Stanley Shaw - "William of Germany"

Ambrose Bierce (AKA: Dod Grile) - "Cobwebs From an Empty Skull"

Lydia Maria Child - "The Duty of Disobedience to the Fugitive Slave Act"

Gabriel Louis Jaray - "Au jeune royaume d'Albanie"

Books: Book review: 'The Mercy Papers' and 'Downtown Owl'
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Book Review: The Horror, the Horror
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The Mercy Papers A Memoir of Three Weeks By Robin Romm 213 pages. Scribner. $22. The foundational condition of being human is that we're going to die. Almost as basic a truth is that we seem incapable of believing it. The collision of these inconsonant

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The Forty Five Guardsmen written by Alexandre Dumas

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"Now," said he to his brother, when they were alone, "let the Flemings
come, and I will beat them, and even, if this goes on, eat them, for in
truth I am very hungry, and this is miserable stuff," added he, throwing
into a corner the piece of bread, which in public he had eaten so
enthusiastically.

"But now, Henri, tell me how it happens that I find you in Flanders when
I thought you in Paris."

"My brother," said Henri, "life became insupportable to me at Paris,
and I set out to join you in Flanders."

"All from love?" asked Joyeuse.

"No, from despair. Now, Anne, I am no longer in love; my passion is
sadness."

"My brother, permit me to tell you that you have chosen a miserable
woman. Virtue that cares not for the sufferings of others is
barbarous--is an absence of Christian charity."

"Oh! my brother, do not calumniate virtue."

"I do not calumniate virtue, Henri; I accuse vice, that is all. I repeat
that this is a miserable woman, and not worth all the torments she makes
you suffer. Oh! mon Dieu! in such a case you should use all your
strength and all your power, Henri. In your place, I should have taken
her house by assault, and then herself; and when she was conquered, and
came to throw her arms round your neck and say, 'Henri, I adore you,' I
should have repulsed her, and said, 'You do well, madame; it is your
turn--I have suffered enough for you--to suffer also.'"

Henri seized his brother's hand. "You do not mean a word of what you
say," said he.

"Yes, on my honor."

"You, so good--so generous!"

"Generosity with heartless people is folly."

"Oh! Joyeuse, Joyeuse, you do not know this woman."

"No, I do not wish to know her."

"Why not?"

"Because she would make me commit what others would call a crime, but
which I should call an act of justice."

"Oh! my good brother, how lucky you are not to be in love. But, if you
please, let us leave my foolish love, and talk of other things."

"So be it; I do not like to talk of your folly."

"You see we want provisions."

"Yes, and I have thought of a method of getting them."

"What is it?"

"I cannot leave here until I have certain news of the army--for the
position is good, and I could defend myself against five times our
number: but I may send out a body of scouts, and they will bring news
and provisions also, for Flanders is a fine country."

"Not very, brother."

"I speak of it as God made it, and not men, who eternally spoil the
works of God. Do you know, Henri, what folly this prince committed--what
this unlucky Francois has lost through pride and precipitation? His soul
is gone to God, so let us be silent; but in truth he might have acquired
immortal glory and one of the most beautiful kingdoms in Europe, while
he has, on the contrary, aided no one but William of Orange. But do you
know, Henri, that the Antwerpians fought well?"

"And you also; so they say, brother."

"Yes, it was one of my good days; and besides there was something that
excited me."

"What was it?"

"I met on the field of battle a sword that I knew."

"French?"

"Yes, French."

"In the ranks of the Flemings?"

"At their head, Henri; this is a secret which forms a sequel to
Salcede's business."

"However, dear brother, here you are, safe and sound, to my great joy;
I, who have done nothing yet, must do something, also."

"And what will you do?"

"Give me the command of your scouts, I beg."

"No, it is too dangerous, Henri; I would not say so before strangers,
but I do not wish you to die an obscure death. The scouts may meet with
some of those horrid Flemings who fight with flails and scythes; you
kill one thousand of them, and the last cuts you in two or disfigures
you. No, Henri; if you will die, let it be a more glorious death than
that."

"My brother, grant me what I ask, I beg; I promise you to be prudent,
and to return here."

"Well, I understand."

"What?"

"You wish to try if the fame of a brave action will not soften the
heart of this ferocious tigress. Confess that that is what makes you
insist on it."

"I will confess it if you wish, brother."

"Well, you are right. Women who resist a great love sometimes yield to
fame."

"I do not hope that."

"If you do it without this hope you are mad. Henri, seek no more reasons
for this woman's refusal than that she has neither eyes nor heart."

"You give me the command, brother?"

"I must, if you will have it so."

