La Vendee by Anthony Trollope

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"The tiger is a noble beast," said Westerman. "He is hungry, and he
seeks his prey; he is satisfied, and he lays down and sleeps; but
Cathelineau was a mean jackal, who strove for others, not for himself.
I can understand the factious enmity of the born aristocrat, who is now
called upon to give up the titles, dignities, and so-called honours,
which, though stolen from the people, he has been taught to look upon
as his right. He contends for a palpable possession which his hand has
grasped, which he has tasted and long enjoyed. I know that he is a
robber and a spoiler of the poor; I know, in short, that he is an
aristocrat, and as such I would have him annihilated, abolished from the
face of the earth. I would that the aristocrats of France had but one
neck, that with a grasp of my own hand, I might at once choke out their
pernicious breath," and the republican laid upon the table his huge
hand, and tightly clenched his fingers as though he held between them
the imaginary throat of the aristocracy of France; "but," continued he,
"much as I hate a gentleman, ten times more strongly do I hate, despise,
and abhor the subservient crew of spiritless slaves who uphold the power
of the masters, who domineer over them, who will not accept the sweet
gift of liberty, who are kicked, and trodden on, and spat upon, and will
not turn again; who will not rise against their tyrants, even when the
means of doing so are brought to their hands; who willingly, nay,
enthusiastically, lay their necks in the dust, that their fellow-
creatures may put their feet upon them. Of such was this Cathelineau,
and of such I understand are most of those who hound on these wretched
peasants to sure destruction. For them I have no pity, and with them I
have no sympathy. They have not the spirit of men, and I would rejoice
that the dogs should lick their blood from off the walls, and that birds
of prey should consume their flesh."

"Westerman is right," said Barrere; "they are mean curs, these Vendeans,
and like curs they must be destroyed; the earth must be rid of men who
know not how to take possession of their property in that earth which
nature has given them. Believe me, citizen General, that any sympathy
with such a reptile as Cathelineau is not compatible with the feeling
which should animate the heart of a true republican, intending honestly
and zealously to do the work of the Republic."

General Chouardin made no reply to the rebuke which these words
conveyed; he did not dare to do so; he did not dare to repeat the
opinion that there was anything admirable in the courage of a royalist.
Much less than had now been said had before this been deemed sufficient
to mark as a victim for the revolutionary tribunal some servant of the
Republic, and few wished to experience the tender mercies of Fouquier
Tinville, the public accuser. Even Santerre was silenced; despite his
popularity, his well-known devotion to the cause, his hatred of the
aristocrats, and his aversion to royalty, so horridly displayed at the
execution of the King, even he felt that it might not be safe for him
to urge that the memory of Cathelineau was not despicable.

"His death must have much weakened them," said Bourbotte. "I know them
well, the miscreants! I doubt if they will follow any other leader, that
is, in great numbers. The fools looked on this man as a kind of god;
they now find that their god is dead. I doubt whether there is another
leader among them, who can induce them to leave their parishes."

"If they won't come to us," said Barrere, "we must go to them; they have
gone too far now to recede. Whether they return to their homes, or again
take up arms, matters little; they must all be destroyed, for blood
alone can establish the Republic on a basis which can never be
overturned."

"The name of a royalist shall be as horrible in men's ears as that of
a parricide," said Santerre.

"But what will you do if you find no army to oppose you?" said
Bourbotte. "You cannot well fight without an enemy."

"Never fear," said Westerman, "your muskets shall not grow rusty for
want of use. We will go from parish to parish, and leave behind us dead
corpses, and burning houses."

"You will not ask soldiers to do the work of executioners?" said
Bourbotte.

"I expect the soldiers to do the work of the Convention," said Barrere;
"and I also expect the officers to do the same: these are not times in
which a man can be chary as to the work which he does."

"We must not leave a royalist alive in the west of France," said
Westerman. "You may be assured, Generals, that our soldiers will obey
us, however slow yours may be to obey you."

"Perhaps so," said Bourbotte; "my men have not yet been taught to
massacre unarmed crowds."

"It is difficult to know what they have been taught," said Westerman.
"Whenever they have encountered a few peasants with clubs in their
hands, your doughty heroes have invariably ran away."

Westerman as he spoke, stood leaning on the back of a chair, and
Bourbotte also rose as he answered him.

