La Vendee by Anthony Trollope

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LA VENDEE.

VOLUME I

CHAPTER I

THE POITEVINS

The history of France in 1792 has been too fully written, and too
generally read to leave the novelist any excuse for describing the state
of Paris at the close of the summer of that year. It is known to every
one that the palace of Louis XVI was sacked on the 10th of August. That
he himself with his family took refuge in the National Assembly, and
that he was taken thence to the prison of the Temple.

The doings on the fatal 10th of August, and the few following days had,
however, various effects in Paris, all of which we do not clearly trace
in history. We well know how the Mountain became powerful from that day;
that from that day Marat ceased to shun the light, and Danton to curb
the licence of his tongue that then, patriotism in France began to
totter, and that, from that time, Paris ceased to be a fitting abode for
aught that was virtuous, innocent, or high-minded; but the steady march
of history cannot stop to let us see the various lights in which the
inhabitants of Paris regarded the loss of a King, and the commencement
of the first French Republic.

The Assembly, though it had not contemplated the dethronement of the
King, acquiesced in it; and acted as it would have done, had the
establishment of a republic been decreed by a majority of its members.
The municipality had determined that the King should fall, and, of
course, rejoiced in the success of its work; and history plainly marking
the acquiescence of the Assembly, and the activity of the city powers,
naturally passes over the various feelings excited in different circles
in Paris, by the overthrow of the monarchy.

Up to that period there was still in Paris much that was high, noble,
and delightful. The haute noblesse had generally left the country; but
the haute noblesse did not comprise the better educated, or most social
families in Paris. Never had there been more talent, more wit, or more
beauty in Paris than at the commencement of 1792; never had literary
acquirement been more fully appreciated in society, more absolutely
necessary in those who were ambitious of social popularity.

There were many of this class in Paris who had hitherto watched the
progress of the Revolution with a full reliance in the panacea it was
to afford for human woes; many who had sympathized with the early
demands of the Tiers Etat; who had rapturously applauded the Tennis
Court oath; who had taken an enthusiastic part in the fete of the Champ
de Mars; men who had taught themselves to believe that sin, and avarice,
and selfishness were about to be banished from the world by the lights
of philosophy; but whom the rancour of the Jacobins, and the furious
licence of the city authorities had now robbed of their golden hopes.
The dethronement of the King, totally severed many such from the
revolutionary party. They found that their high aspirations had been in
vain; that their trust in reason had been misplaced, and that the
experiment to which they had committed themselves had failed; disgusted,
broken-spirited, and betrayed they left the city in crowds, and with few
exceptions, the intellectual circles were broken up.

A few of the immediate friends of the King, a few ladies and gentlemen,
warmly devoted to the family of Louis XVI, remained in Paris. At the
time when the King was first subjected to actual personal restraint, a
few young noblemen and gentlemen had formed themselves into a private
club, and held their sittings in the Rue Vivienne. Their object was to
assist the King in the difficulties with which he was surrounded, and
their immediate aim was to withdraw him from the metropolis; Louis' own
oft-repeated indecision alone prevented them from being successful.
These royalists were chiefly from the province of Poitou, and as their
meetings gradually became known and talked of in Paris, they were called
the Poitevins.

They had among them one or two members of the Assembly, but the club
chiefly consisted of young noblemen attached to the Court, or of
officers in the body-guard of the King; their object, at first, had been
to maintain, undiminished, the power of the throne; but they had long
since forgotten their solicitude for the King's power, in their anxiety
for his safety and personal freedom.

The storming of the Tuilleries, and the imprisonment of Louis,
completely destroyed their body as a club; but the energy of each
separate member was raised to the highest pitch. The Poitevins no longer
met in the Rue Vivienne, but they separated with a determination on the
part of each individual royalist to use every effort to replace the
King.

There were three young men in this club, who were destined to play a
conspicuous part in the great effort about to be made, in a portion of
France, for the restitution of the monarchy; their fathers had lived
within a few miles of each other, and though of different ages, and very
different dispositions, they had come to Paris together since the
commencement of the revolution.

