The Chouans

* * * * *

At a distance of three or four gunshots from the plateau, now abandoned, a little scene was taking place which was not uncommon in those days on the high-roads.  After leaving the little village of La Pelerine, Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre again stopped the turgotine at a dip in the road.  Coupiau got off his seat after making a faint resistance.  The silent traveller, extracted from his hiding place by the two Chouans, found himself on his knees in a furze bush.

“Who are you?” asked Marche-a-Terre in a threatening voice.

The traveller kept silence until Pille-Miche put the question again and enforced it with the butt end of his gun.

“I am Jacques Pinaud,” he replied, with a glance at Coupiau; “a poor linen-draper.”

Coupiau made a sign in the negative, not considering it an infraction of his promise to Saint Anne.  The sign enlightened Pille-Miche, who took aim at the luckless traveller, while Marche-a-Terre laid before him categorically a terrible ultimatum.

“You are too fat to be poor.  If you make me ask you your name again, here’s my friend Pille-Miche, who will obtain the gratitude and good-will of your heirs in a second.  Who are you?” he added, after a pause.

“I am d’Orgemont, of Fougeres.”

“Ah! ah!” cried the two Chouans.

“I didn’t tell your name, Monsieur d’Orgemont,” said Coupiau.  “The Holy Virgin is my witness that I did my best to protect you.”

“Inasmuch as you are Monsieur d’Orgemont, of Fougeres,” said Marche-a-Terre, with an air of ironical respect, “we shall let you go in peace.  Only, as you are neither a good Chouan nor a true Blue (thought it was you who bought the property of the Abbey de Juvigny), you will pay us three hundred crowns of six francs each for your ransom.  Neutrality is worth that, at least.”

“Three hundred crowns of six francs each!” chorussed the luckless banker, Pille-Miche, and Coupiau, in three different tones.

“Alas, my good friend,” continued d’Orgemont, “I’m a ruined man.  The last forced loan of that devilish Republic for a hundred millions sucked me dry, taxed as I was already.”

“How much did your Republic get out of you?”

“A thousand crowns, my dear man,” replied the banker, with a piteous air, hoping for a reduction.

“If your Republic gets forced loans out of you for such big sums as that you must see that you would do better with us; our government would cost you less.  Three hundred crowns, do you call that dear for your skin?”

“Where am I to get them?”

“Out of your strong-box,” said Pille-Miche; “and mind that the money is forthcoming, or we’ll singe you still.”

“How am I to pay it to you?” asked d’Orgemont.

“Your country-house at Fougeres is not far from Gibarry’s farm where my cousin Galope-Chopine, otherwise called Cibot, lives.  You can pay the money to him,” said Pille-Miche.

“That’s not business-like,” said d’Orgemont.

“What do we care for that?” said Marche-a-Terre.  “But mind you remember that if that money is not paid to Galope-Chopine within two weeks we shall pay you a little visit which will cure your gout.  As for you, Coupiau,” added Marche-a-Terre, “your name in future is to be Mene-a-Bien.”

So saying, the two Chouans departed.  The traveller returned to the vehicle, which, thanks to Coupiau’s whip, now made rapid progress to Fougeres.

“If you’d only been armed,” said Coupiau, “we might have made some defence.”

“Idiot!” cried d’Orgemont, pointing to his heavy shoes.  “I have ten thousand francs in those soles; do you think I would be such a fool as to fight with that sum about me?”

Mene-a-Bien scratched his ear and looked behind him, but his new comrades were out of sight.

Hulot and his command stopped at Ernee long enough to place the wounded in the hospital of the little town, and then, without further hindrance, they reached Mayenne.  There the commandant cleared up his doubts as to the action of the Chouans, for on the following day the news of the pillage of the turgotine was received.

A few days later the government despatched to Mayenne so strong a force of “patriotic conscripts,” that Hulot was able to fill the ranks of his brigade.  Disquieting rumors began to circulate about the insurrection.  A rising had taken place at all the points where, during the late war, the Chouans and Bretons had made their chief centres of insurrection.  The little town of Saint-James, between Pontorson and Fougeres was occupied by them, apparently for the purpose of making it for the time being a headquarters of operations and supplies.  From there they were able to communicate with Normandy and the Morbihan without risk.  Their subaltern leaders roamed the three provinces, roused all the partisans of monarchy, and gave consistence and unity to their plans.  These proceedings coincided with what was going on in La Vendee, where the same intrigues, under the influence of four famous leaders (the Abbe Vernal, the Comte de Fontaine, De Chatillon, and Suzannet), were agitating the country.  The Chevalier de Valois, the Marquis d’Esgrignon, and the Troisvilles were, it was said, corresponding with these leaders in the department of the Orne.  The chief of the great plan of operations which was thus developing slowly but in formidable proportions was really “the Gars,”—­a name given by the Chouans to the Marquis de Montauran on his arrival from England.  The information sent to Hulot by the War department proved correct in all particulars.  The marquis gained after a time sufficient ascendancy over the Chouans to make them understand the true object of the war, and to persuade them that the excesses of which they were guilty brought disgrace upon the cause they had adopted.  The daring nature, the nerve, coolness, and capacity of this young nobleman awakened the hopes of all the enemies of the Republic, and suited so thoroughly the grave and even solemn enthusiasm of those regions that even the least zealous partisans of the king did their part in preparing a decisive blow in behalf of the defeated monarchy.

Hulot received no answer to the questions and the frequent reports which he addressed to the government in Paris.