"I have yet to learn," aid he, "that you yourself ever were able to make
good soldiers out of country clowns in less than a month's time. When
you have done so, then you may speak to me on the subject without
impertinence."

"I give you my word, citizen General," answered Westerman, "I shall say
to you, then and now, whatever I, in the performance of my duty, may
think fits and if you deem me impertinent, you may settle that point
with the Convention, or, if you prefer it, with myself."

"Westerman, you are unfair to General Bourbotte," said Santerre; "he has
said nothing which need offend you."

"It is the General that is offended, not I," said Westerman; "I only beg
that he may not talk mawkish nonsense, and tell us that his fellows are
too valiant, and too noble to put to the sword unarmed royalists, when
everybody knows they are good for nothing else, and that they would run
and scatter from the fire of a few muskets, like a lot of plovers from
a volley of stones."

"I grant you," said Bourbotte, "that my soldiers are men and not
monsters. They are, as yet, French peasants, not German cut-throats."

"Now, by Heaven, Bourbotte," said the Prussian, "you shall swallow that
word," and he seized a pistol from off the table. "German cut-throat!
and that from you who have no other qualities of a soldier than what are
to be found in a light pair of heels. You shall, at any rate, have to
deal with one German, whether he be a cut-throat or not."

"In any way you please," said Bourbotte, "that is, in any open or honest
way." And as he spoke, he stepped back one step, and took his sword out
of the scabbard.

The pistol which Westerman had taken from the table belonged to
Santerre, and when he saw it in the hand of his friend, he leapt up and
seized hold of the German's arm.

"Are you mad Westerman," said he; "do you wish to fight here in the
Mayor's house? I tell you, you were wrong, in taunting him as you did;
sit quiet till I make peace between you."

"Taunting him! now, by Heaven, that is good. I will leave it to Barrere
to say who first taunted the other. Nonsense, Santerre, leave hold of
me I say: you do not think I am going to murder the man, do you?"

General Chouardin also got up and put himself between the two armed men.
"Put up your sword, Bourbotte," whispered he, leading him off to the
further window of the room; "you are no match for him here: if Barrere
chooses he will have you recalled to Paris, and your neck will then not
be worth a month's purchase."

"Gentlemen," said Barrere, "this will never do. You can neither of you
serve the nation well if you persist in quarrelling between yourselves.
General Bourbotte, you should apologize to our friend Westerman for the
insult which you offered to his countrymen."

"My country is the country of my adoption," said Westerman. "I ceased
to be a German when I took up the arms of France; but my soldiers are
my children, and an insult to them is an injury to myself."

"If your anger can wait till the revolt in La Vendee has been quelled,"
said Chouardin, "my friend Bourbotte will be ready enough to satisfy
your wishes as a citizen. Barrere truly says, this is no time for
private quarrels."

"So be it," said Westerman. "Let General Bourbotte remember that he owes
me an apology or redress."

"You shall have any redress, which any arms you may be pleased to name
can give you," said Bourbotte.

"By my honour then, you are two fools," said Santerre; "two egregious
fools, if you cannot at once forget the angry words which you each have
used. Have your own way, however, so long as you do not fight here."

As the brewer was yet speaking, a servant knocked at the door, and said
that a young man wished to say a few words to citizen Santerre on
especial business, and on the service of the Republic.

"On the service of the Republic?" said Santerre. "Show him in here then;
I have no official secrets from my colleagues."

The servant, however, stated that the young man would not make his
appearance in the room where the party were sitting, and he declared he
would go away if he could not see Santerre alone. The republican at
length yielded, and followed the servant into a small sitting-room,
where he found our friend, Adolphe Denot.