M. de Lescure was a married man, about twenty-seven years of age, of
grave and studious habits, but nevertheless of an active temperament.
He was humane, charitable, and benevolent: his strongest passion was the
love of his fellow-creatures; his pure heart had glowed, at an early
age, with unutterable longings for the benefits promised to the human
race by the school of philosophy from which the revolution originated.
Liberty and fraternity had been with him principles, to have realized
which he would willingly have sacrificed his all; but at the
commencement of the revolution he had seen with horror the successive
encroachments of the lower classes, and from conscience had attached
himself to the Crown. Hitherto he had been without opportunity of
showing the courage for which he was afterwards so conspicuous; he did
not even himself know that he was a brave man; before, however, his
career was ended, he had displayed the chivalry of a Bayard, and
performed the feats of a Duguescin. A perfect man, we are told, would
be a monster; and a certain dry obstinacy of manner, rather than of
purpose, preserved de Lescure from the monstrosity of perfection.
Circumstances decreed that the latter years of his life should be spent
among scenes of bloodshed; that he should be concerned in all the
horrors of civil war; that instruments of death should be familiar to
his hands, and the groans of the dying continually in his ears. But
though the horrors of war were awfully familiar to him, the harshness
of war never became so; he spilt no blood that he could spare, he took
no life that he could save. The cruelty of his enemies was unable to
stifle the humanity of his heart; even a soldier and a servant of the
republic became his friend as soon as he was vanquished.

Two young friends had followed M. de Lescure to Paris--Henri de
Larochejaquelin and Adolphe Denot. The former was the son of the Marquis
de Larochejaquelin, and the heir of an extensive property in Poitou; M.
de Lescure and he were cousins, and the strictest friendship had long
existed between the families. Young Larochejaquelin was of a temperament
very different from that of his friend: he was eager, impetuous,
warm-tempered, and fond of society; but he had formed his principles on
those of M. de Lescure. The love of his fellow-creatures was not with
him the leading passion of his heart, as it was with the other; but
humanity had early been instilled into him as the virtue most necessary
to cultivate, and he consequently fully appreciated and endeavoured to
imitate the philanthropy of his friend.

At the time alluded to, Henri de Larochejaquelin was not quite twenty
years of age. He was a lieutenant in the body-guard immediately attached
to the King's person, and called the "Garde du Roi." At any other
period, he would hardly yet have finished his education, but the
revolution gave a precocious manhood to the rising generation. Henri's
father, moreover, was very old; he had not married till late in life;
and the young Marquis, when he was only seventeen, had to take on
himself the guardianship of his sister Agatha, and the management of the
paternal property. The old man was unable to leave his chair, and though
he still retained his senses, was well pleased to give up to the son of
his old age the rights and privileges which in the course of nature
would descend to him.

Without being absolutely handsome, young Larochejaquelin was of a very
prepossessing appearance. He was tall and robust, well made, and active.
Though he had not attained that breadth of shoulder, and expansion of
chest, which a few years would probably have given him, he had the
perfect use of his limbs, and was full of health and youthful energy;
his eyes were bright, and of a clear blue colour; his hair was light,
and his upper lip could already boast that ornament which the then age,
and his own position made allowable. He was a favourite with all who
knew him--more so even than his friend de Lescure; and it is saying much
in his favour to declare that a year's residence amongst all that was
beautiful and charming in Paris, had hitherto done but little to spoil
him.

Adolphe Denot was an orphan, but also possessed of a fair property in
the province of Poitou. He had, when very young, been left to the
guardianship of the Marquis de La Rochejaquelin, and had at intervals,
during his holidays, and after he had left school, spent much of his
time at Durbelliere, the family residence of the La Rochejaquelins.
Henri had of course contracted a close friendship with him; but this
arose more from the position in which they were placed together, than
a similarity of disposition. They were, indeed, very unlike; Adolphe was
somewhat older than the other, but he had neither his manliness of
manner nor strength of character; he was more ambitious to be popular,
without the same capacity of making himself so: he had as much romantic
love of poetical generosity, without the same forgetfulness of self to
enable him to emulate in practice the characters, which he admired in
description; he had much veneration for poetic virtue, though but little
strength to accomplish practical excellence. He had, on leaving school,
proclaimed himself to be an ardent admirer of Rousseau; he had been a
warm partizan of the revolution, and had displayed a most devoted
enthusiasm to his country at the fete of the Champ de Mars. Latterly,
however, the circles which he mostly frequented in Paris had voted
strong revolutionary ardour to be mauvais ton; a kind of modulated
royalism, or rather Louis Seizeism, had become fashionable; and Adolphe
Denot was not the man to remain wilfully out of the fashion. On the 10th
of August, he was a staunch supporter of the monarchy.

