The hooded snake : a story of the secret police

Preface

The publishers of the " Hooded Snake" havo suggested to its author that a few words of prefaco are necessary, inasmuch as the scene of the storybeing laid in France, and as it has been the writer's endeavour to make his characters act and talk somewhat after the fashion of Frenchmen, the charge of adaptation, or translation, is almost certain to be brought against him by all those young critics whose knowledge of French literature consists of an intimate accpiaintance with, at the most, half-a-dozen of its best known authors. It is, therefore, but right to state that the story — such as it is — owes its parentage

IV PREFACE.

t

to the author's imagination only, and is derived from no foreign source whatever. Such assertion, as regards the " Hooded Snake," is rendered doubly necessary from the fact, that, a year or two since, its author produced a drama, — " The Poor Strollers" — which it pleased a good-natured public to honour with a decided approbation ; but, the very " flavour of sunny France," which the author had endeavoured to diffuse throughout his drama, was, with certain critics, seized upon as groundwork for suspicion ; and, without pointing to a line in proof, they hinted at a '"possible adaptation." — Had he invested the French strollers with the coarser attributes of the English mountebank, and made bis characters English in everything but their birthplace, he might possibly have been allowed the parentage of his own drama; as it was, these precious young critics abused the public for persisting in its first opinion as to the drama's merits, and endeavoured by a " sneer" to do what they had failed to accomplish by proof. The author at the time received such criticism with a smile, and now speaks of it with indifference ; yet it is but right, when the word original appears upon the title-page of either

PREFACE. V

drama or novel, that the writer should be considered distinctly to pledge himself to its truth.

The story of the " Hooded Snake" is intended to illustrate that corruption of manners arising out of the spy system, which attained so wonderful and alarming a development under the direction of the famous, or infamous Joseph Fouche, and it is a story that can hardly fail to interest the readers of the present day — when, unfortunately, a vast system of espionage is again organised in France — where the outspoken thought of the honest man is an offence to be punished as severely as though he had broken into his neighbour's house, or raised a hand against his neighbour's life — where " repression and surveillance have been carried to their extreme point, and are producing a social uneasiness of which no one can predict the result ;"•" 1,200,000 francs have been demanded by the French Government, and granted by the Legislative Body, in addition to the 2,000,000 francs already dedicated to the supp ort of that terrible instrument

■VI PREFACE.

of despotism — the secret police, and the warning conveyed in Beranger's well-known song —

can never be uttered with more truthful effect than at the present time, when " Monsieur Judas" walks the streets in safety — and men eye each other askance — doubtful whether the fair-spoken friend is not a spy, whose name is secretly enrolled among, " Lea limiers de la Police."

The story of " The Hooded Snake" is laid in the days of Fouche ; but, unless continental politics undergo a great change, such a treachery as it describes will soon find many a parallel in our own.

Chapter I

THE READER MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OP PeRE DOMINIQUE, IS INTRODUCED TO MONSIEUR ANATOLE CHIFFON, AND ALSO GETS A GLIMPSE OF THE BARON

d'aubigny's GUESTS.

The scene of our story lies in Brittany. It is one of those stormy nights so frequent on the gloomy Breton coasts, upon which the very shadow of death seems ever to rest, when Nature puts on her fiercest aspect, and the sea, lashed into fury by the wind, tosses its gigantic waves against the rocks, as though it would overleap every barrier that stood between it and its prey — trembling and awe-struck man. The voice of the storm is heard for miles inland ; and the peasant, hurrying homewards to his solitary hut across the savage and dreary landes, pauses to cross himself, while his blue lips move in prayer for help against the fiend that, as he believes, rides upon and rules the mighty blast ; while the fierce inhabitant of the coast, whose home is perched among the rocks, like the nest

B of the vulture and the osprey ; and who, it is said, is as dangerous to the storm-smitten vessel as the rocks themselves, turns his scowling eye from the great fire of dried reeds and broom over which he is crouched, to the wall of his hut, where hangs a painted effigy of the Virgin, and prays that to-morrow's sun will rise on a wreck-strewn shore ; while his rough helpmate fastens the shutter, shielding her eyes the while, lest she should glance without and be driven into madness by the sight of the spectral crierien — those phantom forms of shipwrecked men, who are ever driven onwards by a pitiless wind that mocks their cries for Christian burial.

