The Burial of the Rats by Bram Stoker
Leaving Paris by the Orleans road, cross the Enceinte, and, turning
to the right, you find yourself in a somewhat wild and not at all
savoury district. Right and left, before and behind, on every side rise
great heaps of dust and waste accumulated by the process of time.
Paris has its night as well as its day life, and the sojourner who
enters his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli or the Rue St. Honore late at
night or leaves it early in the morning, can guess, in coming near
Montrouge-- if he has not done so already--the purpose of those great
waggons that look like boilers on wheels which he finds halting
everywhere as he passes.
Every city has its peculiar institutions created out of its own
needs; and one of the most notable institutions of Paris is its
rag-picking population. In the early morning--and Parisian life
commences at an early hour--may be seen in most streets standing on the
pathway opposite every court and alley and between every few houses, as
still in some American cities, even in parts of New York, large wooden
boxes into which the domestics or tenement-holders empty the
accumulated dust of the past day. Round these boxes gather and pass on,
when the work is done, to fresh fields of labour and pastures new,
squalid hungry-looking men and women, the implements of whose craft
consist of a coarse bag or basket slung over the shoulder and a little
rake with which they turn over and probe and examine in the minutest
manner the dustbins. They pick up and deposit in their baskets, by aid
of their rakes, whatever they may find, with the same facility as a
Chinaman uses his chopsticks.
Paris is a city of centralisation--and centralisation and
classification are closely allied. In the early times, when
centralisation is becoming a fact, its forerunner is classification.
All things which are similar or analogous become grouped together, and
from the grouping of groups rises one whole or central point. We see
radiating many long arms with innumerable tentaculae, and in the centre
rises a gigantic head with a comprehensive brain and keen eyes to look
on every side and ears sensitive to hear--and a voracious mouth to
Other cities resemble all the birds and beasts and fishes whose
appetites and digestions are normal. Paris alone is the analogical
apotheosis of the octopus. Product of centralisation carried to an
ad absurdum, it fairly represents the devil fish; and in no
respects is the resemblance more curious than in the similarity of the
Those intelligent tourists who, having surrendered their
individuality into the hands of Messrs. Cook or Gaze, 'do' Paris in
three days, are often puzzled to know how it is that the dinner which
in London would cost about six shillings, can be had for three francs
in a cafe in the Palais Royal. They need have no more wonder if they
will but consider the classification which is a theoretic speciality of
Parisian life, and adopt ail round the fact from which the chiffonier
has his genesis.
The Paris of 1850 was not like the Paris of to-day, and those who
see the Paris of Napoleon and Baron Hausseman can hardly realise the
existence of the state of things forty-five years ago.
Amongst other things, however, which have not changed are those
districts where the waste is gathered. Dust is dust all the world over,
in every age, and the family likeness of dust-heaps is perfect. The
traveller, therefore, who visits the environs of Montrouge can go back
in fancy without difficulty to the year 1850.
In this year I was making a prolonged stay in Paris. I was very much
in love with a young lady who, thought she returned my passion, so far
yielded to the wishes of her parents that she had promised not to see
me or to correspond with me for a year. I, too, had been compelled to
accede to these conditions under a vague hope of parental approval.
During the term of probation I had promised to remain out of the
country and not to write to my dear one until the expiration of the
Naturally the time went heavily with me. There was not one of my own
family or circle who could tell me of Alice, and none of her own folk
had, I am sorry to say, sufficient generosity to send me even an
occasional word of comfort regarding her health and well-being. I spent
six months wandering about Europe, but as I could find no satisfactory
distraction in travel, F determined to come to Paris, where, at least,
I would be within easy hail of London in case any good fortune should
call me thither before the appointed time. That 'hope deferred maketh
the heart sick' was never better exemplified than in my case, for in
addition to the perpetual longing to see the face I loved there was
always with me a harrowing anxiety lest some accident should prevent me
showing Alice in due time that I had, throughout the long period of
probation, been faithful to her trust and my own love. Thus, every
adventure which I undertook had a fierce pleasure of its own, for it
was fraught with possible consequences greater than it would have
Like all travellers I exhausted the places of most interest in the
first month of my stay, and was driven in the second month to look for
amusement whithersoever I might. Having made sundry journeys to the
better-known suburbs, I began to see that there was a terra
incognita, in so far as the guide book was concerned, in the social
wilderness lying between these attractive points. Accordingly I began
to systematise my researches, and each day took up the thread of my
exploration at the place where I had on the previous day dropped it.
In the process of time my wanderings led me near Montrouge, and I
saw that hereabouts lay the Ultima Thule of social exploration--a
country as little known as that round the source of the White Nile. And
so I determined to investigate philosophically the chiffonier --his
habitat, his life, and his means of life.
The job was an unsavoury one, difficult of accomplishment, and with
little hope of adequate reward. However, despite reason, obstinacy
prevailed, and I entered into my new investigation with a keener energy
than I could have summoned to aid me in any investigation leading to
any end, valuable or worthy.
One day, late in a fine afternoon, toward the end of September, I
entered the holy of holies of the city of dust. The place was evidently
the recognised abode of a number of chiffoniers, for some sort of
arrangement was manifested in the formation of the dust heaps near the
road. I passed amongst these heaps, which stood like orderly sentries,
determined to penetrate further and trace dust to its ultimate location.
As I passed along I saw behind the dust heaps a few forms that
flitted to and fro, evidently watching with interest the advent of any
stranger to such a place. The district was like a small Switzerland,
and as I went forward my tortuous course shut out the path behind me.
