The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (great novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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âYou know that General HĂ©douville is no longer in command at Nantes. General Brune has taken his place.â
âYou may even say that General Brune commands at La Roche-Bernard, for a thousand Republican soldiers entered that town tonight about six oâclock, bringing with them a guillotine and the citizen commissioner-general Thomas MilliĂšre. Having the instrument, it was necessary to have the executioner.â
âThen you say, general, that I came to see the AbbĂ© Bernier?â
âYes; the AbbĂ© Bernier had offered his mediation. But he forgot that at the present there are two VendĂ©esâthe VendĂ©e of the left bank, and the VendĂ©e of the right bankâand that, after treating with dâAutichamp, ChĂątillon, and Suzannet at PouancĂ©, it would still be necessary to negotiate with FrottĂ©, Bourmont and Cadoudalâand where? That no one could tellââ
âExcept you, general.â
âSo, with the chivalry that is the basis of your nature, you undertook to bring me the treaty signed on the 25th. The AbbĂ© Bernier, dâAutichamp, ChĂątillon, and Suzannet signed your pass, and here you are.â
âOn my word, general, I must admit that you are perfectly well-informed. The First Consul desires peace with all his heart. He knows that in you he has a brave and honorable adversary, and being unable to meet you himself, since you were not likely to come to Paris, he expedited me to you in his behalf.â
âThat is to say, to the AbbĂ© Bernier.â
âThat can hardly matter to you, general, if I bind myself to make the First Consul ratify what may be agreed upon between you and me. What are your conditions of peace?â
âThey are very simple, colonel: that the First Consul shall restore his Majesty Louis XVIII. to the throne; that he himself be constable, lieutenant-general, general-in-chief by land and sea, and I his first subordinate.â
âThe First Consul has already replied to that demand.â
âAnd that is why I have decided to reply myself to his response.â
âWhen?â
âThis very night, if occasion offers.â
âIn what way?â
âBy resuming hostilities.â
âBut are you aware that ChĂątillon, dâAutichamp and Suzannet have laid down their arms?â
âThey are the leaders of the VendĂ©ans, and in the name of the VendĂ©ans they can do as they see fit. I am the leader of the Chouans, and in the name of the Chouans I shall do what suits me.â
âThen you condemn this unhappy land to a war of extermination, general!â
âIt is a martyrdom to which I summon all Christians and royalists.â
âGeneral Brune is at Nantes with the eight thousand prisoners just returned to us by the English after their defeats at Alkmaar and Castricum.â
âThat is the last time they will have the chance. The Blues have taught us the bad habit of not making prisoners. As for the number of our enemies, we donât care for that; it is a mere detail.â
âIf General Brune with his eight thousand men, joined to the twenty thousand he has received from General HĂ©douville, is not sufficient, the First Consul has decided to march against you in person with one hundred thousand men.â
Cadoudal smiled.
âWe will try to prove to him,â he said, âthat we are worthy to fight against him.â
âHe will burn your towns.â
âWe shall retire to our huts.â
âHe will burn your huts.â
âWe will live in the woods.â
âReflect, general.â
âDo me the honor to remain here forty-eight hours, colonel, and you will see that my reflections are already made.â
âI am tempted to accept.â
âOnly, colonel, donât ask for more than I can give; a nightâs sleep beneath a thatched roof or wrapped in a cloak under an oak tree, a horse to follow me, and a safeguard when you leave me.â
âI accept.â
âHave I your word, colonel, that you will not interfere with any orders I give, and will do nothing to defeat the surprises I may attempt?â
âI am too curious to see for that. You have my word, general.â
âWhatever takes place before your eyes?â
âWhatever takes place before my eyes, I renounce the rĂŽle of actor and confine myself wholly to that of spectator. I wish to say to the First Consul: âI have seen.ââ
Cadoudal smiled.
âWell, you shall see,â said he.
At that moment the door opened, and two peasants brought in a table all laid, on which stood a smoking bowl of cabbage-soup and a piece of lard; an enormous pot of cider, just drawn from the cask, was foaming over the edges of the jug between two glasses. A few buckwheat cakes served as a desert to this modest repast. The table was laid for two.
âYou see, Monsieur de Montrevel, that my lads hoped you would do me the honor to sup with me.â
âFaith! they were not far wrong. I should have asked for supper, had you not invited me; and I might have been forced to seize some had you not invited me.â
âThen fall to!â
The young colonel sat down gayly.
âExcuse the repast I offer you,â said Cadoudal; âunlike your generals, I donât make prize money; my soldiers feed me. Have you anything else for us, Brise-Bleu?â
âA chicken fricassee, general.â
âThatâs your dinner, Monsieur de Montrevel.â
âA feast! Now, I have but one fear, general.â
âWhat is it?â
âAll will go well for the eating, but when it comes to drinkingââ
âDonât you like cider? The devil! Iâm sorry; cider or water, thatâs my cellar.â
âOh! thatâs not it; but whose health are we going to drink?â
âIs that all, sir?â said Cadoudal, with great dignity. âWe will drink to the health of our common mother, France. We are serving her with different minds, but, I hope, the same hearts. To France, Monsieur,â said Cadoudal, filling the two glasses.
