Baroness Emmuska Orczy - "I Will Repay"

W. D. (William Dool) Killen - "The Ignatian Epistles Entirely Spurious"

Aphra Behn - "The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II"

Various - "Scientific American, Vol.22, No. 1, January 1, 1870"

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La Vendee by Anthony Trollope

A >> Anthony Trollope >> La Vendee




In March, the Commissaries of the Republic entered these provinces to
collect from that district, its portion towards the levy of three
hundred thousand men which had been ordered by the Convention. This was
an intolerable grievance--it was not to be borne, that so many of their
youths should be forcibly dragged away to fight the battles of the
Republic--battles in which they would rather that the Republic should
be worsted. Besides, every one would lose a relative, a friend, or a
lover; the decree affected every individual in the district. The
peasants declared that they would not obey the orders of the
Convention--that they would not fight the battles of the Republic.

This was the commencement of the revolt. The troops of the Republic
were, of course, put in motion to assist the officers who were entrusted
with the carrying out of the conscription. There were garrisons in
Nantes, in Anjou, and in Saumur; and detachments from these places were
sent into the smaller towns and villages, into every mayoralty, to
enforce the collection of the levy, and to take off with them the
victims of the conscription. Among other places, an attempt was made to
carry out the new law at St. Florent, and at this place was made the
first successful resistance, by an armed force, to the troops of the
Convention.

St. Florent is a small town on the south bank of the Loire, in the
province of Anjou, and at the northern extremity of that district, now
so well known by the name of La Vendee. It boasted of a weekly market,
a few granaries for the storing of corn, and four yearly fairs for the
sale of cattle. Its population and trade, at the commencement of the
war, was hardly sufficient to entitle it to the name of a town; but it
had early acquired some celebrity as a place in which the Republic was
known to be very unpopular, and in which the attachment of the people
to the throne was peculiarly warm.

Here the work of the conscription was commenced in silence. The lists
were filled, and the names were drawn. No opposition was shown to the
employe's in this portion of their unpopular work. Indeed, it appears
that no organized system of opposition had been planned; but the first
attempt that was made to collect the unfortunate recruits upon whom the
lots had fallen, was the signal for a general revolt. The first name on
the list was that of Peter Berrier; and had Peter Berrier intended to
prove himself a good citizen and a willing soldier, he should, without
further call, have attended that day at the temporary barracks which had
been established in St. Florent. But he had not done so, and there was
nothing wonderful or unusual in this; for on all occasions of the kind
many of the conscripts had to be sought out, and brought forth from the
bosoms of their families, to which they retired, with a bashful
diffidence as to their own peculiar fitness for martial glory. But in
this instance not one of the chosen warriors obeyed the summons of the
Convention, by attending at the barracks of St. Florent. Not one of the
three hundred thousand men was there; and it was soon apparent to the
colonel in command of the detachment, that he had before him the
unpleasant duty of collecting one by one, from their different
hiding-places, the whole contingent which the town of St. Florent was
bound to supply.

Peter Berrier was the first on the list, and as it was well known that
he was an ostler at a little auberge in the middle of the square, a
corporal and a couple of soldiers was despatched to the house of
entertainment to capture him; and the trio soon found that they would
not have far to search, for Peter was standing at the gate of the inn
yard, and with him three or four of his acquaintance--men equally
well-known in St. Florent.

There was a sturdy farmer there of the better sort--a man who not only
held a farm near the town, but had a small shop within it, for the sale
of seeds and tools for planting--his name was Foret--and it was said
that no man in St. Florent was more anxious for the restoration of the
King. There was the keeper of the auberge himself, who seemed but little
inclined to find fault with his servant, for the contumacious manner in
which he treated the commands of the Convention; and there was the
well-known postillion of St. Florent, the crack of whose whip was so
welcome from Angers to Nantes, the sound of whose cheery voice was so
warmly greeted at every hostelrie between those towns. The name of
Cathelineau was not then so well known as it was some six months
afterwards, but even then Cathelineau, the postillion, was the most
popular man in St. Florent. He was the merriest among the mirthful, the
friend of every child, the playmate of every lass in the town; but he
was the comforter of those poorer than himself, and the solace of the
aged and afflicted. He was the friend of the banished priest, and the
trusted messenger of the royalist seigneur; all classes adored him, save
those who sided with the Republic, and by them he had long been looked
on as an open and declared enemy. St. Florent was justly proud of its
postillion; and now that evil days were come upon the little town, that
their priests were banished, and these young men called for to swell the
armies of the hated Convention, many flocked to Cathelineau to ask from
whence he expected deliverance from all their troubles.

