet. + +“Pierre!” he cried. + +Pierre stood still as if stunned, and unconscious of what was going on +around him. André Vasling looked at Pierre Nouquet’s companion with +anxiety mingled with a cruel joy, for he did not recognize Louis +Cornbutte in him. + +“Pierre! it is I!” cried Penellan. “These are all your friends!” + +Pierre Nouquet recovered his senses, and fell into his old comrade’s +arms. + +“And my son—and Louis!” cried Jean Cornbutte, in an accent of the most +profound despair. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +THE RETURN TO THE SHIP. + + +At this moment a man, almost dead, dragged himself out of the hut and +along the ice. + +It was Louis Cornbutte. + + +[Illustration: It was Louis Cornbutte.] + + +“My son!” + +“My beloved!” + +These two cries were uttered at the same time, and Louis Cornbutte fell +fainting into the arms of his father and Marie, who drew him towards +the hut, where their tender care soon revived him. + +“My father! Marie!” cried Louis; “I shall not die without having seen +you!” + +“You will not die!” replied Penellan, “for all your friends are near +you.” + +André Vasling must have hated Louis Cornbutte bitterly not to extend +his hand to him, but he did not. + +Pierre Nouquet was wild with joy. He embraced every body; then he threw +some wood into the stove, and soon a comfortable temperature was felt +in the cabin. + +There were two men there whom neither Jean Cornbutte nor Penellan +recognized. + +They were Jocki and Herming, the only two sailors of the crew of the +Norwegian schooner who were left. + +“My friends, we are saved!” said Louis. “My father! Marie! You have +exposed yourselves to so many perils!” + +“We do not regret it, my Louis,” replied the father. “Your brig, the +‘Jeune-Hardie,’ is securely anchored in the ice sixty leagues from +here. We will rejoin her all together.” + +“When Courtois comes back he’ll be mightily pleased,” said Pierre +Nouquet. + +A mournful silence followed this, and Penellan apprised Pierre and +Louis of their comrade’s death by cold. + +“My friends,” said Penellan, “we will wait here until the cold +decreases. Have you provisions and wood?” + +“Yes; and we will burn what is left of the ‘Froöern.’” + +The “Froöern” had indeed been driven to a place forty miles from where +Louis Cornbutte had taken up his winter quarters. There she was broken +up by the icebergs floated by the thaw, and the castaways were carried, +with a part of the _débris_ of their cabin, on the southern shores of +Shannon Island. + +They were then five in number—Louis Cornbutte, Courtois, Pierre +Nouquet, Jocki, and Herming. As for the rest of the Norwegian crew, +they had been submerged with the long-boat at the moment of the wreck. + +When Louis Cornbutte, shut in among the ice, realized what must happen, +he took every precaution for passing the winter. He was an energetic +man, very active and courageous; but, despite his firmness, he had been +subdued by this horrible climate, and when his father found him he had +given up all hope of life. He had not only had to contend with the +elements, but with the ugly temper of the two Norwegian sailors, who +owed him their existence. They were like savages, almost inaccessible +to the most natural emotions. When Louis had the opportunity to talk to +Penellan, he advised him to watch them carefully. In return, Penellan +told him of André Vasling’s conduct. Louis could not believe it, but +Penellan convinced him that after his disappearance Vasling had always +acted so as to secure Marie’s hand. + +The whole day was employed in rest and the pleasures of reunion. +Misonne and Pierre Nouquet killed some sea-birds near the hut, whence +it was not prudent to stray far. These fresh provisions and the +replenished fire raised the spirits of the weakest. Louis Cornbutte got +visibly better. It was the first moment of happiness these brave people +had experienced. They celebrated it with enthusiasm in this wretched +hut, six hundred leagues from the North Sea, in a temperature of thirty +degrees below zero! + +This temperature lasted till the end of the moon, and it was not until +about the 17th of November, a week after their meeting, that Jean +Cornbutte and his party could think of setting out. They only had the +light of the stars to guide them; but the cold was less extreme, and +even some snow fell. + +Before quitting this place a grave was dug for poor Courtois. It was a +sad ceremony, which deeply affected his comrades. He was the first of +them who would not again see his native land. + +Misonne had constructed, with the planks of the cabin, a sort of sledge +for carrying the provisions, and the sailors drew it by turns. Jean +Cornbutte led the expedition by the ways already traversed. Camps were +established with great promptness when the times for repose came. Jean +Cornbutte hoped to find his deposits of provisions again, as they had +become well-nigh indispensable by the addition of four persons to the +party. He was therefore very careful not to diverge from the route by +which he had come. + +By good fortune he recovered his sledge, which had stranded near the +promontory where they had all run so many dangers. The dogs, after +eating their straps to satisfy their hunger, had attacked the +provisions in the sledge. These had sustained them, and they served to +guide the party to the sledge, where there was a considerable quantity +of provisions left. The little band resumed its march towards the bay. +The dogs were harnessed to the sleigh, and no event of interest +attended the return. + +It was observed that Aupic, André Vasling, and the Norwegians kept +aloof, and did not mingle with the others; but, unbeknown to +themselves, they were narrowly watched. This germ of dissension more +than once aroused the fears of Louis Cornbutte and Penellan. + +About the 7th of December, twenty days after the discovery of the +castaways, they perceived the bay where the “Jeune-Hardie” was lying. +What was their astonishment to see the brig perched four yards in the +air on blocks of ice! They hurried forward, much alarmed for their +companions, and were received with joyous cries by Gervique, +Turquiette, and Gradlin. All of them were in good health, though they +too had been subjected to formidable dangers. + +The tempest had made itself felt throughout the polar sea. The ice had +been broken and displaced, crushed one piece against another, and had +seized the bed on which the ship rested. Though its specific weight +tended to carry it under water, the ice had acquired an incalculable +force, and the brig had been suddenly raised up out of the sea. + +The first moments were given up to the happiness inspired by the safe +return. The exploring party were rejoiced to find everything in good +condition, which assured them a supportable though it might be a rough +winter. The ship had not been shaken by her sudden elevation, and was +perfectly tight. When the season of thawing came, they would only have +to slide her down an inclined plane, to launch her, in a word, in the +once more open sea. + +But a bad piece of news spread gloom on the faces of Jean Cornbutte and +his comrades. During the terrible gale the snow storehouse on the coast +had been quite demolished; the provisions which it contained were +scattered, and it had not been possible to save a morsel of them. When +Jean and Louis Cornbutte learnt this, they visited the hold and +steward’s room, to ascertain the quantity of provisions which still +remained. + +The thaw would not come until May, and the brig could not leave the bay +before that period. They had therefore five winter months before them +to pass amid the ice, during which fourteen persons were to be fed. +Having made his calculations, Jean Cornbutte found that he would at +most be able to keep them alive till the time for departure, by putting +each and all on half rations. Hunting for game became compulsory to +procure food in larger quantity. + +For fear that they might again run short of provisions, it was decided +to deposit them no longer in the ground. All of them were kept on +board, and beds were disposed for the new comers in the common lodging. +Turquiette, Gervique, and Gradlin, during the absence of the others, +had hollowed out a flight of steps in the ice, which enabled them +easily to reach the ship’s deck. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +THE TWO RIVALS. + + +André Vasling had been cultivating the good-will of the two Norwegian +sailors. Aupic also made one of their band, and held himself apart, +with loud disapproval of all the new measures taken; but Louis +Cornbutte, to whom his father had transferred the command of the ship, +and who had become once more master on board, would listen to no +objections from that quarter, and in spite of Marie’s advice to act +gently, made it known that he intended to be obeyed on all points. + +Nevertheless, the two Norwegians succeeded, two days after, in getting +possession of a box of salt meat. Louis ordered them to return it to +him on the spot, but Aupic took their part, and André Vasling declared +that the precautions about the food could not be any longer enforced. + +It was useless to attempt to show these men that these measures were +for the common interest, for they knew it well, and only sought a +pretext to revolt. + +Penellan advanced towards the Norwegians, who drew their cutlasses; +but, aided by Misonne and Turquiette, he succeeded in snatching the +weapons from their hands, and gained possession of the salt meat. André +Vasling and Aupic, seeing that matters were going against them, did not +interfere. Louis Cornbutte, however, took the mate aside, and said to +him,— + + +[Illustration: Penellan advanced towards the Norwegians.] + + +“André Vasling, you are a wretch! I know your whole conduct, and I know +what you are aiming at, but as the safety of the whole crew is confided +to me, if any man of you thinks of conspiring to destroy them, I will +stab him with my own hand!” + +“Louis Cornbutte,” replied the mate, “it is allowable for you to act +the master; but