âTo France, general!â replied Roland, clinking his glass against that of Georges.
And both gayly reseated themselves, their consciences at rest, and attacked the soup with appetites that were not yet thirty years old.
âNow, general,â said Roland, when supper was over and the two young men, with their elbows on the table and their legs stretched out before the blazing fire, began to feel that comfortable sensation that comes of a meal which youth and appetite have seasoned. âNow for your promise to show me things which I can report to the First Consul.â
âYou promised, remember, not to object to them.â
âYes, but I reserve the right, in case you wound my conscience too severely, to withdraw.â
âOnly give time to throw a saddle on the back of your horse, or of mine, if yours is too tired, colonel, and you are free.â
âVery good.â
âAs it happens,â said Cadoudal, âevents will serve you. I am here, not only as general, but as judge, though it is long since I have had a case to try. You told me, colonel, that General Brune was at Nantes; I knew it. You told me his advanced guard was only twelve miles away, at La Roche-Bernard; I knew that also. But a thing you may not know is that this advanced guard is not commanded by a soldier like you and me, but by citizen Thomas MilliĂšre, Commissioner of the Executive authorities. Another thing of which you may perhaps be ignorant is that citizen Thomas MilliĂšre does not fight like us with cannon, guns, bayonets, pistols and swords, but with an instrument invented by your Republican philanthropists, called the guillotine.â
âIt is impossible, sir,â cried Roland, âthat under the First Consul any one can make that kind of war,â
âAh! let us understand each other, colonel. I donât say that the First Consul makes it; I say it is made in his name.â
âAnd who is the scoundrel that abuses the authority given him, to make war with a staff of executioners?â
âI have told you his name; he is called Thomas MilliĂšre. Question whom you please, colonel, and throughout all VendĂ©e and Brittany youâll hear but one voice on that man. From the day of the rising in VendĂ©e and Brittany, now six years ago, MilliĂšre has been, always and everywhere, the most active agent of the Terror. For him the Terror did not end with Robespierre. He denounced to his superiors, or caused to be denounced to himself, the Breton and VendĂ©an soldiers, their parents, friends, brothers, sisters, wives, even the wounded and dying; he shot or guillotined them all without a trial. At Daumeray, for instance, he left a trail of blood behind him which is not yet, can never be, effaced. More than eighty of the inhabitants were slaughtered before his eyes. Sons were killed in the arms of their mothers, who vainly stretched those bloody arms to Heaven imploring vengeance. The successive pacifications of Brittany and VendĂ©e have never slaked the thirst for murder which burns his entrails. He is the same in 1800 that he was in 1793. Well, this manââ
Roland looked at the general.
âThis man,â continued the general, with the utmost calmness, âis to die. Seeing that society did not condemn him, I have condemned him.â
âWhat! Die at La Roche-Bernard, in the midst of the Republicans; in spite of his bodyguard of assassins and executioners?â
âHis hour has struck; he is to die.â
Cadoudal pronounced these words with such solemnity that no doubt remained in Rolandâs mind, not only as to the sentence, but also the execution of it. He was thoughtful for an instant.
âAnd you believe that you have, the right to judge and condemn that man, guilty as he is?â
âYes; for that man has judged and condemned, not the guilty but the innocent.â
âIf I said to you: âOn my return to Paris I will demand the arrest and trial of that man,â would you not trust my word?â
âI would trust your word; but I should say to you: âA maddened wild beast escapes from its cage, a murderer from his prison; men are men, subject to error. They have sometimes condemned the innocent, they might spare the guilty.â My justice is more certain than yours, colonel, for it is the justice of God. The man will die.â
âAnd by what right do you claim that your justice, the justice of a man liable to error like other men, is the justice of God?â
âBecause I have made God a sharer in that justice. Oh! my condemnation of that man is not of yesterday.â
âHow do you mean?â
âIn the midst of a storm when thunder roared without cessation, and the lightning flashed from minute to minute, I raised my arms to heaven, and I said to God: âO God! whose look is that lightning, whose voice is that thunder, if this man ought to die, extinguish that lightning, still the thunder for ten minutes. The silence of the skies, the darkness of the heavens shall be thy answer!â Watch in hand, I counted eleven minutes without a flash or a sound. I saw at the point of a promontory a boat, tossed by a terrible tempest, a boat with but one man in it, in danger every minute of sinking; a wave lifted it as the breath of an infant lifts a plume, and cast it on the rocks. The boat flew to pieces; the man clung to the rock, and all the people cried out: âHe is lost!â His father was there, his two brothers were there, but none dared to succor him. I raised my arms to the Lord and said: âIf MilliĂšre is condemned by Thee as by me, O God, let me save that man; with no help but thine let me save him!â I stripped, I knotted a
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