It was well known that Peter Berrier was the first whom the Colonel's
myrmidons would be sent to seize, and many eyes were resting on the
group collected at the gateway of the auberge, as the corporal and the
two soldiers, without their muskets, but with pistols at their belts,
marched across from the little barracks to the spot where they were
standing. At any rate, Cathelineau had not advised a retreat, for there
stood Peter Berrier--prominent in the front of the group--a little pale
to be sure, and perhaps rather uneasy in his attitude; but still
evidently prepared to bear the brunt of that day's proceeding. He was
not going to run away, or he would long since have started. He was not
going to obey the orders of the Convention, or he would not have stood
there so openly and firmly, waiting the approach of the corporal and the
two soldiers. It was very evident that there was to be a row in St.
Florent that day, and that the postillion approved of it.

As the military party drew near to the gate of the inn yard, the
corporal opened a small roll of paper, which he held in his hand, and
standing still about six paces distant from the spot where Peter was
maintaining his ground, read or pretended to read, the following words
from the piece of paper which he held in his hands:

"In the name of the French Republic, and by command of the Convention,
you, Peter Berrier, having been duly, legally, and specially drawn,
chosen, and selected by lot, to serve in the armies of the Republic for
one year, from the date of your first bearing arms, or for so long as
your services may be necessary to the security of the Republic, are
hereby required and desired to join the detachment of the Republican
army at present serving in St. Florent, without let, delay, or
hindrance, and thereby show yourself a friend to your country, and a
good citizen of the Republic."

The corporal pronounced this form of invitation in that tone of voice,
which proved that it was very familiar to him, and that he was much in
the habit of requesting good citizens to join the armies of the Republic
for such time as their services might be necessary; and, having finished
it, he rolled up the piece of paper, stuck it into his belt, as he might
soon require the use of his hands, and, walking quite close up to the
group, said--

"Come, Peter Berrier, you are not such a fool, I hope, as to intend
giving us any trouble. Come along."

Peter looked first into the farmer's face; then to his master's; and,
lastly, to the postillion's; and, seeing that they were all evidently
firm in their resolve, he plucked up spirit, and replied.--"Why, Mr
Corporal, I have no inclination just at present to go to fight for the
Republic. You see I have no quarrel yet with my master here, M. Debedin,
and he cannot well spare me. I am afraid, Mr Corporal, I must decline."

"That's nonsense, you know," growled the corporal; "you must come, you
know; and as well first as last. I don't want to be uncivil to a
comrade, and I'd be sorry to have to lay a hand on you."

"Then you'd better keep your hands off," said Cathelineau, "we quiet
people in St. Florent don't bear handling well."

The corporal looked up at the postillion, but he soon saw that he wasn't
joking.

"Take my word for it, my friend," continued Cathelineau, "Peter Berrier
does not wish to be a soldier, and, if you force him to become one, it
is not on the side of the Republic that he will be found fighting."

"We'll take chances for that," replied the corporal, not exactly
understanding what the other meant; "at any rate, back without him we
won't go; and if you're determined for a riot, Messieurs, why I'm sorry;
but I can't help it," and, appealing to Peter as a last hope, he said,
"Come, Berrier, will you come with us quietly, or must we three drag you
across the square to the barracks."

"At any rate, Mr Corporal," said Peter, "I will not go with you quietly;
as to the being dragged, I can say nothing about that yet."

The corporal looked round towards the barracks, as he felt that it was
possible that he might want more assistance, and he saw that a body of
men under arms was standing immediately in front of the building, and
that a couple of the officers were with them. The corporal saw at a
glance that they were ready for immediate action, if their services
should be requisite. In fact, the colonel of the detachment well knew
the feeling in the place with reference to the levies of the
conscription. He was sure, from the fact of not a single man having
attended at the barracks, as directed, that there existed some general
determination to resist the demands of the Convention, and he had
consequently closely watched the proceedings of the corporal.