CHAPTER VII

BATTLE OF AMAILLOU

It will be remembered that Adolphe Denot left the council-room of the
royalist leaders at Saumur in anger; and that, after a few words with
Henri Larochejaquelin, departed no one knew whither, or for what
purpose. On leaving Henri in the street, he had himself no fixed resolve
as to his future conduct; he was only determined no longer to remain
leagued with men, among whom he felt himself to be disgraced. De Lescure
had seen him hesitate in the hour of danger, and had encouraged him in
vain; he knew that after this he could never again bear to meet the calm
grey eye of his friend's cousin; he had not only been not selected as
one of the Generals, but he had even been rejected, and that by the very
man who had seen his cowardice. His love, moreover, had been refused by
Agatha, and he deemed this refusal an injury which demanded vengeance
from his hands; from the moment in which he left her room in
Durbelliere, schemes had floated across his half-bewildered brain for
the accomplishment of his object. He still loved Agatha, though his love
was, as it were, mingled with hatred; he still wished to possess her,
but he did not care how disagreeable, how horrible to herself might be
the means by which he accomplished his object. He entertained ideas of
seizing upon her person, taking her from Durbelliere, and marrying her
during the confusion which the Revolution had caused in the country. At
first he had no distinct idea of treachery towards the royalists with
whom he had sided; though vague thoughts of bringing the soldiers of the
Convention to Durbelliere, in the dead of night, had at different times
entered his mind, he had never reduced such thoughs to a palpable plan,
nor had he ever endeavoured to excuse to himself the iniquity of such
a scheme, as a man does when he resolves to sacrifice his honour and his
honesty to his passions.

It was in the council-room at Saumur that he first felt a desire to
betray the friends of his life; it was in the moment of his hot anger,
after leaving it, that he determined to put into effect the plan which
he had already conceived; it was then that insane ambition and selfish
love prompted him to forget every feeling which he had hitherto
recognized as honourable, and to commit himself to a deed which would
make it impossible that he should ever be reconciled with the companions
of his youth. He had no presentiment that he should ever rise to honour
or distinction in the army of the Republic; he never even thought of
what his future life would be: revenge was his object, and the sweet
delight of proving to Agatha Larochejaquelin that he was able to carry
out the bold threats, which he knew that she had scorned and derided.

It would be too much to say that Adolphe Denot was insane, for that
would imply that he was not responsible for his own actions; but there
certainly lacked something in his brain or mind, which is necessary to
perfect sanity. He was no fool; he had read, enjoyed, and perhaps
written poetry; he was, for the times, well educated; he could talk
fluently, and, occasionally, even persuasively; he understood rapidly,
and perceived correctly, the arguments and motives of others; but he
could not regulate his conduct, either from the lessons he had learnt
from books, or from the doings or misdoings of those around him. He
wished to be popular, powerful and distinguished, but he was utterly
ignorant of the means by which men gain the affection, respect, and
admiration of their fellow-men; he possessed talent without judgment,
and ambition without principle. As a precocious boy, he had been too
much admired; he had assumed at an early age the duty of a man, and had
at once been found miserably wanting.

On leaving Henri in the streets of Saumur, he went to his lodging, took
with him what money he had, got upon his horse, and rode out of the town
by the temporary bridge which had been put up for the transit of the
shaved prisoners. He had wandered about the country for three weeks,
remaining sometimes in one place, and sometimes in another, endeavouring
to mature his plans; and hearing of the arrival of Santerre in Augers,
had come thither to offer his services to the republicans, in the
invasion which he understood they contemplated making into the Bocage.

His appearance was not very attractive when first he introduced himself
to the republican, for he was lean with anxiety and worn with care; his
eyes were restless and bloodshot, and his limbs trembled beneath him.
Santerre was not a man who much regarded externals; but, as he
afterwards said, "he did not much like the hang-dog look of the royalist
cur."

Denot, in an awkward way, got through his story; he had been one of the
insurgent Vendeans, he said, but he now wished to serve the Republic.
He was intimately acquainted with the royalist leaders, especially the
two most popular of them, de Lescure and Larochejaquelin. He knew and
was willing to betray their plans. He would accompany Santerre to the
residences of these Vendean Generals, and undertake to give them, their
families, and possessions, into the power of the republicans, and for
these services he asked but one favour; that he should be present at the
contemplated burning of Durbelliere, and be allowed to save the life of
one female who resided there. He represented that his animosity arose
entirely from the rejection of his love, and that his only object was
to carry off the sister of the Vendean chief from the burning ashes of
her father's chateau.

"Are you aware, young man," said Santerre, with something of generosity
in the warning which he gave--a generosity probably inspired by the wine
he had drunk: "are you aware, that should I agree to your proposal,
every other member of her family will be put to death before your eyes
--her brother, her old father, and every pestilent royalist we may find
about the place?"

"I suppose they will," said Denot moodily. "At any rate, they deserve
no protection at my hands."