" None pass Cape B,az without hurt or fright," says the Breton proverb, and this night the grim features of those cruel rocks are hidden behind a shroud of blinding mist, as the bravo hides the dagger beneath his cloak, waiting for the coming prey. A wild night, a wild coast, and a wild people. "Well may the Breton sailors pray, "Help me, great God, at Cape Raz ; my ship is so small, and my need is so great ! "

" Why don't you open the door, some .of you 1 " said Dominique Eonchamp, as a loud knocking was heard at the door of his farm.

Upon ordinary occasions Pere Dominique was not a man to be trifled with. A Breton farmer is king under his own roof, and at times, the government of farmer Bonchamp verged upon the despotic ; but when superhuman influence is dreaded, mere human influence goes for naught ; so the circle of men , women, and children constituting the living furniture of Pere Dominique's house sat motionless, and as the knocking increased, only gazed more fixedly at the fire.

" Open the door ; do you hear 1 "

Had the circle been a circle of Druidical stones, it could not have been more deaf to his command.

"Marie Jeanne," and he addressed a stalwart Breton servant-wench ; "do you go, or — " and the words came slowly through his lips, as the better to impress upon his auditors the enormity of their permitting such an act, " or am I to open the door myself."

There was a movement in the circle, and upon each face there beamed but one expression — a devout wish that he would.

The Pere Dominique was fat — unusually fat for a Breton — and, therefore, somewhat lethargic ; but, as the knocking continued, he made an effort to rise.

" Stay, PSre Dominique ;" and a young peasant rose hastily from his seat, " since the door must be opened, I'll do it ; though," and he crossed himself devoutly, "none but the fiend would knock at an honest man's door on such a night as this."

" None but a dishonest man would turn even a dog from his door, on such a night. Why, you're as white as the meal tub ; I thought you had more courage, Keroulas."

" Courage ! " and the young peasant drew himself proudly up, while his dark eyes flashed from beneath his long hair, which, after the fashion of his country, hung long upon his shoulders ; " courage ! If there's any man but yourself, Pere Dominique, in either Leon or Cornouaille, who doubts that, he is welcome to seek the proof. But when it comes to a wrestlingmatch with — "

" I heard the wheels of the death-cart plainly to-night, as I came from the fields," broke in, with a sepulchral voice, a cadaverous-looking peasant, who sat as rivetted to his seat, with his hollow eyes fixed on the fire. " Two skeletons were driving it as usual, for I heard their bones rattle in the wind ; but I shut my eyes as close as a rat-trap when it passed, for to look on them is death ! "

Kex-oulas, who was moving towards the door, upon hearing this piece of cheering intelligence, halted abruptly, and glanced uneasily at the dark passage he must traverse to reach the principal entrance to the farm, when a voice, gentle and bird-like, that eversung sweet music in his ear, said —

" No harm can befall the good, — nor any other, while the blessed Virgin has them in her care. I will go with you, Keroulas."

The speaker was the only daughter of Dominique Bon champ, — a young girl between seventeen and eighteen years of age : her slight figure set off to advantage by the graceful Breton costume ; her large calm eyes were full of a holy simplicity ; and her face,

THE HOODED SNAKE. O

"with its look of quiet serenity, was such as might have inspired the artist-monks, when, with a wondrous patience, they illuminated with many a saint-like face, the heavy missals that formed the only ornaments of their gloomy cells. It was a calm face, but not a sad one, for a smile was ever hovering about the lips, — as the Peri lingered by the half-closed gates of paradise. " Nay, Yvonne," said Keroulas, hastily, as she rose and was about to move towards him, " to permit that I must lack both courage and shame. If my cheek wanted colour, as father Dominique said, just now, your words have brought it back again." And then, before Yvonne could make answer, he had snatched up a light and disappeared into the passage that led to the door.