Adolphe Denot was a much handsomer man than his friend; his features
were better formed, and more regular; he had beautifully white teeth,
an almost feminine mouth, a straight Grecian nose, and delicately small
hands and feet; but he was vain of his person, and ostentatious; fond
of dress and of jewellery. He was, moreover, suspicious of neglect, and
vindictive when neglected; querulous of others, and intolerant of
reproof himself; exigeant among men, and more than politely flattering
among women. He was not, however, without talent, and a kind of poetic
fecundity of language, which occasionally made him brilliant in society;
it was, however, generally speaking, those who knew him least who liked
him best.

Larochejaquelin, however, was always true to him; he knew that he was
an orphan, without brother, sister, or relatives, and with the devotion
of a real friend, he overlooked all his faults, and greatly magnified
his talents. For Henri's sake, M. de Lescure tolerated him, and the
three were therefore much together; they came from the same country;
they belonged to the same club; they had the same political sympathies;
and were looked upon as dear and stedfast friends.

On the 10th of August, the King left the Tuilleries, and took refuge in
the National Assembly; during the greater part of the night he remained
there with his family. Early on the following morning, he was removed,
under a guard, to the Feuillants; and on the 12th it was decided that
he should be confined in the prison of the Temple.

It was on the morning of the 12th, that the last meeting of the little
club of the Poitevins took place.

They met with throbbing hearts and blank faces; they all felt that evil
days had come that the Revolution which had been so petted and caressed
by the best and fairest in France, had become a beast of prey, and that
war, anarchy, and misrule were at hand.

They sat waiting on the morning of the 12th, till they should learn the
decision of the Assembly with regard to the King. De Lescure was there
calm and grave, but with much melancholy in his countenance.

Larochejaquelin was there. Hot and eager, whispering plans for rescuing
the King, to which the less resolute hardly dared to listen. Charette,
the Prince de Talmont, d'Autachamps, Fleuriot, and others, all of whom
now detested the Revolution, though they could not but feel the danger
of proclaiming themselves royalists.

"Denot will be here directly," said La Rochejaquelin; "he is at the
Assembly--they are not apt to be very tedious in their decisions."

"Danton has openly declared," said Fleuriot, "that the armed sections
shall remain in revolt, unless the Assembly decree the abolition of the
monarchy."

"Lafayette," said the Prince, "is the only man now who could save the
country--if Lafayette will move, he might still save the throne."

"He could do nothing," said d'Autachamps, "but add himself to the
ruins--the regiments, to a man, would side with the populace."

"I don't know," said Larochejaquelin, "I don't think so. See how our
Swiss fought--could any men be more true to their officers or their
colours? and do you think there are not thousands in the French army as
true, as brave as they? If Lafayette would raise his hand, I for one
would join him."

"Wait, Henri, wait," said de Lescure, "wait till you know whether
Lafayette and the army will really be wanting to save the King. If
Roland be still firm, and Vergniaud true to his principles, they may
still quell the fury of the Jacobins----the moderate party has still a
large majority in the Assembly."

"Roland and Vergniaud are both true," said Fleuriot, "but you will find,
de Lescure, that they can do nothing but yield or go--they must vanish
out of the Assembly and become nothing--or else they must go with the
people."

"The people! How I hate that phrase, in the sense in which it is now
used," said Larochejaquelin. "A mob of blood-thirsty ruffians wishes to
overturn the throne--but what evidence have we that the people wish it."

"The people, Henri, have been taught to wish it," said de Lescure.

"No, Charles, the people of France have not been taught to wish it--with
all the teaching they have had, they do not wish it--have they shewn any
favour to the new priests whom the Revolution has sent to them; do they
love much the Commissioners, who from time to time, come among them with
the orders of the Assembly. Do the people in the Bocage wish it?--do
they wish it in the Marais, Charette?--do they wish it in Anjou and
Brittany? Danton, Robespierre, and Tallien wish it--the mob of Paris
wishes it--but the people of France does not wish to depose their King."