"Can I go to-night?"

"You must, Henri; you understand we cannot wait long."

"How many men do you give me?"

"A hundred; not more. I cannot weaken my force here, you know, Henri."

"Less, if you like, brother."

"No, I would wish to give you double. Only promise me, on your honor,
that if you meet with more than three hundred men, you will retreat and
not get killed."

"My brother," said Henri, smiling, "you sell your glory very dear."

"Then I will neither sell nor give it to you; and another officer shall
command."

"My brother, give your orders and I will execute them."

"You will only engage with equal, double, or triple forces, but not with
more?"

"I swear it."

"Very well; now, what men would you like to take?"

"Let me take one hundred of the gendarmes of Aunis; I have plenty of
friends there, and can choose whom I like."

"That will do."

"When shall I set out?"

"At once. Take one day's rations for the men and two for the horses.
Remember, I want speedy and certain news."

"I go, brother; are there any other orders?"

"Do not spread the news of the duke's death; let it be believed he is
here. Exaggerate my strength, and if you find the duke's body, although
he was a bad man and a poor general, yet, as he belonged to the royal
house of France, have it put in an oak coffin and brought back by your
men, that he may be buried at St. Denis."

"Good, brother; now, is this all?"

"All! but promise me once more, Henri, you are not deceiving me--you
will not seek death?"

"No, brother; I had that thought when I came to join you, but I have it
no longer."

"And when did it leave you?"

"Three hours ago."

"On what occasion?"

"Excuse me, brother."

"Of course, Henri, your secrets are your own."

"Oh! how good you are, brother!"

And the young men, once more embracing each other, separated with
smiles.




CHAPTER LXXII.

THE EXPEDITION.


Henri, full of joy, hastened to Diana and Romy.

"Get ready; in a quarter of an hour we set out," said he. "You will find
two horses saddled at the door of the little wooden staircase leading to
this corridor: join my suite and say nothing."

Then, going out on the balcony, he cried:

"Trumpet of the gendarmes, sound the call."

The call was quickly heard, and all the gendarmes ranged themselves
round the house.

"Gendarmes," said Henri, "my brother has given me, for the time, the
command of your company, and has ordered me to set out to-night to
obtain provisions and information as to the movements of the enemy, and
one hundred of you are to accompany me; the mission is dangerous, but
necessary for the safety of all. Who are willing to go?" The whole three
hundred offered themselves.

"Gentlemen," said Henri, "I thank you all; you have rightly been called
the example to the army, but I can but take one hundred; and as I do not
wish to choose, let chance decide. Monsieur," continued he, to the
ensign, "draw lots, if you please."

While this was being done, Joyeuse gave his last instructions to his
brother.

"Listen, Henri," said he; "the country is drying, and there is a
communication between Courteig and Rupelmonde; you will march between a
river and a stream--the Scheldt and the Rupel. I trust that there will
be no necessity for you to go as far as Rupelmonde to find provisions.
My men took three peasants prisoners; I give one of them to you for a
guide--but no false pity! at the least appearance of treason shoot him
without mercy."

He then tenderly embraced his brother, and gave the order for departure.
The one hundred men drawn by lots were ready, and the guide was placed
between two, with pistols in their hands, while Remy and his companion
mixed with the rest. Henri gave no directions about them, thinking that
curiosity was already quite sufficiently aroused about them, without
augmenting it by precautions more dangerous than salutary. He himself
did not stay by them, but rode at the head of his company. Their march
was slow, for often the ground nearly gave way under them, and they sank
in the mud. Sometimes figures were seen flying over the plain; they were
peasants who had been rather too quick in returning to their homes, and
who fled at the sight of the enemy. Sometimes, however, they were
unlucky Frenchmen, half dead with cold and hunger, and who in their
uncertainty of meeting with friends or enemies, preferred waiting for
daylight to continue their painful journey.

They traversed two leagues in three hours, which brought the adventurous
band to the banks of the Rupel, along which a stony road ran; but here
danger succeeded to difficulty, and two or three horses lost their
footing on the slimy stones, and rolled with their riders into the still
rapid waters of the river. More than once also, from some boat on the
opposite bank, shots were fired, and one man was killed at Diana's side.
She manifested regret for the man, but no fear for herself. Henri, in
these different circumstances, showed himself to be a worthy captain and
true friend; he rode first, telling all the men to follow in his steps,
trusting less to his own sagacity than to that of the horse his brother
had given him. Three leagues from Rupelmonde the gendarmes came upon six
French soldiers sitting by a turf fire; the unfortunates were cooking
some horse-flesh, the only food they had had for two days. The approach
of the gendarmes caused great trouble among the guests at this sad
feast; two or three rose to fly, but the others stopped them, saying,
"If they are enemies they can but kill us, and all will be over."