" Brehan, the miller, was set upon by the Courils* when returning from Quiinper," began the peasant with the cadaverous countenance, who was called Martin, and seemed to be especially rich in ghostly anecdote. "He came upon them suddenly, and was endeavouring to creep away, when they caught sight of him, for the moonlight was lying thick as snow upon the ground, and he was surrounded in a moment."

" Did he dance with them 1 " asked Marie Jeanne, the dilation of whose eyes kept pace with Martin's story.

* The Courils are malignant dwarfs, that, according to Breton superstition, when disturbed at their moonlight revels, force the intruder to join in their dance till he dies of the fatigue.

" Did he dance with them 1 of course not ; or he ■would never have lived to tell the story. Fortunately for him, he had a phial of holy water in his pouch ; it had been blessed that very day by the Bishop himself. But the Courils seized him, and carried him through the air nevertheless, leaving him insensible at his own door, where his wife found him in the morning ! "

" Paul Lebrun says the miller was drunk, and that the Courils were the white fence-posts which he saw turning round in the road !"

All shook their heads in grave dissent at this solution ; and the speaker, a small, active, dark-eyed boy, shrunk behind the seat of Yvonne, abashed at the unpleasant reception his speech had met with ; for even Pere Dominique sent a glance of deep reproach towards him.

"Hush!"

The heavy tread of Keroulas was heard returning. It was accompanied by that of a much lighter person ; and when Keroulas, who was the first to emerge from the passage, appeared, he was greeted by all with the question,

" Who is it ?"

To Dominique Eonchamp, Keroulas made reply.

"Nobody : that is, nobody in particular. It's Monsieur Chiffon."

And the young Breton, in a not very gracious manner, put down the light, and, without further heed of the new comer, resumed his seat.

The effect of the announcement was different upon Dominique. After one or two efforts he rose on his legs and advanced towards his unexpected guest.

"You are welcome, you are welcome, Monsieur Chiffon. It is to be hoped the news you bring will prove better than the weather. How does Monsieur le Baron ? Is your young mistress well ? she was somewhat ailing when Yvonne saw her yesterday. Where is your horse 1 you have put him up in the stable : ah ! you know our ways, I see. What could have brought you abroad on such a night 1 your clothes are pouring a cataract ! " and then, without pausing for a reply to his questions, he turned angrily to the circle round the fire : " Get up some of you ! Isthis Breton hospitality 1 What says the proverb 1 ' The best seat in the house for the stranger, and the best dish at the table,' and shall Monsieur Chiffon, Monsieur le Baron's valet, have less 1 Marie Jeanne ! some more wood on the fire, and a fresh stool on the hearth."

The person to whom this welcome was addressed let his heavy and saturated cloak fall from his shoulders : then throwing his hat and whip upon an adjacent bench, stepped into the centre of the now widened circle, and, after throwing a rapid look around — which, however, comprehended each of its members — he turned his back upon them all, and stretohed a pair of long lean hands over the flaming logs, — when having sufficiently warmed them, he drew them several times one over the other with a sharp b THE HOODED SNAKE.

crackling sound — then wheeled round, and once more faced the group,

" So you took me for the fiend himself, I suppose, that you kept me so long beating the outside of your door ; parbleti ! even he might he excused for seeking a shelter on such a night — nor would it be Christianlike to refuse it."

A murmur of disapprobation came from the peasants. It was evident that Monsieur Chiffon stood by no means high in their regard.

