Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXXIV. THE CHOUANS

  When night came, and all was silent in the prison, I sat down to writemy letter to the minister. I knew enough of such matters to be awarethat brevity is the great requisite; and therefore, without any attemptto anticipate my accusation by a defence of my motives, I simply butrespectfully demanded the charges alleged against me, and prayed for theearliest and most speedy investigation into my conduct. Such were theinstructions of my unknown friend, and as I proceeded to follow them,their meaning at once became apparent to me. Haste was recommended,evidently to prevent such explanations and inquiries into my conduct asmore time might afford. My appearance at the chateau might still bea mystery to them, and one which might remain unfathomable if anyplausible reason were put forward. And what more could be laid to mycharge? True, the brevet of colonel found on my person; but this I couldwith truth allege had never been accepted by me. They would scarcelycondemn me on such testimony, unsupported by any direct charge; andwho could bring such save De Beauvais? Flimsy and weak as such pretextswere, yet were they enough in my then frame of mind to support mycourage and nerve my heart. But more than all I trusted in the sincereloyalty I felt for the cause of the Government and its great chief,--asentiment which, however difficult to prove, gave myself that inwardsense of safety which only can flow from strong convictions of honesty."It may so happen," thought I, "that circumstances may appear againstme; but I know and feel my heart is true and firm, and even at theworst, such a consciousness will enable me to bear whatever may be myfortune."

  The next morning my altered manner and happier look excited theattention of the others, who by varions endeavors tried to fathom thecause or learn any particulars of my fate; but in vain, for already Iwas on my guard against even a chance expression, and, save on themost commonplace topics, held no intercourse with any. Far from beingoffended at my reserve, they seemed rather to have conceived a speciesof respect for one whose secrecy imparted something of interest to him;and while they tried, by the chance allusion to political events andcharacters, to sound me, I could see that, though baffled, they by nomeans gave up the battle.

  As time wore on, this half-persecution died away; each day brought someprisoner or other amongst us, or removed some of those we had to otherplaces of confinement, and thus I became forgotten in the interest ofnewer events. About a week after my entrance we were walking as usualabout the gardens, when a rumor ran that a prisoner of great consequencehad been arrested the preceding night and conveyed to the Temple; andvarious surmises were afloat as to who he might be, or whether he shouldbe au secret or at large. While the point was eagerly discussed, a lowdoor from the house was opened, and the jailer appeared, followed by alarge, powerful man, whom in one glance I remembered as the chief of theVendean party at the chateau, and the same who effected his escape inthe Bois de Boulogne. He passed close to where I stood, his arm foldedon his breast; his clear blue eye bent calmly on me, yet never by theslightest sign did he indicate that we had ever met before. I divinedat once his meaning, and felt grateful for what I guessed might be ameasure necessary to my safety.

  "I tell you," said a shrivelled old fellow, in a worn dressing-gown andslippers, who held the "Moniteur" of that day in his hand, "I tell youit is himself; and see, his hand is wounded, though he does his best toconceal the bandage in his bosom."

  "Well, well! read us the account; where did it occur?" cried two orthree in a breath.

  The old man seated himself on a bench, and having arranged hisspectacles and unfolded the journal, held out his hand to proclaimsilence, when suddenly a wild cheer broke from the distant part ofthe garden, whither the newly arrived prisoner had turned his steps; asecond, louder, followed, in which the wild cry of "Vive le Roi!" couldbe distinctly heard.

  "You hear them," said the old man; "was I right now? I knew it must behim."

  "Strange enough, too, he should not be _au secret_," said another;"the generals have never been suffered to speak to any one since theirconfinement. But read on, let us hear it."

  "'On yesterday morning,'" said the little man, reading aloud, "'Picot,the servant of George, was arrested; and although every endeavor wasmade to induce him to confess where his master was--'"

  "Do you know the meaning of that phrase, Duchos?" said a tall,melancholy-looking man, with a bald head. "That means the torture; thumbscrews and flint vices are the mode once more: see here."

  As he spoke he undid a silk handkerchief that was wrapped around hiswrist, and exhibited a hand that seemed actually smashed into fragments;the bones were forced in many places through the flesh, which hung indark-colored and blood-stained pieces about.