remember that absolute obedience does not exist here, +and that here the strongest alone makes the law.” + +Marie had never trembled before the dangers of the polar seas; but she +was terrified by this hatred, of which she was the cause, and the +captain’s vigour hardly reassured her. + +Despite this declaration of war, the meals were partaken of in common +and at the same hours. Hunting furnished some ptarmigans and white +hares; but this resource would soon fail them, with the approach of the +terrible cold weather. This began at the solstice, on the 22nd of +December, on which day the thermometer fell to thirty-five degrees +below zero. The men experienced pain in their ears, noses, and the +extremities of their bodies. They were seized with a mortal torpor +combined with headache, and their breathing became more and more +difficult. + +In this state they had no longer any courage to go hunting or to take +any exercise. They remained crouched around the stove, which gave them +but a meagre heat; and when they went away from it, they perceived that +their blood suddenly cooled. + +Jean Cornbutte’s health was seriously impaired, and he could no longer +quit his lodging. Symptoms of scurvy manifested themselves in him, and +his legs were soon covered with white spots. Marie was well, however, +and occupied herself tending the sick ones with the zeal of a sister of +charity. The honest fellows blessed her from the bottom of their +hearts. + +The 1st of January was one of the gloomiest of these winter days. The +wind was violent, and the cold insupportable. They could not go out, +except at the risk of being frozen. The most courageous were fain to +limit themselves to walking on deck, sheltered by the tent. Jean +Cornbutte, Gervique, and Gradlin did not leave their beds. The two +Norwegians, Aupic, and André Vasling, whose health was good, cast +ferocious looks at their companions, whom they saw wasting away. + +Louis Cornbutte led Penellan on deck, and asked him how much firing was +left. + +“The coal was exhausted long ago,” replied Penellan, “and we are about +to burn our last pieces of wood.” + +“If we are not able to keep off this cold, we are lost,” said Louis. + +“There still remains a way—” said Penellan, “to burn what we can of the +brig, from the barricading to the water-line; and we can even, if need +be, demolish her entirely, and rebuild a smaller craft.” + +“That is an extreme means,” replied Louis, “which it will be full time +to employ when our men are well. For,” he added in a low voice, “our +force is diminishing, and that of our enemies seems to be increasing. +That is extraordinary.” + +“It is true,” said Penellan; “and unless we took the precaution to +watch night and day, I know not what would happen to us.” + +“Let us take our hatchets,” returned Louis, “and make our harvest of +wood.” + +Despite the cold, they mounted on the forward barricading, and cut off +all the wood which was not indispensably necessary to the ship; then +they returned with this new provision. The fire was started afresh, and +a man remained on guard to prevent it from going out. + +Meanwhile Louis Cornbutte and his friends were soon tired out. They +could not confide any detail of the life in common to their enemies. +Charged with all the domestic cares, their powers were soon exhausted. +The scurvy betrayed itself in Jean Cornbutte, who suffered intolerable +pain. Gervique and Gradlin showed symptoms of the same disease. Had it +not been for the lemon-juice with which they were abundantly furnished, +they would have speedily succumbed to their sufferings. This remedy was +not spared in relieving them. + +But one day, the 15th of January, when Louis Cornbutte was going down +into the steward’s room to get some lemons, he was stupefied to find +that the barrels in which they were kept had disappeared. He hurried up +and told Penellan of this misfortune. A theft had been committed, and +it was easy to recognize its authors. Louis Cornbutte then understood +why the health of his enemies continued so good! His friends were no +longer strong enough to take the lemons away from them, though his life +and that of his comrades depended on the fruit; and he now sank, for +the first time, into a gloomy state of despair. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +DISTRESS. + + +On the 20th of January most of the crew had not the strength to leave +their beds. Each, independently of his woollen coverings, had a +buffalo-skin to protect him against the cold; but as soon as he put his +arms outside the clothes, he felt a pain which obliged him quickly to +cover them again. + +Meanwhile, Louis having lit the stove fire, Penellan, Misonne, and +André Vasling left their beds and crouched around it. Penellan prepared +some boiling coffee, which gave them some strength, as well as Marie, +who joined them in partaking of it. + +Louis Cornbutte approached his father’s bedside; the old man was almost +motionless, and his limbs were helpless from disease. He muttered some +disconnected words, which carried grief to his son’s heart. + +“Louis,” said he, “I am dying. O, how I suffer! Save me!” + +Louis took a decisive resolution. He went up to the mate, and, +controlling himself with difficulty, said,— + +“Do you know where the lemons are, Vasling?” + +“In the steward’s room, I suppose,” returned the mate, without +stirring. + +“You know they are not there, as you have stolen them!” + +“You are master, Louis Cornbutte, and may say and do anything.” + +“For pity’s sake, André Vasling, my father is dying! You can save +him,—answer!” + +“I have nothing to answer,” replied André Vasling. + +“Wretch!” cried Penellan, throwing himself, cutlass in hand, on the +mate. + +“Help, friends!” shouted Vasling, retreating. + +Aupic and the two Norwegian sailors jumped from their beds and placed +themselves behind him. Turquiette, Penellan, and Louis prepared to +defend themselves. Pierre Nouquet and Gradlin, though suffering much, +rose to second them. + +“You are still too strong for us,” said Vasling. “We do not wish to +fight on an uncertainty.” + +The sailors were so weak that they dared not attack the four rebels, +for, had they failed, they would have been lost. + +“André Vasling!” said Louis Cornbutte, in a gloomy tone, “if my father +dies, you will have murdered him; and I will kill you like a dog!” + +Vasling and his confederates retired to the other end of the cabin, and +did not reply. + +It was then necessary to renew the supply of wood, and, in spite of the +cold, Louis went on deck and began to cut away a part of the +barricading, but was obliged to retreat in a quarter of an hour, for he +was in danger of falling, overcome by the freezing air. As he passed, +he cast a glance at the thermometer left outside, and saw that the +mercury was frozen. The cold, then, exceeded forty-two degrees below +zero. The weather was dry, and the wind blew from the north. + +On the 26th the wind changed to the north-east, and the thermometer +outside stood at thirty-five degrees. Jean Cornbutte was in agony, and +his son had searched in vain for some remedy with which to relieve his +pain. On this day, however, throwing himself suddenly on Vasling, he +managed to snatch a lemon from him which he was about to suck. + +Vasling made no attempt to recover it. He seemed to be awaiting an +opportunity to accomplish his wicked designs. + +The lemon-juice somewhat relieved old Cornbutte, but it was necessary +to continue the remedy. Marie begged Vasling on her knees to produce +the lemons, but he did not reply, and soon Penellan heard the wretch +say to his accomplices,— + + +[Illustration: Marie begged Vasling on her knees to produce the +lemons, but he did not reply.] + + +“The old fellow is dying. Gervique, Gradlin, and Nouquet are not much +better. The others are daily losing their strength. The time is near +when their lives will belong to us!” + +It was then resolved by Louis Cornbutte and his adherents not to wait, +and to profit by the little strength which still remained to them. They +determined to act the next night, and to kill these wretches, so as not +to be killed by them. + +The temperature rose a little. Louis Cornbutte ventured to go out with +his gun in search of some game. + +He proceeded some three miles from the ship, and often, deceived by the +effects of the mirage and refraction, he went farther away than he +intended. It was imprudent, for recent tracts of ferocious animals were +to be seen. He did not wish, however, to return without some fresh +meat, and continued on his route; but he then experienced a strange +feeling, which turned his head. It was what is called “white vertigo.” + +The reflection of the ice hillocks and fields affected him from head to +foot, and it seemed to him that the dazzling colour penetrated him and +caused an irresistible nausea. His eye was attacked. His sight became +uncertain. He thought he should go mad with the glare. Without fully +understanding this terrible effect, he advanced on his way, and soon +put up a ptarmigan, which he eagerly pursued. The bird soon fell, and +in order to reach it Louis leaped from an ice-block and fell heavily; +for the leap was at least ten feet, and the refraction made him think +it was only two. The vertigo then seized him, and, without knowing why, +he began to call for help, though he had not been injured by the fall. +The cold began to take him, and he rose with pain, urged by the sense +of self-preservation. + +Suddenly, without being able to account for it, he smelt an odour of +boiling fat. As the ship was between him and the wind, he supposed that +this odour proceeded from her, and could not imagine why they should be +cooking fat, this being a dangerous thing to do, as it was likely to +attract the white bears. + +Louis returned towards the ship, absorbed in reflections which soon +inspired his excited mind with terror. It seemed to him as if colossal +masses were moving on the horizon, and he asked himself if there was +not another ice-quake. Several of these masses interposed themselves +between him and the ship, and appeared to rise about its sides. He +stopped to gaze at them more attentively, when to his horror he +recognized a herd of gigantic bears. + +These animals had been attracted by the odour of grease which had +surprised Lonis. He sheltered himself behind a hillock, and counted +three, which were scaling the blocks on which the “Jeune-Hardie” was +resting. + +Nothing led him to suppose that this danger was known in the interior +of the ship, and a terrible anguish oppressed his heart. How resist +these redoubtable enemies? Would André Vasling and his confederates +unite with the rest on board in the common peril? Could Penellan and +the others, half starved, benumbed with cold, resist these formidable +animals, made wild by unassuaged hunger? Would they not be surprised by +an unlooked-for attack? + +Louis made these reflections rapidly. The bears had crossed the blocks, +and were mounting to the assault of the ship. He might then quit the +block which protected him; he went nearer, clinging to the ice, and +could soon see the enormous animals tearing the tent with their paws, +and leaping on the deck. He thought of firing his gun to give his +comrades notice; but if these came up without arms, they would +inevitably be torn in pieces, and nothing showed as yet that they were +even aware of their new danger. