La Vendee by Anthony Trollope

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"Keep out of his way tomorrow. He goes on Monday morning."

"It is very well to say, 'Keep out of his way;' but if he formally
demands an interview, I cannot refuse it."

"If he formally desires an interview, do you give him a formal
reception: if he formally offers you his hand, do you formally decline
the honour."

"I would it were you, Marie, that he loved."

"A thousand thanks to you, Mademoiselle Larochejaquelin. I appreciate
your generosity, but really I have no vacancy for M. Denot, just at
present."

"Ah! but you would reject him with so much more ease, than I can do it."

"Practice, my dear, is everything: this time you may feel a little
awkward, but you will find you will dispose of your second lover without
much difficulty, and you will give his conge to your third with as much
ease, as though you were merely dismissing a disobedient kitchen-maid."

"I cannot bear to give pain; and Adolphe will be pained; his self-love
will be wounded at the idea of being rejected."

"Then spare his self-love, and accept him."

"No; that I will not do."

"Then wound his self-love, and reject him."

"Would I could do the one without the other; would I could persuade him
I was not worthy of him."

"Nay, do not attempt that; that will be direct encouragement."

"I will tell him that I am averse to marriage; in truth, that will be
no falsehood. I do not think that my heart is capable of more love than
it feels at present."

"That may be true now, Agatha; but suppose your heart should enlarge
before the autumn, at the touch of some gallant wizard--take my advice,
dear girl, make no rash promises."

"I will tell him that I cannot think of love till the King is on the
throne once more."

"If you say so, he will promise valiantly to restore His Majesty, and
then to return to you to look for his reward. Shall I tell you, Agatha,
what I should say?"

"Do, dearest Marie: tell me in sober earnest; and if there be ought of
sobriety mixed with your wit, I will take your advice."

"I would say to him thus: 'M. Denot,' or 'Adolphe,' just as your custom
is to address him--but mind, mark you, make him speak out firmly and
formally first, that your answer may be equally firm and formal. 'M.
Denot, you have paid me the greatest honour which a gentleman can pay
a lady, and I am most grateful for the good opinion which you have
expressed. I should be ungrateful were I to leave you for one moment in
doubt as to my real sentiments: I cannot love you as I ought to love my
husband. I hope you will never doubt my true friendship for you; but
more than sincere friendship I cannot give you.' There, Agatha, not a
word more, nor a word less than that; sit quite straight on your chair,
as though you were nailed to it; do not look to the right or to the
left; do not frown or smile."

"There will not be the least danger of my smiling, Marie."

"But do not frown neither; fancy that you are the district judge, giving
sentence on a knotty piece of law; show neither sentiment, pride, nor
anger. Be quite cold, inflexible and determined; and, above all things,
do not move from your seat; and I think you will find your lover will
take his answer: but if he do not--repeat it all over again, with a
little more emphasis, and rather slower than before. If it be necessary,
you may repeat it a third time, or indeed till he goes away, but never
vary the words. He must be a most determined man if he requires the
third dose. I never heard of but one who wasn't satisfied with the
second, and he was an Irishman."

"If I could only insist on his sitting still and silent to hear me make
my formidable speech, your advice might be very good."

"That, my dear, is your own strong point: if he attempts to interrupt
you, hear what he says, and then begin again. By the time you have got
to your 'real sentiments,' I doubt not he will be in his tantrums: but
do you not get into tantrums too, or else you are as good as lost; let
nothing tempt you to put in an unpremeditated word; one word might be
fatal; but, above all, do not move; nothing but an awful degree of calm
on your part will frighten him into quiescence: if you once but move,
you will find M. Denot at your feet, and your hand pressed to his lips.
You might as well have surrendered at once, if anything like that
occur."

"Well, Marie, let what will happen, at any rate I will not surrender,
as you call it. As to sitting like the district judge, and pronouncing
sentence on my lover as you advise--I fear I lack the nerve for it."

Agatha was quite right in her forebodings. Adolphe Denot had firmly made
up his mind to learn his fate before he started for Saumur, and
immediately on rising from breakfast, he whispered to Agatha that he
wished to speak to her alone for a moment. In her despair she proposed
that he should wait till after mass, and Adolphe consented; but during
the whole morning she felt how weak she had been in postponing the evil
hour; she had a thousand last things to do for her brother, a thousand
last words to say to him; but she was fit neither to do nor to say
anything; even her prayers were disturbed; in spite of herself her
thoughts clung to the interview which she had to go through.

