The Crime of the Brigadier.
By A. Conan Doyle.
N all the great hosts of France
there was only one officer
towards whom the English of
Wellington’s Army retained a
deep, steady, and
unchangeable hatred. There were
plunderers among the French, and men of
violence, gamblers, duellists, and roués. All
these could be forgiven, for others of their
kidney were to be found among the ranks of
the English. But one officer of Massena’s
force had committed a crime which was
unspeakable, unheard of, abominable; only
to be alluded to with curses late in the
evening, when a second bottle had loosened
the tongues of men. The news of it was
carried back to England, and country
gentlemen who knew little of the details of the
war grew crimson with passion when they
heard of it, and yeomen of the shires raised
freckled fists to Heaven and swore. And yet
who should be the doer of this dreadful deed
but our friend the Brigadier, Etienne Gerard,
of the Hussars of Conflans, gay-riding,
plumetossing, debonnaire, the darling of the ladies
and of the six brigades of light cavalry.
But the strange part of it is that this gallant
gentleman did this hateful thing, and made
himself the most unpopular man in the
Peninsula, without ever knowing that he
had done a crime for which there is hardly
a name amid all the: resources of our
language. He died of old age, and never once
in that imperturbable self-confidence which
adorned or disfigured his character knew that
so many thousand Englishmen would gladly
have hanged him with their own hands.
On the contrary, he numbered this adventure
among those other exploits which he has
given to the world, and many a time he
chuckled and hugged himself as he narrated
it to the eager circle who gathered round him
in that humble café where, between his dinner
and his dominoes, he would tell, amid tears
and laughter, of that inconceivable Napoleonic
past when France, like an angel of wrath,
rose up, splendid and terrible, before a
cowering continent. Let us listen to him as
he tells the story in his own way and from
his own point of view.
You must know, my friends, said he, that
it was towards the end of the year eighteen
hundred and ten that I and Massena and the
others pushed Wellington backwards until we
had hoped to drive him and his army into the
Tagus. But when we were still twenty-five
miles from Lisbon we found that we were
betrayed, for what had this Englishman done
but build an enormous line of works and forts
at a place called Torres Vedras, so that even
we were unable to get through them! They
lay across the whole Peninsula, and our army
was so far from home that we did not dare to
risk a reverse, and we had already learned at
Busaco that it was no child’s play to fight
against these people. What could we do then
but sit down in front of these lines and
blockade them to the best of our power? There
we remained for six months, amid such
anxieties that Massena said afterwards that
he had not one hair which was not white
upon his body. For my own part, I did not
worry much about our situation, but I looked
after our horses, who were in much need of
rest and green fodder. For the rest, we
drank the wine of the country and passed the
time as best we might. There was a lady at
Santarem—but my lips are sealed. It is the
part of a gallant man to say nothing, though
he may indicate that he could say a great
deal.
One day Massena sent for me, and I found
him in his tent with a great plan pinned
upon the table. He looked at me in silence
with that single piercing eye of his, and I felt
by his expression that the matter was serious.
He was nervous and ill at ease, but my
bearing seemed to reassure him. It is good to
be in contact with brave men.
“Colonel Etienne Gerard,” said he, “I
have always heard that you are a very gallant
and enterprising officer.”
It was not for me to confirm such a report,
and yet it would be folly to deny it, so I
clinked my spurs together and saluted.
“You are also an excellent rider.”
I admitted it.
“And the best swordsman in the six
brigades of light cavalry.”
Massena was famous for the accuracy of
his information.
“Now,” said he, “if you will look at this
plan you will have no difficulty in understanding what it is that I wish you to do.
These are the lines of Torres Vedras. You
will perceive that they cover a vast space,
and you will realize that the English can
only hold a position here and there. Once
through the lines you have twenty-five miles
of open country which lie between them
and Lisbon. It is very important to me to
learn how Wellington’s troops are distributed
throughout that space, and it is my wish
that you should go and ascertain.”
“I clinked my spurs together and saluted.”
His words turned me cold.
“Sir” said I, “it is impossible that a
colonel of light cavalry should condescend
to act as a spy.”
He laughed and clapped me on the
shoulder.
“You would not be a Hussar if you were
not a hot-head,” said he. “If you will listen
you will understand that I have not asked
you to act as a spy. What do you think of
that horse?”
