The Storm.
EIGHT DAYS AFTER the scene just related, about five in the evening, a carriage with four horses and two postilions left Ponta-Mousson, a small town between Nancy and Metz. It had taken fresh horses at an inn, in spite of the recommendation of an attentive hostess who was on the lookout for belated travelers, and continued on its road to Paris. Its four horses had scarcely turned the corner of the street, when a score of children and half a score of gossips, who had watched the progress of their being put to, returned to their respective dwellings with gestures and exclamations expressive in some of great mirth, in others of great astonishment.
All this was because nothing like that carriage had for fifty years passed the bridge which good King Stanislaus threw across the Moselle to facilitate the intercourse of his little kingdom with France. We do not except even those curious vehicles of Alsace, which bring from Phalsbourg to our fairs two-headed wonders, dancing bears, and the wandering tribes of harlequins and gypsies.
In fact, without being either a child or a curious old gossip, surprise might have arrested one’s steps on seeing this primitive machine, on four massive wheels, roll by with such velocity that every one exclaimed, “What a strange way of traveling post!”
As our readers, fortunately for them, did not see it pass, we shall describe it.
First, then, the principal carriage — we say principal, because in front it was a sort of cabriolet — the principal carriage was painted light blue, and bore on its panels a baronial scroll, surmounting a J and a B entwined. Two windows — large windows, with white muslin curtains — gave it light, only these windows, invisible to the profane vulgar, looked frontwise into the cabriolet. A grating covered them, through which one might speak to the inhabitants of the carriage.
This carriage, which was eight feet long, had no light but from the windows, and no air but from a ventilator on the top; and then, to complete its oddity, a chimney rising about a foot above the roof offered to the passers-by the pleasant sight of a light cloud of smoke lengthening into a bluish trail behind it. At the present day we should only have thought it a new invention, combining the power of steam with that of horses.
This would have seemed so much the more probable, that the carriage, preceded as we have said by four horses and two postilions, was followed by one horse fastened to it by his bridle. His tall head, slender legs, narrow chest, and silky mane and tail bespoke him of Arab race. He was ready saddled, which inferred that one of the travelers shut up in this Noah’s ark sometimes enjoyed the pleasure of riding beside the carriage.
At Pont-a-Mousson the postilion who left had received, besides the pay for the horses, a double gratuity, presented by a strong but white hand, slipped through the leather curtains of the cabriolet, which shaded it as imperviously as the muslin ones did the carriage.
“Many thanks, my lord,” said the astonished postilion, quickly taking off his cap and bowing low.
A sonorous voice replied in German (for at Nancy German is still understood, though no longer spoken), “Schnell! Schneller!” which means, “Fast! faster!”
Postilions understand nearly all languages; above all, when accompanied by the sound of certain metals, of which it is said they are rather fond. So the two new postilions did their utmost to keep to a gallop, but after efforts which did more honor to their arms than to the powers of their horses, wearied out, they fell into a trot, getting on at the rate of two and a half or three leagues an hour.
Toward seven, they changed at St. Mihiel; the same hand passed through the curtains payment for the last stage, and the same voice uttered a similar injunction.
There is no doubt the strange vehicle excited there the same curiosity as at Pont-a-Mousson, for as night was fast approaching, its appearance was still more fantastic.
Beyond Saint Mihiel there is a steep hill, and travelers must be satisfied to let the horses walk. It took half-an-hour to proceed a quarter of a league.
On the top the postilions stopped a moment to breathe their horses, and the travelers in the carriage, by withdrawing the curtains, might have gazed on a wide prospect, had not the mists of evening begun to veil it slightly.
The weather had been clear and warm until three in the afternoon — toward evening, however, it became oppressive. A great white cloud from the south seemed as if intentionally to follow the carriage, threatening to overtake it before it reached Bar-le-Duc, where the postilions resolved at all risks to pass the night.
The road, shut in between the hill and a rugged declivity, descended to a valley, in which was seen the winding Meuse, and was so steep that it was dangerous to allow the horses to do anything but walk, which prudent plan the postilions adopted. The cloud advanced, and as it brooded over, and almost touched the ground, continually extended its limits by drawing the vapors arising from the soil; so was it observed in ill-boding whiteness to overwhelm the bluish clouds which seemed to take up their station to windward, like ships preparing for an engagement. Soon, with the rapidity of the floodtide, it spread, until it hid the last rays of the sun. A dim gray light struggled through upon the scene, and although no breeze swept along, the leaves shivered, and put on the dark tinge which they assume in the deepening twilight succeeding sunset.
Suddenly a flash illuminated the cloud, the heavens burst into sheets of flame, and the startled eye might penetrate the immeasurable depths of the firmament.
At the same moment the thunder rolled from tree to tree, shaking the earth, and hurrying on the vast cloud like a maddened steed. On went the carriage, sending forth its smoke, now changed in color by the changes of the atmosphere.
In the meantime the heavens grew darker and darker, but a purple light appeared from the carriage, as if the person within, careless of the storm, had lighted a lamp, and went on with some work which he had to accomplish. The vehicle was now on a level part of the mountain, and when about to begin the descent, a peal of thunder more violent than the first rent the clouds, and the rain fell, at first in large drops, then thick and smarting, like arrows darted from the heavens.
The postilions seemed to consult together, and then stopped.
“Well!” cried the voice which had before spoken, but now in excellent French; “what the devil are you doing?”