But the news of the almost magical return of General Bonaparte and the events of the 18th Brumaire were soon current in the air.  The military commanders of the West understood then the silence of the ministers.  Nevertheless, they were only the more impatient to be released from the responsibility that weighed upon them; and they were in every way desirous of knowing what measures the new government was likely to take.  When it was known to these soldiers that General Bonaparte was appointed First Consul of the Republic their joy was great; they saw, for the first time, one of their own profession called to the management of the nation.  France, which had made an idol of this young hero, quivered with hope.  The vigor and energy of the nation revived.  Paris, weary of its long gloom, gave itself up to fetes and pleasures of which it had been so long deprived.  The first acts of the Consulate did not diminish any hopes, and Liberty felt no alarm.  The First Consul issued a proclamation to the inhabitants of the West.  The eloquent allocutions addressed to the masses which Bonaparte had, as it were, invented, produced effects in those days of patriotism and miracle that were absolutely startling.  His voice echoed through the world like the voice of a prophet, for none of his proclamations had, as yet, been belied by defeat.

  INHABITANTS: 

  An impious war again inflames the West.

  The makers of these troubles are traitors sold to the English, or
  brigands who seek in civil war opportunity and license for
  misdeeds.

  To such men the government owes no forbearance, nor any
  declaration of its principles.

  But there are citizens, dear to France, who have been misled by
  their wiles.  It is so such that truth and light are due.

Unjust laws have been promulgated and executed; arbitrary acts have threatened the safety of citizens and the liberty of consciences; mistaken entries on the list of emigres imperil citizens; the great principles of social order have been violated.

The Consuls declare that liberty of worship having been guaranteed by the Constitution, the law of 11 Prairial, year III., which gives the use of edifices built for religious worship to all citizens, shall be executed.

The government will pardon; it will be merciful to repentance; its mercy will be complete and absolute; but it will punish whosoever, after this declaration, shall dare to resist the national sovereignty.

“Well,” said Hulot, after the public reading of this Consular manifesto, “Isn’t that paternal enough?  But you’ll see that not a single royalist brigand will be changed by it.”

The commandant was right.  The proclamation merely served to strengthen each side in their own convictions.  A few days later Hulot and his colleagues received reinforcements.  The new minister of war notified them that General Brune was appointed to command the troops in the west of France.  Hulot, whose experience was known to the government, had provisional control in the departments of the Orne and Mayenne.  An unusual activity began to show itself in the government offices.  Circulars from the minister of war and the minister of police gave notice that vigorous measures entrusted to the military commanders would be taken to stifle the insurrection at its birth.  But the Chouans and the Vendeans had profited by the inaction of the Directory to rouse the whole region and virtually take possession of it.  A new Consular proclamation was therefore issued.  This time, it was the general speaking to his troops:—­

  SOLDIERS: 

  There are none but brigands, emigres, and hirelings of England
  now remaining in the West.

The army is composed of more than fifty thousand brave men.  Let me speedily hear from them that the rebel chiefs have ceased to live.  Glory is won by toil alone; if it could be had by living in barracks in a town, all would have it.

Soldiers, whatever be the rank you hold in the army, the gratitude of the nation awaits you.  To be worthy of it, you must brave the inclemencies of weather, ice, snow, and the excessive coldness of the nights; you must surprise your enemies at daybreak, and exterminate those wretches, the disgrace of France.

  Make a short and sure campaign; be inexorable to those brigands,
  and maintain strict discipline.

  National Guards, join the strength of your arms to that of the
  line.

  If you know among you any men who fraternize with the brigands,
  arrest them.  Let them find no refuge; pursue them; if traitors
  dare to harbor and defend them, let them perish together.

“What a man!” cried Hulot.  “It is just as it was in the army of Italy —­he rings in the mass, and he says it himself.  Don’t you call that talking, hey?”

“Yes, but he speaks by himself and in his own name,” said Gerard, who began to feel alarmed at the possible results of the 18th Brumaire.

“And where’s the harm, since he’s a soldier?” said Merle.

A group of soldiers were clustered at a little distance before the same proclamation posted on a wall.  As none of them could read, they gazed at it, some with a careless eye, others with curiosity, while two or three hunted about for a citizen who looked learned enough to read it to them.

“Now you tell us, Clef-des-Coeurs, what that rag of a paper says,” cried Beau-Pied, in a saucy tone to his comrade.

“Easy to guess,” replied Clef-des-Coeurs.

At these words the other men clustered round the pair, who were always ready to play their parts.

“Look there,” continued Clef-des-Coeurs, pointing to a coarse woodcut which headed the proclamation and represented a pair of compasses, —­which had lately superseded the level of 1793.  “It means that the troops—­that’s us—­are to march firm; don’t you see the compasses are open, both legs apart?—­that’s an emblem.”

“Such much for your learning, my lad; it isn’t an emblem—­it’s called a problem.  I’ve served in the artillery,” continued Beau-Pied, “and problems were meat and drink to my officers.”

“I say it’s an emblem.”

“It’s a problem.”

“What will you bet?”

“Anything.”

“Your German pipe?”

“Done!”

“By your leave, adjutant, isn’t that thing an emblem, and not a problem?” said Clef-des-Coeurs, following Gerard, who was thoughtfully walking away.

“It is both,” he replied, gravely.

“The adjutant was making fun of you,” said Beau-Pied.  “That paper means that our general in Italy is promoted Consul, which is a fine grade, and we are to get shoes and overcoats.”