He had conducted me to the opening of
his tent, and there was a Chasseur who led
up and down a most admirable creature. He
was a dapple grey, not very tall, a little over
fifteen hands perhaps, but with the short
head and splendid arch of the neck which
comes with the Arab
blood. His shoulders and
haunches were so
muscular, and yet his legs so
fine, that it thrilled me
with joy just to gaze upon
him. A fine horse or a
beautiful woman, I cannot
look at them unmoved,
even now when seventy
winters have chilled my
blood. You can think
how it was in the year ’10.
“This,” said Massena,
“is Voltigeur, the swiftest
horse in our army. What
I desire is that you
should start to-night, ride
round the lines upon the
flank, make your way
across the enemy’s rear,
and return upon the other
flank bringing me news of
his dispositions. You will
wear a uniform, and will,
therefore, if captured, be
safe from the death of a
spy. It is probable that
you will get through the
lines unchallenged, for the
posts are very scattered.
Once through, in daylight you can outride
anything which you meet, and if you keep
off the roads you may escape entirely
unnoticed. If you have not reported
yourself by to-morrow night, I will understand
that you are taken, and I will offer them
Colonel Petrie in exchange.”
Ah, how my heart swelled with pride and
joy as I sprang into the saddle and galloped
this grand horse up and down to show the
Marshal the mastery which I had of him!
He was magnificent—we were both
magnificent, for Massena clapped his hands and
cried out in his delight. It was not I, but
he, who said that a gallant beast deserves a
gallant rider. Then, when for the third time,
with my panache flying and my dolman
streaming behind me, I thundered past him,
I saw upon his hard old face that he had no
longer any doubt that he had chosen the
man for his purpose. I drew my sabre,
raised the hilt to my lips in salute, and
galloped on to my own quarters. Already
the news had spread that I had been
chosen for a mission, and my little
rascals came swarming out of their tents to
cheer me. Ah! it brings the tears to my
old eyes when I think how proud they were of their Colonel. And I was proud of them
also. They deserved a dashing leader.
The night promised to be a stormy one,
which was very much to my liking. It was
my desire to keep my departure most secret,
for it was evident that if the English heard
that I had been detached from the army
they would naturally conclude that something
important was about to happen. My horse
was taken, therefore, beyond the picket
line, as if for watering, and I followed and
mounted him there. I had a map, a
compass, and a paper of instructions from
the Marshal, and with these in the bosom of
my tunic and my sabre at my side I set out
upon my adventure.
“I drew my sabre and raised the hilt to my lips in salute.”
A thin rain was falling and there was no
moon, so you may imagine that it was
not very cheerful. But my heart was
light at the thought of the honour which had
been done me and the glory which awaited
me. This exploit should be one more in
that brilliant series which was to change
my sabre into a bâton. Ah, how we
dreamed, we foolish fellows, young, and
drunk with success! Could I have foreseen
that night as I rode, the chosen man of sixty
thousand, that I should spend my life
planting cabbages on a hundred francs a
month! Oh, my youth, my hopes, my
comrades! But the wheel turns and never stops.
Forgive me, my friends, for an old man has
his weakness.
My route, then, lay across the face of the
high ground of Torres Vedras, then over a
streamlet, past a farmhouse which had been
burned down and was now only a landmark,
then through a forest of young cork oaks,
and so to the monastery of San Antonio,
which marked the left of the English position.
Here I turned south and rode quietly over
the downs, for it was at this point that
Massena thought that it would be most easy
for me to find my way unobserved through
the position. I went very slowly, for it was
so dark that I could not see my hand in
front of me. In such cases I leave my
bridle loose and let my horse pick its own
way. Voltigeur went
confidently forward, and I was
very content to sit upon
his back and to peer about
me, avoiding every light.
For three hours we
advanced in this cautious
way, until it seemed to me
that I must have left all
danger behind me. I then
pushed on more briskly,
for I wished to be in the
rear of the whole army
by daybreak. There are
many vineyards in these
parts which in winter
become open plains, and a
horseman finds few
difficulties in his way.
But Massena had
underrated the cunning of these
English, for it appears that
there was not one line of
defence but three, and it
was the third, which was
the most formidable,
through which I was at
that instant passing. As
I rode, elated at my own
success, a lantern flashed
suddenly before me, and I
saw the glint of polished
gun-barrels and the gleam
of a red coat.