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +THE WHITE BEARS. + + +After Louis Cornbutte’s departure, Penellan had carefully shut the +cabin door, which opened at the foot of the deck steps. He returned to +the stove, which he took it upon himself to watch, whilst his +companions regained their berths in search of a little warmth. + +It was then six in the evening, and Penellan set about preparing +supper. He went down into the steward’s room for some salt meat, which +he wished to soak in the boiling water. When he returned, he found +André Vasling in his place, cooking some pieces of grease in a basin. + +“I was there before you,” said Penellan roughly; “why have you taken my +place?” + +“For the same reason that you claim it,” returned Vasling: “because I +want to cook my supper.” + +“You will take that off at once, or we shall see!” + +“We shall see nothing,” said Vasling; “my supper shall be cooked in +spite of you.” + +“You shall not eat it, then,” cried Penellan, rushing upon Vasling, who +seized his cutlass, crying,— + +“Help, Norwegians! Help, Aupic!” + +These, in the twinkling of an eye, sprang to their feet, armed with +pistols and daggers. The crisis had come. + +Penellan precipitated himself upon Vasling, to whom, no doubt, was +confided the task to fight him alone; for his accomplices rushed to the +beds where lay Misonne, Turquiette, and Nouquet. The latter, ill and +defenceless, was delivered over to Herming’s ferocity. The carpenter +seized a hatchet, and, leaving his berth, hurried up to encounter +Aupic. Turquiette and Jocki, the Norwegian, struggled fiercely. +Gervique and Gradlin, suffering horribly, were not even conscious of +what was passing around them. + +Nouquet soon received a stab in the side, and Herming turned to +Penellan, who was fighting desperately. André Vasling had seized him +round the body. + +At the beginning of the affray the basin had been upset on the stove, +and the grease running over the burning coals, impregnated the +atmosphere with its odour. Marie rose with cries of despair, and +hurried to the bed of old Jean Cornbutte. + + +[Illustration: Marie rose with cries of despair, and hurried to the +bed of old Jean Cornbutte.] + + +Vasling, less strong than Penellan, soon perceived that the latter was +getting the better of him. They were too close together to make use of +their weapons. The mate, seeing Herming, cried out,— + +“Help, Herming!” + +“Help, Misonne!” shouted Penellan, in his turn. + +But Misonne was rolling on the ground with Aupic, who was trying to +stab him with his cutlass. The carpenter’s hatchet was of little use to +him, for he could not wield it, and it was with the greatest difficulty +that he parried the lunges which Aupic made with his knife. + +Meanwhile blood flowed amid the groans and cries. Turquiette, thrown +down by Jocki, a man of immense strength, had received a wound in the +shoulder, and he tried in vain to clutch a pistol which hung in the +Norwegian’s belt. The latter held him as in a vice, and it was +impossible for him to move. + +At Vasling’s cry for help, who was being held by Penellan close against +the door, Herming rushed up. As he was about to stab the Breton’s back +with his cutlass, the latter felled him to the earth with a vigorous +kick. His effort to do this enabled Vasling to disengage his right arm; +but the door, against which they pressed with all their weight, +suddenly yielded, and Vasling fell over. + +Of a sudden a terrible growl was heard, and a gigantic bear appeared on +the steps. Vasling saw him first. He was not four feet away from him. +At the same moment a shot was heard, and the bear, wounded or +frightened, retreated. Vasling, who had succeeded in regaining his +feet, set-out in pursuit of him, abandoning Penellan. + +Penellan then replaced the door, and looked around him. Misonne and +Turquiette, tightly garrotted by their antagonists, had been thrown +into a corner, and made vain efforts to break loose. Penellan rushed to +their assistance, but was overturned by the two Norwegians and Aupic. +His exhausted strength did not permit him to resist these three men, +who so clung to him as to hold him motionless Then, at the cries of the +mate, they hurried on deck, thinking that Louis Cornbutte was to be +encountered. + +André Vasling was struggling with a bear, which he had already twice +stabbed with his knife. The animal, beating the air with his heavy +paws, was trying to clutch Vasling; he retiring little by little on the +barricading, was apparently doomed, when a second shot was heard. The +bear fell. André Vasling raised his head and saw Louis Cornbutte in the +ratlines of the mizen-mast, his gun in his hand. Louis had shot the +bear in the heart, and he was dead. + +Hate overcame gratitude in Vasling’s breast; but before satisfying it, +he looked around him. Aupic’s head was broken by a paw-stroke, and he +lay lifeless on deck. Jocki, hatchet in hand, was with difficulty +parrying the blows of the second bear which had just killed Aupic. The +animal had received two wounds, and still struggled desperately. A +third bear was directing his way towards the ship’s prow. Vasling paid +no attention to him, but, followed by Herming, went to the aid of +Jocki; but Jocki, seized by the beast’s paws, was crushed, and when the +bear fell under the shots of the other two men, he held only a corpse +in his shaggy arms. + +“We are only two, now” said Vasling, with gloomy ferocity, “but if we +yield, it will not be without vengeance!” + +Herming reloaded his pistol without replying. Before all, the third +bear must be got rid of. Vasling looked forward, but did not see him. +On raising his eyes, he perceived him erect on the barricading, +clinging to the ratlines and trying to reach Louis. Vasling let his gun +fall, which he had aimed at the animal, while a fierce joy glittered in +his eyes. + +“Ah,” he cried, “you owe me that vengeance!” + +Louis took refuge in the top of the mast. The bear kept mounting, and +was not more than six feet from Louis, when he raised his gun and +pointed it at the animal’s heart. + +Vasling raised his weapon to shoot Louis if the bear fell. + +Louis fired, but the bear did not appear to be hit, for he leaped with +a bound towards the top. The whole mast shook. + +Vasling uttered a shout of exultation. + +“Herming,” he cried, “go and find Marie! Go and find my betrothed!” + +Herming descended the cabin stairs. + +Meanwhile the furious beast had thrown himself upon Louis, who was +trying to shelter himself on the other side of the mast; but at the +moment that his enormous paw was raised to break his head, Louis, +seizing one of the backstays, let himself slip down to the deck, not +without danger, for a ball hissed by his ear when he was half-way down. +Vasling had shot at him, and missed him. The two adversaries now +confronted each other, cutlass in hand. + +The combat was about to become decisive. To entirely glut his +vengeance, and to have the young girl witness her lover’s death, +Vasling had deprived himself of Herming’s aid. He could now reckon only +on himself. + +Louis and Vasling seized each other by the collar, and held each other +with iron grip. One of them must fall. They struck each other +violently. The blows were only half parried, for blood soon flowed from +both. Vasling tried to clasp his adversary about the neck with his arm, +to bring him to the ground. Louis, knowing that he who fell was lost, +prevented him, and succeeded in grasping his two arms; but in doing +this he let fall his cutlass. + +Piteous cries now assailed his ears; it was Marie’s voice. Herming was +trying to drag her up. Louis was seized with a desperate rage. He +stiffened himself to bend Vasling’s loins; but at this moment the +combatants felt themselves seized in a powerful embrace. The bear, +having descended from the mast, had fallen upon the two men. Vasling +was pressed against the animal’s body. Louis felt his claws entering +his flesh. The bear, was strangling both of them. + + +[Illustration: The bear, having descended from the mast, had fallen +upon the two men.] + + +“Help! help! Herming!” cried the mate. + +“Help! Penellan!” cried Louis. + +Steps were heard on the stairs. Penellan appeared, loaded his pistol, +and discharged it in the bear’s ear; he roared; the pain made him relax +his paws for a moment, and Louis, exhausted, fell motionless on the +deck; but the bear, closing his paws tightly in a supreme agony, fell, +dragging down the wretched Vasling, whose body was crushed under him. + +Penellan hurried to Louis Cornbutte’s assistance. No serious wound +endangered his life: he had only lost his breath for a moment. + +“Marie!” he said, opening his eyes. + +“Saved!” replied Perfellan. “Herming is lying there with a knife-wound +in his stomach.” + +“And the bears—” + +“Dead, Louis; dead, like our enemies! But for those beasts we should +have been lost. Truly, they came to our succour. Let us thank Heaven!” + +Louis and Penellan descended to the cabin, and Marie fell into their +arms. