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79 pages

English

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. Thirteen men were banded together in Paris under the Empire, all imbued with one and the same sentiment, all gifted with sufficient energy to be faithful to the same thought, with sufficient honor among themselves never to betray one another even if their interests clashed; and sufficiently wily and politic to conceal the sacred ties that united them, sufficiently strong to maintain themselves above the law, bold enough to undertake all things, and fortunate enough to succeed, nearly always, in their undertakings; having run the greatest dangers, but keeping silence if defeated; inaccessible to fear; trembling neither before princes, nor executioners, not even before innocence; accepting each other for such as they were, without social prejudices, - criminals, no doubt, but certainly remarkable through certain of the qualities that make great men, and recruiting their number only among men of mark. That nothing might be lacking to the sombre and mysterious poesy of their history, these Thirteen men have remained to this day unknown; though all have realized the most chimerical ideas that the fantastic power falsely attributed to the Manfreds, the Fausts, and the Melmoths can suggest to the imagination

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819933748
Langue	English

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DEDICATION
To Hector Berlioz.
PREFACE
Thirteen men were banded together in Paris under theEmpire, all imbued with one and the same sentiment, all gifted withsufficient energy to be faithful to the same thought, withsufficient honor among themselves never to betray one another evenif their interests clashed; and sufficiently wily and politic toconceal the sacred ties that united them, sufficiently strong tomaintain themselves above the law, bold enough to undertake allthings, and fortunate enough to succeed, nearly always, in theirundertakings; having run the greatest dangers, but keeping silenceif defeated; inaccessible to fear; trembling neither beforeprinces, nor executioners, not even before innocence; acceptingeach other for such as they were, without social prejudices, —criminals, no doubt, but certainly remarkable through certain ofthe qualities that make great men, and recruiting their number onlyamong men of mark. That nothing might be lacking to the sombre andmysterious poesy of their history, these Thirteen men have remainedto this day unknown; though all have realized the most chimericalideas that the fantastic power falsely attributed to the Manfreds,the Fausts, and the Melmoths can suggest to the imagination.To-day, they are broken up, or, at least, dispersed; they havepeaceably put their necks once more under the yoke of civil law,just as Morgan, that Achilles among pirates, transformed himselffrom a buccaneering scourge to a quiet colonist, and spent, withoutremorse, around his domestic hearth the millions gathered in bloodby the lurid light of flames and slaughter.
Since the death of Napoleon, circumstances, aboutwhich the author must keep silence, have still farther dissolvedthe original bond of this secret society, always extraordinary,sometimes sinister, as though it lived in the blackest pages ofMrs. Radcliffe. A somewhat strange permission to relate in his ownway a few of the adventures of these men (while respecting certainsusceptibilities) has only recently been given to him by one ofthose anonymous heroes to whom all society was once occultlysubjected. In this permission the writer fancied he detected avague desire for personal celebrity.
This man, apparently still young, with fair hair andblue eyes, whose sweet, clear voice seemed to denote a femininesoul, was pale of face and mysterious in manner; he conversedaffably, declared himself not more than forty years of age, andapparently belonged to the very highest social classes. The namewhich he assumed must have been fictitious; his person was unknownin society. Who was he? That, no one has ever known.
Perhaps, in confiding to the author theextraordinary matters which he related to him, this mysteriousperson may have wished to see them in a manner reproduced, and thusenjoy the emotions they were certain to bring to the hearts of themasses, — a feeling analogous to that of Macpherson when the nameof his creation Ossian was transcribed into all languages. That wascertainly, for the Scotch lawyer, one of the keenest, or at anyrate the rarest, sensations a man could give himself. Is it not theincognito of genius? To write the “Itinerary from Paris toJerusalem” is to take a share in the human glory of a single epoch;but to endow his native land with another Homer, was not thatusurping the work of God?
The author knows too well the laws of narration tobe ignorant of the pledges this short preface is contracting forhim; but he also knows enough of the history of the Thirteen to be certain that his present tale will never be thought below theinterest inspired by this programme. Dramas steeped in blood,comedies filled with terror, romantic tales through which rolledheads mysteriously decapitated, have been confided to him. Ifreaders were not surfeited with horrors served up to them of latein cold blood, he might reveal the calm atrocities, the surpassingtragedies concealed under family life. But he chooses in preferencegentler events, — those where scenes of purity succeed the tempestsof passion; where woman is radiant with virtue and beauty. To thehonor of the Thirteen be it said that there are such scenesin their history, which may have the honor of being some daypublished as a foil of tales to listeners, — that race apart fromothers, so curiously energetic, and so interesting in spite of itscrimes.