Presently I got into what seemed a small city or community of
chiffoniers. There were a number of shanties or huts, such as may be
met with in the remote parts of the Bog of Allan--rude places with
wattled walls, plastered with mud and roofs of rude thatch made from
stable refuse--such places as one would not like to enter for any
consideration, and which even in water-colour could only look
picturesque if judiciously treated. In the midst of these huts was one
of the strangest adaptations--I cannot say habitations--I had ever
seen. An immense old wardrobe, the colossal remnant of some boudoir of
Charles VII, or Henry II, had been converted into a dwelling-house. The
double doors lay open, so that the entire manage was open to public
view. In the open half of the wardrobe was a common sitting-room of
some four feet by six, in which sat, smoking their pipes round- a
charcoal brazier, no fewer than six old soldiers of the First Republic,
with their uniforms torn and worn threadbare. Evidently they were of
the mauvais sujet class; their bleary eyes and limp jaws told
plainly of a common love of absinthe; and their eyes had that haggard,
worn look of slumbering ferocity which follows hard in the wake of
drink. The other side stood as of old, with its shelves intact, save
that they were cut to half their depth, and in each shelf of which
there were six, was a bed made with rags and straw. The half-dozen of
worthies who inhabited this structure looked at me curiously as I
passed; and when I looked back after going a little way I saw their
heads together in a whispered conference. I-did not like the look of
this at all, for the place was very lonely, and the men looked very,
very villainous. However, I did not see any cause for fear, and went on
my way, penetrating further and further into the Sahara. The way was
tortuous to a degree, and from going round in a series of semi-circles,
as one goes in skating with the Dutch roll, I got rather confused with
regard to the points of the compass.
When I had penetrated a little way I saw, as I turned the corner of
a half-made heap, sitting on a heap of straw an old soldier with
'Hallo!' said I to myself; 'the First Republic is well represented
here in its soldiery.'
As I passed him the old man never even looked up at me, but gazed on
the ground with stolid persistency Again I remarked to myself: 'See
what a life of rude warfare can do! This old man's curiosity is a thing
of the past.'
When I had gone a few steps, however, I looked back suddenly, and
saw that curiosity was not dead, for the veteran had raised his head
and was regarding me with a very queer expression. He seemed to me to
look very like one of the six worthies in the press. When he saw me
looking he dropped his head; and without thinking further of him I went
on my way, satisfied that there was a strange likeness between these
Presently I met another old soldier in a similar manner. He, too,
did not notice me whilst I was passing.
By this time it was getting late in the afternoon, and I began to
think of retracing my steps. Accordingly I turned to go back, but could
see a number of tracks leading between different mounds and could not
ascertain which of them I should take. In my perplexity I wanted to sec
someone of whom to ask the way, but could see no one. I determined to
go on a few mounds further and so try to see someone--not a veteran.
I gained my object, for after going a couple of hundred yards I saw
before me a single shanty such as I had seen before--with, however, the
difference that this was not one for living in, but merely a roof with
three walls open in front. From the evidences which the neighbourhood
exhibited I look it to be a place for sorting. Within it was an old
woman wrinkled and bent with age; I approached her to ask the way.
She rose as I came close and I asked her my way. She immediately
commenced a conversation; and it occurred to me that here in the very
centre of the Kingdom of Dust was the place to gather details of the
history of Parisian rag-picking--particularly as I could do so from the
lips of one who looked like the oldest inhabitant.
I began my inquiries, and the old woman gave me most interesting
answers--she had been one of the ceteuces who sat daily before the
guillotine and had taken an active part among the women who signalised
themselves by their violence in the revolution. While we were talking
she said suddenly: 'But m'sieur must be tired standing,' and dusted a
rickety old stool for me to sit down. I hardly liked to do so for many
reasons; but the poor old woman was so civil that I did not like to run
the risk of hurting her by refusing, and moreover the conversation of
one who had been at the taking of the Bastille was so interesting that
I sat down and so our conversation went on.
While we were talking an old man--older and more bent and wrinkled
even than the woman--appeared from behind the shanty. 'Here is Pierre,'
said she. 'M'sieur can hear stories now if he wishes, for Pierre was in
everything, from the Bastille to Waterloo.' The old man took another
stool at my request and we plunged into a sea of revolutionary
reminiscences. This old man, albeit clothed like a scarecrow, was like
any one of the six veterans.
I was now sitting in the centre of the low; hut with the woman on my
left hand and the man on my right, each of them being somewhat in front
of me. The place was full of all sorts of curious objects of lumber,
and of many things that I wished far away. In one corner was a heap of
rags which seemed to move from the number of vermin it contained, and
in the other a heap of bones whose odour was something shocking. Every
now and then, -glancing at the heaps, I could see the gleaming eyes of
some of the rats which infested the place. These loathsome objects were
bad enough, but what looked even more dreadful was an -old butcher's
axe with an iron handle stained with clots of blood leaning up against
the wall on the right hand side. Still, these things did not give me
much concern. The talk of the two old people was so fascinating that I
stayed on and on, till the evening came and the dust heaps threw dark
shadows over the vales between them.
After a time I began to grow uneasy. I could not tell how or why,
but somehow I did not feel satisfied. Uneasiness is an instinct and
means warning. The psychic faculties are often the sentries of the
intellect, and when they sound alarm the reason begins to act, although
perhaps not consciously.