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +CONCLUSION. + + +Herming, mortally wounded, had been carried to a berth by Misonne and +Turquiette, who had succeeded in getting free. He was already at the +last gasp of death; and the two sailors occupied themselves with +Nouquet, whose wound was not, happily, a serious one. + +But a greater misfortune had overtaken Louis Cornbutte. His father no +longer gave any signs of life. Had he died of anxiety for his son, +delivered over to his enemies? Had he succumbed in presence of these +terrible events? They could not tell. But the poor old sailor, broken +by disease, had ceased to live! + +At this unexpected blow, Louis and Marie fell into a sad despair; then +they knelt at the bedside and wept, as they prayed for Jean Cornbutte’s +soul, Penellan, Misonne, and Turquiette left them alone in the cabin, +and went on deck. The bodies of the three bears were carried forward. +Penellan decided to keep their skins, which would be of no little use; +but he did not think for a moment of eating their flesh. Besides, the +number of men to feed was now much decreased. The bodies of Vasling, +Aupic, and Jocki, thrown into a hole dug on the coast, were soon +rejoined by that of Herming. The Norwegian died during the night, +without repentance or remorse, foaming at the mouth with rage. + +The three sailors repaired the tent, which, torn in several places, +permitted the snow to fall on the deck. The temperature was exceedingly +cold, and kept so till the return of the sun, which did not reappear +above the horizon till the 8th of January. + +Jean Cornbutte was buried on the coast. He had left his native land to +find his son, and had died in these terrible regions! His grave was dug +on an eminence, and the sailors placed over it a simple wooden cross. + +From that day, Louis Cornbutte and his comrades passed through many +other trials; but the lemons, which they found, restored them to +health. + +Gervique, Gradlin, and Nouquet were able to rise from their berths a +fortnight after these terrible events, and to take a little exercise. + +Soon hunting for game became more easy and its results more abundant. +The water-birds returned in large numbers. They often brought down a +kind of wild duck which made excellent food. The hunters had no other +deprivation to deplore than that of two dogs, which they lost in an +expedition to reconnoitre the state of the icefields, twenty-five miles +to the southward. + +The month of February was signalized by violent tempests and abundant +snows. The mean temperature was still twenty-five degrees below zero, +but they did not suffer in comparison with past hardships. Besides, the +sight of the sun, which rose higher and higher above the horizon, +rejoiced them, as it forecast the end of their torments. Heaven had +pity on them, for warmth came sooner than usual that year. The ravens +appeared in March, careering about the ship. Louis Cornbutte captured +some cranes which had wandered thus far northward. Flocks of wild birds +were also seen in the south. + +The return of the birds indicated a diminution of the cold; but it was +not safe to rely upon this, for with a change of wind, or in the new or +full moons, the temperature suddenly fell; and the sailors were forced +to resort to their most careful precautions to protect themselves +against it. They had already burned all the barricading, the bulkheads, +and a large portion of the bridge. It was time, then, that their +wintering was over. Happily, the mean temperature of March was not over +sixteen degrees below zero. Marie occupied herself with preparing new +clothing for the advanced season of the year. + +After the equinox, the sun had remained constantly above the horizon. +The eight months of perpetual daylight had begun. This continual +sunlight, with the increasing though still quite feeble heat, soon +began to act upon the ice. + +Great precautions were necessary in launching the ship from the lofty +layer of ice which surrounded her. She was therefore securely propped +up, and it seemed best to await the breaking up of the ice; but the +lower mass, resting on a bed of already warm water, detached itself +little by little, and the ship gradually descended with it. Early in +April she had reached her natural level. + +Torrents of rain came with April, which, extending in waves over the +ice-plain, hastened still more its breaking up. The thermometer rose to +ten degrees below zero. Some of the men took off their seal-skin +clothes, and it was no longer necessary to keep a fire in the cabin +stove day and night. The provision of spirit, which was not exhausted, +was used only for cooking the food. + +Soon the ice began to break up rapidly, and it became imprudent to +venture upon the plain without a staff to sound the passages; for +fissures wound in spirals here and there. Some of the sailors fell into +the water, with no worse result, however, than a pretty cold bath. + +The seals returned, and they were often hunted, and their grease +utilized. + +The health of the crew was fully restored, and the time was employed in +hunting and preparations for departure. Louis Cornbutte often examined +the channels, and decided, in consequence of the shape of the southern +coast, to attempt a passage in that direction. The breaking up had +already begun here and there, and the floating ice began to pass off +towards the high seas. On the 25th of April the ship was put in +readiness. The sails, taken from their sheaths, were found to be +perfectly preserved, and it was with real delight that the sailors saw +them once more swaying in the wind. The ship gave a lurch, for she had +found her floating line, and though she would not yet move forward, she +lay quietly and easily in her natural element. + +In May the thaw became very rapid. The snow which covered the coast +melted on every hand, and formed a thick mud, which made it well-nigh +impossible to land. Small heathers, rosy and white, peeped out timidly +above the lingering snow, and seemed to smile at the little heat they +received. The thermometer at last rose above zero. + +Twenty miles off, the ice masses, entirely separated, floated towards +the Atlantic Ocean. Though the sea was not quite free around the ship, +channels opened by which Louis Cornbutte wished to profit. + +On the 21st of May, after a parting visit to his father’s grave, Louis +at last set out from the bay. The hearts of the honest sailors were +filled at once with joy and sadness, for one does not leave without +regret a place where a friend has died. The wind blew from the north, +and favoured their departure. The ship was often arrested by ice-banks, +which were cut with the saws; icebergs not seldom confronted her, and +it was necessary to blow them up with powder. For a month the way was +full of perils, which sometimes brought the ship to the verge of +destruction; but the crew were sturdy, and used to these dangerous +exigencies. Penellan, Pierre Nouquet, Turquiette, Fidèle Misonne, did +the work of ten sailors, and Marie had smiles of gratitude for each. + +The “Jeune-Hardie” at last passed beyond the ice in the latitude of +Jean-Mayer Island. About the 25th of June she met ships going northward +for seals and whales. She had been nearly a month emerging from the +Polar Sea. + +On the 16th of August she came in view of Dunkirk. She had been +signalled by the look-out, and the whole population flocked to the +jetty. The sailors of the ship were soon clasped in the arms of their +friends. The old curé received Louis Cornbutte and Marie with +patriarchal arms, and of the two masses which he said on the following +day, the first was for the repose of Jean Cornbutte’s soul, and the +second to bless these two lovers, so long united in misfortune. + + +[Illustration: The old curé received Louis Cornbutte and Marie.] + + + + +THE FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT OF MONT BLANC + +BY PAUL VERNE. + +I arrived at Chamonix on the 18th of August, 1871, fully decided to +make the ascent of Mont Blanc, cost what it might. My first attempt in +August, 1869, was not successful. Bad weather had prevented me from +mounting beyond the Grands-Mulets. This time circumstances seemed +scarcely more favourable, for the weather, which had promised to be +fine on the morning of the 18th, suddenly changed towards noon. Mont +Blanc, as they say in its neighbourhood, “put on its cap and began to +smoke its pipe,” which, to speak more plainly, means that it is covered +with clouds, and that the snow, driven upon it by a south-west wind, +formed a long crest on its summit in the direction of the unfathomable +precipices of the Brenva glaciers. This crest betrayed to imprudent +tourists the route they would have taken, had they had the temerity to +venture upon the mountain. + +The next night was very inclement. The rain and wind were violent, and +the barometer, below the “change,” remained stationary. + +Towards daybreak, however, several thunder-claps announced a change in +the state of the atmosphere. Soon the clouds broke. The chain of the +Brevent and the Aiguilles-Rouges betrayed itself. The wind, turning to +the north-west, brought into view above the Col de Balme, which shuts +in the valley of Chamonix on the north, some light, isolated, fleecy +clouds, which I hailed as the heralds of fine weather. + +Despite this happy augury and a slight rise in the barometer, M. +Balmat, chief guide of Chamonix, declared to me that I must not yet +think of attempting the ascent. + +“If the barometer continues to rise,” he added, “and the weather holds +good, I promise you guides for the day after to-morrow— perhaps for +to-morrow. Meanwhile, have patience and stretch your legs; I will take +you up the Brevent. The clouds are clearing away, and you will be able +to exactly