“Who goes there?” cried a voice—such
a voice! I swerved to the right and rode
like a madman, but a dozen squirts of fire
came out of the darkness, and the bullets
whizzed all round my ears. That was no
new sound to me, my friends, though I will
not talk like a foolish conscript and say that
I have ever liked it. But at least it had
never kept me from thinking clearly, and so
I knew that there was nothing for it but to
gallop hard and try my luck elsewhere. I
rode round the English picket, and then, as
I heard nothing more of them, I concluded
rightly that I had at last come through their
defences. For five miles I rode south,
striking a tinder from time to time to look
at my pocket compass. And then in an
instant—I feel the pang once more as my
memory brings back the moment—my horse,
without a sob or stagger, fell stone dead
beneath me!
“A dozen squirts of fire came out of the darkness.”
I had never known it, but one of the
bullets from that infernal picket had passed
through his body. The gallant creature had
never winced nor
weakened, but
had gone while
life was in him.
One instant I
was secure on
the swiftest, most
graceful horse in
Massena’s army.
The next he lay
upon his side,
worth only the
price of his hide,
and I stood there
that most
helpless, most
ungainly of
creatures, a
dismounted Hussar.
What could I do
with my boots,
my spurs, my
trailing sabre? I
was far inside the
enemy’s lines.
How could I
hope to get back
again? I am not
ashamed to say
that I, Etienne
Gerard, sat upon
my dead horse
and sank my face
in my hands in
my despair.
Already the first
streaks were
whitening the
east. In half an
hour it would be
light. That I should have won my way past
every obstacle and then at this last instant be
left at the mercy of my enemies, my mission
ruined, and myself a prisoner—was it not
enough to break a soldier’s heart?
But courage, my friends! We have these
moments of weakness, the bravest of us;
but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for
the more you bend it the higher it springs.
One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice
and a heart of fire. All was not vet lost. I
who had come through so many hazards would
come through this one also. I rose from my
horse and considered what had best be done.
And first of all it was certain that I could
not get back. Long before I could pass the
lines it would be broad daylight. I must
hide myself for the day, and then devote
the next night to my escape. I took the
saddle, holsters, and bridle from poor
Voltigeur, and I concealed them among some
bushes, so that no one. finding him could
know that he was a French horse. Then,
leaving him lying there, I wandered on in
search of some place where I might be safe
for the day. In every direction I could see
camp fires upon the sides of the hills, and
already figures had begun to move around
them. I must hide quickly, or I was lost.
But where was I to hide? It was a
vineyard in which I found myself, the poles of
the vines still standing, but the plants gone.
There was no cover there. Besides, I should
want some food and water before another
night had come. 1 hurried wildly onwards
through the waning darkness, trusting that
chance would be my friend. And I was
not disappointed. Chance is a woman, my
friends, and she has her eye always upon a
gallant Hussar.
Well, then, as I stumbled through the
vineyard, something loomed in front of me, and
I came upon a great square house with
another long, low building upon one side of
it. Three roads met there, and it was easy
to see that this was the posada, or wine shop.
There was no light in the windows, and
everything was dark and silent, but, of course,
I knew that such comfortable quarters were
certainly occupied, and probably by
someone of importance. I have learned,
however, that the nearer the danger may really
be the safer place, and so 1 was by no means
inclined to trust myself away from this shelter.
The low building was evidently the stable, and
into this I crept, for the door was unlatched.
The place was full of bullocks and sheep,
gathered there, no doubt, to be out of the
clutches of marauders. A ladder led to a
loft, and up this I climbed and concealed myself
very snugly among some bales of hay upon the
top. This loft had a small open window,and
I was able to look down upon the front of
the inn and also upon the road. There I
crouched and waited to see what would
happen.
It was soon evident that I had not been
mistaken when I had thought that this might
be the quarters of some person of importance.
Shortly after daybreak an English light
dragoon arrived with a despatch, and from
then onwards the place was in a turmoil,
officers continually riding up and away.
Always the same name was upon their lips:
“Sir Stapleton—Sir Stapleton.” It was hard
for me to lie there with a dry moustache and
watch the great flagons which were brought
out by the landlord to these English officers.