  "I would show that hand at the tribunal," muttered an old soldier in afaded blue frock; "I'd hold it up when they 'd ask me to swear."

  "Your head would only fare the worse for doing so," said the Abbe. "Readon Monsieur Duchos."

  "Oh, where was I? (_Pardieu!_ Colonel, I wish you would cover that up;I shall dream of that terrible thumb all night.) Here we are: 'Thoughnothing could be learned from Picot, it was ascertained that thebrigand--'"

  "Ha, ha!" said a fat little fellow in a blouse, "they call them allbrigands: Moreau is a brigand; Pichegru is a brigand too."

  "'That the brigand had passed Monday night near Chaillot, and onTuesday, towards evening, was seen at Sainte-Genevieve, where it wassuspected he slept on the mountain; on Wednesday the police traced himto the cabriolet stand at the end of the Rue de Conde, where he took acarriage and drove towards the Odeon.'"

  "Probably he was going to the spectacle. What did they play that night?"said the fat man; "'La Mort de Barberousse,' perhaps."

  The other read on: "'The officer cried out, as he seized the bridle,"Je vous arrete!" when George levelled a pistol and shot him through theforehead, and then springing over the dead body dashed down the street.The butchers of the neighborhood, who knew the reward offered forhis apprehension, pursued and fell upon him with their hatchets; ahand-to-hand encounter followed, in which the brigand's wrist was nearlysevered from his arm; and thus disabled and overpowered, he was securedand conveyed to the Temple.'"

  "And who is this man?" said I in a whisper to the tall person near me."

  "The General George Cadoudal,--a brave Breton, and a faithful followerof his King," replied he; "and may Heaven have pity on him now!" Hecrossed himself piously as he spoke, and moved slowly away.

  "General Cadoudal!" repeated I to myself; "the same whose descriptionfigured on every wall of the capital, and for whose apprehension immenserewards were offered." And with an inward shudder I thought of my chanceintercourse with the man to harbor whom was death,--the dreaded chief ofthe Chouans, the daring Breton of whom Paris rung with stories. And thiswas the companion of Henri de Beauvais.

  Revolving such thoughts, I strolled along unconsciously, until I reachedthe place where some days before I had seen the Vendeans engaged inprayer. The loud tone of a deep voice arrested my steps. I stopped andlistened. It was George himself who spoke; he stood, drawn up to hisfull height, in the midst of a large circle who sat around on the grass.Though his language was a _patois_ of which I was ignorant, I couldcatch here and there some indication of his meaning, as much perhapsfrom his gesture and the look of those he addressed, as from the wordsthemselves.

  It was an exhortation to them to endure with fortitude the lot that hadbefallen them; to meet death when it came without fear, as they could doso without dishonor; to strengthen their courage by looking to him, whowould always give them an example of what they should be. The last wordshe spoke were in a plainer dialect, and almost these: "Throw no glanceon the past. We are where we are,--we are where God, in his wisdom andfor his own ends, has placed us. If this cause be just, our martyrdom isa blessed one; if it be not so, our death is our punishment. And neverforget that you are permitted to meet it from the same spot where ourglorious monarch went to meet his own."

  A cry of "Vive le Roi!" half stifled by sobs of emotion, broke from thelisteners, as they rose and p
ressed around him. There he stood in themidst, while like children they came to kiss his hand, to hear him speakone word, even to look on him. Their swarthy faces, where hardship andsuffering had left many a deep line and furrow, beamed with smiles as heturned towards them; and many a proud look was bent on the rest by thoseto whom he addressed a single word.

  One I could not help remarking above the others,--a slight, pale, andhandsome youth, whose almost girlish cheek the first down of youth wasshading. George leaned his arm round his neck, and called him by hisname, and in a voice almost tremulous from emotion: "And you, Bouvet deLozier, whose infancy wanted nothing of luxury and enjoyment, for whomall that wealth and affection could bestow were in abundance,--how doyou bear these rugged reverses, my dear boy?"

  The youth looked up with eyes bathed in tears; the hectic spot in hisface gave way to the paleness of death, and his lips moved without asound.

  "He has been ill,--the count has," said a peasant, in a low voice.