distinguish the path you will have to go over to reach the +summit of Mont Blanc. If, in spite of this, you are determined to go, +you may try it!” + +This speech, uttered in a certain tone, was not very reassuring, and +gave food for reflection. Still, I accepted his proposition, and he +chose as my companion the guide Edward Ravanel, a very sedate and +devoted fellow, who perfectly knew his business. + +M. Donatien Levesque, an enthusiastic tourist and an intrepid +pedestrian, who had made early in the previous year an interesting and +difficult trip in North America, was with me. He had already visited +the greater part of America, and was about to descend the Mississippi +to New Orleans, when the war cut short his projects and recalled him to +France. We had met at Aix-les-Bains, and we had determined to make an +excursion together in Savoy and Switzerland. + +Donatien Levesque knew my intentions, and, as he thought that his +health would not permit him to attempt so long a journey over the +glaciers, it had been agreed that he should await my return from Mont +Blanc at Chamonix, and should make the traditional visit to the +Mer-de-Glace by the Montanvers during my absence. + +On learning that I was going to ascend the Brevent, my friend did not +hesitate to accompany me thither. The ascent of the Brevent is one of +the most interesting trips that can be made from Chamonix. This +mountain, about seven thousand six hundred feet high, is only the +prolongation of the chain for the Aiguilles-Rouges, which runs from the +south-west to the north-east, parallel with that of Mont Blanc, and +forms with it the narrow valley of Chamonix. The Brevent, by its +central position, exactly opposite the Bossons glacier, enables one to +watch the parties which undertake the ascent of the giant of the Alps +nearly throughout their journey. It is therefore much frequented. + +We started about seven o’clock in the morning. As we went along, I +thought of the mysterious words of the master-guide; they annoyed me a +little. Addressing Ravanel, I said,— + +“Have you made the ascent of Mont Blanc?” + +“Yes, monsieur,” he replied, “once; and that’s enough. I am not anxious +to do it again.” + +“The deuce!” said I. “I am going to try it.” + +“You are free, monsieur; but I shall not go with you. The mountain is +not good this year. Several attempts have already been made; two only +have succeeded. As for the second, the party tried the ascent twice. +Besides, the accident last year has rather cooled the amateurs.” + +“An accident! What accident?” + +“Did not monsieur hear of it? This is how it happened. A party, +consisting of ten guides and porters and two Englishmen, started about +the middle of September for Mont Blanc. They were seen to reach the +summit; then, some minutes after, they disappeared in a cloud. When the +cloud passed over no one was visible. The two travellers, with seven +guides and porters, had been blown off by the wind and precipitated on +the Cormayeur side, doubtless into the Brenva glacier. Despite the most +vigilant search, their bodies could not be found. The other three were +found one hundred and fifty yards below the summit, near the +Petits-Mulets. They had become blocks of ice.” + +“But these travellers must have been imprudent,” said I to Ravanel. +“What folly it was to start off so late in the year on such an +expedition! They should have gone up in August.” + +I vainly tried to keep up my courage; this lugubrious story would haunt +me in spite of myself. Happily the weather soon cleared, and the rays +of a bright sun dissipated the clouds which still veiled Mont Blanc, +and, at the same time, those which overshadowed my thoughts. + +Our ascent was satisfactorily accomplished. On leaving the chalets of +Planpraz, situated at a height of two thousand and sixty-two yards, you +ascend, on ragged masses of rock and pools of snow, to the foot of a +rock called “The Chimney,” which is scaled with the feet and hands. +Twenty minutes after, you reach the summit of the Brevent, whence the +view is very fine. The chain of Mont Blanc appears in all its majesty. +The gigantic mountain, firmly established on its powerful strata, seems +to defy the tempests which sweep across its icy shield without ever +impairing it; whilst the crowd of icy needles, peaks, mountains, which +form its cortege and rise everywhere around it, without equalling its +noble height, carry the evident traces of a slow wasting away. + + +[Illustration: View of Mont Blanc from the Brevent.] + + +From the excellent look-out which we occupied, we could reckon, though +still imperfectly, the distance to be gone over in order to attain the +summit. This summit, which from Chamonix appears so near the dome of +the Goûter, now took its true position. The various plateaus which form +so many degrees which must be crossed, and which are not visible from +below, appeared from the Brevent, and threw the so-much-desired summit, +by the laws of perspective, still farther in the background. The +Bossons glacier, in all its splendour, bristled with icy needles and +blocks (blocks sometimes ten yards square), which seemed, like the +waves of an angry sea, to beat against the sides of the rocks of the +Grands-Mulets, the base of which disappeared in their midst. + +This marvellous spectacle was not likely to cool my impatience, and I +more eagerly than ever promised myself to explore this hitherto unknown +world. + +My companion was equally inspired by the scene, and from this moment I +began to think that I should not have to ascend Mont Blanc alone. + +We descended again to Chamonix; the weather became milder every hour; +the barometer continued to ascend; everything seemed to promise well. + +The next day at sunrise I hastened to the master-guide. The sky was +cloudless; the wind, almost imperceptible, was north-east. The chain of +Mont Blanc, the higher summits of which were gilded by the rising sun, +seemed to invite the many tourists to ascend it. One could not, in all +politeness, refuse so kindly an invitation. + +M. Balmat, after consulting his barometer, declared the ascent to be +practicable, and promised me the two guides and the porter prescribed +in our agreement. I left the selection of these to him. But an +unexpected incident disturbed my preparations for departure. + +As I came out of M. Balmat’s office, I met Ravanel, my guide of the day +before. + +“Is monsieur going to Mont Blanc?” he asked. + +“Yes, certainly,” said I. “Is it not a favourable time to go?” + +He reflected a few moments, and then said with an embarrassed air,— + +“Monsieur, you are my traveller; I accompanied you yesterday to the +Brevent, so I cannot leave you now; and, since you are going up, I will +go with you, if you will kindly accept my services. It is your right, +for on all dangerous journeys the traveller can choose his own guides. +Only, if you accept my offer, I ask that you will also take my brother, +Ambrose Ravanel, and my cousin, Gaspard Simon. These are young, +vigorous fellows; they do not like the ascent of Mont Blanc better than +I do; but they will not shirk it, and I answer for them to you as I +would for myself.” + +This young man inspired me with all confidence. I accepted his +proposition, and hastened to apprise M. Balmat of the choice I had +made. But M. Balmat had meanwhile been selecting guides for me +according to their turn on his list. One only had accepted, Edward +Simon; the answer of another, Jean Carrier, had not yet been received, +though it was scarcely doubtful, as this man had already made the +ascent of Mont Blanc twenty-nine times. I thus found myself in an +embarrassing position. The guides I had chosen were all from +Argentière, a village six kilometres from Chamonix. Those of Chamonix +accused Ravanel of having influenced me in favour of his family, which +was contrary to the regulations. + +To cut the discussion short, I took Edward Simon, who had already made +his preparations as a third guide. He would be useless if I went up +alone, but would become indispensable if my friend also ascended. + +This settled, I went to tell Donatien Levesque. I found him sleeping +the sleep of the just, for he had walked over sixteen kilometres on a +mountain the evening before. I had some difficulty in waking him; but +on removing first his sheets, then his pillows, and finally his +mattress, I obtained some result, and succeeded in making him +understand that I was preparing for the hazardous trip. + +“Well,” said he, yawning, “I will go with you as far as the +Grands-Mulets, and await your return there.” + +“Bravo!” I replied. “I have just one guide too many, and I will attach +him to your person.” + +We bought the various articles indispensable to a journey across the +glaciers. Iron-spiked alpenstocks, coarse cloth leggings, green +spectacles fitting tightly to the eyes, furred gloves, green +veils,—nothing was forgotten. We each had excellent triple-soled shoes, +which our guides roughed for the ice. This last is an important detail, +for there are moments in such an expedition when the least slip is +fatal, not only to yourself, but to the whole party with you. + +Our preparations and those of the guides occupied nearly two hours. +About eight o’clock our mules were brought; and we set out at last for +the chalet of the Pierre-Pointue, situated at a height of six thousand +five hundred feet, or three thousand above the valley of Chamonix, not +far from eight thousand five hundred feet below the summit of Mont +Blanc. + +On reaching the Pierre-Pointue, about ten o’clock, we found there a +Spanish tourist, M. N——, accompanied by two guides and a porter. His +principal guide, Paccard, a relative of the Doctor Paccard who made, +with Jacques Balmat, the first ascent of Mont Blanc, had already been +to the summit eighteen times. M. N—— was also getting himself ready for +the ascent. He had travelled much in America, and had crossed the +Cordilleras to Quito, passing through snow at the highest points. He +therefore thought that he could, without great difficulty, carry +through his new enterprise; but