But it amused me to look at their
fresh-coloured, clean-shaven, careless faces, and to
wonder what they would think if they knew
that so celebrated a person was lying so
near to them. And then, as I lay and
watched, I saw a sight which filled me
with surprise.
It is incredible the insolence of these
English! What do you suppose Milord
Wellington had done when he found that
Massena had blockaded him and that he
could not move his army? I might give you
many guesses. You might say that he had
raged, that he had despaired, that he had
brought his troops together and spoken to
them about glory and the fatherland before
leading them to one last battle. No, Milord
did none of these things. But he sent a
fleet ship to England to bring him a number
of fox-dogs, and he with his officers settled
himself down to chase the fox. It is true
what I tell you. Behind the lines of Torres
Vedras these mad Englishmen made the fox
chase three days in the week. We had heard
of it in the camp, and now I was myself to
see that it was true.
For, along the road which I have described,
there came these very dogs, thirty or forty of
them, white and brown, each with its tail at
the same angle, like the bayonets of the Old
Guard. My faith, but it was a pretty sight!
And behind and amidst them there rode
three men with peaked caps and red coats,
whom I understood to be the hunters. After
them came many horsemen with uniforms of
various kinds, stringing along the roads in
twos and threes, talking together and
laughing. They did not seem to be going above
a trot, and it appeared to me that it must
indeed be a slow fox which they hoped to
catch. However, it was their affair, not mine,
and soon they had all passed my window and
were out of sight. I waited and I watched,
ready for any chance which might offer.
Presently an officer, in a blue uniform not
unlike that of our flying artillery, came
cantering down the road—an elderly, stout
man he was, with grey side-whiskers. He
stopped and began to talk with an orderly
officer of dragoons, who waited outside the
inn, and it was then that I learned the
advantage of the English which had been
taught me. I could hear and understand
all that was said.
“Where is the meet?” said the officer, and
I thought that he was hungering for his
bifstek. But the other answered him that it
was near Altara, so I saw that it was a place
of which he spoke.
“You are late, Sir George,” said the
orderly.
“Yes, I had a court-martial. Has Sir
Stapleton Cotton gone?”
“’You are late, sir George,’ said the orderly.”
At this moment a window opened, and a
handsome young man in a very splendid
uniform looked out of it
“Halloa, Murray!” said he. “These
cursed papers keep me, but I will be at your
heels.”
“Very good, Cotton. I am late already,
so I will ride on.”
“You might order my groom to bring
round my horse,” said the young General at
the window to the orderly below, while the
other went on down the road.
The orderly rode away to some outlying
stable, and then in a few minutes there came
a smart English groom with a cockade in his
hat, leading by the bridle a horse—and, oh,
my friends, you have never known the
perfection to which a horse can attain until you
have seen a first-class English hunter. He
was superb: tall, broad,
strong, and yet as
graceful and agile as a
deer. Coal black he
was in colour, and his
neck, and his shoulder,
and his quarters, and
his fetlocks— how can
I describe him all to
you? The sun shone
upon him as on polished
ebony, and he raised
his hoofs in a little,
playful dance so lightly
and prettily, while he
tossed his mane and
whinnied with
impatience. Never have I
seen such a mixture of
strength and beauty
and grace. I had often
wondered how the
English Hussars had
managed to ride over
the Chasseurs of the
Guards in the affair at
Astorga, but I
wondered no longer when
I saw the English
horses.
There was a ring
for fastening bridles at
the door of the inn,
and the groom tied the
horse there while he
entered the house. In
an instant I had seen
the chance which Fate
had brought to me.
Were I in that saddle
I should be better off than when I started.
Even Voltigeur could not compare with this
magnificent creature. To think is to act
with me. In one instant I was down the
ladder and at the door of the stable. The
next I was out and the bridle was in my
hand. I bounded into the saddle.
Somebody, the master or the man, shouted
wildly behind me. What cared I for his
shouts ! I touched the horse with my spurs and he bounded forward with such
a spring that only a rider like myself
could have sat him. I gave him his head
and let him go—it did not matter to me
where, so long as we left this inn far behind
us. He thundered away across the vineyards,
and in a very few minutes I had placed miles
between myself and my pursuers. They
could no longer tell in that wild country in
which direction I had gone. I knew that I
was safe, and so, riding to the top of a small
hill, I drew my pencil and note-book from my
pocket and proceeded to make plans of those
camps which I could see and to draw the
outline of the country.
