1829.] Recollections of a Night of Fever. 481 
smell of one huge slaughter-house. Still the ery was for blood—“ more 
blood!” The sun itself refused to shine any longer on the polluted city. 
It was the third morning, and still no other light appeared in the sky 
but a broad, crimson moon, in which Paris, with its deeds of death, was 
reflected as in a mirror suspended above our heads. This sign, however, 
prodigious as it was, had no effect except on a few weaker spirits; in 
general, the yells of blasphemy only became so much the louder and 
the fiercer ; for the people were drunk with sin and blood as with new 
wine, and reeled along the streets like Atys and the frantic crew of 
Cybele in olden times, when their limbs were wet with recent gore, the 
foul offerings to the unknown goddess. A pale priest, venerable from 
his grey locks and placid features—placid even in the midst of all this 
fearful tumult—pointed with his aged hands to the red sign above, and 
bade us remember the fate of Nineveh. He was instantly seized by the 
mob, and dragged towards the scaffold, where the executioner inces- 
santly plied his office, and as each head fell, shrieked, rather than called, 
to the populace, “ Encore un! encore un!’ He was the rabid ogre of 
the fairy tale, who scarcely devours one victim ere he clamours for 
another. Imagination cannot picture a more loathsome or terrific mon- 
ster. His face, though still human, bore the same revolting resemblance 
to the wolf that man, in his worst form, is sometimes found to bear to 
the monkey ; his teeth, or rather fangs, for they were of enormous size, 
protruded from the bloated, purple lips, that were constantly drawn 
back and distorted with one eternal grin; his cheeks had the fixedness. 
of marble, with that frightful ashy hue which is only to be found on the 
face of the dead, and can be compared to nothing living ; the colour of 
his eyes, small, fierce, and burning, could not be distinguished ; but 
they were deeply sunk under huge brows, which, like his head, were 
utterly bald of hair. In place of all other dress, he wore a winding- 
sheet, without belt or buckle, that at every movement spread and again 
closed upon his body, as if it had been a part of himself, and more like 
the wings of a bat in its action, than the mere waving of a shroud. 
| The populace thrust forward the poor old priest with clubs and staves 
ards this monster, much as the keeper of some wild beast thrusts into 
its den the living victim that is destined to gorge its appetite. In the 
twinkling of an eye, his head fell; when the man of blood shook his 
shroud till its swelling folds left his body naked; and holding out to 
_ me his long arms, reiterated his incessant.cry, “ Encore un!” Before 
_ the rabble, who were well enough inclined to, gratify. his wishes, could 
_ seize me, I had burst my way through them,. and.leaving the noise far 
_ behind me, had found a refuge in my hotel. 
/ Here I fancied myself safe. I could still hear the shouting of the 
people, but it was at a distance ; and the very sound of danger, thus 
remote, added to the feeling of security. It was like the idle roaring of 
the sea, from which we have just escaped, to listen on the safe summit 
of a rock to its impotent growlings for the prey that has been snatched 
from it. But what was my dismay, when, on turning to the window, 
I again saw the shrouded monster's face close to the glass, and heard 
fain his terrific cry, “ Encore un!” With a speed such as only horror 
an give, I darted out of the room, and fled to the topmost chamber of 
e building, where, if at all, I might reasonably hope to be beyond the 
ach of his fearful pursuit. But the lock !—the cursed lock that should 
ave shut out mine enemy !—the key was fixed in its rusty wards beyond 
M.M. New Series.—Vou. VII. No. 41. 0 