"France! France!" cried Henri.

On recognizing their countrymen they ran to them, and were given cloaks
to wrap round them and something to drink, and were allowed to mount en
croup behind the valets, and in this manner they accompanied the
detachment. Half a league further on they met four men of the 4th Light
Horse, with, however, only one horse between them; they were also
welcomed. At last they arrived on the banks of the Scheldt; the night
was dark, and the gendarmes found two men who were trying, in bad
Flemish, to obtain from a boatman a passage to the other side, which he
refused. The ensign, who understood Dutch, advanced softly, and heard
the boatman say, "You are French, and shall die here; you shall not
cross."

"It is you who shall die, if you do not take us over at once," replied
one of the men, drawing his dagger.

"Keep firm, monsieur," cried the ensign, "we will come to your aid."

But as the two men turned at these words, the boatman loosened the rope,
and pushed rapidly from the shore. One of the gendarmes, however,
knowing how useful this boat would be, went into the stream on his horse
and fired at the boatman, who fell. The boat was left without a guide,
but the current brought it back again toward the bank. The two strangers
seized it at once and got in. This astonished the ensign.

"Gentlemen," said he, "who are you, if you please?"

"Gentlemen, we are marine officers, and you are gendarmes of Aunis,
apparently."

"Yes, gentlemen, and very happy to have served you; will you not
accompany us?"

"Willingly."

"Get into the wagons, then, if you are too tired to ride."

"May we ask where are you going?" said one.

"Monsieur, our orders are to push on to Rupelmonde."

"Take care," answered he. "We did not pass the stream sooner, because
this morning a detachment of Spaniards passed, coming from Antwerp. At
sunset we thought we might venture, for two men inspire no disquietude;
but you, a whole troop--"

"It is true; I will call our chief."

Henri approached, and asked what was the matter.

"These gentlemen met this morning a detachment of Spaniards following
the same road as ourselves."

"How many were they?"

"About fifty."

"And does that stop you?"

"No, but I think it would be well to secure the boat, in case we should
wish to pass the stream; it will hold twenty men."

"Good! let us keep the boat. There should be some houses at the junction
of the Scheldt and Rupel?"

"There is a village," said a voice.

"Then let two men descend the stream with the boat, while we go along
the bank."

"We will bring the boat if you will let us," said one of the officers.

"If you wish it, gentlemen; but do not lose sight of us, and come to us
in the village."

"But if we abandon the boat some one will take it?"

"You will find ten men waiting, to whom you can deliver it."

"It is well," said one, and they pushed off from the shore.

"It is singular," said Henri, "but I fancy I know that voice."

An hour after they arrived at the village, which was occupied by the
fifty Spaniards, but they, taken by surprise when they least expected
it, made little resistance. Henri had them disarmed and shut up in the
strongest house in the village, and left ten men to guard them. Ten more
were sent to guard the boat, and ten others placed as sentinels, with
the promise of being relieved in an hour. Twenty of the others then sat
down in the house opposite to that in which the prisoners were, to the
supper which had been prepared for them. Henri chose a separate room for
Remy and Diana; he then placed the ensign at table with the others,
telling him to invite the two naval officers when they arrived. He next
went out to look for accommodation for the rest of the men, and when he
returned in half-an-hour he found them waiting supper for him. Some had
fallen asleep on their chairs, but his entrance roused them. The table,
covered with cheese, pork, and bread, with a pot of beer by each man,
looked almost tempting. Henri sat down and told them to begin.

"Apropos!" said he, "have the strangers arrived?"

"Yes, there they are at the end of the table."

Henri looked and saw them in the darkest corner of the room.

"Gentlemen," said he, "you are badly placed, and I think you are not
eating."

"Thanks, M. le Comte," said one, "we are very tired, and more in need of
rest than food; we told your officers so, but they insisted, saying that
it was your orders that we should sup with you. We feel the honor, but
if, nevertheless, instead of keeping us longer you would give us a
room--"

"Is that also the wish of your companion?" said Henri, and he looked at
this companion, whose hat was pushed down over his eyes, and who had not
yet spoken.

"Yes, comte," replied he, in a scarcely audible voice.

Henri rose, walked straight to the end of the table, while every one
watched his movements and astonished look.

"Monsieur," said he, to the one who had spoken first, "do me a favor?"

"What is it, M. le Comte?"

"Tell me if you are not Aurilly's brother, or Aurilly himself?"

"Aurilly!" cried all.