"But unfortunately," said d'Autachamps, "it is Danton, Robespierre, and
the mob of Paris who have now the supreme power, and for a time will
have their way--they who are wise will lie by till the storm has blown
over."

"And are we to remain quiet while we are robbed of every thing which we
esteem as holy?" said Larochejaquelin; "are we all to acquiesce in the
brutality of such men as Danton, for fear the mob of Paris should be too
strong for us?"

"I for one, will not!" said Charette.

"Nor I," said Larochejaquelin--not while I have a sword to draw, and an
arm to use it. You are silent, Charles--is a Republic so much to your
mind, that you have not a word, or even a wish for your King?"

"You are too talkative, Henri," replied the other; "will it not be well
to think a little first before we proclaim definitively what we mean to
do? We do not even know as yet in what position Louis XVI. may find
himself tomorrow--he may be more firmly seated on his throne than he has
been at any time since the Three Estates first met at Versailles."

As he ceased speaking, the door opened, and Adolphe Denot entered, hot
with walking fast, and with his whole dress disordered by pushing
through the dense masses of the crowd.

"Speak, Adolphe," said Henri, "have they decreed--has it come to the
vote?"

"Are they still sitting?" said Fleuriot; "Danton, I am sure would not
have yielded so soon as this:--if the chamber be closed, he must have
been victorious."

"The King," said Denot, pausing for breath, "the King is to be taken to
the Temple!"

There was a momentary silence among them all--their worst fears had been
realized--the brute force of Paris had been triumphant. The firmness of
Roland, the eloquence of Vergniaud, the patriotism of Guadet had been
of no avail. The King of France--the heir of so long a line of
royalty--the King, who had discarded the vices of his predecessors, and
proved himself the friend of. the people, was to be incarcerated in the
worst prison in Paris by the vote of that very Assembly which he had
himself called into existence.

"He is to be confined in the Temple," continued Denot, "with the Queen
and the two children. The populace are mad; they would kill him, if they
could lay their hands on him."

"Where are your hopes now, Charles?" said Larochejaquelin. "Is it yet
time for us to proclaim what we are--is it yet time for us to move? or
are we to set still, until Danton enrolls us in his list of suspected
persons?"

No one immediately answered the appeal of the hot young loyalist, and
after a moment or two de Lescure spoke.

"Adolphe, did you hear the words of the decree?"

"Again and again," said Denot. "I was at the door of the Assembly, and
the decree was known to the crowd the moment the votes had been taken."

"But did you hear the exact words?"

"That Louis and his family should be imprisoned in the Temple," answered
Denot.

"Did they say the King, or did they call him by his name?" asked de
Lescure again. "Did they decree that the King should be imprisoned, or
Louis Capet?"

As he spoke, the door again opened, and another member, who had been
among the crowd, entered the room.

"Gentlemen," said he, "allow me the honour to congratulate you. Yon do
not know your own happiness. You are no longer the burdened slaves of
an effete monarchy; you are now the vigorous children of a young
Republic."

"Vive le Roi, quand meme," said Larochejaquelin, standing up in the
middle of the room. "I am glad they have so plainly declared themselves;
we are driven now to do the same. Prince, now is the time to stand by
our King. Charette, your hand; our dreams must now be accomplished. You
will doubt no longer, Charles. Prudence herself would now feel that we
have no longer aught to wait for."

"No--we must delay no longer," said Adolphe Denot. "A King is to be
saved; every hour of delay is an hour of treason, while the King is in
the hands of his enemies."

"A fine sentiment, Denot," said d'Autachamps; "but how will you avoid
the treason?--how do you purpose to rescue his Majesty?"

"With my sword," said Adolphe, turning round shortly. "Do you doubt my
will?"

"We only doubt your power, Adolphe," said de Lescure. "We only fear you
may not be able to raise the standard of revolt against the armed
sections of all Paris, backed by a decree of the Assembly."

"I can at any rate die in the attempt," replied Denot. "I cannot draw
the breath of life from the atmosphere of a Republic! I will not live
by the permission of Messieurs Danton and Robespierre."

"Whatever we do," said Fleuriot, "the club must be given up. We are
known to be friendly to the King, and we are too weak to stand our
ground; indeed, we should only incur useless danger by meeting here"

"And waste the time which we may well employ in the provinces," said
Charette.

