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La Vendee by Anthony Trollope

A >> Anthony Trollope >> La Vendee




Henri had seen that the spirit of jealousy was already rising in Adolphe
Denot's face. No allusion had been made to his services; his advice had
never been asked in the council; there was no probability that he would
be named as one of the leaders; he had hardly spoken a word since they
had assembled in the council-room. Henri, though his own heart was a
stranger to the jealousy and dread of neglect which tormented Adolphe,
sympathised with, and felt for his friend; and he thought that if they
were both together excluded from command at his request, the blow would
be less keenly felt. They were the two youngest in the room, and their
youth was a good reason why they should not be named; but Henri was the
younger of the two, and he knew that if he were selected as one of the
chiefs, Adolphe would be miserable at finding himself left out.

De Lescure, however, would not allow of this. He had promised that he
would not disgrace Denot, by telling of the cowardice he had shewn at
the Bridge of Fouchard, and he was determined to keep his word; but he
would not allow his cousin, his pupil, his bosom friend, the man whom
he loved with the affection of a brother and a father, to sink himself
to the same level as a coward.

"How absurd is this!" said he, angrily. "I wonder, Henri, that you
should be the first to create such foolish difficulties, when our very
existence depends on perfect unanimity. In proportion as our means of
enforcing obedience is slender, should our resolution be firm,
implicitly to obey the directions of those who are selected as our
leaders. We have made Cathelineau our General, and desired him to select
his officers, and when he selects you as one, you object. If you object
from a proper modesty, it argues that those who accept, shew an improper
degree of assurance. You should think of these things, Henri."

"I resign myself to my dignity, and am dumb," said Henri laughing. "Go
on, Cathelineau, and if the men you name, say but one word, one syllable
against your choice--I'll slay them."

Cathelineau knew that all his difficulty still lay before him; those
whom he had already chosen would as a matter of course be among the
number; but who were to be the other three?

"M. Donnissan," said be, in a whisper to de Lescure, who was sitting
next to him. "I do not know what his wishes might be."

"My father-in-law feels himself too old," answered de Lescure; "d'Elbee
would be a much fitter person; he is thought so much of at Beauprieu."

"And the other two?" asked Cathelineau.

"Name one yourself, and ask Bonchamps to name the other."

"M. d'Elbee," said Cathelineau, aloud, "you will not, I am sure, refuse
to take your portion of our labours."

"You will find," whispered Stofflet to his neighbour, "that as
Providence has called upon him, he will be willing enough."

"I will do my best," said d'Elbee "as I am called upon; and may the Lord
direct me, that I may fight His battle so as to do honour to His name."

"I think I will name Stofflet," said Cathelineau, consulting with
Bonchamps and de Lescure; "he is a brave man, and though rude in his
manner, he will make perhaps the best soldier among us; already the men
obey him almost more implicitly than any one."

"Do--do!" said Bonchamps; "you cannot do better."

"I think you will be right to do so," said de Lescure, "though I do not
like the man; but the peasants know him, and he is one of themselves.
Yesterday morning I had ample proof of his courage. As you say, he is
a brave man and a good soldier."

Stofflet was then informed that he had been named, and though he
muttered some expressions as to his own want of the necessary
qualifications, he was evidently well pleased that the choice had fallen
on him.

And now the last of the lot was to be chosen. As the two last names had
been mentioned, Denot's brow had grown blacker and blacker. Henri
Larochejaquelin, during the whole proceeding, had been walking about the
room, sitting now in one place, and now in another. At the present
moment, he was sitting next to Adolphe, who, when Stofflet's name was
mentioned, whispered to him, but almost audibly:

"Gracious heaven! Stofflet!--the whole affair is becoming discreditable.
How can any gentleman serve under such a man as that?"

"You think too much of rank, Adolphe," said Henri; "we should entirely
forget all distinctions of person now; unless we do so we can never
succeed."

"But do you think we are more likely to set the King upon his throne,
by making such a brute as that a General? I wonder whom our
Commander-in-Chief will choose next--Foret, I suppose."

After having again consulted for some time, Bonchamps said to
Cathelineau: "I do not think you can do better than name Adolphe Denot."