  "Poor fellow!" said George; "he was not meant for trials like these; thecares he used to bury in his mother's lap met other consolations thanour ruder ones. Look up, Bouvet, my man, and remember you are a man."

  The youth trembled from head to foot, and looked fearfully around, asif dreading something, while he clutched the strong arm beside him, asthough for protection.

  "Courage, boy, courage!" said George. "We are together here; what canharm you?"

  Then dropping his voice, and turning to the rest, he added, "They havebeen tampering with his reason; his eye betrays a wandering intellect.Take him with you, Claude,--he loves you; and do not leave him for amoment."

  The youth pressed George's fingers to his pale lips, and with his headbent down and listless gait, moved slowly away.

  As I wandered from the spot, my heart was full of all I had witnessed.The influence of their chief had surprised me on the night of theattack on the chateau. But how much more wonderful did it seem now whenconfined within the walls of a prison,--the only exit to which was thepath that led to the guillotine! Yet was their reliance on all he saidas great, as implicit their faith in him, as warm their affection, asthough success had crowned each effort he suggested, and that fortunehad been as kind as she had proved adverse to his enterprise.

  Such were the _Chohans_ in the Temple. Life had presented to their hardynatures too many vicissitudes to make them quail beneath the horrors ofa prison; death they had confronted in many shapes, and they feared itnot even at the hands of the executioner. Loyalty to the exiled familyof France was less a political than a religious feeling,--one inculcatedat the altar, and carried home to the fireside of the cottage. Devotionto their King was a part of their faith; the sovereign was but a saintthe more in their calendar. The glorious triumphs of the Revolutionaryarmies, the great conquests of the Consulate, found no sympathy withintheir bosoms; they neither joined the battle nor partook of the ovation.They looked on all such as the passing pageant of the hour, and mutteredto one another that the bon Dieu could not bless a nation that was falseto its King.

  Who could see them as they met each morning, and not feel deeplyinterested in these brave but simple peasants? At daybreak they knelttogether in prayer, their chief officiating as priest; their deep voicesjoined in the hymn of their own native valleys, as with tearful eyesthey sang the songs that reminded them of home. The service over, Georgeaddressed them in a short speech: some words of advice and guidancefor the coming day; reminding them that ere another morning shone, manymight be summoned before the tribunal to be examined, and from, thenceled forth to death; exhorting them to fidelity to each other and loyaltyto their glorious cause. Then came the games of their country, whichthey played with all the enthusiasm of liberty and happiness. These wereagain succeeded by hours passed in hearing and relating stories of theirbeloved Bretagne,--of its tried faith and its ancient bravery; while,through all, they lived a community apart from the other prisoners, whonever dared to obtrude upon them: nor did the most venturesome of thepolice spies ever transgress a limit that might have cost him his life.

  Thus did two so different currents run side by side within the walls ofthe Temple, and each regarding the other with distrust and dislike.

  While thus I felt a growing interest for these bold but simple childrenof the forest, my anxiety for my own fate grew hourly greater. No answerwas ever returned to my letter to the minister, nor any notice takenof it whatever; and though each day I heard of some one or other beingexamined before the "Tribunal Special" or the Prefet de Police, I seemedas much forgotten as though the grave enclosed me. My dread of anythinglike acquaintance or intimacy with the other prisoners prevented mylearning much of what went forward each day, and from which, from somesource or other, they seemed well informed. A chance phrase, an odd wordnow and then dropped, would tell me of some new discovery by the policeor some recent confession by a captured conspirator; but of what thecrime consisted, and who were they principally implicated, I remainedtotally ignorant.

  It was well known that both Moreau and Pichegru were confined in apart of the tower that opened upon the terrace, but neither suffered tocommunicate with each other, nor even to appear at large like the otherprisoners. It was rumored, too, that each day one or both were submittedto long and searching examinations, which, it was said, had hithertoelicited nothing from either save total denial of any complicitywhatever, and complete ignorance of the plots and machinations ofothers.

  So much we could learn from the "Moniteur," which reached us each day;and while assuming a tone of open reprobation regarding the _Chouans_,spoke in terms the most cautious and reserved respecting the twogenerals, as if probing the public mind how far their implication intreason might be credited, and with what faith the proofs of theirparticipation might be received.