"You are right, Charette," said Rochejaquelin, whom the wildness of his
friend Denot had a little sobered. "You are quite right--Paris is no
longer a place for us. I will go back to the Bocage; there, at least,
I may own among my neighbours that I am not a republican; there,
perhaps, I may make some effort for my King--here I can make none. You
will not stay in Paris, Charles, to hear unwashed revolutionists clatter
of Louis Capet?"

"No, Henri, I also will return home. Charette is right. We should but
waste our time in Paris, and be in danger. We shall probably be in
safety in Poitou."

"Perhaps not in safety," said Henri. "We may, I trust, soon be in
action."

"How in action?" said Fleuriot. "What do you intend to do?"

"To follow any one who will lead me to assist in restoring the King to
his throne," replied Henri. "Let us, at any rate, retire to our
provinces; and be assured that the National Assembly will soon hear of
us."

The club was broken up; the young friends met no more in the Rue
Vivienne. Within a week from the 10th of August, the denizens of the
municipality had searched the rooms for any relics which might be
discovered there indicatory of a feeling inimical to the Republic; their
residences also were searched, and there were orders at the barriers
that they should not pass out; but the future Vendean leaders had too
quickly appreciated the signs of the time; they had gone before the
revolutionary tribunal had had time to form itself. They were gone, and
their names for a season were forgotten in Paris; but Henri
Rochejaquelin was right--before long, the National Assembly did hear of
them; before twelve months had passed, they were more feared by the
Republic, than the allied forces of England, Austria, and Prussia.

CHAPTER II

ST. FLORENT

Nothing occurred in the provinces, subsequently called La Vendee, during
the autumn or winter of 1792 of sufficient notice to claim a place in
history, but during that time the feelings which afterwards occasioned
the revolt in that country, were every day becoming more ardent. The
people obstinately refused to attend the churches to which the
constitutional clergy had been appointed; indeed, these pastors had
found it all but impossible to live in the parishes assigned to them;
no one would take them as tenants; no servants would live with them; the
bakers and grocers would not deal with them; the tailors would not make
their clothes for them, nor the shoemakers shoes. During the week they
were debarred from all worldly commerce, and on Sundays they performed
their religious ceremonies between empty walls.

The banished priests, on the other hand, who were strictly forbidden to
perform any of the sacerdotal duties, continued among the trees and
rocks to collect their own congregations undiminished in number, and
much more than ordinarily zealous, in their religious duties; and with
the licence which such sylvan chapels were found to foster,
denunciations against the Republic, and prayers for the speedy
restoration of the monarchy, were mingled with the sacred observances.

The execution of Louis, in January, 1793, greatly increased the
attachment which was now felt in this locality to his family. In Nantes
and Angers, in Saumur, Thouars, and other towns in which the presence
of Republican forces commanded the adhesion of the inhabitants this
event was commemorated by illuminations, but this very show of joy at
so cruel a murder, more than the murder itself, acerbated the feelings
both of the gentry and the peasants. They were given to understand that
those who wished well to their country were now expected to show some
sign of gratitude for what the blessed revolution had done for
them--that those who desired to stand well with the Republic should
rejoice openly at their deliverance from thraldom. In fact, those who
lived in large towns, and who would not illuminate, were to be marked
men--marked as secret friends to the monarchy--as inveterate foes to the
Republic--and they were told that they were to be treated accordingly.
Men then began to congregate in numbers round the churches, and in the
village squares, and to ask each other whether they had better not act
as enemies, if they were to be considered as enemies; to complain of
their increasing poverty and diminished comfort; and to long for the
coming time, when the King should enjoy his own again.

The feeling with the country gentry was very generally the same as with
the peasantry, though hitherto they had openly expressed no opposition
to the ruling Government. They had, however, been always elected to
those situations which the leaders of the revolution had wished the
people to fill exclusively with persons from their own ranks. They were
chosen as mayors in the small towns, and were always requested to act
as officers in the corps of the National Guards, which were formed in
this, as in every other district of France. On this account the peculiar
ill-will of the Republican Government was directed against them. In
France, at that time, political inactivity was an impossibility. Revolt
against the Republic, or active participation in its measures, was the
only choice left to those who did not choose to fly their country, and
many of the seigneurs of Anjou and Poitou would not adopt the latter
alternative.

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