This was said in a low voice, but Adolphe's ears were not slow to catch
his own name, and he was once more happy. Though he was named last, he
would be equal with the others.

"Not so," said de Lescure, who had no idea that Denot had overheard the
mention of his name, "Adolphe is not yet sufficiently known to the
people; besides we have hitherto forgotten one, who though absent, we
must not forget--one who was the first in the field against the
Republic, who is already at the head of an army, and who has on various
occasions shown himself capable to lead an army. We must not forget
Charette."

The last words were spoken out loud, and though they were eagerly
responded to by every one else, they fell with a heavy sound on Adolphe
Denot's ear. To know that he was excluded after he had been named, to
feel that he had been proposed merely to be rejected; it was more than
he could bear; and as soon as Cathelineau had formally announced the
name of M. Charette as one of their leaders, he started abruptly from
his chair and said:

"Oh, of course, gentlemen, if you prefer Charette, so be it! He,
doubtless will be better able to assist your endeavours than I should;
but you might have spared me the mortification of putting my name on
your list of officers, merely to scratch it off again."

"What matters it, Adolphe," said Larochejaquelin, blushing for his
friend, "will you not share my command? Will not your word be as
influential in the parishes of Chatillon as my own?"

"I sincerely beg your pardon, M. Denot," said Cathelineau, "if I have
hurt your feelings, but you are as much aware as we are that we should
be very wrong to neglect the merits of M. Charette; his achievements
claim from us this distinction, and his power and influence would
probably be lost to La Vendee, if we did not now incorporate his army
with ours."

"I have nothing further to say," said Denot. I must own I do not
altogether admire the selection which has been made; but I have nothing
further to say on the subject."

"I am sorry, Adolphe, that you have said so much," said de Lescure.

"You would have been apt to say more yourself if you had been passed
over," said Adolphe, forgetting in his passion how he had disgraced
himself before de Lescure at the bridge of Fouchard.

"I fear you misunderstand the purpose, which has collected here in
Saumur so many men in arms," said he. "I fear that you think the
peasants of our country have turned themselves into soldiers, that we
might become generals, and play at being great men. Indeed, such is not
the case; if personal ambition has brought you here, you had better
leave us. We have come here to fight, and very probably to die for our
King and our religion; and, being called upon to act as leaders, we must
bear a heavier share of the burden, and undergo greater perils than
others; but we seek no especial dignity, we look for no other
pre-eminence, than that of suffering more than others. I fear these are
not the feelings that influence you."

"My feelings, Sir, are as pure as your own!" said Denot.

"If so," said Father Jerome, "you had better teach us all to think so,
by taking care that your conduct is also as pure as M. de Lescure's."

"Oh, Father Jerome, do not anger him," said Henri. "Come with me,
Adolphe, and we will quietly talk over this; they don't exactly
understand what you mean yet."

"But they shall understand what I mean," said Denot, whose anger was now
beyond control, "and they shall know that I will not remain here to be
rebuked by a priest, who has thrust himself into affairs with which he
has no concern; or to make myself subservient to men who are not fit to
be my equals. I will not deign to be a common soldier, when such a man
as Stofflet is made an officer."

And he got up from the chair in which he had again seated himself, and
stalked out of the room.

"He has at any rate proved to us," said Bonchamps, "that I was wrong to
nominate him, and that you were right not to accept the nomination."

"I grieve that he should be vexed with me," said Stofflet; "but I did
not seek to put myself above him."

"Time and experience will make him wise," said de Lescure: "let us pity
his folly and forgive it."

The council was then broken up, and the different officers went each to
perform his own duties. When Denot left the room, Henri immediately
followed him.

"Adolphe," said he, as he overtook him in the market-place, "Adolphe,
indeed you are wrong, no one meant to show you any indignity."

"And have you also followed me to tell me I am wrong--of course I am
wrong--I am wrong because I will not submit, as you and Charles do, to
ignorant boors like Stofflet and Cathelineau, because--"

"Like Cathelineau! why, Adolphe, you are mad," said Henri, "why you
yourself voted that Cathelineau should be our General."

"Voted! Why, Henri, what a child you are! Do you call that voting when
all was arranged beforehand? You are blind, I tell you. You will vote
next, I suppose, that your great General's valour shall de rewarded with
your sister's hand!"