“The hunt was streaming down.”
He was a dear creature upon whom I sat,
but it was not easy to draw upon his back,
for every now and then his two ears would
cock, and he would start and quiver with
impatience. At first I could not
understand this trick of his, but soon I observed
that he only did it when a peculiar noise —
“yoy, yoy, yoy” — came from somewhere
among the oak woods beneath us. And then
suddenly this strange
cry changed into a
most terrible
screaming, with the frantic
blowing of a horn.
Instantly he went mad
— this horse. His eyes
blazed. His mane
bristled. He bounded
from the earth and
bounded again,
twisting and turning in a
frenzy. My pencil flew
one way and my
note-book another. And
then, as I looked down
into the valley, an
extraordinary sight met
my eyes. The hunt
was streaming down it.
The fox I could not
see, but the dogs were
in full cry, their noses
down, their tails up,
so close together that
they might have been
one great yellow and
white moving carpet.
And behind them rode
the horsemen — my
faith, what a sight!
Consider every type
which a great army
could show. Some in
hunting dress, but the
most in uniforms: blue dragoons, red
dragoons, red-trousered hussars, green
riflemen, artillery men, gold-slashed lancers, and
most of all red, red, red, for the infantry
officers ride as hard as the cavalry. Such a
crowd, some well mounted, some ill, but all
flying along as best they might, the subaltern
as good as the general, jostling and pushing,
spurring and driving, with every thought
thrown to the winds save that they should
have the blood of this absurd fox! Truly,
they are an extraordinary people, the
English!
But I had little time to watch the hunt or
to marvel at these islanders, for of all these
mad creatures the very horse upon which I
sat was the maddest. You understand that
he was himself a hunter, and that the crying
of these dogs was to him what the call of a
cavalry trumpet in the street yonder would
be to me. It thrilled him. It drove him
wild. Again and again he bounded into the
air, and then, seizing the bit between his
teeth, he plunged down the slope and galloped after the dogs. I swore, and
tugged, and pulled, but I was powerless.
This English General rode his horse with a
snaffle only, and the beast had a mouth of
iron. It was useless to pull him back. One
might as well try to keep a Grenadier from a
wine bottle. I gave it up in despair, and,
settling down in the saddle, I prepared for
the worst which could befall.
What a creature he was! Never have I
felt such a horse between my knees. His
great haunches gathered under him with
every stride, and he shot forward ever faster
and faster, stretched like a greyhound, while
the wind beat in my face and whistled past
my ears. I was wearing our undress jacket,
a uniform simple and dark in itself—though
some figures give distinction to any uniform
—and I had taken the precaution to remove
the long panache from my busby. The
result was that, amidst the mixture of
cos-tumes in the hunt, there was no reason why
mine should attract attention, or why these
men, whose thoughts were all with the chase,
should give any heed to me. The idea that
a French officer might be riding with them
was too absurd to enter their minds. I
laughed as I rode, for, indeed, amid all the
danger, there was something of comic in the
situation.
I have said that the hunters were very
unequally mounted, and so at the end of
a few miles, instead of being one body
of men, like a charging regiment, they
were scattered over a considerable space,
the better riders well up to the dogs and
the others trailing away behind. Now, I was
as good a rider as any, and my horse was the
best of them all, and so you can imagine
that it was not long before he carried me to
the front. And when I saw the dogs
streaming over the open, and the red-coated
huntsman behind them, and only seven or eight
horsemen between us, then it was that the
strangest thing of all happened, for I, too,
went mad—I, Etienne Gerard! In a moment
it came upon me, this spirit of sport, this
desire to excel, this hatred of the fox.
Accursed animal, should he then defy us?
Vile robber, his hour was come! A, it is a
great feeling, this feeling of sport, my friends,
this desire to trample the fox under the
hoofs of your horse. I have made the fox
chase with the English. I have also, as I
may tell you some day, fought the box-fight
with the Bustler, of Bristol. And I say to
you that this sport is a wonderful thing—full
of interest as well as madness.
The farther we went the faster galloped my
horse, and soon there were but three men as
near the dogs as I was. All thought of fear
of discovery had vanished. My brain
throbbed, my blood ran hot—only one thing upon
earth seemed worth living for, and that was
to overtake this infernal fox. I passed one
of the horsemen—a Hussar like myself.
