France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction
Gauvain made no reply; and Cimourdain, preoccupied with the important
business that lay before him, departed. He now had to appoint the hour
and select the place. Like Lequinio at Granville, Talien at Bordeaux,
Châlier at Lyons, and Saint-Just at Strasbourg, he had made a practice
of superintending executions in person. It was regarded as an excellent
example, this supervision on the part of the judge of the executioner's
work,--a custom borrowed by the Terror of '93 from the parliaments of
France and the Spanish Inquisition.
Gauvain himself was preoccupied.
A cold wind blew from the forest. He left Guéchamp to give the
necessary orders, went into his tent, which was in the meadow on the
outskirts of the wood at the foot of the Tourgue, and taking his hooded
cloak wrapped himself in it. This cloak was trimmed with that simple
galoon which in accordance with the republican fashion, averse to
decoration, designated the commander-in-chief. He began to pace up and
down this bloody field where the assault was begun. There he was alone.
The fire, though scarcely heeded, had not yet ceased to bum. Radoub was
with the mother and children, almost as motherly as she herself; the
bridge-castle was nearly consumed, the sappers completing the work of
the flames; they dug ditches, buried the dead, cared for the wounded,
demolished the _retirade,_ and removed the dead bodies from the rooms
and the staircases; the men were at work purifying the scene of
carnage, sweeping away the mass of horrible filth, and setting matters
in order after the battle with military rapidity. Gauvain took no note
of all this activity.
Absorbed in his own thoughts, he hardly glanced at the sentries
guarding the breach, doubled by the order of Cimourdain.
He could distinguish this breach amid the darkness, about two hundred
paces from that part of the field in which he had found refuge. He saw
that black opening. There the attack began three hours ago; this was
the breach through which Gauvain had made his way into the tower; there
was the ground-floor, with the _retirade;_ the Marquis's dungeon-door
opened on to that floor. The sentries posted near the breach guarded
the dungeon.
While thus he gazed absently upon it, these words returned confusedly
to his ears, like the tolling of a funeral knell: "The court-martial
to-morrow; the guillotine the day after to-morrow."
The fire, which had been isolated, and upon which the sappers had
dashed all the water that they could obtain, still resisted their
efforts to extinguish it, and continued to shoot forth occasional jets
of flame. Now and then was heard the cracking of the ceilings and the
crashing of the stories as they fell one upon another; then showers of
sparks flew about as from a whirling torch, revealing like a flash of
lightning the extreme limit of the horizon; and the shadow cast by the
Tourgue would grow to colossal size, extending to the very edge of the
forest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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