This was so with me. I began to bethink me where I was and by what
surrounded, and to wonder how I should fare in case I should be
attacked; and then the thought suddenly burst upon me, although without
any overt cause, that I was in danger. Prudence whispered: 'Be still
and make no sign,' and so I was still and made no sign, for I knew that
four cunning eyes were on me. 'Four eyes--if not more.' My God, what a
horrible thought! The whole shanty might be surrounded on three sides
with villains! I might be in the midst of a band of such desperadoes as
only half a century of periodic revolution can produce.
With a sense of danger my intellect and observation quickened, and I
grew more watchful than was my wont. I noticed that the old woman's
eyes were constantly wandering towards my hands. I looked at them too,
and saw the cause--my rings. On my left little finger I had a large
signet and on the right a good diamond.
I thought that if there was any danger my first care was to avert
suspicion. Accordingly I began to work the conversation round to
rag-picking--to the drains--of the things found there; and so by easy
stages to jewels. Then, seizing a favourable opportunity, I asked the
old woman if she knew anything of such things. She answered that she
did, a little. I held out my right hand, and, showing her the diamond,
asked her what she thought of that. She answered that her eyes were
bad, and stooped over my hand. I said as nonchalantly as I could:
'Pardon me! You will see better thus!' and taking it off handed it to
her. An unholy light came into her withered old face, as she touched
it. She stole one glance at me swift and keen as a flash of lightning.
She bent over the ring for a moment, her face quite concealed as
though examining it. The old man looked straight out of the front of
the shanty before him, at the same time fumbling in his pockets and
producing a screw of tobacco in a paper and a pipe, which he proceeded
to fill. I took advantage of the pause and the momentary rest from the
searching eyes on my face to look carefully round the place, now dim
and shadowy in the gloaming. There still lay all the heaps of varied
reeking foulness; there the terrible blood-stained axe leaning against
the wall in the right hand corner, and everywhere, despite the gloom,
the baleful glitter of the eyes of the rats. I could see them even
through some of the chinks of the boards at the back low down close to
the ground. But stay! these latter eyes seemed more than usually large
and bright and baleful!
For an instant my heart stood still, and I felt in that whirling
condition of mind in which one feels a sort of spiritual drunkenness,
and as though the body is only maintained erect in that there is no
time for it to fall before recovery. Then, in another second, I was
calm--coldly calm, with all my energies in full vigour, with a
self-control which I felt to be perfect and with all my feeling and
Now I knew the full extent of my danger: I was watched and
surrounded by desperate people! I could not even guess at how many of
them were lying there on the ground behind the shanty, waiting for the
moment to strike. I knew that I was big and strong, and they knew it,
too. They knew also, as I did. that I was an Englishman and would make
a fight for it; and so we waited. I had, I felt, gained an advantage in
the last few seconds, for I knew my danger and understood the
situation. Now, I thought, is the test of my courage--the enduring
test: the fighting test may come later!
The old woman raised her head and said to me in a satisfied kind of
'A very tine ring, indeed--a beautiful ring! Oh, me! I once had such
rings, plenty of them, and bracelets and earrings! Oh! Sir, in those
fine days I led the town a dance! But they've forgotten me now! They've
forgotten me! They? Why they never heard of me! Perhaps their
grandfathers remember me, some of them!' and she laughed a harsh,
croaking laugh. And then I am bound to say that she astonished me, for
she handed me back the ring with a certain suggestion of old-fashioned
grace which was not without its pathos.
The old man eyed her with a sort of sudden ferocity, half rising
from his stool, and said to me suddenly and hoarsely:
'Let me see!'
I was about to hand the ring when the old woman said:
'No! no. do not give it to Pierre! Pierre is eccentric. He loses
things; and such a pretty ring!'
'Cat!' said the old man, savagely. Suddenly the old woman said,
rather more loudly than was necessary:
'Wait! I shall tell you something about a ring.' There was something
in the sound of her voice that jarred upon me. Perhaps it was my
hyper-sensitiveness, wrought up as I was to such a pitch of nervous
excitement, but 1' seemed to think that she was not addressing me. As I
stole a glance round the place I saw the eyes of the rats in the bone
heaps, but missed the eyes along the back. But even as, I looked I saw
them again appear. The old woman's 'Wait!' had given me a respite from
attack, and the men had sunk back to their reclining posture.
'I once lost a ring--a beautiful diamond hoop that had belonged to a
queen, and which was given to me by a farmer of the taxes, who
afterwards cut his throat because I sent him away. I thought it must
have been stolen, and taxed my people; but I could get no trace. The
police came and suggested that it had found its way to the drain. We
descended--I in my fine clothes, for I would not trust them with my
beautiful ring! I know more of the drains since then, and of rats, too!
but I shall never forget the horror of that place--alive with blazing
eyes, a wall of them just outside the light of our torches. Well, we
got beneath my house. We searched the outlet of the drain, and there in
the filth found my ring, and we came out.
'But we found something else also before we came! As we were coming
toward the opening a lot of sewer rats--human ones this time--came
towards us. They told the police that one of their number had gone into
the drain, but had not returned. He had gone in only shortly before we
had, and, if lost, could hardly be far off. They asked help to seek
him, so we turned back. They tried to prevent me going, but I insisted.
It was a new excitement, and had I not recovered my ring? Not far did
we go till we carne on something. There was but little water, and the
bottom of the drain was raised with brick, rubbish, and much matter of
the kind. He had made a fight for it, even when his torch had gone out.
But they were too many for him! They had not been long about it! The
bones were still warm; but they were picked clean. They had even eaten
their own dead ones and there were bones of rats as well as of the man.
They took it cool enough those other--the human ones--and joked of
their comrade when they found him dead, though they would have helped
him living. Bah! what matters it--life or death?'