Since the constitutional priests had been sent into the country, and the
old Cures silenced, a little temporary chapel had been fitted up in the
chateau at Durbelliere, and here the former parish priest officiated
every Sunday; the peasants of the parish of St. Aubin were allowed to
come to this little chapel; at first a few only had attended, but the
number had increased by degrees, and at the time when the revolt
commenced, the greater portion of the pastor's old flock crowded into
or round the chateau every Sunday; so that the Sabbath morning at
Durbelliere was rather a noisy time. This was especially the case on the
6th of June, as the people had so much to talk about, and most of the
men wished to see either the old or the young master, and most of the
women wanted to speak to one of the ladies; by degrees, however, the
chateau was cleared, and Agatha with a trembling heart retreated to her
own little sitting-room upstairs to keep her appointment with Adolphe
Denot.

She had not been long there, when Adolphe knocked at the door: he had
been there scores of times before, and had never knocked; but, although
he was going to propose to make Agatha his wife, he felt that he could
no longer treat her, with his accustomed familiarity.

He entered the room and found Agatha seated; so far she had taken her
friend's advice; she was very pale, but still she looked calm and
dignified, and was certainly much less confused than her lover.

"Agatha," said he, having walked up to the fire-place, and leaning with
his arm upon the mantle-piece, "Agatha, tomorrow I start for Saumur."

He was dressed very point-de-vice; the frills of his shirt were most
accurately starched; his long black hair was most scrupulously brushed;
his hands were most delicately white; his boots most brilliantly
polished; he appeared more fit to adorn the salon of an ambassador, than
to take a place as a warrior beneath the walls of a besieged town.
Adolphe was always particular in his dress, but he now exceeded himself;
and he appeared to be the more singular in this respect at Durbelliere
just at present, as the whole of the party except himself women
included, had forgotten or laid aside, as unimportant, the usual cares
of the toilet.

"You, at any rate, go in good company, Adolphe," said Agatha, attempting
to smile. "May you all be successful, and return as heroes--heroes,
indeed, you are already; but may you gather fresh laurels at Saumur. I
am sure you will. I, for one, am not in the least despondent."

"Yes, Agatha, I shall go to Saumur, determined at any rate not to lose
there any little honour I may yet have won. If I cannot place the white
flag of La Vendee on the citadel of Saumur, I will at any rate fall in
attempting it."

"I am very sure, that if you fail, it will not be for lack of courage,
or of resolution. You and Henri, and M. de Lescure and our good friend
Cathelineau, have taught us to expect victory as the sure result of your
attempts."

"Ah! Agatha, one word from your lips, such as I long to hear, would make
me feel that I could chain victory to my sword, and rush into the midst
of battle panoplied against every harm."

"Your duty to your King should be your best assurance of victory; your
trust in your Saviour, your panoply against harm; if these did not avail
you, as I know they do, the vain word of a woman would be of little
service."

"You speak coldly, Agatha, and you look coldly on me. I trust your
feelings are not cold also."

"I should have hoped that many years of very intimate acquaintance
between us, of friendship commenced in childhood, and now cemented by
common sympathies and common dangers, would have made you aware that my
feelings are not cold towards you."

"Oh no! not cold in the ordinary sense. You wish me well, I doubt not,
and your kind heart would grieve, if you heard that I had fallen beneath
the swords of the republicans; but you would do the same for Cathelineau
or M. de Bonchamps. If I cannot wake a warmer interest in your heart
than that, I should prefer that you should forget me altogether."

Agatha began to fear that at this rate the interview would have no end.
If Adolphe remained with his arm on the marble slab, and his head on one
side, making sentimental speeches, till she should give him
encouragement to fall at her feet, it certainly would not be ended by
bed-time. She, therefore, summoned all her courage, and said,

"When you asked me to meet you here, your purpose was not to reproach
me with coldness--was it Adolphe? Perhaps it will be better for both of
us that this interview should terminate now. We shall part friends, dear
friends; and I will rejoice at your triumphs, when you are victorious;
and will lament at your reverses, should you be unlucky. I shall do the
same for my own dear Henri, and I know that you two will not be
separated. There is my hand," she added, thinking that he appeared to
hesitate; "and now let us go down to our friends, who are expecting us."