"Take your answer, Mr Corporal," said Cathelineau: "had Peter Berrier
intended to have joined you. he would not have troubled you to come
across the square to fetch him. In one word, he will not go with you;
if as you say, you intend to drag him across the market-place, you will
find that you have enough to do. Peter Berrier has many friends in St.
Florent."

The corporal again looked round, and he saw that the men under arms now
stretched from the front of the barracks, nearly into the square; but
he also saw that the inhabitants of the town were standing clustering
at all the doors, and that men were crowding towards the square from the
different inlets. Four or five of the more respectable inhabitants had
also joined the group in the gateway, from the hands of one of whom the
postillion quietly took a stout ash stick. The corporal, however, was
not a coward, and he saw that, if he intended to return with Peter
Berrier, he should not delay his work with any further parley, so he
took his pistol from his belt and cocked it, and, stepping quite close
to Berrier, said,

"Come men--forward, and bring him off; one man to each shoulder," and
he himself seized hold of the breast of Peter's coat with his left hand
and pulled him forward a step or two.

Peter was a little afraid of the pistol, but still he resisted manfully:
from the corporal's position, Cathelineau was unable to reach with his
stick the arm which had laid hold of Berrier, but it descended heavily
on the first soldier, who came to the corporal's assistance. The blow
fell directly across the man's wrist, and his arm dropt powerless to his
side. The corporal immediately released his hold of Peter's coat, and
turning on Cathelineau raised his pistol and fired; the shot missed the
postillion, but it struck M. Debedin, the keeper of the auberge, and
wounded him severely in the jaw. He was taken at once into the house,
and the report was instantaneously spread through the town, that M.
Debedin had been shot dead by the soldiery.

The ash stick of the postillion was again raised, and this time the
corporal's head was the sufferer; the man's shako protected his skull,
which, if uncovered, would have probably been fractured; but he was
half-stunned, at any rate stupified by the blow, and was pulled about
and pushed from one to another by the crowd who had now collected in the
archway, without making any further attempt to carry off his prisoner.

The other soldier, when he saw his two comrades struck, fired his pistol
also, and wounded some other person in the crowd. He then attempted to
make his escape back towards the barracks, but he was tripped up
violently as he attempted to run, and fell on his face on the pavement.
The unfortunate trio were finally made prisoners of; they were disarmed,
their hands bound together, and then left under a strong guard in the
cow-house attached to the auberge.

This skirmish, in which Berrier was so successfully rescued, occurred
with greater rapidity than it has been recounted; for, as soon as the
colonel heard the first shot fired, he ordered his men to advance in a
trot across the square. It took some little time for him to give his
orders to the lieutenants, and for the lieutenants to put the men into
motion; but within five minutes from the time that the first shot was
fired, about forty men had been commanded to halt in front of the hotel;
they all had their muskets in their hands and their bayonets fixed, and
as soon as they halted a portion of them were wheeled round, so that the
whole body formed a square. By this time, however, the corporal and the
two soldiers were out of sight, and so was also Peter Berrier, for
Cathelineau considered that now as the man had withstood the first
shock, and had resolutely and manfully refused to comply with the order
of the Convention, it was better that he should be out of the way, and
that the brunt of the battle should be borne by his friends. Peter was
consequently placed in the cow-house with the captives, and had the
gratification of acting as guard over the three first prisoners taken
in the Vendean war.

Cathelineau and Foret, however, stood out prominently before the men who
were collected before the auberge, and had already taken on themselves
the dangerous honour of leading the revolt.

"Men of St. Florent," said the colonel addressing the crowd, "I am most
reluctant to order the soldiers to fire upon the inhabitants of the
town; but unless you at once restore the three men who were sent over
here on duty, and give up the man, Peter Berrier, who has been drawn as
a conscript, I will do so at once."

"Peter Berrier is a free man," said Foret, "and declines going with you;
and as for your three soldiers, they have fired at and killed or wounded
two inhabitants of the town--they at any rate shall be brought before
the mayor, before they are given up."

"Sergeant," said the colonel, "take out six men and make prisoner that
man; if a rescue be attempted, the soldiers shall at once fire on the
people, and on your own heads be your own blood."