"My sister's hand! what is it you are speaking of?"

"Yes, Agatha's hand! think you that when you make a General of such as
him, that his ambition will rest there? if you are content to be
lieutenant to a postillion, I presume you will feel yourself honoured
by a nearer connexion with him."

"Denot, you are raving mad! Cathelineau looking for my sister's hand?"

"Yes, Agatha's hand, the postillion looking for your sister's hand; and,
Sir, you will find that I am not mad. Before long, Cathelineau will look
for Agatha's hand: her heart he has already," and without waiting for
any further answer, he hurried away.

"He must be raving mad," said Henri, "unlucky in love, and thwarted in
ambition, he is unable to bear his griefs like a man. What a phantasy
has jealousy created in his brain But Agatha was right; a man who could
speak of her, even in his madness, as he has now spoken, was not worthy
of her. Cathelineau! were he ten times lower than a postillion by birth,
he would still be twenty times made noble by achievements and by
character, and yet I would not wish--but nonsense! he thinks no more of
wedding Agatha than I of Diana."



CHAPTER III

RETURN TO DURBELLIERE

When Adolphe Denot left his friend Henri in the street of Saumur, and
ran off from him, Henri was so completely astonished by his parting
words, so utterly dumb-founded by what he said respecting Agatha, that
he made no attempt to follow him, but returned after awhile to the
house, in which he, Charles and Adolphe were lodging, and as he walked
slowly through the streets, he continued saying to himself, "Poor
fellow, he is mad! he is certainly raving mad!"

From that time, no tidings whatsoever were heard of Denot. He had never
returned to his lodging, nor been seen anywhere, except in the stable,
in which his horse had been put to stand--he had himself saddled his
horse, and taken him from the stall, and from that moment nothing
further could be learnt of him in Saumur. De Lescure and Henri made the
most minute inquiries--but in vain; had he destroyed himself, or hid
himself in the town, his horse would certainly have been found; it was
surmised that he had started for Paris on some mad speculation; and
though his friends deeply grieved at his misconduct, his absence, when
they had so much to do and to think of was in itself, felt as a relief.

After remaining about a week in Saumur, the army was disbanded--or
rather disbanded itself, for every effort was made, to keep together as
great a body of men as possible. An attempt was made to garrison the
town; and for this purpose, the leaders undertook to pay about one
thousand men, at a certain rate per day, for their services, while they
remained under arms in Saumur, but the idea, after a very short time,
was abandoned; the men would not stay away from their homes, and in
spite of the comforts which were procured for them, and the pay which
was promised, the garrison very quickly dissolved.

Cathelineau succeeded in taking back with him to St. Florent, nearly all
the men who had accompanied him; his next object was the attack of
Nantes, and as St. Florent is between Saumur and that town, his men were
able to return to their homes, without going much out of their direct
way. He marched through the town of Angers on his return, and took
possession of the stores which he found there, the republican garrison
having fled as soon as they heard of his approach; many of Bonchamps'
men accompanied him, and some of those who had come to Saumur with de
Lescure and Henri Larochejaquelin, young men who had no wives or
families, and who literally preferred the excitement of the campaign,
to their ordinary home employments; all such men joined Cathelineau's
army, but by far the greater number of the peasants of the Bocage
returned with de Lescure and Larochejaquelin.

Charette had been invited to assist Cathelineau in his attack on Nantes,
and he had promised to do so; de Lescure found it absolutely necessary
to go home, on account of his wound, and Larochejaquelin went with him.
They had already heard that the Convention had determined to invade La
Vendee on every side with an overwhelming force, and it was necessary
to protect the Southern portion of the province; this duty was allotted
to our two friends, and they therefore returned home from Saumur,
without expecting to enjoy for any length of time the fruits of their
recent victory.

A litter was formed for de Lescure, for at present he found it
impossible to bear the motion of riding, and Henri, the little
Chevalier, Father Jerome and Chapeau, accompanied him on horseback. Many
of the peasants had started from Saumur, before their party, and the
whole road from that town through Dou and Vihiers to Durbelliere, was
thronged with crowds of these successful warriors, returning to their
families, anxious to tell to their wives and sweethearts the feats they
had accomplished.