"Are you so soon weary of hearing the few words I wish to say to you?"
said Adolphe, who had taken her hand, and who seemed inclined to keep
it.

"No, I am not weary. I will hear anything you wish to say." And Agatha
having withdrawn her hand, sat down, and again found herself in a
position to take advantage of Marie's good advice.

Adolphe remained silent for a minute or two, with his head supported on
his hand, and gazing on the lady of his love with a look that was
intended to fascinate her. Agatha sat perfectly still; she was evidently
mindful of the lesson she had received: at last, Adolphe started up from
his position, walked a step or two into the middle of the room, thrust
his right hand into his bosom; and said abruptly, "Agatha, this is
child's play; we are deceiving each other; we are deceiving ourselves;
we would appear to be calm when there is no calm within us."

"Do not say we. I am not deceiving myself; I trust I am not deceiving
you."

"And is your heart really so tranquil?" said he. "Does that fair bosom
control no emotion? Is that lovely face, so exquisitely pale, a true
index of the spirit within? Oh! Agatha! it cannot be; while my own heart
is so torn with love; while I feel my own pulses beat so strongly; while
my own brain burns so fiercely, I cannot believe that your bosom is a
stranger to all emotion! Some passion akin to humanity must make you
feel that you are not all divine! Speak, Agatha; if that lovely form has
within it ought that partakes of the weakness of a woman, tell me, that
at some future time you will accept the love I offer you; tell me, that
I may live in hope. Oh, Agatha! bid me not despair," and M. Denot in
bodily reality fell prostrate at her feet.

When Agatha had gone up to her room, she had prepared herself for a most
disagreeable interview, but she had not expected anything so really
dreadful as this. Adolphe had not contented himself with kneeling at her
feet on one knee, and keeping his head erect in the method usual in such
cases; but he had gone down upon both knees, had thrown his head upon
her feet, and was now embracing her shoes and stockings in a very
vehement manner; her legs were literally caught in a trap; she couldn't
move them; and Adolphe was sobbing so loudly that it was difficult to
make him hear anything.

"Adolphe, Adolphe, get up!" she almost screamed, "this is ridiculous in
the extreme; if you will not get up, I must really call for some one. I
cannot allow you to remain there!"

"Oh, Agatha, Agatha!" sobbed Adolphe.

"Nonsense, Adolphe," said Agatha. "Are you a man, to lie grovelling on
the floor like that? Rise up, or you will lose my esteem for ever, if
that be of any value to you."

"Give me one gleam of hope, and I will rise," said he, still remaining
on his knees, but now looking up into her face; "tell me not to despair,
and I will then accomplish any feat of manhood. Give me one look of
comfort, and I will again be the warrior ready for the battle; it is you
only who can give me back my courage; it is you only who can restore to
me the privilege of standing erect before all mankind."

"I can tell you nothing, Adolphe, but this--that, if you continue on
your knees, I shall despise you; if you will rise, I will give you at
any rate a reasonable answer."

"Despise me, Agatha! no, you cannot despise me; the unutterable burning
love of a true heart is not despicable; the character which I bear
before mankind is not despicable. Man is not despicable when he kneels
before the object which he worships; and, Agatha, with all my heart, I
worship you!"

"Now you are profane as well as contemptible, and I shall leave you,"
and she walked towards the door.

"Stay then," said he, "stay, and I will rise," and, suiting the action
to the. word, he got up. "Now speak to me in earnest, Agatha; and, since
you will have it so, I also, if possible, will be calm. Speak to me;
but, unless you would have the misery of a disturbed spirit on your
conscience, bid me not despair!"

"Is that your calmness, Adolphe?"

"Can a man, rushing towards the brink of a precipice, be calm? Can a man
be calm on the verge of the grave? I love you, Agatha, with a true and
holy love; but still with a love fierce and untameable. You reviled me
when I said I worshipped you, but I adore the ground you tread on, and
the air you breathe. I would shed my last drop of blood to bring you
ease; but I could not live and see you give that fair hand to another.
My joy would be to remain ever as your slave; but then the heart that
beats beneath your bosom must be my own. Agatha, I await your answer;
one word from your lips can transport me to paradise!"