Chiffon was a small, lean, sallow man, of that undecided age which leaves the guesser at fault as to its exact place between forty and fifty ; his hair, which grew thinly about his head, in ragged tufts, like patches of heath in an unfavourable soil, was of that unpleasant hue known as " foxy ; " but the true " foxy " character wes in the eyes — small, quick, and piercing ; they gleamed from beneath the brows with a restless, furtive look, never resting long upon any one object, yet taking in all its points, whatever they might be, at a glance. The nose, which was slightly hooked, rose above a pair of thin, restless lips, continually moved by a nervous twitching at the corners. The neck was long and bent forward, though not from the weight of the head, which was unusually small. A decided protrusion of the lower part of the face, a wrinkling of the skin about the eyes, and a pricking back of the ears, whenever the faculties of Monsieur Chiffon became keenly excited, gave him the appearance of one of those wild animals which creep with slow and stealthy steps, nearer and nearer ; till, certain of their prey, they make the final spring, dartingwith the swiftness of an arrow through ths trembling air.

Of Monsieur Anatole Chiffon's past history, nothing was known, at least in Brittany, where he had appeared two years previous to the date of our story, bringing with him a letter of recommendation to the Chevalier de Preville, from one of the Chevalier's old Parisian associates, who had been — so the letter set forth — for many years the fortunate possessor of Monsieur Anatole's services, but, dying from the effects of a sword thrust received in a street quarrel, he left him (M. Chiffon) as a legacy to the Chevalier, or — whoever else would provide provide for him.

The Chevalier de Preville — a gay, light-hearted gentleman, who had been a reckless bon vivant under the monarchy, a careless, reckless fugitive during the worst days of the Republic — had returned to Paris after the fall of the Terrorists, but was forced again to leave that city, having in some Avay incurred the suspicion of the lynx-eyed Pouche, then Minister of Police, and retired with his only son, Victor de Preville, to Pontarlac, a small estate belonging to him in Brittany, the only remnant — that much extravagance and numerous confiscations had left — of a once princely fortune. Upon this estate lie had lived in seclusion for three years, visiting only his nearest neighbour, the Baron d'Aubigny, one of the richest proprietors in

Brittany, with whom he loved to talk over those brilliant and by-gone days when fashion and folly — the terms are but too often synonymous — held misrule in Paris, and vice sat crowned with the diadem of a king. Since then, the whirligig of time had brought its changes. The Baron d'Aubigny had become a sterner and a wiser man for the niauy lessons that experience had taught. Not so the Chevalier ; it was his boast that he had sailed hitherto laughing down the stream of life, and laughing he would finish the voyage, gliding into that sea of oblivion — for, according to his philosophy, it was such — the grave. The ghastly presence of the guillotine brought with it no terrors for him ; he had plotted and counter-plotted under its very shadow ; and now, that it had passed away, and all Trance was embodied in one man — who, like the angel of death, was destined to sweep over Europe — its glory and its scourge, the Chevalier suddenly gave over plotting, and retired, as he said, " like Cincinnatus, to his cabbage garden, the cabbage being a vegetable in which careful cultivation might develop a soundness of heart that it would be in vain to look for in man." With the Chevalier, life was, in the words of a French writer, "a chaplet of small joys and petty miseries which the philosopher shakes with a laugh."

The chevalier was too poor to treat himself to the luxury of such an accomplished valet as Anatole Chiffon, and too good-natured (the world said good nature was the Chevalier's one fault) to rudely turn away his friend's bequest — so lie made it over to his friend D'Aubigny, to whose fortune half-a-dozen mouths, more or less, could make no difference.

And thus it was that Anatole Chiffon became valet to the Baron D'Aubigny.

We must now apologize to our readers, and also to those asssembled in Farmer Bonchamp's house, for leaving Monsieur Chiffon standing so long with his back to the fire.

" Such subjects are ill to jest upon, Monsieur Chiffon," said the farmer, reproachfully, as the valet moved towards a seat, selecting — not that placed for him — but the one left vacant by Keroulas, who had risen to assist in drawing the wine, which Marie Jeanne was preparing to warm over the fire.

This preference will not be wondered at when we state that the seat vacated by the young peasant was next to that of the pretty Yvonne, who, however, seemed but little pleased by the change of neighbours.