'And had you no fear?' I asked her.
'Fear!' she said with a laugh. 'Me have fear? Ask Pierre! But I was
younger then, and, as I came through that horrible drain with its wall
of greedy eyes, always moving with the circle of the light from the
torches, I did not feel easy. I kept on before the men, though! It is a
way I have. I never let the men get it before me. All I want is a
chance and a means! And they ate him up--took every trace away except
the bones; and no one knew it, nor no sound of him was ever heard!'
Here she broke into a chuckling fit of the ghastliest merriment which
it was ever my lot to hear and see. A great poetess describes her
heroine singing: 'Oh! to see or hear her singing! Scarce I know which
is the divinest.'
And I can apply the same idea to the old crone-- in all save the
divinity, for I scarce could tell which was the most hellish--the
harsh, malicious, satisfied, cruel laugh, or the leering grin, and the
horrible square opening of the mouth like a tragic mask, and the yellow
gleam of the few discoloured teeth in the shapeless gums. In that laugh
and with that grin and the chuckling satisfaction I knew as well as if
it had been spoken to me in words of thunder that my murder was
settled, and the murderers only bided the proper time for its
accomplishment. I could read between the lines of her gruesome story
the commands to herb accomplices. 'Wait,' she seemed to say, 'bide your
time. I shall Strike the first blow. Find the weapon for me, and I
shall make the opportunity! He shall not escape! Keep him quiet, and
then no one will be wiser. There will be no outcry, and the rats will
do their work!'
It was growing darker and darker; the night was coming. I stole a
glance round the shanty, still ail the same! The bloody axe in the
corner, the heaps of filth, and the eyes on the bone heaps and in the
crannies of the floor.
Pierre had been still ostensibly filling his pipe; he now struck a
light and began to puff away at it. The old woman said:
'Dear heart, how dark it is! Pierre, like a good lad, light the
Pierre got up and with the lighted match in his hand touched the
wick of a lamp which hung at one side of the entrance to- the shanty,
and which had a reflector that threw the light all over the place. It
was evidently that which was used for their sorting at night.
'Not that, stupid! Not that! The lantern!' she called out to him.
He immediately blew it out, saying: 'All right, mother I'll find
it,' and he hustled about the left corner of the room--the old woman
saying through the darkness:
'The lantern! the lantern! Oh! That is the light that is most useful
to us poor folks. The lantern was the friend of the revolution! It is
the friend of the chiffonier! It helps us when all else fails.'
Hardly had she said the word when there was a kind of creaking of
the whole place, and something was steadily dragged over the roof.
Again I seemed to read between the lines of her words. I knew the
lesson of the lantern.
'One of you get on the roof with a noose and strangle him as he
passes out if we fail within.'
As I looked out of the opening I saw the loop of a rope outlined
black against the lurid sky. I was now, indeed, beset!
Pierre was not long in finding the lantern. I kept my eyes fixed
through the darkness on the old woman. Pierre struck his light, and by
its flash I saw the old woman raise from the ground beside her where it
had mysteriously appeared, and then hide in the folds of her gown, a
.long sharp knife or dagger. It seemed to be like a butcher's
sharpening iron fined to a keen point.
The lantern was lit.
'Bring it here, Pierre,' she said. 'Place it in the doorway where we
can see it. See how nice it is! It shuts out the darkness from us; it
is just right!'
Just right for her and her purposes! It threw all its light on my
face, leaving in gloom the faces of both Pierre and the woman, who sat
outside of me on each side.
I felt that the time of action was approaching; but I knew now that
the first signal and movement would come from the woman, and so watched
I was all unarmed, but I had made up my mind what to do. At the
first movement I would seize the butcher's axe in the right-hand corner
and fight my way out. At least, I would die hard. I stole a glance
round to fix its exact locality so that I could not fail to seize it at
the first effort, for then, if ever, time and accuracy would be
Good God! It was gone! All the horror of the situation burst upon
me; but the bitterest thought of all was that if the issue of the
terrible position should be against me Alice would infallibly suffer.
Either she would believe me false--and any lover, or any one who has
ever been one, can imagine the bitterness of the thought--or else she
would go on loving long after I had been lost to her and to the world,
so that her life would be broken and embittered, shattered with
disappointment and despair. The very magnitude of the pain braced me up
and nerved me to bear the dread scrutiny of the plotters.
I think I did not betray myself. The old woman was watching me as a
cat does a mouse; she had her right hand hidden in the folds of her
gown, clutching, I knew, that long, cruel-looking dagger. Had she seen
any disappointment in my face she would, I felt, have known that the
moment had come, and would have sprung on me like a tigress, certain of
taking me unprepared.
I looked out into the night, and there I saw new cause for danger.
Before and around the hut were at a little distance some shadowy forms;
they were quite still, but I knew that they were all alert and on
guard. Small chance for me now in that direction.
Again I stole a glance round the place. In moments of great
excitement and of great danger, which is excitement, the mind works
very quickly, and the keenness of the faculties which depend on the
mind grows in proportion. I now felt this. In an instant I took in the
whole situation. I saw that the axe had been taken through a small hole
made in one of the rotten boards. How rotten they must be to allow of
such a thing being done without a particle of noise.
The hut was a regular murder-trap, and was guarded all around. A
garroter lay on the roof ready to entangle me with his noose if I
should escape the dagger of the old hag. In front the way was guarded
by I know not how many watchers. And at the back was a row of desperate
men--I had seen their eyes still through the crack in the boards of the
floor, when last I looked-- as they lay prone waiting for the signal to
start erect, If it was to be ever, now for it!