"And let your companion," continued Henri, "raise his hat a little and
let me see his face, or else I shall call him monseigneur, and bow
before him." And as he spoke he bowed respectfully, hat in hand. The
officer took off his hat.

"Monseigneur le Duc d'Anjou!" cried all. "The duke, living!"

"Ma foi, gentlemen," replied he, "since you will recognize your
conquered and fugitive prince, I shall not deny myself to you any
longer. I am the Duc d'Anjou."

"Vive, monseigneur!" cried all.




CHAPTER LXXIII.

PAUL-EMILE.


"Oh! silence, gentlemen," said, the prince, "do not be more content than
I am at my good fortune. I am enchanted not to be dead, you may well
believe; and yet, if you had not recognized me, I should not have been
the first to boast of being alive."

"What! monseigneur," cried Henri, "you recognized me--you found yourself
among a troop of Frenchmen, and would have left us to mourn your loss,
without undeceiving us?"

"Gentlemen, besides a number of reasons which made me wish to preserve
my incognito, I confess that I should not have been sorry, since I was
believed to be dead, to hear what funeral oration would have been
pronounced over me."

"Monseigneur!"

"Yes; I am like Alexander of Macedon; I make war like an artist, and
have as much self-love; and I believe I have committed a fault."

"Monseigneur," said Henri, lowering his eyes, "do not say such things."

"Why not? The pope only is infallible, and ever since Boniface VIII.
that has been disputed."

"See to what you exposed us, monseigneur, if any of us had given his
opinion on this expedition, and it had been blamed."

"Well, why not? do you think I have not blamed myself, not for having
given battle, but for having lost it."

"Monseigneur, this goodness frightens me; and will your highness permit
me to say that this gayety is not natural. I trust your highness is not
suffering."

A terrible cloud passed over the prince's face, making it as black as
night.

"No," said he, "I was never better, thank God, than now, and I am glad
to be among you all."

The officers bowed.

"How many men have you, Du Bouchage?" asked he.

"One hundred, monseigneur."

"Ah! a hundred out of ten thousand; that is like the defeat at Cannes.
Gentlemen, they will send a bushel of your rings to Antwerp, but I doubt
if the Flemish beauties could wear them, unless they had their fingers
pared by their husbands' knives, which, I must say, cut well."

"Monseigneur," replied Henri, "if our battle was like the battle of
Cannes, at least we are more lucky than the Romans, for we have
preserved our Paulus-Emilius!"

"On my life, gentlemen, the Paulus-Emilius of Antwerp was Joyeuse; and
doubtless, to preserve the resemblance with his heroic model to the end,
your brother is dead, is he not, Du Bouchage?"

Henri felt wounded at this cold question.

"No, monseigneur, he lives," replied he.

"Ah! so much the better," said the duke, with his icy smile. "What! our
brave Joyeuse lives! Where is he, that I may embrace him?"

"He is not here, monseigneur."

"Ah! wounded?"

"No, monseigneur, he is safe and sound."

"But a fugitive like me, wandering, famished, and ashamed. Alas! the
proverb is right--'For glory, the sword; after the sword, blood; after
blood, tears.'"

"Monseigneur, I am happy to tell your highness that my brother has been
happy enough to save three thousand men, with whom he occupies a large
village about seven leagues from here, and I am acting as scout for
him."

The duke grew pale.

"Three thousand men! he has saved three thousand men! he is a perfect
Xenophon, and it is very lucky for me that my brother sent him to me. It
is not the Valois who can take for their motto 'Hilariter.'"

"Oh! monseigneur," said Henri, sadly, seeing that this gayety hid a
somber jealousy.

"It is true, is it not, Aurilly?" continued the duke; "I return to
France like Francois after the battle of Pavia; all is lost but honor.
Ah! ah!"

A sad silence received these laughs, more terrible than sobs.

"Monseigneur," said Henri, "tell me how the tutelary genius of France
saved your highness."

"Oh! dear comte, the tutelary genius of France was occupied with
something else, and I had to save myself."

"And how, monseigneur?"

"By my legs."

No smile welcomed this joke, which the duke would certainly have
punished with death if made by another.

"Yes, yes," he continued; "how we ran! did we not, my brave Aurilly?"

"Every one," said Henri, "knows the calm bravery and military genius of
your highness, and we beg you not to distress us by attributing to
yourself faults which you have not. The best general is not invincible,
and Hannibal himself was conquered at Zama."

"Yes, but Hannibal had won the battles of Trebia, Thrasymene, and
Cannes, while I have only won that of Cateau-Cambresis; it is not enough
to sustain the comparison."

"But monseigneur jests when he says he ran away."

