Sight to stir the heart of any man; much more of many men, self-styled Brigands of Avignon!  The corpse of L’Escuyer, stretched on a bier, the ghastly head girt with laurel, is borne through the streets; with many-voiced unmelodious Nenia; funeral-wail still deeper than it is loud!  The copper-face of Jourdan, of bereft Patriotism, has grown black.  Patriot Municipality despatches official Narrative and tidings to Paris; orders numerous or innumerable arrestments for inquest and perquisition.  Aristocrats male and female are haled to the Castle; lie crowded in subterranean dungeons there, bemoaned by the hoarse rushing of the Rhone; cut out from help.

So lie they; waiting inquest and perquisition.  Alas! with a Jourdan Headsman for Generalissimo, with his copper-face grown black, and armed Brigand Patriots chanting their Nenia, the inquest is likely to be brief.  On the next day and the next, let Municipality consent or not, a Brigand Court-Martial establishes itself in the subterranean stories of the Castle of Avignon; Brigand Executioners, with naked sabre, waiting at the door, for a Brigand verdict.  Short judgment, no appeal!  There is Brigand wrath and vengeance; not unrefreshed by brandy.  Close by is the Dungeon of the Glaciere, or Ice-Tower:  there may be deeds done—?  For which language has no name!—­Darkness and the shadow of horrid cruelty envelopes these Castle Dungeons, that Glaciere Tower:  clear only that many have entered, that few have returned.  Jourdan and the Brigands, supreme now over Municipals, over all Authorities Patriot or Papal, reign in Avignon, waited on by Terror and Silence.

The result of all which is that, on the 15th of November 1791, we behold Friend Dampmartin, and subalterns beneath him, and General Choisi above him, with Infantry and Cavalry, and proper cannon-carriages rattling in front, with spread banners, to the sound of fife and drum, wend, in a deliberate formidable manner, towards that sheer Castle Rock, towards those broad Gates of Avignon; three new National-Assembly Commissioners following at safe distance in the rear. (Dampmartin, i. 251-94.) Avignon, summoned in the name of Assembly and Law, flings its Gates wide open; Choisi with the rest, Dampmartin and the Bons Enfans, ’Good Boys of Baufremont,’ so they name these brave Constitutional Dragoons, known to them of old,—­do enter, amid shouts and scattered flowers.  To the joy of all honest persons; to the terror only of Jourdan Headsman and the Brigands.  Nay next we behold carbuncled swollen Jourdan himself shew copper-face, with sabre and four pistols; affecting to talk high:  engaging, meanwhile, to surrender the Castle that instant.  So the Choisi Grenadiers enter with him there.  They start and stop, passing that Glaciere, snuffing its horrible breath; with wild yell, with cries of “Cut the Butcher down!”—­and Jourdan has to whisk himself through secret passages, and instantaneously vanish.