As nonchalantly as I could I turned slightly on my stool so as to
get my right leg well under me. Then with a sudden jump, turning my
head, and guarding it with my hands, and with the fighting instinct of
the knights of old, I breathed my lady's name, and hurled myself
against the back wall of the hut.
Watchful as they were, the suddenness of my movement surprised "both
Pierre and the old woman. As I crashed through the rotten timbers I saw
the old woman rise with a leap like a tiger and heard her low gasp of
baffled rage. My feet lit on something that moved, and as I jumped away
I knew that I had stepped on the back of one of the row of men lying on
their faces outside the hut. I was torn with nails and splinters, but
otherwise unhurt. Breathless I rushed up the mound in front of me,
hearing as I went the dull crash of the shanty as it collapsed into a
It was a nightmare climb. The mound, though but low, was awfully
steep, and with each step I took the mass of dust and cinders tore down
with me and gave way under my feet. The dust rose and choked me; it was
sickening, foetid, awful; but my climb was, I felt, for life or death,
and I struggled on. The seconds seemed hours; but the few moments I had
in starting, combined with my youth and strength, gave me a great
advantage, and, though several forms struggled after me in deadly
silence which was more dreadful than any sound,, I easily reached the
top. Since then I have climbed the cone of Vesuvius, and as I struggled
up that dreary steep amid the sulphurous fumes the memory of that awful
night at Montrouge came back to me so vividly that I almost grew faint.
The mound was one of the tallest in the region of dust, and as I
struggled to the top, panting for breath and with my heart beating like
a sledge-hammer, I saw away to my left the dull red gleam of the sky,
and nearer still the flashing of lights. Thank God! I knew where I was
now and where lay the road to Paris!
For two or three seconds I paused and looked back. My pursuers were
still well behind me, but struggling up resolutely, and in deadly
silence. Beyond, the shanty was a wreck--a mass of timber and moving
forms. I could see it well, for flames were already bursting out; the
rags and straw had evidently caught fire from the lantern. Still
silence there! Not a sound! These old wretches could die game, anyhow.
I had no time for more than a passing glance, for as I cast an eye
round the mound preparatory to making my descent I saw several dark
forms rushing round on either side to cut me off on my way. It was now
a race for life. They were trying to head me on my way to Paris, and
with the instinct of the moment I dashed down to the right-hand side. I
was just in time, for, though I came as it seemed to me down the steep
in a few steps, the wary old men who were watching me turned back, and
one, as I rushed by into the opening between the two mounds in front,
almost struck me a blow with that terrible butcher's axe. There could
surely not be two such weapons about!
Then began a really horrible chase. I easily ran ahead of the old
men, and even when some younger ones and a few women joined in the hunt
I easily distanced them. But I did not know the way, and I could not
even guide myself by the light in the sky, for I was running away from
it. I had heard that, unless of conscious purpose, hunted men turn
always to the left, and so I found it now; and so, I suppose, knew also
my pursuers, who were more animals than men, and with cunning or
instinct had found out such secrets for themselves: for on finishing a
quick spurt, after which I intended to take a moment's breathing space,
I suddenly saw ahead of me two or three forms swiftly passing behind a
mound to the right.
I was in the spider's web now indeed! But with the thought of this
new danger came the resource of the hunted, and so I darted down the
next turning to the right. I continued in this direction for some
hundred yards, and then, making a turn to the left again, felt certain
that I had, at any rate, avoided the danger of being surrounded.
But not of pursuit, for on came the rabble after me, steady, dogged,
relentless, and still in grim silence.
In the greater darkness the mounds seemed now to be somewhat smaller
than before, although--for the night was closing--they looked bigger in
proportion. I was now well ahead of my pursuers, so I made a dart up
the mound in front.
Oh joy of joys! I was close to the edge of this inferno of
dustheaps. Away behind me the red light of Paris was in the sky, and
towering up behind rose the heights of Montmarte--a dim light, with
here and there brilliant points like stars.
Restored to vigour in a moment, I ran over the few remaining mounds
of decreasing size, and found myself on the level land beyond. Even
then, however, the prospect was not inviting. All before me was dark
and dismal, and I had evidently come on one of those dank, low-lying
waste places which are found here and there in the neighbourhood of
great cities. Places of waste and desolation, where the space is
required for the ultimate agglomeration of all that is noxious, and the
ground is so poor as to create no desire of occupancy even in the
lowest squatter. With eyes accustomed to the gloom of the evening, and
away now from the shadows of those dreadful dustheaps, I could see much
more easily than I could a little while ago. It might have been, of
course, that the glare in the sky of the lights of Paris, though the
city was some miles away, was reflected here. Howsoever it was, I saw
well enough to take bearings for certainly some little distance around
In front was a bleak, flat waste that seemed almost dead level, with
here and there the dark shimmering of stagnant pools. Seemingly far off
on the right, amid a small cluster of scattered lights, rose a dark
mass of Fort Montrouge, and away to the left in the dim distance,
pointed with stray gleams from cottage windows, the lights in the sky
showed the locality of Bicetre. A moment's thought decided me to take
to the right and try to reach Montrouge. There at least would be some
sort of safety, and I might possibly long before come on some of the
cross roads which I knew. Some« where, not far off, must lie the
strategic road made to connect the outlying chain of forts circling the
Then I looked back. Coming over the mounds, and outlined black
against the glare of the Parisian horizon, I saw several moving
figures, and still a way to the right several more deploying out
between me and my destination. They evidently meant to cut me off in
this direction, and so my choice became constricted; it lay now between
going straight ahead or turning to the left. Stooping to the ground, so
as to get the advantage of the horizon as a line of sight, I looked
carefully in this direction, but could detect no sign of my enemies. I
argued that as they had not guarded or were not trying to guard that
point, there was evidently danger to me there already. So I made up my
mind to go straight on before me.