"You have probably eaten their bread and drank their wine. You say,
indeed, you have lived long in this rambling chateau, and have fought
side by side with this hot-headed young brigand. Bethink you, my friend,
you are angry now, but it may turn your stomach, when you are cool, to
see the blood of those you know so well running like water; besides, you
are taking but an unlikely road to the heart of the girl you say you
love. No one has heard your plot but myself: I advise you to abandon it;
if you do so, I will forget that I have heard it. You are angry now; go
home and sleep on it."

"Sleep on it! I have slept on it these three weeks. No, I did not come
to you till I was fully resolved. As for these people, I owe them
nothing; they have scorned and rejected me; and as for the girl's heart,
it is not that I seek now. Let me gain her person, and her heart will
follow. A woman soon learns to love him whom she is forced to obey."

"Well, be it as you will," said Santerre. "It is all a matter of taste;
only remember, that before I accede to your proposal, I must consult
with my colleagues in the next room, and that when once I have spoken
to them it will be too late for me to go back."

Denot declared that he had formed his resolution after mature
consideration, and that he was ready and willing to carry through the
work he had proposed for himself; and Santerre, without making any
further objection, rejoined his friends in the next room, and explained
to them the offer which had been made to him. Barrere at first opposed
any treaty with Denot. He recommended that the young man should be kept
as a prisoner, and at once handed over to the revolutionary tribunal.

"What good can he do us?" said he; "we can find our way to this
Durbelliere without his assistance; let him and the girl he wishes to
kidnap pay the penalty of their crimes against the Republic. She is, I
suppose, one of those modern Joans of Arc, who inspire the flagging
spirits of these peasants. Should she have beauty enough to make her
worth preserving, let her be the prize of some true republican. As for
him, let him stretch his neck beneath the guillotine."

Barrere, however, was overruled. The Generals who were with him knew too
well the nature of the country they were about to invade, not to
appreciate the value of such a guide as they might find in Denot: a
guide, who not only knew the nature of the country they had to traverse,
and the position of the places they wished to attack, but who was also
intimate with the insurgent chiefs, acquainted with their persons and
their plans, and who would probably disclose, under proper management,
every secret of the revolt. It was accordingly agreed that his offer
should be accepted, and he was introduced by Santerre to his four
confederates.

"Sit down, my friend," said Barrere, "sit down. Our colleague here
informs us that you are sick of these mawkish royalists, and are willing
to serve the Republic. Is it so, young man?"

"I have told M. Santerre--" said Denot. "Citizen Santerre, if you
please," said Barrere; "or General Santerre, if you like it better.
Monsieur and Monseigneur are a little out of fashion just at present on
this side of the Loire."

"As they soon also shall be on the other," said Westerman.

"Well, I have told him," and Denot pointed to Santerre, "what it is I
propose to do for you, and the terms on which I will do it."

"Terms indeed!" said Barrere. "The Republic is not accustomed to make
terms with her servants. Come, tell us at once: are you a republican?"

Denot hesitated; not that he was ashamed to own himself a republican,
but his blood was boiling with passion at the language and tone in which
he was addressed, and yet he did not dare to shew his anger.

"Of course he is a republican," said Santerre, "or why would he come
here? Take a glass of wine, friend Denot, and pluck up your courage,"
and Santerre passed the wine-bottle to him. "If you are true to us, you
need not fear us."

"He must pronounce himself a republican," said Barrere, "or we cannot
deal with him. Come, young man, can you put your mouth to so much
inconvenience as to give us some slight inkling of your present
political principles? All we know of you as yet is, that three weeks
since you were a pestilent royalist, and a leader of royalists."

"I am a republican," said Denot.

"The Republic is made happy by your adhesion," said Barrere, bowing to
him with mock solemnity across the table.

"What surety do you mean to offer us, citizen Denot," said Westerman,
"that you are acting with us in good faith?"

"Do I not give you my life?" said Denot. "What other surety can I give,
or can you require? What am I, or what are the royalists to gain by my
proving false?"

"You say truly," answered Westerman; "you give us your life as a surety
for your good faith to us. You may be assured that we will exact the
penalty, if we have the slightest suspicion of foul play."

Denot made no answer, and he was questioned no further. The party soon
after broke up, and the young deserter was handed over to the care of
one of Santerre's sub-officers, with injunctions that he should be well
and civilly treated, but that he should not be allowed to go abroad by
himself; in fact, he was to be regarded as a prisoner.

