An Episode Under the Terror | Page 3

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Etext prepared by Dagny, [email protected] and Bonnie Sala

AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR BY HONORE DE BALZAC

Translated By Clara Bell and others

DEDICATION
To Monsieur Guyonnet-Merville.
Is it not a necessity to explain to a public curious to know everything,
how I came to be sufficiently learned in the law to carry on the business
of my little world? And in so doing, am I not bound to put on record
the memory of the amiable and intelligent man who, meeting the Scribe
(another clerk-amateur) at a ball, said, "Just give the office a turn; there
is work for you there, I assure you"? But do you need this public

testimony to feel assured of the affection of the writer?
DE BALZAC.

AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR

On the 22nd of January, 1793, towards eight o'clock in the evening, an
old lady came down the steep street that comes to an end opposite the
Church of Saint Laurent in the Faubourg Saint Martin. It had snowed
so heavily all day long that the lady's footsteps were scarcely audible;
the streets were deserted, and a feeling of dread, not unnatural amid the
silence, was further increased by the whole extent of the Terror beneath
which France was groaning in those days; what was more, the old lady
so far had met no one by the way. Her sight had long been failing, so
that the few foot passengers dispersed like shadows in the distance over
the wide thoroughfare through the faubourg, were quite invisible to her
by the light of the lanterns.
She had passed the end of the Rue des Morts, when she fancied that she
could hear the firm, heavy tread of a man walking behind her. Then it
seemed to her that she had heard that sound before, and dismayed by
the idea of being followed, she tried to walk faster toward a brightly lit
shop window, in the hope of verifying the suspicions which had taken
hold of her mind.
So soon as she stood in the shaft of light that streamed out across the
road, she turned her head suddenly, and caught sight of a human figure
looming through the fog. The dim vision was enough for her. For one
moment she reeled beneath an overpowering weight of dread, for she
could not doubt any longer that the man had followed her the whole
way from her own door; then the desire to escape from the spy gave her
strength. Unable to think clearly, she walked twice as fast as before, as
if it were possible to escape from a man who of course could move
much faster; and for some minutes she fled on, till, reaching a
pastry-cook's shop, she entered and sank rather than sat down upon a
chair by the counter.
A young woman busy with embroidery looked up from her work at the
rattling of the door-latch, and looked out through the square window-
panes. She seemed to recognize the old-fashioned violet silk mantle, for
she went at once to a drawer as if in search of something put aside for

the newcomer. Not only did this movement and the expression of the
woman's face show a very evident desire to be rid as soon as possible
of an unwelcome visitor, but she even permitted herself an impatient
exclamation when the drawer proved to be empty. Without looking at
the lady, she hurried from her desk into the back shop and called to her
husband, who appeared at once.
"Wherever have you put?----" she began mysteriously, glancing at the
customer by way of finishing her question.
The pastry-cook could only see the old lady's head-dress, a huge black
silk bonnet with knots of violet ribbon round it, but he looked at his
wife as if to say, "Did you think I should leave such a thing as that
lying about in your