Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 442 | Page 4

receive the revenants, and pass them on to their
respective districts.

THE HUNCHBACK OF STRASBOURG.
In the department of the Bas-Rhin, France, and not more than about
two leagues north of Strasbourg, lived Antoine Delessert, who farmed,
or intended farming, his own land--about a ten-acre slice of 'national'
property, which had fallen to him, nobody very well knew how, during
the hurly-burly of the great Revolution. He was about five-and-thirty, a
widower, and had one child, likewise named Antoine, but familiarly
known as Le Bossu (hunchback)--a designation derived, like his

father's acres, from the Revolution, somebody having, during one of the
earlier and livelier episodes of that exciting drama, thrown the poor
little fellow out of a window in Strasbourg, and broken his back. When
this happened, Antoine, père, was a journeyman ferblantier (tinman) of
that city. Subsequently, he became an active, though subordinate
member of the local Salut Public; in virtue of which patriotic function
he obtained Les Près, the name of his magnificent estate. Working at
his trade was now, of course, out of the question. Farming, as
everybody knows, is a gentlemanly occupation, skill in which comes by
nature; and Citizen Delessert forthwith betook himself, with his son, to
Les Près, in the full belief that he had stepped at once into the dignified
and delightful position of the ousted aristocrat, to whom Les Près had
once belonged, and whose haughty head he had seen fall into the basket.
But envious clouds will darken the brightest sky, and the new
proprietor found, on taking possession of his quiet, unencumbered
domain, that property has its plagues as well as pleasures. True, there
was the land; but not a plant, or a seed thereon or therein, nor an
agricultural implement of any kind to work it with. The walls of the old
rambling house were standing, and the roof, except in about a dozen
places, kept out the rain with some success; but the nimble,
unrespecting fingers of preceding patriots had carried off not only
every vestige of furniture, usually so called, but coppers, cistern, pump,
locks, hinges--nay, some of the very doors and window-frames!
Delessert was profoundly discontented. He remarked to Le Bossu, now
a sharp lad of some twelve years of age, that he was at last convinced
of the entire truth of his cousin Boisdet's frequent observation--that the
Revolution, glorious as it might be, had been stained and dishonoured
by many shameful excesses; an admission which the son, with keen
remembrance of his compulsory flight from the window, savagely
endorsed.
'Peste!' exclaimed the new proprietor, after a lengthened and painful
examination of the dilapidations, and general nakedness of his
estate--'this is embarrassing. Citizen Destouches was right. I must raise
money upon the property, to replace what those brigands have carried
off. I shall require three thousand francs at the very least.'

The calculation was dispiriting; and after a night's lodging on the bare
floor, damply enveloped in a few old sacks, the financial horizon did
not look one whit less gloomy in the eyes of Citizen Delessert.
Destouches, he sadly reflected, was an iron-fisted notary-public, who
lent money, at exorbitant interest, to distressed landowners, and was
driving, people said, a thriving trade in that way just now. His pulse
must, however, be felt, and money be obtained, however hard the terms.
This was unmistakably evident; and with the conviction tugging at his
heart, Citizen Delessert took his pensive way towards Strasbourg.
'You guess my errand, Citizen Destouches?' said Delessert, addressing
a flinty-faced man of about his own age, in a small room of Numéro 9,
Rue Béchard.
'Yes--money: how much?'
'Three thousand francs is my calculation.'
'Three thousand francs! You are not afraid of opening your mouth, I see.
Three thousand francs!--humph! Security, ten acres of middling land,
uncultivated, and a tumble-down house; title, droit de guillotine. It is a
risk, but I think I may venture. Pierre Nadaud,' he continued,
addressing a black-browed, sly, sinister-eyed clerk, 'draw a bond,
secured upon Les Près, and the appurtenances, for three thousand
francs, with interest at ten per cent.'----
'Morbleu! but that is famous interest!' interjected Delessert, though
timidly.
'Payable quarterly, if demanded,' the notary continued, without heeding
his client's observation; 'with power, of course, to the lender to sell, if
necessary, to reimburse his capital, as well as all accruing
dommages-intérêts!'
The borrower drew a long breath, but only muttered: 'Ah, well; no
matter! We shall work hard, Antoine and I.'
The legal document was soon formally drawn: Citizen Delessert signed

and sealed, and he had only now to pouch the cash, which the notary
placed upon the table.
'Ah ça!' he cried, eyeing the roll of paper proffered to his acceptance
with extreme disgust. 'It is not in those chiffons of assignats, is it, that I
am to