"If I am to understand that you are asking me for love--for a warmer
love than that which always accompanies true friendship--I am obliged
to say that I cannot give it you." Adolphe remained standing in the
middle of the room, with his hand still fixed in his bosom, and with a
look intended to represent both thunder and lightning. He had really
thought that the little scene which he had gone through, very much to
his own satisfaction, would have a strong effect on Agatha, and he was
somewhat staggered by the cool and positive tone of her reply. "It
grieves me that I should give you pain," she continued, "if my answer
does pain you; but I should never forgive myself, were I not to speak
the truth to you plainly, and at once."

"And do you mean that for your final, and only answer to me?"

"Certainly, my only answer; for I can give you no other. I know you will
be too kind, too sensible, to make it necessary that I should repeat
it."

"This is dreadful," said Denot, putting his hand to his brow, "this is
very dreadful!" and he commenced pacing up and down the room.

"Come," said she, good naturedly, "let us go down--let us forget this
little episode--you have so much of happiness, and of glory before you,
that I should grieve to see you mar your career by a hopeless passion.
Take the true advice of a devoted friend," and she put her hand kindly
on his arm, "let us both forget this morning's scene--let us only
remember our childhood's friendship; think, Adolphe, how much you have
to do for your King and your country, and do hot damp your glorious
exertion by fostering a silly passion. Am not I the same to you as a
sister? Wait till these wars are over, and then I will gather flowers
for you to present to some mistress who shall truly love you."

"No, Agatha, the flowers you gather for me shall never leave my own
bosom. If it be the myrtle, I will wear it with joy to my dying day,
next my heart: if it is to be a cyprus branch, it shall soon be laid
with me in the tomb."

"You will think less sadly in a short time," said Agatha; "your spirits
will recover their proper tone amid the excitement of battle. We had
better part now, Adolphe;" and she essayed to leave the room, but he was
now leaning against the door, and did not seem inclined to let her
depart so easily.

"You will not, I hope, begrudge me a few moments," said he, speaking
between his teeth.

"You may reject me with scorn, but you can hardly refuse me the courtesy
which any gentleman would have a right to expect from your hands."

"You know that I will refuse you nothing which, either in courtesy or
kindness, I can do for you," said she, again sitting down. He, however,
seeing her once more seated, did not appear much inclined to conclude
what he had to say to her, for he continued walking up and down the
room, in a rather disturbed manner; "but you should remember," she
added, "how soon Henri is going to leave me, and how much we have all
to think and to talk of."

"I see my presence is unwelcome, and it shall not trouble you long. I
would soon rid your eyes of my hated form, but I must first say a few
words, though my throat be choked with speaking them. My passion for you
is no idle boyish love; it has grown with my growth, and matured itself
with my manhood. I cannot now say to myself that it shall cease to be.
I cannot restore calmness to my heart or rest to my bosom. My love is
a fire which cannot now be quenched; it must be nourished, or it will
destroy the heart which is unable to restrain it. Think, Agatha, of all
the misery you are inflicting; think also of the celestial joy one word
of yours is capable of giving."

"I have said before that I grieve to pain you; but I cannot speak a
falsehood. Were it to save us both from instant death, I could not say
that I love you in the sense you mean."

"Oh, Agatha! I do not ask you to love me--that is not to love me now;
if you will only say that your heart is not for ever closed against my
prayers, I will leave you contented."

"I can say nothing which would give you any hope of that which can never
happen."

"And that is all I am to expect from you in return for as true a love
as man ever bore to woman?"

"I cannot make you the return you wish. I can give you no other answer."