It was not an inviting prospect, and as I went on the reality grew
worse. The ground became soft and oozy, and now and again gave way
beneath me in a sickening kind of way. I seemed somehow to be going
down, for I saw round me places seemingly more elevated than where I
was, and this in a place which from a little way back seemed dead
level. I looked around, but could sec none of my pursuers. This was
strange, for all along these birds of the night had followed me through
the darkness as well as though it was broad daylight. How I blamed
myself for coming out in my light-coloured tourist suit of tweed. The
silence, and my not being able to see my enemies, whilst I felt that
they were watching me, grew appalling, and in the hope of some one not
of this ghastly crew hearing me I raised my voice and shouted several
times. There was not the slightest response; not even an echo rewarded
my efforts. For a while I stood stock still and kept my eyes in one
direction. On one of the rising places around me I saw something dark
move along, then another, and another. This was to my left, and
seemingly moving to head me off.
I thought that again I might with my skill as a runner elude my
enemies at this game, and so with all my speed darted forward.
My feet had given way in a mass of slimy rubbish, and I had fallen
headlong into a reeking, stagnant pool. The water and the mud in which
my arms sank up to the elbows was filthy and nauseous beyond
description, and in the suddenness of my fall I had actually swallowed
some of the filthy stuff, which nearly choked me, and made me gasp for
breath. Never shall I forget the moments during which I stood trying to
recover myself almost fainting from the foetid odour of the filthy
pool, whose white mist rose ghostlike around. Worst of all, with the
acute despair of the hunted animal when he sees the pursuing pack
closing on him, I saw before my eyes whilst I stood helpless the dark
forms of my pursuers moving swiftly to surround me.
It is curious how our minds work on odd matters even when the
energies of thought are seemingly concentrated on some terrible and
pressing need. I was in momentary peril of my life: my safety depended
on my action, and my choice of alternatives coming now with almost
every step I took, and yet I could not but think of the strange dogged
persistency of these old men. Their silent resolution, their steadfast,
grim, persistency even in such a cause commanded, as well as fear, even
a measure of respect. What must they have been in the vigour of their
youth. I could understand now that whirlwind rush on the bridge of
Arcola, that scornful exclamation of the Old Guard at Waterloo!
Unconscious cerebration has its own pleasures, even at such moments;
but fortunately it does not in any way clash with the thought from
which action springs.
I realised at a glance that so far I was defeated in my object, my
enemies as yet had won. They had succeeded in surrounding me on three
sides, and were bent on driving me off to the left-hand, where there
was already some danger for me, for they had left no guard. I accepted
the alternative--it was a case of Hobson's choice and run. I had to
keep the lower ground, for my pursuers were on the higher places.
However, though the ooze and broken ground impeded me my youth and
training made me able to hold my ground, and by keeping a diagonal line
I not only kept them from gaining on me but even began to distance
them. This gave me new heart and strength, and by this time habitual
training was beginning to tell and my second wind had come. Before me
the ground rose slightly. I rushed up the slope and found before me a
waste of watery slime, with a low dyke or bank looking black and grim
beyond. I felt that if I could but reach that dyke in safety I could
there, with solid ground under my feet and some kind of path to guide
me, find with comparative ease a way out of my troubles. After a glance
right and left and seeing no one near, I kept my eyes for a few minutes
to their rightful work of aiding my feet whilst I crossed the swamp. It
was rough, hard work, but there was little danger, merely toil; and a
short time took me to the dyke. I rushed up the slope exulting; but
here again I met a new shock. On either side of me rose a number of
crouching figures. From right and left they rushed at me. Each body
held a rope.
The cordon was nearly complete. I could pass on neither side, and
the end was near.
There was only one chance, and I took it. I hurled myself across the
dyke, and escaping out of the very clutches of my foes threw myself
into the stream.
At any other time I should have thought that water foul and filthy,
but now it was as welcome as the most crystal stream to the parched
traveller. It was a highway of safety!
My pursuers rushed after me. Had only one of them held the rope it
would have been all up with me, for he could have entangled me before I
had time to swim a stroke; but the many hands holding it embarrassed
and delayed them, and when the rope struck the water I heard the splash
well behind me. A few minutes' hard swimming took me across the stream.
Refreshed with the immersion and encouraged by the escape, I climbed
the dyke in comparative gaiety of spirits.
From the top I looked back. Through the darkness I saw my assailants
scattering up and down along the dyke. The pursuit was evidently not
ended, and again I had to choose my course. Beyond the dyke where I
stood was a wild, swampy space very similar to that which I had
crossed. I determined to shun such a place, and thought for a moment
whether I would take up or down the dyke. I thought I heard a
sound--the muffled sound of oars, so I listened, and then shouted.