" Why ill to jest upon, Pere Dominique ? He who makes but a jest of the devil, fears him not ; and is it not a mark of holiness to set him and his at defiance 1 "

Seven hands simultaneously crossed seven bosoms,* as farmer Bonchamp made answer —

"At certain times, the demons have power, and

* " A Breton peasant " says the proverb ," has ever a prayer on his lip, and a cross at his finger end. Among the lower class, no true Breton places bread to his lips, without first making the cross upon it with his knife.

then ensues the commotion in the air, for there is no rest for the elements, when Satan is unloosed."

" Nor much for man, when such a storm as this is raging — whew ! how it blew as I crossed the heath ;" and pursing his thin lips, Chiffon gave a shrill whistle in imitation of the sound of the wind at a distance, 'ere it came roaring and shrieking round the house.

" Don't do that !" implored Martin, with something like a menace in his voice, " without you wish to bring the hurricane upon us, till it blows the roof from the farm, and the wall about our ears ; for if that comes to pass, even the Buguel iSTos could not save us."

" And who may that gentleman be 1 I never heard his name before/'

" He never heard of the Buguel Nos !"*

Here all the peasants leaned solemnly forward and gazed pityingly at the unmoved Chiffon, while Martin, sinking his voice into a whisper, continued —

" The Buguel Nos is the friend of man. Only pray to him for aid, and he is sure to be by your side in the extremity of danger."

" A friend in need is a friend indeed ; it shall be my endeavour to make the acquaintance of your Buguel Nos."

* The Buguel Nos, a supernatural being of vast stature, which increases as he approachesthose to whom he appears. The Buguel Nos resembles, in some peculiarities, the Number Nip of the Germans, only that the former is ever friendly in his intentions towards man.

Without heeding the interruption, Martin went on.

" I have seen him."

" You have ?"

" I have !" A buzz of excitement from the peasants. Martin was evidently considered by all as an extraordinary man. " I saw him near Pont Croix. I got somehow benighted, and lost my road about two miles to the west of Andenac's farm, close upon the rising ground that overlooks Deadman's Bay, where the Dutch brig went to pieces. You can imagine my fear."

" They could, they did !" Chiffon glanced sharply at the pale serious faces about him ; it was plain they shared it.

" Luckily, I had a bottle of brandy — genuine Nantz — and took a long steady draught."

The peasants drew in their breath, then smacked their lips ; it was done unconsciously, but with a relish.

" I then sat down to think over what had best be done. I sat for nearly an hour, turning over first one thing, then another in my mind ; when, putting down my hand for the Nantes, I found the bottle — empty ! I at once came to the conclusion — "

" That you had drunk its contents."

Martin gave the valet a look of contempt. " That I was on unholy ground ; and scarcely had I become aware of this, than the stone upon which 1 was seated began to whirl rapidly round. At the sam time I

THE HOODED SNAKE.

descried something black approaching over the heath."

The peasants crossed themselves.

" It stopped some dozen yards from me, but without being aware of my presence, for I had crawled behind the stone which had served me for a seat ; and then I plainly saw the tail and horns, and knew it was the fiend himself."

Martin's listeners glanced oyer their shoulders, and drew their stools closer together.

" He walked round and round the stone, evidently looking for me."

" I thought he hadn't seen you ;" said the incredulous Chiffon.

" When I remembered," continued Martin, who was not to be put out in his narrative, "the Bnguel Kos, and prayed to him to relieve me from my danger."

"Did -he come?"

" Could I be here, if he had not ? Suddenly his tall form stepped from out the mist, wbich'seemecl as thick as a wall, and he stood between me and the Accursed One; his figure grew larger and taller as he approached me, till it seemed as though the stars were resting on his forehead- — at last he stood by my side."

" Could you see the stars through the mist that was as thick as a wall ?" put in Chiffon, slily.

" He loosed his long white mantle from his shoulders, and just as the fiend uttered a fearful yell, and made a rush forward, he dropped it over me. I was saved."

