The Dedalus Book of French Horror: The 19th Century by Terry Hale Page A

air at Montfaucon.
    ‘Come on, come on. Let’s be having you out of this grave as smartly as possible! … No more amorous shenanigans for you; nor will you be getting your thieving fingers on anyone else’s money – not where you’re going. Here you come, here you come!
    ‘A thousand devils take you! What a weight you are, you old rascal!’
    The whole body was now uncovered, and Olivier started to drag it by the arms.
    When he reached the point in the wall where the ladder was planted, he stood it straight and attached the rope around the waist. At that moment, a shaft of moonlight broke out from behind the clouds, bathing the mossy stones in the wall and the hideous face of the bandit, which had become fixed in the rictus of death, in a pallid glow.
    Olivier laughed to himself and swore:
    ‘By the belly of Saint Yves, friend Charrot, nobody could have wished to find an uglier mug than mine tonight! … Somehow though, matey, you’ve managed to go one better than me … All I ask of you is that once you reach hell, you hide yourself behind a thousand devils, or under Proserpina’s petticoats – she’s used to it … The more I look at you, chum, the more admiration I have for the blow which has left such a lovely expression on your face … The only thing that niggles me a bit is that I wish it had been mine … Frankly, present circumstances notwithstanding, I wouldn’t half have minded getting even with you, squaring up the account, so to speak, for all the knocks and blows you and your cronies bestowed on me … Don’t think I’ve forgotten them … Any more than I have all those beautiful pieces of gold you’ve cheated me out of at dice, you old sharper! … Well, it’s my turn now! He who laughs last laughs loudest! You can’t get away this time. I’m banking on your hide bringing me in twice as much as all my losses and knocks … A nice little legacy you’ve left me – thirty pieces of silver, no sweat! Thirty? Should get at least that. Cash down, you old skinflint. Bit of moonlighting tonight, tomorrow we’ll be painting Montfaucon red …’
    Still laughing, chattering away to himself, and speculating about the size of the reward offered by the Provost of Paris, the clerk had once again mounted the steps of his ladder. Straddling the top of the wall, he pulled over the ladder; then, with one foot on the top rung and his chest pressed against the wall, he got down to the work of hauling up the heavy, inert body.
    Nothing could be more laborious than this operation.
    Olivier was trying, with no assistance other than that of his own meagre strength, to raise a giant. Great drops of perspiration fell from his body while he swore for all he was worth. Pull as hard as he liked, the rope, with nothing to check it, slipped through his hands, and the bandit fell back on the other side with a thud. At last, he hit on the idea of wrapping the rope several times around his own shoulders and neck to serve as a counterpoise. This system worked marvellously. He had already lifted Jehan Charrot off the ground, and the enormous head was on a level with his own, above the top of the wall; all he had to do now was to keep his balance, lay the body flat on the top of the wall, and let it down the other side.
    Suddenly, Olivier heard a strange noise. He immediately turned his head in the direction it came from, lost his footing, and the ladder started to shift from under him. Trying to retain his hold, he let go of his load, and the rope became tighter and tighter round his neck which was caught in one of the loops. The weight of the body, which had fallen to the ground, held the motionless and perfectly lifeless body of the clerk suspended in mid-air. He had been strangled; the dead had hanged the living.

One Eye Between Two
Xavier Forneret
    We are in Spain. There still lingered a smell of incense in a church, its source a thurible swung about two magnificent corpses. In all the naves there was still to be heard