They were within a league of Durbelliere, and had reached a point where
a cross-road led from the one they were on to the village of
Echanbroignes, and at this place many of the cortege, which was now
pretty numerous, turned off towards their own homes.

"M. Henri," said Chapeau, riding up to his master, from among two or
three peasants, who had been walking for some time by hi horse's side,
and anxiously talking to him, "M. Henri?"

"Well, Jacques; what is it now?" said Henri.

"I have a favour to ask of Monsieur."

"A favour, Chapeau; I suppose you want to go to Echanbroignes already,
to tell Michael Stein's pretty daughter, of all the gallant things you
did at Saumur."

"Not till I have waited on you and M. de Lescure to the chateau. Momont
would be dying if he had not some one to give him a true account of what
has been done, and I do not know that any one could give him a much
better history of it, than myself--of course not meaning such as you and
M. de Lescure, who saw more of the fighting than any one else; but then
you know, M. Henri, you will have too much to do, and too much to say
to the Marquis, and to Mademoiselle, to be talking to an old man like
Momont."

"Never fear, Chapeau. You shall have Momont's ears all to yourself; but
what is it you do want?"

"Why, nothing myself exactly, M. Henri; but there are two men from
Echanbroignes here, who wish you to allow them to go on to Durbelliere,
and stay a day or two there: they are two of our men, M. Henri; two of
the red scarfs."

"Two of the red scarfs!" said Henri.

"Yes, M. Henri, two of the men who went through the water, and took the
town; we call ourselves red scarfs, just to distinguish ourselves from
the rest of the army: your honour is a red scarf that is the chief of
the red scarfs; and we expect to be especially under your honour's
protection."

"I am a red scarf, Henri;" said the little Chevalier. "There are just
two hundred of us, and we mean to be the most dare-devil set in the
whole army; won't we make the cowardly blues afraid of the Durbelliere
red scarfs!"

"And who are the two men, Jacques?" said Henri.

"Jean and Peter Stein," said Jacques: "you see, M. Henri, they ran away
to the battle, just in direct opposition to old Michael's positive
orders. You and the Cure must remember how I pledged my honour that they
should be at Saumur, and so they were: but Michael Stein is an awful
black man to deal with when his back is up: he thinks no more of giving
a clout with his hammer, than another man does of a rap with his five
knuckles."

"But his sons are brave fellows," said the little Chevalier, "and dashed
into the water among the very first. Michael Stein can't but be proud
that his two sons should be both red scarfs: if so, he must be a
republican."

"He is no republican, Chevalier," said Chapeau, "that's quite certain,
nor yet any of the family; but he is a very black man, and when once
angered, not easy to be smoothed down again; and if M. Henri will allow
Jean and Peter to come on to Durbelliere, I can, perhaps, manage to go
back with them on Sunday, and Michael Stein will mind me more than he
will them: I can knock into his thick head better than they can do, the
high honour which has befallen the lads, in their chancing to have been
among the red scarfs."

"Well, Chapeau, let them come," said Henri. "No man that followed me
gallantly into Saumur, shall be refused admittance when he wishes to
follow me into Durbelliere."

"We were cool enough, weren't we, Henri, when we marched into the town?"
said the Chevalier.

"We'll have a more comfortable reception at the old chateau," said
Henri; "at any rate, we'll have no more cold water. I must say, Arthur,
I thought the water of that moat had a peculiarly nasty taste."

They were not long in reaching the chateau, and Henri soon found himself
in his sister's arms. A confused account, first of the utter defeat of
the Vendeans at Varin, and then of their complete victory at Saumur, had
reached Durbelliere; and though the former account had made them as
miserable, as the latter had made them happy, neither one nor the other
was entirely believed. De Lescure had sent an express to Clisson
immediately after the taking of the town, and Madame de Lescure had sent
from Clisson to Durbelliere; but still it was delightful to have the
good news corroborated by the conquerors themselves, and Agatha was
supremely happy.

"My own dear, darling Henri," she said, clinging round his neck, "my own
brave, gallant brother, and were you not wounded at all--are you sure
you are not wounded?"

"Not a touch, not a scratch, Agatha, as deep as you might give me with
your bodkin."