in this he was mistaken. He had +reckoned without the steepness of the inclinations which he had to +cross, and the rarefaction of the air. I hasten to add, to his honour, +that, since he succeeded in reaching the summit of Mont Blanc, it was +due to a rare moral energy, for his physical energies had long before +deserted him. + +We breakfasted as heartily as possible at the Pierre-Pointue; this +being a prudent precaution, as the appetite usually fails higher up +among the ice. + + +[Illustration: View Of Bossons Glacier, Near The Grands-Mulets.] + + +M. N—— set out at eleven, with his guides, for the Grands-Mulets. We +did not start until noon. The mule-road ceases at the Pierre-Pointue. +We had then to go up a very narrow zigzag path, which follows the edge +of the Bossons glacier, and along the base of the Aiguille-du-Midi. +After an hour of difficult climbing in an intense heat, we reached a +point called the Pierre-a-l’Echelle, eight thousand one hundred feet +high. The guides and travellers were then bound together by a strong +rope, with three or four yards between each. We were about to advance +upon the Bossons glacier. This glacier, difficult at first, presents +yawning and apparently bottomless crevasses on every hand. The vertical +sides of these crevasses are of a glaucous and uncertain colour, but +too seducing to the eye; when, approaching closely, you succeed in +looking into their mysterious depths, you feel yourself irresistibly +drawn towards them, and nothing seems more natural than to go down into +them. + + +[Illustration: Passage Of The Bossons Glacier.] + + +You advance slowly, passing round the crevasses, or on the snow bridges +of dubious strength. Then the rope plays its part. It is stretched out +over these dangerous transits; if the snow bridge yields, the guide or +traveller remains hanging over the abyss. He is drawn beyond it, and +gets off with a few bruises. Sometimes, if the crevasse is very wide +but not deep, he descends to the bottom and goes up on the other side. +In this case it is necessary to cut steps in the ice, and the two +leading guides, armed with a sort of hatchet, perform this difficult +and perilous task. A special circumstance makes the entrance on the +Bossons dangerous. You go upon the glacier at the base of the +Aiguille-du-Midi, opposite a passage whence stone avalanches often +descend. This passage is nearly six hundred feet wide. It must be +crossed quickly, and as you pass, a guide stands on guard to avert the +danger from you if it presents itself. In 1869 a guide was killed on +this spot, and his body, hurled into space by a stone, was dashed to +pieces on the rocks nine hundred feet below. + + +[Illustration: Crevasse and Bridge.] + + +We were warned, and hastened our steps as fast as our inexperience +would permit; but on leaving this dangerous zone, another, not less +dangerous, awaited us. This was the region of the “seracs,”—immense +blocks of ice, the formation of which is not as yet explained. + + +[Illustration: View of the “Seracs”.] + + +These are usually situated on the edge of a plateau, and menace the +whole valley beneath them. A slight movement of the glacier, or even a +light vibration of the temperature, impels their fall, and occasions +the most serious accidents. + + +[Illustration: View of the “Seracs”.] + + +“Messieurs, keep quiet, and let us pass over quickly.” These words, +roughly spoken by one of the guides, checked our conversation. We went +across rapidly and in silence. We finally reached what is called the +“Junction” (which might more properly be called the violent +“Separation”), by the Côte Mountain, the Bossons and Tacconay glaciers. +At this point the scene assumes an indescribable character; crevasses +with changing colours, ice-needles with sharp forms, seracs suspended +and pierced with the light, little green lakes compose a chaos which +surpasses everything that one can imagine. Added to this, the rush of +the torrents at the foot of the glaciers, the sinister and repeated +crackings of the blocks which detached themselves and fell in +avalanches down the crevasses, the trembling of the ground which opened +beneath our feet, gave a singular idea of those desolate places the +existence of which only betrays itself by destruction and death. + + +[Illustration: Passage of the “Junction”.] + + +After passing the “Junction” you follow the Tacconay glacier for +awhile, and reach the side which leads to the Grands-Mulets. This part, +which is very sloping, is traversed in zigzags. The leading guide takes +care to trace them at an angle of thirty degrees, when there is fresh +snow, to avoid the avalanches. + +After crossing for three hours on the ice and snow, we reach the +Grands-Mulets, rocks six hundred feet high, overlooking on one side the +Bossons glacier, and on the other the sloping plains which extend to +the base of the Goûter dome. + + +[Illustration: Hut At The Grands-Mulets.] + + +A small hut, constructed by the guides near the summit of the first +rock, gives a shelter to travellers, and enables them to await a +favourable moment for setting out for the summit of Mont Blanc. + +They dine there as well as they can, and sleep too; but the proverb, +“He who sleeps dines,” does not apply to this elevation, for one cannot +seriously do the one or the other. + +“Well,” said I to Levesque, after a pretence of a meal, “did I +exaggerate the splendour of the landscape, and do you regret having +come thus far?” + +“I regret it so little,” he replied, “that I am determined to go on to +the summit. You may count on me.” + +“Very good,” said I. “But you know the worst is yet to come.” + +“Nonsense!” he exclaimed, “we will go to the end. Meanwhile, let us +observe the sunset, which must be magnificent.” + +The heavens had remained wonderfully clear. The chain of the Brevent +and the Aiguilles-Rouges stretched out at our feet. Beyond, the Fiz +rocks and the Aiguille-de-Varan rose above the Sallanche Valley, and +the whole chains of Mont Fleury and the Reposoir appeared in the +background. More to the right we could descry the snowy summit of the +Buet, and farther off the Dents-du-Midi, with its five tusks, +overhanging the valley of the Rhone. Behind us were the eternal snows +of the Goûter, Mont Maudit, and, lastly, Mont Blanc. + +Little by little the shadows invaded the valley of Chamonix, and +gradually each of the summits which overlook it on the west. The chain +of Mont Blanc alone remained luminous, and seemed encircled by a golden +halo. Soon the shadows crept up the Goûter and Mont Maudit. They still +respected the giant of the Alps. We watched this gradual disappearance +of the light with admiration. It lingered awhile on the highest summit, +and gave us the foolish hope that it would not depart thence. But in a +few moments all was shrouded in gloom, and the livid and ghastly +colours of death succeeded the living hues. I do not exaggerate. Those +who love mountains will comprehend me. + + +[Illustration: View of Mont Blanc from Grands-Mulets.] + + +After witnessing this sublime scene, we had only to await the moment of +departure. We were to set out again at two in the morning. Now, +therefore, we stretched ourselves upon our mattresses. + +It was useless to think of sleeping, much more of talking. We were +absorbed by more or less gloomy thoughts. It was the night before the +battle, with the difference that nothing forced us to engage in the +struggle. Two sorts of ideas struggled in the mind. It was the ebb and +flow of the sea, each in its turn. Objections to the venture were not +wanting. Why run so much danger? If we succeeded, of what advantage +would it be? If an accident happened, how we should regret it! Then the +imagination set to work; all the mountain catastrophes rose in the +fancy. I dreamed of snow bridges giving way under my feet, of being +precipitated in the yawning crevasses, of hearing the terrible noises +of the avalanches detaching themselves and burying me, of disappearing, +of cold and death seizing upon me, and of struggling with desperate +effort, but in vain! + +A sharp, horrible noise is heard at this moment + +“The avalanche! the avalanche!” I cry. + +“What is the matter with you?” asks Levesque, starting up. + +Alas! It is a piece of furniture which, in the struggles of my +nightmare, I have just broken. This very prosaic avalanche recalls me +to the reality. I laugh at my terrors, a contrary current of thought +gets the upper hand, and with it ambitious ideas. I need only use a +little effort to reach this summit, so seldom attained. It is a +victory, as others are. Accidents are rare—very rare! Do they ever take +place at all? The spectacle from the summit must be so marvellous! And +then what satisfaction there would be in having accomplished what so +many others dared not undertake! + +My courage was restored by these thoughts, and I calmly awaited the +moment of departure. + +About one o’clock the steps and voices of the guides, and the noise of +opening doors, indicated that that moment was approaching. Soon Ravanel +came in and said, “Come, messieurs, get up; the weather is magnificent. +By ten o’clock we shall be at the’ summit.” + +At these words we leaped from our beds, and hurried to make our toilet. +Two of the guides, Ambrose Ravanel and his cousin Simon, went on ahead +to explore the road. They were provided with a lantern, which was to +show us the way to go, and with hatchets to make the path and cut steps +in the very difficult spots. At two o’clock we tied ourselves one to +another: the order of march was, Edward Ravanel before me, and at the +head; behind me Edward Simon, then Donatien Levesque; after him our two +porters (for we took along with us the domestic of the Grands-Mulets +hut as a second), and M. N——’s party. + +The guides and porters having distributed the provisions between them, +the signal for departure was given, and we set off in the midst of +profound darkness, directing ourselves according to the lantern held up +at some distance ahead. + +There was something solemn in this setting out. But