No response; but the sound ceased. My enemies had evidently got a
boat of some kind. As they were on the up side of me I took the down
path and began to run. As I passed to the left of where I had entered
the water I heard several splashes, soft and stealthy, like the sound a
rat makes as he plunges into the stream, but vastly greater; and as I
looked I saw the dark sheen of the water broken by the ripples of
several advancing heads. Some of my enemies were swimming the stream
And now behind me, up the stream, the silence was broken by the
quick rattle and creak of oars; my enemies were in hot pursuit. I put
my best leg foremost and ran on. After a break of a couple of minutes I
looked back, and by a gleam of light through the ragged clouds I saw
several dark forms climbing the bank behind me. The wind had now begun
to rise, and the water beside me was ruffled and beginning to break in
tiny waves on the bank. I had to keep my eyes pretty well on the ground
before me, lest I should stumble, for I knew that to stumble was death.
After a few minutes I looked back behind me. On the dyke were only a
few dark figures, but crossing the waste, swampy ground were many more.
What new danger this portended I did not know--could only guess. Then
as I ran it seemed to me that my track kept ever sloping away to the
right. I looked up ahead and saw that the river was much wider than
before, and that the dyke on which I stood fell quite away, and beyond
it was another stream on whose near bank I saw some of the dark forms
now across the marsh. I was on an island of some kind.
My situation was now indeed terrible, for my enemies had hemmed me
in on every side. Behind came the quickening roll of the oars, as
though my pursuers knew that the end was close. Around me on every side
was desolation; there was not a roof or light, as far as I could see.
Far off to the right rose some dark mass, but what it was I knew not.
For a moment I paused to think what I should do, not for more, for my
pursuers were drawing closer. Then my mind was made up. I slipped down
the bank and took to the water. I struck out straight ahead so as to
gain the current by clearing the backwater of the island, for such I
presume it was, when I had passed into the stream. I waited till a
cloud came driving across the moon and leaving all in darkness. Then I
took off my hat and laid it softly on the water floating with the
stream, and a second after dived to the right and struck out under
water with all my might. I was, I suppose, half a minute under water,
and when I rose came up as softly as I could, and turning, looked back.
There went my light brown hat floating merrily away. Close behind it
came a rickety old boat, driven furiously by a pair of oars. The moon
was still partly obscured by the drifting clouds, but in the partial
light I could see a man in the bows holding aloft ready to strike what
appeared to me to be that same dreadful pole-axe which I had before
escaped. As I looked the boat drew closer, closer, and the man struck
savagely. The hat disappeared. The man fell forward, almost out of the
boat. His comrades dragged him in but without the axe, and then as I
turned with all my energies bent on reaching the further bank, I heard
the fierce whir of the muttered 'Sacre!' which marked the anger of my
That was the first sound I had heard from human lips during all this
dreadful chase, and full as it was of menace and danger to me it was a
welcome sound for it broke that awful silence which shrouded and
appalled me. It was as though an overt sign that my opponents were men
and not ghosts, and that with them I had, at least, the chance of a
man, though but one against many.
But now that the spell of silence was broken the sounds came thick
and' fast. From boat to shore and back from shore to boat came quick
question and answer, all in the fiercest whispers. I looked back--a
fatal thing to do--for in the instant someone caught sight of my face,
which showed white on the dark water, and shouted, Hands pointed to me,
and in a moment or two the boat was under weigh, and following hard
after me. I had but a little way to go, but quicker and quicker came
the boat after me. A few more strokes and I would be on the shore, but
I felt the oncoming of the boat, and expected each second to feel the
crash of an oar or other weapon on my head. Had I not seen that
dreadful axe disappear in the water I do not think that I could have
won the shore. I heard the muttered curses of those not rowing and the
laboured breath of the rowers. With one supreme effort for life or
liberty touched the bank and sprang up it. There was not a single
second to spare, for hard behind me the boat grounded and several dark
forms sprang after me. I gained the top of the dyke, and keeping to the
left ran on again. The boat put off and followed down the stream.
Seeing this I feared danger in this direction, and quickly turning, ran
down the dyke on the other side, and after passing a short stretch of
marshy ground gained a wild, open flat country and sped on.
Still behind me came on my relentless pursuers. Far away, below me,
] saw the same dark mass as before, but now grown closer and greater.
My heart gave a great thrill of delight, for I knew that it must be the
fortress of Bicetre, and with new courage I ran on. I had heard that
between each and all of the protecting forts of Paris there are
strategic ways, deep sunk roads, where soldiers marching should be
sheltered from an enemy. I knew that if I could gain this road I would
be safe, but in the darkness I could not see any sign of it, so, in
blind hope of striking it, I ran on.
Presently I came to the edge of a deep cut, and found that down
below me ran a road guarded on each side by a ditch of water fenced on
either side by a straight, high wall.
Getting fainter and dizzier, I ran on; the ground got more
broken--more and more still, till I staggered and fell, and rose again,
and ran on in the blind anguish of the hunted. Again the thought of
Alice nerved me. I would not be lost and wreck her life: I would fight
and struggle for life to the bitter end. With a great effort I caught
the top of the wall. As, scrambling like a catamount, I drew myself up,
I actually felt a hand touch the sole of my foot. I was now on a sort
of causeway, and before me I saw a dim light. Blind and dizzy, ran on,
staggered, and fell, rising, covered with dust and blood.
The words sounded like a voice from heaven. A blaze of light seemed
to enwrap me, and I shouted with joy.
'Qui va la?' The rattle of musketry, the flash of steel before my
eyes. Instinctively I stopped, though close behind me came a rush of my
Another word or two, and out from a gateway poured, as it seemed to
me, a tide of red and blue, as the guard turned out. All around seemed
blazing with light, and the flash of steel, the clink and rattle of
arms, and the loud, harsh voices of command. As I fell forward, utterly
exhausted, a soldier caught me. I looked back in dreadful expectation,
and saw the mass of dark forms disappearing into the night. Then I must
have fainted. When I recovered my senses I was in the guard room. They
gave me brandy, and after a while I was able to tell them something of
what had passed. Then a commissary of police appeared, apparently out
of the empty air, as is the way of the Parisian police officer. He
listened attentively, and then had a moment's consultation with the
officer in command. Apparently they were agreed, for they asked me if I
were ready now to come with them.
