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Fagerolles and I are on the watch. Still, you must rely on Fagerolles; as for me, my dear fellow, I am awfully afraid of compromising your chances. To tell the truth, there was constant hostility between Bongrand and the President of the hanging committee, Mazel, a famous master of the School of Arts, and the last rampart of the elegant, buttery, conventional style of art.
The other day Mazel comes up to me and says: "Those two arms don't correspond"; whereupon I reply: "Look for yourself, monsieur the model's are like that." It was little Flore Beauchamp, you know. "Well," Mazel furiously replies, "if she has them like that, it's very wrong of her." They almost all shrieked, especially Claude, to whom Fagerolles told the story by way of paying court.
Rue Mazel was bright with the gold braid and scarlet of the fournisseurs militaires, and in the late afternoon chic young officers enlivened the provincial dinginess with a brave show of handsome uniforms. All day long squads of soldiers went flick! flack! up and down the street and bugle-calls sounded piercingly from the citadel. The soldiery submerged the civil population.
They all repeated the word in tones of conviction that word which they usually cast at the very worst smudges, at the pale, cold, glairy painting of daubers. 'All right, at last said Fagerolles, clenching his teeth. 'I demand the vote. Since the discussion had become envenomed, Mazel had been ringing his bell, extremely flushed at finding his authority ignored.
Or was it not so? tell me something about it, for although I have grown up in this neighbourhood, I know but little connected with these affairs." Mazel replied: "It is true brother Edmond, it is also not true, as one may consider the matter, and thus it is perhaps with most things in the world.
An officer named Mazel sent an aid to Marshal Turenne to say, "If you will be kind enough to send me fifty horsemen, I shall with them be able to take two or three places." It was on the 12th of June, 1672, that the passage of the Rhine was effected. On the 20th the French king made his triumphal entrance into the city of Utrecht. The king was a Catholic a bigoted Catholic.
Edmond looked at him with the utmost contempt and exclaimed: "Conduct me to the wood, to Lord Roland!" "Brother Roland, if you please," replied the stout Mazel, "among us there are no Lords; God is our Lord. Stephen! Favart!"
In the same moment he began to scream out a psalm; but Mazel said: "Cease now, good brother, for we do not at all know yet, if brother Roland will accept him, he must first be brought before him; we have lately been several times too much deceived and the thing may be only a snare this time also, but Roland and Cavalier know directly what they are about, no one can deceive these."
They were both of the same age about twenty-five of the same trade, and they were as inseparable as brothers. They had both been engaged with Seguier's band in the midnight attack on Pont-de-Montvert, and were alike committed to the desperate enterprise they had taken in hand. The tribe of Mazel abounds in the Cevennes, and they had already given many martyrs to the cause.
Some emigrated to America, some were sent to the galleys; Oliver Mazel, the preacher, was hanged at Montpellier in 1690, Jacques Mazel was a refugee in London in 1701, and in all the combats of the Cevennes there were Mazels leading as well as following.
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