few words were +spoken; the vagueness of the unknown impressed us, but the new and +strange situation excited us, and rendered us insensible to its +dangers. The landscape around was fantastic. But few outlines were +distinguishable. Great white confused masses, with blackish spots here +and there, closed the horizon. The celestial vault shone with +remarkable brilliancy. We could perceive, at an uncertain distance, the +lantern of the guides who were ahead, and the mournful silence of the +night was only disturbed by the dry, distant noise of the hatchet +cutting steps in the ice. + +We crept slowly and cautiously over the first ascent, going towards the +base of the Goûter. After ascending laboriously for two hours, we +reached the first plateau, called the “Petit-Plateau,” at the foot of +the Goûter, at a height of about eleven thousand feet. We rested a few +moments and then proceeded, turning now to the left and going towards +the edge which conducts to the “Grand-Plateau.” + +But our party had already lessened in number: M. N——, with his guides, +had stopped; his fatigue obliged him to take a longer rest. + +About half-past four dawn began to whiten the horizon. At this moment +we were ascending the slope which leads to the Grand-Plateau, which we +soon safely reached. We were eleven thousand eight hundred feet high. +We had well earned our breakfast. Wonderful to relate, Levesque and I +had a good appetite. It was a good sign. We therefore installed +ourselves on the snow, and made such a repast as we could. Our guides +joyfully declared that success was certain. As for me, I thought they +resumed work too quickly. + +M. N—— rejoined us before long. We urged him to take some nourishment. +He peremptorily refused. He felt the contraction of the stomach which +is so common in those parts, and was almost broken down. + +The Grand-Plateau deserves a special description. On the right rises +the dome of the Goûter. Opposite it is Mont Blanc, rearing itself two +thousand seven hundred feet above it. On the left are the “Rouges” +rocks and Mont Maudit. This immense circle is one mass of glittering +whiteness. On every side are vast crevasses. It was in one of these +that three of the guides who accompanied Dr. Hamel and Colonel +Anderson, in 1820, were swallowed up. In 1864 another guide met his +death there. + +This plateau must be crossed with great caution, as the crevasses are +often hidden by the snow; besides, it is often swept by avalanches. On +the 13th of October, 1866, an English traveller and three of his guides +were buried under a mass of ice that fell from Mont Blanc. After a +perilous search, the bodies of the three guides were found. They were +expecting every moment to find that of the Englishman, when a fresh +avalanche fell upon the first, and forced the searchers to abandon +their task. + + +[Illustration: Crossing the Plateau.] + + +Three routes presented themselves to us. The ordinary route, which +passes entirely to the left, by the base of Mont Maudit, through a sort +of valley called the “Corridor,” leads by gentle ascents to the top of +the first escarpment of the Rouges rocks. + +The second, less frequented, turns to the right by the Goûter, and +leads to the summit of Mont Blanc by the ridge which unites these two +mountains. You must pursue for three hours a giddy path, and scale a +height of moving ice, called the “Camel’s Hump.” + +The third route consists in ascending directly to the summit of the +Corridor, crossing an ice-wall seven hundred and fifty feet high, which +extends along the first escarpment of the Rouges rocks. + +The guides declared the first route impracticable, on account of the +recent crevasses which entirely obstructed it; the choice between the +two others remained. I thought the second, by the “Camel’s Hump,” the +best; but it was regarded as too dangerous, and it was decided that we +should attack the ice-wall conducting to the summit of the Corridor. + +When a decision is made, it is best to execute it without delay. We +crossed the Grand-Plateau, and reached the foot of this really +formidable obstacle. + +The nearer we approached the more nearly vertical became its slope. +Besides, several crevasses which we had not perceived yawned at its +base. + +We nevertheless began the difficult ascent. Steps were begun by the +foremost guide, and completed by the next. We ascended two steps a +minute. The higher we went the more the steepness increased. Our guides +themselves discussed what route to follow; they spoke in patois, and +did not always agree, which was not a good sign. At last the slope +became such that our hats touched the legs of the guide just before us. + +A hailstorm of pieces of ice, produced by the cutting of the steps, +blinded us, and made our progress still more difficult. Addressing one +of the foremost guides, I said,— + +“Ah, it’s very well going up this way! It is not an open road, I admit: +still, it is practicable. Only how are you going to get us down again?” + +“O monsieur,” replied Ambrose Ravanel, “we will take another route +going back.” + +At last, after violent effort for two hours, and after having cut more +than four hundred steps in this terrible mass, we reached the summit of +the Corridor completely exhausted. + +We then crossed a slightly sloping plateau of snow, and passed along +the side of an immense crevasse which obstructed our way. We had +scarcely turned it when we uttered a cry of admiration. On the right, +Piedmont and the plains of Lombardy were at our feet. On the left, the +Pennine Alps and the Oberland, crowned with snow, raised their +magnificent crests. Monte Rosa and the Cervin alone still rose above +us, but soon we should overlook them in our turn. + +This reflection recalled us to the end of our expedition. We turned our +gaze towards Mont Blanc, and stood stupefied. + +“Heavens! how far off it is still!” cried Levesque. + +“And how high!” I added. + +It was a discouraging sight. The famous wall of the ridge, so much +feared, but which must be crossed, was before us, with its slope of +fifty degrees. But after scaling the wall of the Corridor, it did not +terrify us. We rested for half an hour and then continued our tramp; +but we soon perceived that the atmospheric conditions were no longer +the same. The sun shed his warm rays upon us; and their reflection on +the snow added to our discomfort. The rarefaction of the air began to +be severely felt. We advanced slowly, making frequent halts, and at +last reached the plateau which overlooks the second escarpment of the +Rouges rocks. We were at the foot of Mont Blanc. It rose, alone and +majestic, at a height of six hundred feet above us. Monte Rosa itself +had lowered its flag! + +Levesque and I were completely exhausted. As for M. N——, who had +rejoined us at the summit of the Corridor, it might be said that he was +insensible to the rarefaction of the air, for he no longer breathed, so +to speak. + +We began at last to scale the last stage. We made ten steps and then +stopped, finding it absolutely impossible to proceed. A painful +contraction of the throat made our breathing exceedingly difficult. Our +legs refused to carry us; and I then understood the picturesque +expression of Jacques Balmat, when, in narrating his first ascent, he +said that “his legs seemed only to be kept up by his trousers!” But our +mental was superior to our physical force; and if the body faltered, +the heart, responding “Excelsior!” stifled its desperate complaint, and +urged forward our poor worn-out mechanism, despite itself. We thus +passed the Petits-Mulets, and after two hours of superhuman efforts +finally overlooked the entire chain. Mont Blanc was under our feet! + + +[Illustration: Summit of Mont Blanc.] + + +It was fifteen minutes after twelve. + +The pride of success soon dissipated our fatigue. We had at last +conquered this formidable crest. We overlooked all the others, and the +thoughts which Mont Blanc alone can inspire affected us with a deep +emotion. It was ambition satisfied; and to me, at least, a dream +realized! + +Mont Blanc is the highest mountain in Europe. Several mountains in Asia +and America are higher; but of what use would it be to attempt them, +if, in the absolute impossibility of reaching their summit, you must be +content to remain at a lesser height? + +Others, such as Mont Cervin, are more difficult of access; but we +perceived the summit of Mont Cervin twelve hundred feet below us! + +And then, what a view to reward us for our troubles and dangers! + +The sky, still pure, had assumed a deep-blue tint. The sun, despoiled +of a part of his rays, had lost his brilliancy, as if in a partial +eclipse. This effect, due to the rarefaction of the air, was all the +more apparent as the surrounding eminences and plains were inundated +with light. No detail of the scene, therefore, escaped our notice. + +In the south-east, the mountains of Piedmont, and farther off the +plains of Lombardy, shut in our horizon. Towards the west, the +mountains of Savoy and Dauphiné; beyond, the valley of the Rhone. In +the north-west, the Lake of Geneva and the Jura; then, descending +towards the south, a chaos of mountains and glaciers, beyond +description, overlooked by the masses of Monte Rosa, the +Mischabelhoerner, the Cervin, the Weishorn—the most beautiful of +crests, as Tyndall calls it—and farther off by the Jungfrau, the Monck, +the Eiger, and the Finsteraarhorn. + +The extent of our range of vision was not less than sixty leagues. We +therefore saw at least one hundred and twenty leagues of country. + +A special circumstance happened to enhance the beauty of the scene. +Clouds formed on the Italian side and invaded the valleys of the +Pennine Alps without veiling their summits. We soon had under our eyes +a second sky, a lower sky, a sea of clouds, whence emerged a perfect +archipelago of peaks and snow-wrapped mountains. There was something +magical in it, which the greatest poets could scarcely describe. + +The summit of Mont Blanc forms a ridge from southwest to north-east, +two hundred paces long and a yard