The sergeant and the six men instantly stepped out, but Foret was
surrounded by a dense crowd of friends, and the soldiers found it
utterly impossible to lay hold of him.

"Your pistols, sergeant; use your pistols," roared the colonel, as he
himself drew one of his own from his holsters, and at the same time gave
orders to the men in the ranks to present their pieces.

The sergeant followed by his six men, made a desperate dash into the
crowd with the object of getting hold of Foret; but in spite of the
butt-end of their pistols, with which the soldiers laid about them, they
found themselves overpowered, and were barely able to make good their
retreat to the main body of the detachment; at the same time, a volley
of stones, brickbats and rough missiles of all kinds, descended on the
soldiers from every side, for they were now nearly surrounded; a stone
struck the Colonel's horse and made him rear: immediately afterwards,
another stone struck himself on the side of the face, and nearly
dismounted him.

"Fire," roared the Colonel, and the whole detachment fired at the same
moment; the soldiers fronting the auberge could not fire into the mob
directly before them, or they would have run the risk of killing their
own comrades, who were still struggling there with the townspeople; and
in this way, Cathelineau and Foret were saved, but the carnage all
around them was horrid; the soldiers had fired point blank into the
dense crowd, and not a bullet had fallen idle to the ground. A terrible
scream followed the discharge of musketry; the dying and the wounded
literally covered the space round the soldiers, but they were quickly
dragged into the back ground, and their places filled by men who were
evidently determined that they would not easily be conquered.

Another volley of stones was soon showered on the soldiers, and this was
kept up with wonderful activity--the women and children supplied the men
with the materials--the stones in the streets were at once picked
up--old walls were pulled down--every article that would answer for a
missile was brought into use; an iron pot, which had been flung with
immense violence by the handle, struck the second officer in command in
the face, and dashed his brains out. Immediately that either part of the
square battalion was in any confusion, the people dashed in, and
attempted to force the muskets from the hands of the soldiers; in some
cases they were successful, and before the body had commenced a retreat,
Foret and Cathelineau were both armed with a musket and bayonet.

The colonel now saw that he could not maintain his position where he
was; he had not brought out with him the whole force of the garrison,
though in all he had not above seventy or eighty men; but he had behind
the barrack a gun of very large calibre, properly mounted, with all the
necessary equipments and ready for service. Such a piece of artillery
accompanied every detachment, and was kept in preparation for immediate
use at every military station; it had already been ascertained that this
afforded the readiest means of putting down revolt. He resolved,
therefore, on retreating while he had the power for doing so, and gave
the necessary orders to the men.

With great difficulty, but slowly and steadily, his men executed them:
amidst showers of stones, and the now determined attack of the people
the soldiers returned to the barracks, leaving one of their officers,
and one other man dead in the crowd; many of them were severely wounded;
few, if any, had escaped some bruise or cut. The people now conceived
that they were going to take refuge in the barrack, and determined to
drive them utterly out of the town; but, as soon as the soldiers had
filed into the barrack yard, another murderous fire was discharged by
those who had been left at the station. Then Cathelineau, who was still
in front of the crowd, and who was now armed with the bayonet, which he
had taken from the point of the musket, remembered the cannon, and he
became for a moment pale as he thought of the dreadful slaughter which
would take place, if the colonel were able to effect his purpose of
playing it upon the town.

"The cannon!" whispered he to Foret, who was still at his side; "they
will fall like leaves in autumn, if we don't prevent it."

"Have they it ready?" said Foret.

"Always," said the other, "they have nothing to do but wheel it into the
street; and they are at it, you hear the noise of the wheels this
moment. We must bear one discharge from it, and the next, if there be
a second, shall fall upon the soldiers."

Others, beside Cathelineau, recognized the sound of the moving
wheels--and, the cannon, the cannon, they will fire the cannon on us,"
was heard from side to side among the crowd; but none attempted to run,
not one of the whole mass attempted to fly, and when the barrack gates
flew open, and the deadly mouth of the huge instrument was close upon
them, they rushed upon it, determined at any rate, to preserve their
houses, their wives, and their children from the awful destruction of
a prolonged firing.