"Thank God! I thank Him with all my heart and soul: and I know you were
the first everywhere. Charles wrote but a word or too to Victorine, but
he said you were the very first to set your foot in Saumur."

"A mere accident, Agatha; while Charles had all the fighting--the real
hard, up hill, hand to 'hand work--I and a few others walked into
Saumur, or rather we swam in, and took possession of the town. The
Chevalier here was beside me, and was over the breach as soon as I was."

"My brave young Arthur!" said Agatha, in her enthusiasm, kissing the
forehead of the blushing Chevalier, "you have won your spurs like a
knight and a hero; you shall be my knight and my hero. And I will give
you my glove to wear in your cap. But, tell me Arthur, why have you and
Henri, those red handkerchiets tied round your waist? Chapeau has one
too, and those other men, below there."

"That's our uniform," said Arthur. "We are all red scarfs; all the men
who clambered into Saumur through the water, are to wear red scarfs till
the war is over; and they are to be seen in the front, at every battle,
seige and skirmish. Mind, Agatha, when you see a red scarf, that he is
one of Henri Larochejaquelin's own body-guard; and when you see a bald
pate, it belongs to a skulking republican."

"Are the republicans all bald then?" said Agatha.

"We shaved all we caught at Saumur, at any rate. We did not leave a hair
upon one of them," said Arthur, rejoicing. "The red scarfs are fine
barbers, when a republican wants shaving."

"Is Charles badly wounded?" asked Agatha.

"His arm is broken, and he remained in action for eight hours after
receiving the wound, so that it was difficult to set; but now it is
doing well," said Henri.

"I should have offered him my services before this: at any rate I will
do so now; but Henri I have a thousand things to say to you; do not
expect to go to bed tonight, till you have told me everything just as
it happened," and Agatha hurried away, to give her sweet woman's aid to
her wounded cousin, while Henri went into his father's room.

"Welcome, my hero! welcome, my gallant boy!" said the old man, almost
rising from his chair, cripple as he was, in his anxiety to seize the
hand of his beloved son.

"I have come home, safe, father," said Henri, "to lay my sword at your
feet."

"You must not leave it there long, Henri, I fear, you must not leave it
there long; these traitors are going to devour us alive; to surround us
with their troops and burn us out of house and home; they will
annihilate the people they say, destroy the towns, and root out the very
trees and hedges. We shall see, Henri--we shall see. So they made a bad
fight of it at Saumur?"

"They had two men to one against us, besides the advantage of position,
discipline and arms, and yet they marched the best part of their troops
off in the night without striking a blow."

"Thanks be to the Lord, we will have our King again; we will have our
dear King once more, thanks be to the Almighty," said the old man, eager
with joy. "And they fled, did they, without striking a blow!"

"Some of them did, father; but some fought well enough; it was desperate
sharp work when poor Charles was wounded."

"God bless him! God bless him! I didn't doubt it was sharp work; but
even with valour, or without valour, what could sedition and perjury
avail against truth and loyalty! they were two to one; they had stone
walls and deep rivers to protect them; they had arms and powder, and
steel cuirasses; they had disciplined troops and all the appanages of
war, and yet they were scattered like chaff; driven from their high
walls and deep moats, by a few half-armed peasants; and why? why have
our batons been more deadly than their swords? because we have had truth
and loyalty on our side. Why have our stuff jackets prevailed against
their steel armour; because they covered honest hearts that were
fighting honestly for their King. His Majesty shall enjoy his own again,
my boy. Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!"

"I trust he may, father; but, as you say, we shall have some hard work
to do first. Cathelineau and Charette will be before Nantes in a week's
time. I should have been with them had we not heard that a strong body
of republican troops is to be stationed at Parthenay. They say that
Santerre is to command a party of Marseillaise, commissioned to
exterminate the Vendeans."

"What, Santerre, the brewer of the Faubourgs?"

"The same, Danton's friend, he who used to be so loud at the Cordeliers;
and Westerman is to assist him," said Henri.

"Worse again, Henri, worse again; was it not he who headed the rebels
on the tenth of August, when our sainted King was driven from his home?"

"Yes, the same Westerman is now to drive us from our homes; or rather
to burn us, our homes, and all together--such at least is the task
allotted to him."