wide at the culminating point. It +seemed like a ship’s hull overturned, the keel in the air. + +Strangely enough, the temperature was very high—ten degrees above zero. +The air was almost still. Sometimes we felt a light breeze. + +The first care of our guides was to place us all in a line on the crest +opposite Chamonix, that we might be easily counted from below, and thus +make it known that no one of us had been lost. Many of the tourists had +ascended the Brevent and the Jardin to watch our ascent. They might now +be assured of its success. + +But to ascend was not all; we must think also of going down. The most +difficult, if not most wearisome, task remained; and then one quits +with regret a summit attained at the price of so much toil. The energy +which urges you to ascend, the need, so natural and imperious, of +overcoming, now fails you. You go forward listlessly, often looking +behind you! + +It was necessary, however, to decide, and, after a last traditional +libation of champagne, we put ourselves in motion. We had remained on +the summit an hour. The order of march was now changed. M. N——’s party +led off; and, at the suggestion of his guide Paccard, we were all tied +together with a rope. M. N——’s fatigue, which his strength, but not his +will, betrayed, made us fear falls on his part which would require the +help of the whole party to arrest. The event justified our foreboding. +On descending the side of the wall, M. N—— made several false steps. +His guides, very vigorous and skilful, were happily able to check him; +but ours, feeling, with reason, that the whole party might be dragged +down, wished to detach us from the rope. Levesque and I opposed this; +and, by taking great precautions, we safely reached the base of this +giddy ledge. There was no room for illusions. The almost bottomless +abyss was before us, and the pieces of detached ice, which bounded by +us with the rapidity of an arrow, clearly showed us the route which the +party would take if a slip were made. + +Once this terrible gap crossed, I began to breathe again. We descended +the gradual slopes which led to the summit of the Corridor. The snow, +softened by the heat, yielded beneath our feet; we sank in it to the +knees, which made our progress very fatiguing. We steadily followed the +path by which we ascended in the morning, and I was astonished when +Gaspard Simon, turning towards me, said,— + +“Monsieur, we cannot take any other road, for the Corridor is +impracticable, and we must descend by the wall which we climbed up this +morning.” + +I told Levesque this disagreeable news. + +“Only,” added Gaspard Simon, “I do not think we can all remain tied +together. However, we will see how M. N—— bears it at first.” + +We advanced towards this terrible wall! M. N——’s party began to +descend, and we heard Paccard talking rapidly to him. The inclination +became so steep that we perceived neither him nor his guides, though we +were bound together by the same rope. + +As soon as Gaspard Simon, who went before me, could comprehend what was +passing, he stopped, and after exchanging some words in _patois_ with +his comrades, declared that we must detach ourselves from M. N——’s +party. + +“We are responsible for you,” he added, “but we cannot be responsible +for others; and if they slip, they will drag us after them.” + +Saying this, he got loose from the rope. We were very unwilling to take +this step; but our guides were inflexible. + +We then proposed to send two of them to help M. N——’s guides. They +eagerly consented; but having no rope they could not put this plan into +execution. + +We then began this terrible descent. Only one of us moved at a time, +and when each took a step the others buttressed themselves ready to +sustain the shock if he slipped. The foremost guide, Edward Ravanel, +had the most perilous task; it was for him to make the steps over +again, now more or less worn away by the ascending caravan. + +We progressed slowly, taking the most careful precautions. Our route +led us in a right line to one of the crevasses which opened at the base +of the escarpment. When we were going up we could not look at this +crevasse, but in descending we were fascinated by its green and yawning +sides. All the blocks of ice detached by our passage went the same way, +and after two or three bounds, ingulfed themselves in the crevasse, as +in the jaws of the minotaur, only the jaws of the minotaur closed after +each morsel, while the unsatiated crevasse yawned perpetually, and +seemed to await, before closing, a larger mouthful. It was for us to +take care that we should not be this mouthful, and all our efforts were +made for this end. In order to withdraw ourselves from this +fascination, this moral giddiness, if I may so express myself, we tried +to joke about the dangerous position in which we found ourselves, and +which even a chamois would not have envied us. We even got so far as to +hum one of Offenbach’s couplets; but I must confess that our jokes were +feeble, and that we did not sing the airs correctly. + +I even thought I discovered Levesque obstinately setting the words of +“Barbe-Bleue” to one of the airs in “Il Trovatore,” which rather +indicated some grave preoccupation of the mind. In short, in order to +keep up our spirits, we did as do those brave cowards who sing in the +dark to forget their fright. + +We remained thus, suspended between life and death, for an hour, which +seemed an eternity; at last we reached the bottom of this terrible +escarpment. We there found M. N—— and his party, safe and sound. + +After resting a little while, we continued our journey. + +As we were approaching the Petit-Plateau, Edward Ravanel suddenly +stopped, and, turning towards us, said,— + +“See what an avalanche! It has covered our tracks.” + +An immense avalanche of ice had indeed fallen from the Goûter, and +entirely buried the path we had followed in the morning across the +Petit-Plateau. + +I estimated that the mass of this avalanche could not comprise less +than five hundred cubic yards. If it had fallen while we were passing, +one more catastrophe would no doubt have been added to the list, +already too long, of the necrology of Mont Blanc. + +This fresh obstacle forced us to seek a new road, or to pass around the +foot of the avalanche. As we were much fatigued, the latter course was +assuredly the simplest; but it involved a serious danger. A wall of ice +more than sixty feet high, already partly detached from the Goûter, to +which it only clung by one of its angles, overhung the path which we +should follow. This great mass seemed to hold itself in equilibrium. +What if our passing, by disturbing the air, should hasten its fall? Our +guides held a consultation. Each of them examined with a spy-glass the +fissure which had been formed between the mountain and this alarming +ice-mass. The sharp and clear edges of the cleft betrayed a recent +breaking off, evidently caused by the fall of the avalanche. + +After a brief discussion, our guides, recognizing the impossibility of +finding another road, decided to attempt this dangerous passage. + +“We must walk very fast,—even run, if possible,” said they, “and we +shall be in safety in five minutes. Come, messieurs, a last effort!” + +A run of five minutes is a small matter for people who are only tired; +but for us, who were absolutely exhausted, to run even for so short a +time on soft snow, in which we sank up to the knees, seemed an +impossibility. Nevertheless, we made an urgent appeal to our energies, +and after two or three tumbles, drawn forward by one, pushed by +another, we finally reached a snow hillock, on which we fell +breathless. We were out of danger. + +It required some time to recover ourselves. We stretched out on the +snow with a feeling of comfort which every one will understand. The +greatest difficulties had been surmounted, and though there were still +dangers to brave, we could confront them with comparatively little +apprehension. + +We prolonged our halt in the hope of witnessing the fall of the +avalanche, but in vain. As the day was advancing, and it was not +prudent to tarry in these icy solitudes, we decided to continue on our +way, and about five o’clock we reached the hut of the Grands-Mulets. + +After a bad night, attended by fever caused by the sunstrokes +encountered in our expedition, we made ready to return to Chamonix; +but, before setting out, we inscribed the names of our guides and the +principal events of our journey, according to the custom, on the +register kept for this purpose at the Grands-Mulets. + +About eight o’clock we started for Chamonix. The passage of the Bossons +was difficult, but we accomplished it without accident. + + +[Illustration: Grands-Mulets.—Party Descending From The Hut.] + + +Half an hour before reaching Chamonix, we met, at the chalet of the +Dard falls, some English tourists, who seemed to be watching our +progress. When they perceived us, they hurried up eagerly to +congratulate us on our success. One of them presented us to his wife, a +charming person, with a well-bred air. After we had given them a sketch +of our perilous peregrinations, she said to us, in earnest accents,— + +“How much you are envied here by everybody! Let me touch your +alpenstocks!” + +These words seemed to interpret the general feeling. + +The ascent of Mont Blanc is a very painful one. It is asserted that the +celebrated naturalist of Geneva, De Saussure, acquired there the seeds +of the disease of which he died in a few months after his return from +the summit. I cannot better close this narrative than by quoting the +words of M. Markham Sherwell:— + +“However it may be,” he says, in describing his ascent of Mont Blanc, +“I would not advise any one to undertake this ascent, the rewards of +which can never have an importance proportionate to the dangers +encountered by the tourist, and by those who accompany him.” + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WINTER AMID THE ICE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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