"No, I do not. Pardieu! do you see anything to jest about, Du Bouchage?"

"Could any one have done otherwise?" said Aurilly.

"Hold your tongue, Aurilly, or ask the shade of St. Aignan what could
have been done."

Aurilly hung his head.

"Ah! you do not know the history of St. Aignan. I will tell it to you.
Imagine, then, that when the battle was declared to be lost, he
assembled 500 horse, and, instead of flying like the rest, came to me
and said. 'We must attack them, monseigneur.' 'What! attack?' said I;
'they are 100 to one.' 'Were they 1,000 to one, I would attack them,'
replied he, with a hideous grimace. 'Attack if you please,' said I; 'I
do not.' 'Give me your horse, and take mine,' said he: 'mine is
fresh--yours is not; and as I do not mean to fly, any horse is good for
me.' And then he took my white horse and gave me his black one, saying,
'Prince, that horse will go twenty leagues in four hours if you like.'
Then, turning to his men, he cried, 'Come, gentlemen, follow me--all
those who will not turn their backs;' and he rode toward the enemy with
a second grimace, more frightful than the first. He thought he should
have met men, but he met water instead, and St. Aignan and his paladins
were lost. Had he listened to me, instead of performing that act of
useless foolhardiness, we should have had him at this table, and he
would not have been making, as he probably now is, a grimace still
uglier than the first."

A thrill of horror ran through the assembly.

"This wretch has no heart," thought Henri. "Oh! why does his misfortune
and his birth protect him from the words I long to say to him?"

"Gentlemen," said Aurilly, in a low voice--for he felt the effect these
words had produced--"you see how monseigneur is affected; do not heed
what he says, for since his misfortune I think he has really moments of
delirium."

"And so," continued the duke, emptying his glass, "that is how St.
Aignan is dead and I alive. However, in dying he did me a last service,
for it was believed, as he rode my horse, that it was me, and this
belief spread not only among the French, but among the Flemings, who
consequently ceased their pursuit; but reassure yourselves, gentlemen,
we shall have our revenge, and I am mentally organizing the most
formidable army that ever existed."

"Meanwhile, monseigneur," said Henri, "will your highness take the
command of my men? It is not fit that I should continue to do so when
you are here."

"So be it; and, first, I order every one to sup, particularly you, Du
Bouchage--you have eaten nothing."

"Monseigneur, I am not hungry."

"In that case return to visit the posts. Tell the chiefs that I live,
but beg them not to rejoice too openly until we gain a better citadel,
or rejoin the army of our invincible Joyeuse, for I confess I do not
wish to be taken now, after having escaped from fire and water."

"Monseigneur, you shall be strictly obeyed, and no one shall know
excepting ourselves that we have the honor of your company among us."

"And these gentlemen will keep the secret?" said the duke, looking
round.

All bowed, and Du Bouchage went out.

It only required an hour for this fugitive, this conquered runaway, to
become again proud, careless, and imperious. To command 100 men or
100,000 men, was still to command.

While Du Bouchage executed his orders with the best grace he could,
Francois asked questions. He was astonished that a man of the rank of Du
Bouchage had consented to take the command of this handful of men, and
of such a perilous expedition. The duke was always suspicious, and
asked, therefore, and learned that the admiral had only yielded to his
brother's earnest request. It was the ensign who gave this
information--he who had been superseded in his command by Henri himself,
as Henri had been by the duke.

The prince fancied he detected a slight irritation in this man's mind
against Du Bouchage; therefore he continued to interrogate him.

"But," said he, "what was the comte's reason for soliciting so earnestly
such a poor command?"

"First, zeal for the service, no doubt."

"First!--what else?"

"Ah! monseigneur, I do not know."

"You deceive me--you do know."

"Monseigneur, I can give only, even to your highness, public reasons."

"You see," said the duke, turning to the others, "I was quite right to
hide myself, gentlemen, since there are in my army secrets from which I
am excluded."

"Ah! monseigneur," said the ensign, "you misunderstand me; there are no
secrets but those which concern M. du Bouchage. Might it not be, for
example, that, while serving the general interests, he might have wished
to render a service to some friend or relation by escorting him?"

"Who here is a friend or relation of the comte? Tell me, that, I may
embrace him."

"Monseigneur," said Aurilly, mixing in the conversation, "I have
discovered a part of the secret. This relation whom M. du Bouchage
wished to escort is--a lady."

"Ah! ah! why did they not tell me so frankly. That dear Henri--it is
quite natural. Let us shut our eyes to the relation, and speak of her no
more."

"You had better not, monseigneur, for there seems a great mystery."