"Do not be disheartened," said Santerre to him. "You can understand that
under the circumstances, such precautions must be necessary. The day
after tomorrow we start on our march, and you shall ride close to
myself. When Clisson and Durbelliere are in ashes, you shall be free to
take your own course; in the meantime, no indignity shall be offered to
you."

On the day named by Santerre, the whole republican army started from
Angers, and commenced their march towards the Bocage. They proceeded on
their route for several days without finding any enemy to contend with.
They kept on the northern shore of the Loire till they reached Saumur,
where they remained a couple of days, and employed themselves in
punishing the inhabitants in whose houses the leaders of the Vendeans
had been entertained. It was in vain that these poor men pleaded that
they had not even opened their doors to the royalists till after the
republican General had capitulated; that they had given nothing which
they had been able to refuse, and, in fact, that they had only sold
their goods and let their rooms to the Vendeans, when they could not
possibly have declined to do so. Their arguments were of no avail; they
were thrown into prison as criminals, and left for trial by the
revolutionary tribunal.

Although Saumur had so lately been besieged and taken by the royalists,
there was hardly a vestige of the conquerors left in it. Their attempt
to place a garrison in the town had proved entirely a failure; the
peasants who had undertaken the work had left the place by scores at a
time, and before a fortnight was over, the commandant found himself with
about twenty-five men, and consequently he marched back into La Vendee
after his army. The town was perfectly tranquil when the republicans
entered it, but the citizens were afflicted and out of spirits; their.
shops were closed, and their goods hidden; the bakers had no bread, the
butchers no meat, and the grocers had neither oil nor sugar. They knew
well what it was to sell their merchandise to the troops of the
Convention, and to be paid for them by the government in assignats.

Many of those who had formed the former garrison of Saumur, were now
with the army; men whom Chapeau and his assistants had shaven, men still
bald, and smarting from the indignity to which they had been subjected.
They wreaked their vengeance on the scene of their disgrace, and on all
those who had in any way lent, or were suspected to have lent, their aid
to its consummation. The furniture of the Town-hall was broken in
pieces; the barbers' shops were ransacked, and their razors, brushes,
and basins scattered through the street; nor was this the worst; one
poor wretch was recognized who had himself wielded a razor on the
occasion; he was dragged from his little shop by those on whom he had
operated, and was swung up by his neck from a lamp-iron in the sight of
his wife and children, who had followed his persecutors through the
street. The poor woman pleaded on her knees for the life of her husband,
as a wife can plead for the life of him whom she loves better than the
whole world. She offered all her little wealth and her prayers; she
supplicated them with tears and with blessings; she seized hold of the
knees of the wretch who held the rope, and implored him by his
remembrance of his father, by his regard for his own wife, his love for
his own children, to spare to her the father of her infants; but she
asked in vain; the man, feeling that his legs were encumbered, spurned
the woman from him with his foot, and kept his hand tight upon the
lamp-rope till the dying convulsions of the poor barber had ceased.

No notice was taken by the republican Generals of this murder; at any
rate no punishment followed it; the next morning the army resumed its
march, and left the town hated, cursed, feared, and yet obeyed. The
people were now royalists in their hearts, but they did not dare to
express their feelings even in whispers to each other, so frightful to
them was the vengeance of the Republic. There was much policy in the
fearful cruelty of the Jacobins; it was the only means by which they
could have retained their power for a month.

The republicans marched on from Saumur to Montreuil, and from Montreuil
to Thouars, and still found no one in arms to oppose them. Here they
separated; a small party, headed by Santerre and Denot, penetrated at
once from Thouars into the Bocage, and made for the chateau of
Durbelliere. It was believed that both de Lescure and Larochejaquelin
were there, and Santerre expected that by hurrying across the country
with a small force, he would be able to take them both and burn the
chateau, and afterwards rejoin Westerman at Chatillon. Barrere, whose
duties were not strictly those of a soldier, had not accompanied the
army beyond Saumur. Westerman and the main body of the army still
continued southward till they reached Parthenay, from which place it was
his intention to proceed through the revolted district, burning every
village; utterly destroying the towns which had not proved themselves
devoted to the Republic, and slaughtering the peasants, their wives, and
children wherever he could find them.

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