There were only two in front of me now: the
one in a black coat, the other the blue
artilleryman whom I had seen at the inn.
His grey whiskers streamed in the wind, but
he rode magnificently. For a mile or more
we kept in this order, and then, as we
galloped up a steep slope, my lighter weight
brought me to the front. I passed them
both, and when I reached the crown I was
riding level with the little, hard-faced English
huntsman. In front of us were the dogs,
and then, a hundred paces beyond them,
was a brown wisp of a thing, the fox itself,
stretched to the uttermost. The sight of
him fired my blood. “Aha, we have you
then, assassin!” I cried, and shouted my
encouragement to the huntsman. I waved
my hand to show him that there was one
upon whom he could rely.
And now there were only the dogs between
me and my prey. These dogs, whose duty
it is to point out the game, were now rather a
hindrance than a help to us, for it was hard
to know how to pass them. The huntsman
felt the difficulty as much as I, for he rode
behind them, and could make no progress
towards the fox. He was a swift rider, but
wanting in enterprise. For my part, I felt
that it would be unworthy of the Hussars of
Conflans if I could not overcome such a
difficulty as this. Was Etienne Gerard to be
stopped by a herd of fox-dogs? It was
absurd. I gave a shout and spurred my
horse.
“Hold hard, sir! Hold hard!” cried the
huntsman.
He was uneasy for me, this good old man,
but I reassured him by a wave and a smile.
The dogs opened in front of me. One or
two may have been hurt, but what would
you have? The egg must be broken for the
omelette. I could hear the huntsman
shouting his congratulations behind me. One
more effort, and the dogs were all behind
me. Only the fox was in front.
Ah, the joy and pride of that moment!
To know that I had beaten the English at
their own sport. Here were three hundred
all thirsting for the life of this animal, and
yet it was I who was about to take it. I
thought of my comrades of the light cavalry
brigade, of my mother, of the Emperor, of France. I had brought honour to each and
all. Every instant brought me nearer to the
fox. The moment for action had arrived, so
I unsheathed my sabre. I waved it in the air,
and the brave English all shouted behind me.
Only then did I understand how difficult
is this fox chase, for one may cut again and
again at the creature and never strike him
once. He is small, and turns quickly from
a blow. At every cut I heard those shouts
of encouragement from behind me, and they
spurred me to yet another effort. And then
at last the supreme moment of my triumph
arrived. In the very act of turning I caught
“At every cut I heard shouts behind me.”
him fair with such another back-handed cut
as that with which I killed the aide-de-camp
of the Emperor of Russia. He flew into
two pieces, his head one way and his tail
another. I looked back and waved the
blood-stained sabre in the air. For the
moment I was exalted—superb!
Ah! how I should have loved to have
waited to have received the congratulations
of these generous enemies. There were fifty
of them in sight, and not one who was not
waving his hand and shouting. They are
not really such a phlegmatic race, the
English. A gallant deed in war or in
sport will always warm their hearts. As to
the old huntsman, he was the nearest to me,
and I could see with my own eyes how
overcome he was by what he had seen. He was
like a man paralyzed, his mouth open, his
hand, with outspread fingers, raised in the
air. For a moment my inclination was to
return and
to embrace
him. But
already the
call of duty
was
sounding in my
ears, and
these
English, in spite
of all the fraternity
which exists among
sportsmen, would
certainly have made me
prisoner. There was
no hope for my
mission now, and I had done
all that I could do. I could
the lines of Massena’s
camp no very great distance
off, for, by a lucky chance,
the chase had taken us in
that direction. I turned from
the dead fox, saluted with my
sabre and galloped away.
But they would not leave me so
easily, these gallant huntsmen. I
was the fox now, and the chase
swept bravely over the
plain. It was only at the
moment when I started for
the camp that they could
have known that I was a
Frenchman, and now the
whole swarm of them were
at my heels. We were within
gunshot of our pickets
before they would halt, and
then they stood in knots and would not go
away, but shouted and waved their hands at
me. No, I will not think that it was in
enmity. Rather would I fancy that a glow of
admiration filled their breasts, and that their
one desire was to embrace the stranger who
had carried himself so gallantly and well.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1931.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1930, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author’s life plus 95 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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