“We were consulting whether we should go on,” replied the postilions.
“I think you ought to ask me, not one another — on with you!”
The postilions obeyed, for there was that in the voice which forbade all thought of disobedience, and the carriage began to descend.
“Good!” said the voice, and the leather curtains, which had been half opened, fell between the traveler and the postilions.
But the road had become so slippery from the torrents of rain that the horses stopped of themselves.
“Sir,” said the leading postilion, “it is impossible to go any farther.”
“Why?” asked the voice within.
“Because the horses only slip — they cannot get on — they will fall.”
“How far are we from the next place where we change?”
“A good way, sir; four leagues.”
“Well, postilion, put silver shoes on your horses, and they will get on,” and as he said this the stranger opened the curtain, and held out four crowns.
“Many thanks!” said the postilion, receiving them in his broad hand, and slipping them into his great boot.
“The gentleman spoke, I think,” said the other postilion, who had heard the sound of money, and did not wish to be excluded from so interesting a conversation.
“Yes, the gentleman says we must push on.”
“Have you anything to say against that, my friend?” asked the traveler, in a kind voice, but with a firmness that showed he would brook no contradiction.
“Why, as to myself I have nothing to say; but the horses won’t stir.”
“What is the use of your spurs, then?”
“I have buried them in the sides of the poor jades, and, if it has made them move a step, may Heaven —
He had not time to finish his oath, for a frightful peal of thunder interrupted him.
“This is no weather for Christians to be out in.” said the honest fellow. “See, sir, see! the carriage is going of itself; in five minutes it will go fast enough — Jesus Dieu! there we go!”
And, in fact, the heavy machine pressing on the horses, they lost their footing. It then made a progressive movement, and, according to the mathematical increase of forces, its velocity augmented, till, with the rapidity of an arrow, it was visibly nearing the edge of a precipice.
It was not now only the voice of the traveler which was heard; his head was seen thrust out of the cabriolet.
“Stupid fellow!” cried he, “will you kill us? To the left! the leaders to the left!”
“Ah, monsieur, I wish from my heart I saw you on the left,” replied the frightened postilion, vainly trying to recover the reins.
“Joseph!” cried a female voice now first heard, “Joseph! Help! Help! Oh, Holy Virgin!”
Indeed, danger so terrible and so imminent might well call forth that ejaculation. The carriage, impelled by its own weight, neared the precipice — already one of the leaders appeared suspended over it; three revolutions of the wheel, and horses, carriage, and postilions would all have been precipitated, crushed and mangled, to its base, when the traveler, springing from the cabriolet on the pole, seized the postilion by the collar, lifted him like a child, flung him two paces from him, leaped into the saddle, and, gathering up the reins, called to the second postilion:
“To the left, rascal, or I will blow out thy brains!”
The command acted like magic. By an extraordinary effort the postilion gave an impulse to the carriage, brought it to the middle of the road, on which it began to roll on rapidly, with a noise that contended with that of the thunder. “Gallop!” cried the traveler; “gallop! if you slacken your speed I will run you through the body and your horses, too!”
The postilion felt that this was no vain menace; he redoubled his efforts, and the carriage descended with frightful speed. As it thus passed in the night, with its fearful noise, its flaming chimney, and its stifled cries from within, it might have been taken for some infernal chariot drawn by phantom horses, and pursued by a hurricane.
But if the travelers escaped from one danger, they met another. The cloud which had hung over the valley was as rapid as the horses. From time to time, as a flash rent the darkness, the traveler raised his head, and then, by its gleam, anxiety, perhaps fear, might have been seen on his face — for dissimulation was not wanted then — God only saw him. Just as the carriage had reached level ground, and was only carried on by its own impetus, the cloud burst with an awful explosion. A violet flame, changing to green and then to white, wrapped the horses — the hind ones reared, snuffing the sulphurous air — the leaders, as if the ground had given way beneath their feet, fell flat; but almost instantly the horse upon which the postilion was mounted regained his feet, and, finding his traces snapped by the shock, he carried off his rider, who disappeared in the darkness, while the carriage, after proceeding ten yards farther, was stopped by encountering the dead body of the lightning-stricken horse. All this was accompanied by piercing shrieks from the female in the vehicle.
There was a moment of strange confusion in which no one knew whether he was dead or living. The traveler felt himself all over to assure himself of his own identity. He was safe and sound, but the woman had fainted. Although he suspected this from the silence which had succeeded to her shrieks, it was not to her that his first cares were directed. Scarcely had he lighted on the ground when he hastened to the back of the vehicle.
There was the beautiful Arabian horse of which we have spoken — terrified — rigid — with every hair rising as if life were in it. He tugged violently at his fastening, shaking the door to the handle of which he was secured. His eye was fixed, the foam was on his nostrils, but after vain efforts to break away, he had remained, horror-stricken by the tempest; and when his master whistled to him in his usual manner, and put out his hand to caress him, he bounded aside, neighing, as if he did not know him.
“Ay, always that devil of a horse,” muttered a broken voice from the carriage; “curse him, he has broken my wall!”
Then, with double emphasis, this voice cried in Arabic, “Be still, demon!”
“Do not be angry with Djerid, master,” said the traveler, loosing the horse, which he now tied to one of the hind wheels; “he has been frightened, that is all; and indeed one might well have been frightened at less.”
Saying this, he opened the carriage door, let down the slop, entered, and closed the door after him.