The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1877-06-07
The Marquis Revenge
A TALE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
By DAVID KER.

B1 ia III hI.R.
Monsieur is sketching the old cha
teau? 1t is well worth the trouble; but
for my part, ! like not to look at it,"
| started and turned round. | had
seated myself on a moss-grown bowlder,
upon a gentle slope overlooking the
broad, smooth stream of the Doubs.
Just below me the river curved round
the base Of a steep hill, on the brow of
which stood the ruins of an old chateau
Such relics are not uncommon in France
but this ruin differed from those which
] had vet seen, as the corpse Of Il man
cruelty murdered differs from that of
one who has died III his sleep The
ground riyen as if by an earthquake
the charred stones scattered far and
wide around-the yawnings riffs in the
masonry, still remaining erect-all
spoke, not of gradual decay, but of sud
den and terrible destruction. A gloom
of a fearful tragedy seemed to brood
over that CHASTITY ruin, looming grimly
against a clear summer sky, like the
shadow of one grslt sin upon stainless
life
As | turned | saw beside me an old
man III the dress of well to do peasant
of the country. The long white hair
and beard, inclosing a bronzed face in a
kind of frame large, bright eye-a
bold, erect bearing-ab0ve all, a deep,
earnest look, As Of one who had done
and suffered above a measure of his
kind-showed me at once had fallen in
with character"
You say you don't like to look at
that ruin yonder? Well, it certainly is
not pleasant sight; but what do you
know about it ?"
ant, emphatically. 81 saw it in all its
splendor, and ! saw it in the hour of its
destruction, seventy years ago. If you
care to hear the story, I'll tell it you"
The offer was not to be sighted. |
motioned my companion to seat on the
stone beside me, and disposed myself to
listen to him.
| remember the days before the rev.
olution," he began, "although | was
then only child; but remember them.
just rs one might recollect horrid
nightmare. | seem to have dreamed of
being hungry, and cold, and ragged, and
helpless, for ever 50 long-and then sud
denly to have walked up free and well
on. All that we peasants wanted was
enough to live upon, instead of being
tiayed alive by the mobiles; and the rev
olution did that for us, ut least. Look
at me! In my childhood | ran barefoot
along the high-road, begging of the
passers-by, with no hope of ever being
better off than my father, poor laborer,
who lived upon black bread and onions,
and never knew what it was to be warm
or well-clothed from one years end to
another. | remember that in those DAYS
L used always to think Of heaven as a
place where one would be allowed to sit
close To big fire, and to eat ones fill of
the white bread and dainty roast-mcat
which my cousin, Pierre, the soldier
(who was or guard at the Chateau de
Quesnoy when his Colonel dined there),
had told me about. Well, Monsieur. /
have now sheep and cattle of my own,
and good bit of grain land into the
bargain. My son Gaspard is an attorney
at Lyons; and my grandson, Baptiste. is
a Lieutenant. Show me the peasant be-
lore the revolution whose son or grand
son could have become an officer. Bah,
Those were the days when the mobiles
did what they liked; and a pretty life
they led us. Now, thank God, they
can cut your throat or carry off vour
wife without any one daring to say a
word; but before 'S9 it was another mat
ter 1t was no joke then to fall in the
way OF party of Young chevaliers. hot
with wine and mischief, and ready for
any devils prank that came into their
heads Every man that came in their
road was sure To lie beaten or run
through. | can't remember even now
Though | was quite child when it ham
penedl the night when our Young lord.
Henri de Quesnoy, and three or four OF
his wild companions, secured the streets
of Besancon with their riding-whips. and
made every one they met go down on
their knees in the mud and cry, Nive
lie roi, Then, As if that was not enough
for them, they broke ever 50 many VIM
dows, rang the great alarm-bell till they
reused up the whole town, and finished
by hanging a dead dog at the door of
the Mayor Little did they dream, then.
that the day was To come when thew
should themselves be hung like dogs 10
every lamp-iron, and when their blood
should run in the streets of their own
town.
Our old >eigneur, Maurice de Quesnov.
who lived ut the chateau yondcr in the
year ~, WAS such 4 man rs I've heard
about IN the Gospels" one who feared
not God, nor regarded man" Nothing
could frlghten him, nothing could melt
nm; he was Just a man of marble-pol-
lshed and hard, and cold as death. In
one of the great battles of the seven
years war, he had flung his plumed
hat into an English battery. and leaned
after 1t, without man to his back: and
when he came back alive, his soldier.
muttered 10 each other that his hour had
not come yet-for, YOU see, there was a
legend abroad that he had sold himself Ia
Satan for certain term, and that moth
ing could harm him till his term was ont.
Cur folks used 10 say that when he cot
tired of all his grand dishes. he fed upon
chlldren's flesh; and many a time have |
screamed and run away for fear of being
devoured, when saw him come prancine
along the road on his great black horse,
all lace, and Jewels. and embroidery.
with his long feathers streaming in the
wind, and his smooth, handsome. cruaI
face bent forward like a bird of prev
But all this was just what pleased him
he liked 10 be feared by the rabble. as no
used To call Us; and, faith. We had Good
reason 10 fear him, too If the chateau
were still standing. | could show YOU
the very tower or the top of which he
hanged Jean Perret for SHARING game in
she woods to feed his children, who were
starving, Then there was poor Simon
Allssasd, whose slfe ha carried OF, He