'Where to?' I asked, rising to go.
'Back to the dust heaps. We shall, perhaps, catch them yet!'
'I shall try!' said I.
He eyed me for a moment keenly, and said suddenly:
'Would you like to wait a while or till tomorrow, young Englishman?'
This touched me to the quick, as, perhaps, he intended, and I jumped to
my feet. 'Come now!' I said: 'now! now! An Englishman is always ready
for his duty!'
The commissary was a good fellow, as well as a shrewd one; he
slapped my shoulder kindly. 'Brave garcon!' he said. 'Forgive me, but I
knew what would do you most good. The guard is ready. Come!'
And so, passing right through the guard room, and through a long
vaulted passage, we were out into the night. A few of the men in front
had powerful lanterns. Through courtyards and down a sloping way we
passed out through a low archway to a sunken road, the same that I had
seen in my flight. The order was given to get at the double, and with a
quick, springing stride, half run, half walk, the soldiers went swiftly
along. I felt my strength renewed again--such is the difference between
hunter and hunted. A very short distance took us to a low-lying pontoon
bridge across the stream, and evidently very little higher up than I
had struck it. Some effort had evidently been made to damage it, for
the ropes had all been cut, and one of the chains had been broken. I
heard the officer say to the commissary:
'We are just in time! A few more minutes, and they would have
destroyed the bridge. Forward, quicker still!' and on we went. Again we
reached a pontoon on the winding stream; as we came up we heard the
hollow boom of the metal drums as the efforts to destroy the bridge was
again renewed. A word of command was given, and several men raised
'Fire!' A volley rang out. There was a muffled cry, and the dark
forms dispersed. But the evil was done, and we saw the far end of the
pontoon swing into the stream. This was a serious delay, and it was
nearly an hour before we had renewed ropes and restored the bridge
sufficiently to allow us to cross.
We renewed the chase. Quicker, quicker we went towards the dust
After a time we came to a place that I knew. There were the remains
of a fire--a few smouldering wood ashes still cast a red glow, but the
bulk of the ashes were cold. I knew the site of the hut and the hill
behind it up which I had rushed, and in the flickering glow the eyes of
the rats still shone with a sort of phosphorescence. The commissary
spoke a word to the officer, and he cried:
The soldiers were ordered to spread around and watch, and then we
commenced to examine the ruins. The commissary himself began to lift
away the charred boards and rubbish. These the soldiers took and piled
together. Presently he started back, then bent down and rising beckoned
'See!' he said.
It was a gruesome sight. There lay a skeleton face downwards, a
woman by the lines--an old woman by the coarse fibre of the bone.
Between the ribs rose a long spike-like dagger made from a butcher's
sharpening knife, its keen point buried in the spine.
'You will observe,' said the commissary to the officer and to me as
he took out his note book, 'that the woman must have fallen on her
dagger. The rats are many here --see their eyes glistening among that
heap of bones-- and you will also notice'--I shuddered as he placed his
hand on the skeleton--'that but little time was lost by them, for the
bones are scarcely cold!'
There was no other sign of any one near, living or dead; and so
deploying again into line the soldiers passed on. Presently we came to
the hut made of the old wardrobe. We approached. In five of the six
compartments was an old man sleeping--sleeping so soundly that even the
glare of the lanterns did not wake them. Old and grim and grizzled they
looked, with their gaunt, wrinkled, bronzed faces and their white
The officer called out harshly and loudly a word of command, and in
an instant each one of them was on his feet before us and standing at
'What do you here?'
'We sleep,' was the answer.
'Where are the other chiffoniers?' asked the commissary.
'Gone to work.'
'We are on guard!'
'Peste!' laughed the officer grimly, as he looked at the old men one
after the other in the face and added with cool deliberate cruelty:
'Asleep on duty! Is this the manner of the Old Guard? No wonder, then,
By the gleam of the lantern I saw the grim old faces grow deadly
pale, and almost shuddered at the look in the eyes of the old men as
the laugh of the soldiers echoed the grim pleasantry of the officer.
I felt in that moment that I was in some measure avenged.
For a moment they looked as if they would throw themselves on the
taunter, but years of their life had schooled them and they remained
'You are but five,' said the commissary; 'where is the sixth?' The
answer came with a grim chuckle.
'He is there!' and the speaker pointed to the bottom of the
wardrobe. 'He died last night. You won't find much of him. The
burial of the rats is quick!"
The commissary stooped and looked in. Then he turned to the officer
and said calmly:
'We may as well go back. No trace here now; nothing to prove that
man was the one wounded by your soldiers' bullets! Probably they
murdered him to cover up the trace. See!' again he stooped and placed
his hands on the skeleton. 'The rats work quickly and they are many.
These bones are warm!'
I shuddered, and so did many more of those around me.
'Form!' said the officer, and so in marching order, with the
lanterns swinging in front and the manacled veterans in the midst, with
steady tramp we took ourselves out of the dustheaps and turned backward
to the fortress of Bicetre.
My year of probation has long since ended, and Alice is my wife. But
when I look back upon that trying twelvemonth one of the most vivid
incidents that memory recalls is that associated with my visit to the
City of Dust.