A long sigh of relief from the peasants. Then Martin, pointing to the dark-eyed boy, who, racovered from his rebuff, was playing with the logs on the fire, said, " Zizi knows what I relate to be true ; for his father — rest his soul ! — was one of those who found me in the morning."

" That he did ;" laughed the urchin, twirling apiece of the burning wood between his fingers, " That he did. He was out a reed-gathering, when he came upon Martin, stretched on the ground. He did'nt make out a man at first, because Martin was half covered by a snow-drift, and, therefore, would'nt have stopped, but that one of Andenac's black cows, which had wandered in the night, was lying down close by."

" Ah ! ah ! I see ; and in endeavouring to catch the cow, he lighted upon Martin," laughed Chiffon.

" So it pleased the blessed St. Iflam to direct it," broke in Martin. " Talac found me beneath the snow-drift, half-dead, with the empty bottle beside me." Here the murmur of flhanksgiving and the irreverent mirth of Chiffon, were alike interrupted by a fresh knocking at the outer door. And this time there was slight delay in answering the summons, Chiffon, at the first stroke, leaping lightly to his feet.

" As I expected ; they have made out the farm by the light from the windows. These gentlemen" are gueSts^for Monsieur le Daron," he said, in brief explanation to Bonchamp, who had also risen ; " they come from the coast, and the Baron, who knew they must take your farm on the way, desired me to meet them here, and bring them on."

" Will they go on to the maison D'Aubigny to-night ?" inquired the farmer, as several of the labourers hurried to the door to render assistance to the travellers.

" The Baron's orders are imperative. Besides, a man can but be wet through ; and these gentlemen must be as thoroughly sea-soaked as the weeds that float upon the billows. It's not easy landing at the best of times near Cape Raz."

" Landing ! why there was but one ship off the shore before nightfall. Baul Lebrun said it was an English brig by the build, though she carried French colours. I hope these messieurs are not English. In most things the Baron's word is law ; but — "

"English ! no." Chiffon paused, then glanced upwards with his glittering eyes into the open face of the farmer. " So Paul Lebrun thought that vessel English— umph !"

" Paul ought to know : he has been in one of their prisons on the other side of the water !"

" Ah ! nothing is so little likely to rust in the memory as the remembrance of a wrong. And, upon an emergency, where might this kno wing gentleman be found ?"

" At Pont Croix : a good sailor, though a wild one."

" From England ! it may be — and yet," muttered Chiffon, as the farmer left him to ■welcome the newarrivals, " I would give something to be certain ; nay, I must be certain. Let me see. Le Brun — Pont Croix : that must not slip my memory."

Two persons, — gentlemen by their perfect ease of manner and general bearing — had entered the large room ; and now, conducted by Pere Dominique, advanced towards the fire, shaking, as they did so, the rain from their garments ; the peasants, who had all risen, drawing back respectfully as the strangers approached.

" You say that my good friend, the Baron D'Aubigny, has sent us a guide. By my faith, we stand in no small need of one, if the remaining part of the road is as difficult to follow as that we have already traversed. Oh !" and the speaker, a tall, dark man, with a somewhat clerical appearance, eyed Chiffon inquisitively, as that gentleman advanced, and stood bowing before him, " you are the envoy, I suppose?"

"Monsieur supposes correctly. I am the confidential servant of Monsieur le Baron d'Aubigny."

" Bah ! the servant who proclaims his position thus loudly, is seldom worthy of the confidence bestowed." Then, turning to his companion, he continued, "'Twere useless to tarry here, Dupont. The distance to the maison d'Aubigny is only two miles, so the good farmer informs me ; and, guided by this fellow, we shall travel it safely and quickly."

At the word " fellow," uttered somewhat contemptuously by the tall, dark man, a close observer might have seen a quick, almost savage gleam, dart from the eyes of Chiffon, — but there were no such close observers present, — and, in a moment, the fierce gleam was gone, and the face as unruffled as before.