An author ought to be above converting his tale,when the tale is true, into a species of surprise-game, and oftaking his readers, as certain novellists do, through many volumesand from cellar to cellar, to show them the dry bones of a deadbody, and tell them, by way of conclusion, that that is whathas frightened them behind doors, hidden in the arras, or incellars where the dead man was buried and forgotten. In spite ofhis aversion for prefaces, the author feels bound to place thefollowing statement at the head of this narrative. Ferragus is afirst episode which clings by invisible links to the “History ofthe Thirteen , ” whose power, naturally acquired, can aloneexplain certain acts and agencies which would otherwise seemsupernatural. Although it is permissible in tellers of tales tohave a sort of literary coquetry in becoming historians, they oughtto renounce the benefit that may accrue from an odd or fantastictitle— on which certain slight successes have been won in thepresent day. Consequently, the author will now explain, succinctly,the reasons that obliged him to select a title to his book whichseems at first sight unnatural.
Ferragus is, according to ancient custom, aname taken by the chief or Grand Master of the Devorants. On theday of their election these chiefs continue whichever of thedynasties of their Order they are most in sympathy with, preciselyas the Popes do, on their accession, in connection with pontificaldynasties. Thus the Devorants have “Trempe-la Soupe IX. , ”“Ferragus XXII. , ” “Tutanus XIII. , ” “Masche-Fer IV. , ” just asthe Church has Clement XIV. , Gregory VII. , Julius II. , AlexanderVI. , etc.
Now, then, who are the Devorants? “Devorant” is thename of one of those tribes of “Companions” that issued in ancienttimes from the great mystical association formed among the workersof Christianity to rebuild the temple at Jerusalem. Companionism(to coin a word) still exists in France among the people. Itstraditions, powerful over minds that are not enlightened, and overmen not educated enough to cast aside an oath, might serve the endsof formidable enterprises if some rough-hewn genius were to seizehold of these diverse associations. All the instruments of thisCompanionism are well-nigh blind. From town to town there hasexisted from time immemorial, for the use of Companions, an “Obade,”— a sort of halting-place, kept by a “Mother, ” an old woman,half-gypsy, with nothing to lose, knowing everything that happensin her neighborhood, and devoted, either from fear or habit, to thetribe, whose straggling members she feeds and lodges. This people,ever moving and changing, though controlled by immutable customs,has its eyes everywhere, executes, without judging it, a WILL, —for the oldest Companion still belongs to an era when men hadfaith. Moreover, the whole body professes doctrines that aresufficiently true and sufficiently mysterious to electrify into asort of tribal loyalty all adepts whenever they obtain even aslight development. The attachment of the Companions to their lawsis so passionate that the diverse tribes will fight sanguinarybattles with each other in defence of some question ofprinciple.
Happily for our present public safety, when aDevorant is ambitious, he builds houses, lays by his money, andleaves the Order. There is many a curious thing to tell about the“Compagnons du Devoir” [Companions of the Duty] , therivals of the Devorants, and about the different sects ofworking-men, their usages, their fraternity, and the bond existingbetween them and the free-masons. But such details would be out ofplace here. The author must, however, add that under the oldmonarchy it was not an unknown thing to find a “Trempe-la-Soupe”enslaved to the king sentenced for a hundred and one years to thegalleys, but ruling his tribe from there, religiously consulted byit, and when he escaped from his galley, certain of help, succor,and respect, wherever he might be. To see its grand master at thegalleys is, to the faithful tribe, only one of those misfortunesfor which providence is responsible, and which does not release theDevorants from obeying a power created by them to be above them. Itis but the passing exile of their legitimate king, always a kingfor them. Thus we see the romantic prestige attaching to the nameof Ferragus and to that of the Devorants completely dissipated.
As for the Thirteen , they were all men of thestamp of Trelawney, Lord Byron's friend, who was, they say, theoriginal of his “Corsair. ” They were all fatalists, men of nerveand poesy, weary of leading flat and empty lives, driven towardAsiatic enjoyments by forces all the more excessive because, longdormant, they awoke furious. One of them, after re-reading “VenicePreserved, ” and admiring the sublime union of Pierre and Jaffier,began to reflect on the virtues shown by men who are outlawed bysociety, on the honesty of galley-slaves, the faithfulness ofthieves among each other, the privileges of exorbitant power whichsuch men know how to win by concentrating all ideas into a singlewill. He saw that Man is greater than men. He concluded thatsociety ought to belong wholly to those distinguished beings who,to natural intelligence, acquired wisdom, and fortune, add afanaticism hot enough to fuse into one casting these differentforces. That done, their occult power, vast in action and inintensity, against which the social order would be helpless, wouldcast down all obstacles, blast all other wills, and give to eachthe devilish power of all. This world apart within the world,hostile to the world, admitting none of the world's ideas, notrecognizing