"They must have one shot at us," said a man in a trembling whisper to
his neighbour. "God send it were over!" replied the other, as the gates
of the barrack-yard were thrown back.

The greater number of the soldiers and the two officers who had returned
with them, made good their retreat into the barracks, under the fire of
their comrades, who had been left there. Some three or four had been
pulled and hustled into the crowd, and their arms were quickly taken
from them and they were sent back to the auberge as prisoners. The
colonel, as soon as he found himself in his own quarters, gave immediate
orders that the gun should be wheeled round to the barrack-yard gate,
which had hitherto been kept closed, and that the moment the gates could
be got open it should be fired on the crowd. These gates faced directly
into the square, and the destruction caused by one shot would have been
tremendous. The colonel, moreover, calculated that in the confusion he
would have been able to reload. The gun, in its original position, was
pointed on the town, but it was immediately seen, that without moving
it, it could not be brought to bear upon the crowd congregated round the
barracks.

The first attack of the crowd had been at the barrack door, through
which the soldiers had retreated; but this was soon changed to the yard
gates. The people, however, were unable to knock them down before the
wheels of the cannon were heard, as they had been considerably checked
by the fire of the reserved party. Both soldiers and towns-people were
now anxious to face each other, and the gates soon fell inwards towards
the military. Had the men at the gun had their wits about them they
would have fired through the gates; but they did not, they waited till
they fell inwards across the cannon's mouth, and in his confusion the
artillery-sergeant even then hesitated before he put the light to the
touch-hole.

He had never time to do more than hesitate. Cathelineau had been close
up to the wooden gates, against which he was so closely pressed that he
was hardly able to change his bayonet from his right to his left-hand,
and to cock the pistol which he had taken from the corporal, who had
commenced the day's work. However, he contrived to do so, and when the
wood-work fell, he sprang forward, and though he stumbled over the
fragments of the timber, he fired as he did so, and the artillery
sergeant fell dead beside the cannon; the unextinguished light was
immediately seized by his comrade, but he had not time to use it; it was
knocked from his hand before it was well raised from the ground, and the
harmless piece of cannon was soon entirely surrounded by crowds of the
townspeople. They were not content with spiking it in such a way as to
make it utterly impossible that it should be discharged; but they
succeeded in turning it entirely round, so that the back of the carriage
faced towards the town.

The soldiers still continued the fight within the barrack-yard, and from
the barrack windows; but they were so completely mixed with the
townspeople, that the officers were afraid to order the men to fire from
the windows, least they should kill their own comrades. At last the
colonel himself was taken prisoner; he was literally dragged out of one
of the windows by the people, and soon afterwards the remainder of the
troops gave up. One of the three officers and six men were killed; the
rest were nearly all more or less wounded, and were all, without
exception, made prisoners of war.

Cathelineau and Foret had been in front of the battle all through; but
neither of them were wounded. It was to Foret that the colonel had given
up his sword, after he had been dragged headforemost through a window,
had had his head cut open with a brick-bat, and his sheath and
sword-belt literally torn from his side. He had certainly not
capitulated before he was obliged to do, and the people did not like him
the worse for it.

And now the unarmed soldiery, maimed and lame, with broken heads and
bloody faces, were led down in triumph into the square; and after them
was brought the great trophy of the day, the cannon, with its awful
mouth still turned away from the town. Cathelineau and Foret led the
procession, the former still carrying his bayonet, for he had given up
both the musket and pistols to some one else, and Foret armed with the
Colonel's sword: they were fully recognized as the victorious leaders
of the day.

At the bottom of the square they met a whole concourse of women, the
wives and sisters of the champions--among whom the sister and sweetheart
of Peter Berrier were conspicuous; they had come out to thank the
townspeople for what they had done for them. With the women were two of
the old cures of that and a neighbouring parish--pastors whom the decree
of the Convention had banished from their own churches, but whom all the
powers of the Convention had been unable to silence. To them this day's
battle was a most acceptable sign of better days coming; they foresaw
a succession of future victories on behalf of the people, which would
surely end in the restoration of the Bourbons to the throne, and of the
clergy to their churches. The cures shook hands warmly with those in the
front ranks of the people, gave their blessing to Cathelineau and Foret,
and then invited the people, with one accord, to give thanks to God for
the great success which He had given them.

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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