"Well, Agatha, so be it. You shall find now that I can be calm, when my
unalterable resolve requires it. You shall find that I am a man; at any
rate, you shall not again have to tell me that I am despicable," and he
curled his upper lip, and showed his teeth in a very ferocious manner.
"You shall never repeat that word in regard to Adolphe Denot. Should
kind fortune favour my now dearest wish, you will soon hear that my
bones are whitening under the walls of Saumur. You will hear that your
des-pi-ca-ble lover," and he hissed out the offending word, syllable by
syllable, between his closed teeth, "has perished in his attempt to be
the first to place the white flag of La Vendee above the tri-colour. If
some friendly bullet will send me to my quiet home, Adolphe Denot shall
trouble you no longer," and as he spoke the last few words, he softened
his voice, and re-assumed his sentimental look; but he did not remain
long in his quiet mood, for he again became furious, as he added: "But
if fortune should deny me this boon, if I cannot find the death I go to
seek, I swear by your own surpassing beauty, by your glorious unequalled
form, that I will not live without you. Death shall be welcome to me,"
and he raised his hands to heaven, and then dashed them against his
breast. "Oh! how dearly welcome! Yes, heroic death upon the battlefield
shall calm this beating heart--shall quell these agonized pangs. Yes,
Agatha, if fortune be but kind, death, cold death, shall soon relieve
us both; shall leave you free to bestow upon a colder suitor the prize
you have refused to my hot, impatient love; but if," (and here he
glanced very wildly round him), "my prayers are not heard, if after
Saumur's field, life be still left within my body's sanctuary, I will
return to seize you as my own, though hosts in armour try to stop my
way. I will not live without you. I will not endure to see another man
aspire to the hand which has been refused to me. Adieu, Agatha, adieu!
I trust we shall meet no more; in thinking of me, at any rate, your
memory shall not call me despicable," and he rushed out of the door and
down stairs, without waiting to hear whether Agatha intended making any
answer to this poetical expression of his fixed resolution.

In the commencement of his final harangue, Agatha had determined to hear
him quietly to the end; but she had not expected anything so very mad
as the exhibition he made. However, she sat quietly through the whole
of it, and was glad that she was spared the necessity of a reply.

Nothing more was seen of Adolphe Denot that night. Henri asked his
sister whether she had seen him, and she told him that he had made a
declaration of love to her, and had expressed himself ill-satisfied with
the only answer she had been able to give him. She did not tell her
brother how like a demoniac his friend had behaved. To Marie she was
more explicit; to her she repeated as nearly as possible the whole scene
as it had occurred; and although Agatha was almost weeping with sorrow,
there was so much that was ludicrous in the affair, that Marie could not
keep herself from laughing.

"He will trouble you no more," said she. "You will find that he will not
return to Durbelliere to carry you off through the armed hosts. He will
go to England or emigrate; and in a few years' time, when you meet him
again, you will find him settled down, and as quiet as his neighbours.
He is like new-made wine, my dear--he only wants age."

On the following morning, by break of day, the party left Durbelliere,
and Adolphe Denot joined his friend on the gravelled ring before the
house; and Agatha, who had been with her brother in his room, looking
from the widow saw her unmanageable lover mount his horse in a quiet,
decent way, like the rest of the party.

CHAPTER IX

LE MOUCHOIR ROUGE.

Nothing interfered to oppose the advance of the royalist troops towards
Saumur. At Coron, as had been proposed, Larochejaquelin and Denot joined
Father Jerome; and Cathelineau also, and M. d'Elbee joined them there.
Every house in the town was open to them, and the provisions, which by
the care of M. de Larochejaquelin had been sent there, were almost
unneeded. If there was any remnant of republican feeling in Coron, at
any rate it did not dare to shew itself. The road which the royalists
intended to take ran from Cholet, through Coron, Vihiers, and Doue, to
Saumur. The republicans, who were now in great force at Saumur, under
Generals Coustard and Quetineau, had sent small parties of soldiers into
the town of Vihiers and Doue, the inhabitants of which were mostly
republican. Before the arrival of M. de Larochejaquelin, the blues, as
the republican troops were called by the Vendeans, had been driven out
of Vihiers by a party of royalists under the direction of Stofflet, who
had raised himself to distinction soon after the commencement of the
revolt. This man was a gamekeeper in the employment of an emigrant
nobleman, and though he was a rough, harsh, uneducated, quarrelsome man,
nevertheless, by his zeal and courage, he had acquired great influence
among the people, and was now at the head of a numerous, and, for La
Vendee, well-armed body of men.

Our friends accordingly found the road open for them as far as Doue.
After their junction with Stofflet, their army amounted to about 7,500
men; and at Done they were to meet M. Bonchamps and M. de Lescure, who,
it was supposed, would bring with them as many more. They marched out
of Vihiers early on the Tuesday morning, having remained there only
about a couple of hours, and before nightfall they saw the spire of Doue
church. They then rested, intending to force their way into the town
early on the following morning; but they had barely commenced their
preparations for the evening, when a party of royalists came out to them
from the town, inviting them in. M. de Lescure and M. Bonchamps were
already there. The republican soldiers had been attacked and utterly
routed; most of them were now prisoners in the town; those who had
escaped had retreated to Saumur, and even they had left their arms
behind them.

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