"God help our babes and our women!" said the old Marquis shuddering, "if
they fall into the clutches of Santerre, and that other still blacker
demon!"

"Do not fear, father; have we not shewn that we are men? Santerre will
find that he has better soldiers to meet than any he brings with him."

"Fear, Henri! no, for myself I fear nothing. What injury can they do to
an old man like me? I do not even fear for my own children; if their
lives are required in the King's service, they know how to part with
them in perfect confidence of eternal happiness hereafter; but, Henri,
I do feel for our poor people; they are now full of joy and enthusiasm,
for they are warm from victory, and the grief of the few, who are
weeping for their relatives, is lost in the joy of the multitude. But
this cannot always be so, we cannot expect continual victory, and even
victory itself, when so often repeated, will bring death and desolation
into every parish and into every family."

Poetry Workshop creature features

For many years my local corner shop displayed a large sign in its window telling local residents to "use us or lose us!" It always looked a rather toothless threat to me. After all, if I didn't use them, what difference would it make to me if they weren't there? And surely a corner shop, one that had been there for years, would have enough customers to survive without recourse to such apocalyptic warning? But it didn't and was soon converted into flats.

This community shop was destroyed not so much by the pressures of the supermarkets or people's commuting patterns, but simply by customer apathy. It's something to think about as crime writers and readers across the world mourn the imminent passing of Maxim Jakubowski's celebrated Charing Cross Road bookshop in London, Murder One.

Apathy is a strange word to connect to a bookstore that thrives on passion. It's noticeable when you walk through the door, when you speak to the friendly, knowledgeable staff, when you look at the shelves and see the vast range of titles on offer. This isn't your regular kind of bookstore: the first time I visited spent a whole lunch break looking up and down, from floor to ceiling from table to table; it was an hour that changed my perception of both crime writing and of bookselling.

Murder One was – and for a few weeks will remain – a shop that took crime seriously. Not in the sense that it intellectualised it, or made unsubstantiated claims for its importance, but in the way that it treated crime writing with the respect it was due. With a genre that has so many off-shoots, branches and sub-genres, it took a shop of Murder One's calibre to show just how diverse, interesting and mentally stimulating crime could be – far more than the guilty pleasure I had, until then, considered it.

Thanks to judicious recommendations, enticing table displays and hours of foraging among the stacks, I discovered writers that I would never have picked up, let alone read. You could always get the latest blockbuster, but delve a little deeper and you'd find books that were not stocked anywhere else, novels that, like the perfect crime, were hidden from public view. The Martin Beck novels by Sjöwall & Wahlöö – probably my favourite sequence of novels in any genre – were introduced to me via Murder One, as were Kem Nunn, Sue Grafton, and Henning Mankell. It's also the staff of Murder One who piqued my interest in the inimitable Fred Vargas, and I can't thank them enough for the introduction.

Inclusive and without snobbery, Murder One amply demonstrated that the best bookshops are places not just of commerce, but of community; places that make feel you belong. It's the kind of store that bibliophiles dream about: well-stocked, well-staffed and shabby enough to lose days browsing within. It's just unfortunate that such shops don't have enough paying customers to keep them afloat, or that these customers visit all too infrequently – something of which I'm certainly guilty.

These kinds of shops are facing a long, bloody battle – and one which, without significant reinforcements, they are likely to lose. As we hear of the travesty of another brilliant independent going down, we'll mourn the loss, wring our hands and damn Amazon and the supermarkets and Waterstone's. Yet perhaps the most important detail we'll probably keep under wraps: the last time we actually spent any money there.

Murder One closing its doors for the final time is undoubtedly a .38 shell for independent bookshops, but whether it's body blow or a warning shot all depends upon us, the consumers. No one, no matter how iconic or established, can exist on fond memories alone: just ask Woolworths. Use these shops now, because it doesn't take a master sleuth to deduce what will happen if we don't.

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In focus: Liz Jobey continues her series on photography books with Richard Benson's personal tour through the evolution of the printed image

The green room: Carol Ann Duffy, poet
Imogen Russell-Williams: Vampires in the Twilight books not only lack bite, it pains me to say they even wear beige and sparkle in sunlight, so let's find out who the real suckers are