Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖». Author Alexandre Dumas
“And that is why I have decided to reply myself to his response.”
“When?”
“This very night, if occasion offers.”
“In what way?”
“By resuming hostilities.”
“But are you aware that Châtillon, d’Autichamp and Suzannet have laid down their arms?”
“They are the leaders of the Vendéans, and in the name of the Vendéans 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.”
“Then you condemn this unhappy land to a war of extermination, general!”
“It is a martyrdom to which I summon all Christians and royalists.”
“General Brune is at Nantes with the eight thousand prisoners just returned to us by the English after their defeats at Alkmaar and Castricum.”
“That 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 don’t care for that; it is a mere detail.”
“If General Brune with his eight thousand men, joined to the twenty thousand he has received from General Hédouville, is not sufficient, the First Consul has decided to march against you in person with one hundred thousand men.”
Cadoudal smiled.
“We will try to prove to him,” he said, “that we are worthy to fight against him.”
“He will burn your towns.”
“We shall retire to our huts.”
“He will burn your huts.”
“We will live in the woods.”
“Reflect, general.”
“Do me the honor to remain here forty-eight hours, colonel, and you will see that my reflections are already made.”
“I am tempted to accept.”
“Only, colonel, don’t ask for more than I can give; a night’s sleep beneath a thatched roof or wrapped in a cloak under an oak tree, a horse to follow me, and a safe-guard when you leave me.”
“I accept.”
“Have 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?”
“I am too curious to see for that. You have my word, general.”
“Whatever takes place before your eyes?”
“Whatever takes place before my eyes, I renounce the rôle of actor and confine myself wholly to that of spectator. I wish to say to the First Consul: ‘I have seen.’”
Cadoudal smiled.
“Well, you shall see,” 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.
“You see, Monsieur de Montrevel, that my lads hoped you would do me the honor to sup with me.”
“Faith! 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.”
“Then fall to!”
The young colonel sat down gayly.
“Excuse the repast I offer you,” said Cadoudal; “unlike your generals, I don’t make prize money; my soldiers feed me. Have you anything else for us, Brise-Bleu?”
“A chicken fricassee, general.”
“That’s your dinner, Monsieur de Montrevel.”
“A feast! Now, I have but one fear, general.”
“What is it?”
“All will go well for the eating, but when it comes to drinking—”
“Don’t you like cider? The devil! I’m sorry; cider or water, that’s my cellar.”
“Oh! that’s not it; but whose health are we going to drink?”
“Is that all, sir?” said Cadoudal, with great dignity. “We 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,” said Cadoudal, filling the two glasses.
“To France, general!” 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.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LAW OF RETALIATION
“Now, general,” 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. “Now for your promise to show me things which I can report to the First Consul.”
“You promised, remember, not to object to them.”
“Yes, but I reserve the right, in case you wound my conscience too severely, to withdraw.”
“Only 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.”
“Very good.”
“As it happens,” said Cadoudal, “events 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 Millière, Commissioner of the Executive authorities. Another thing of which you may perhaps be ignorant is that citizen Thomas Millière does not fight like us with cannon, guns, bayonets, pistols and swords, but with an instrument invented by your Republican philanthropists, called the guillotine.”
“It is impossible, sir,” cried Roland, “that under the First Consul any one can make that kind of war.”
“Ah! let us
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