  At last the train seemed laid; the explosion was all prepared, andnothing wanting but the spark to ignite it. A letter from Moreau to theConsul appeared in the columns of the Government paper; in which, afterrecapitulating in terms most suitable the services he had rendered theRepublic while in command of the army of the Rhine,--the confidence theConvention had always placed in him, the frequent occasions whichhad presented themselves to him of gratifying ambitious views (had heconceived such he adverted, in brief but touching terms, to hisconduct on the 18th Brumaire in seconding the adventurous step taken byBonaparte himself, and attributed the neglect his devotion had metwith, rather to the interference and plotting of his enemies than toany estrangement on the part of the Consul.) Throughout the whole of theepistle there reigned a tone of reverence for the authority of Bonapartemost striking and remarkable; there was nothing like an approach tothe equality which might well be supposed to subsist between two greatgenerals,--albeit the one was at the height of power, and the other sunkin the very depth of misfortune. On the contrary, the letter was nothingmore than an appeal to old souvenirs and former services to one whopossessed the power, if he had the will, to save him; it breathedthroughout the sentiments of one who demands a favor, and that favor hislife and honor, at the hands of him who had already constituted himselfthe fountain of both.

  While such was the position of Moreau,--a position which resulted in hisdownfall,--chance informed as of the different ground occupied by hiscompanion in misfortune, the Greneral Pichegru.

  About three days after the publication of Moreau's letter, we werewalking as usual in the garden of the Temple, when a huissier came up,and beckoning to two of the prisoners, desired them to follow him. Suchwas the ordinary course by which one or more were daily summoned beforethe tribunal for examination, and we took no notice of what had becomea matter of every-day occurrence, and went on conversing as before aboutthe news of the morning. Several hours elapsed without the others havingreturned; and at last we began to feel anxious about their fate, whenone of them made his appearance, his heightened color and agitatedexpression betokening that something more than common had occurred.

  "We were examined with Pichegru," said the prisoner,--who was an oldquarter
master in the army of the Upper Rhine,--as he sat down upon abench and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

  "Indeed!" said the tall colonel with the bald head; "before MonsieurReal, I suppose?"

  "Yes, before Real. My poor old general: there he was, as I used to seehim formerly, with his hand on the breast of his uniform, his pale, thinfeatures as calm as ever, until at last when roused his eyes flashedfire and his lip trembled before he broke out into such a torrent ofattack--"

  "Attack, say you?" interrupted the Abbe,; "a bold course, my faith! inone who has need of all his powers for defence."

  "It was ever his tactique to be the assailant," said a bronzed,soldierlike fellow, in a patched uniform; "he did so in Holland."

  "He chose a better enemy to practise it with then, than he has donenow," resumed the quartermaster, sadly.

  "Whom do you mean?" cried half a dozen voices together.

  ..."The Consul."

  "The Consul! Bonaparte! Attack him!" repeated one after the other, inaccents of surprise and horror. "Poor fellow, he is deranged."

  "So I almost thought myself, as I heard him," replied the quartermaster;"for, after submitting with patience to a long and tiresome examination,he suddenly, as if endurance could go no farther, cried out,--'Assez!'The prefet started, and Thuriot, who sat beside him, looked upterrified, while Pichegru went on: 'So the whole of this negotiationabout Cayenne is then a falsehood? Your promise to make me governorthere, if I consented to quit France forever, was a trick to extortconfession or a bribe to silence? Be it so. Now, come what will, I 'llnot leave France; and, more still, I 'll declare everything before thejudges openly at the tribunal. The people shall know, all Europe shallknow, who is my accuser, and what he is. Yes! your Consul himselftreated with the Bourbons in Italy; the negotiations were begun,continued, carried on, and only broken off by his own excessive demands.Ay, I can prove it: his very return from Egypt through the whole Englishfleet,--that happy chance, as you were wont to term it,--was a secrettreaty with Pitt for the restoration of the exiled family on hisreaching Paris. These facts--and facts you shall confess them--are in mypower to prove; and prove them I will in the face of all France.'"

  "Poor Pichegru!" said the abbe, contemptuously. "What an ill-temperedchild a great general may be, after all! Did he think the hour wouldever come for him to realize such a dream?"

  "What do you mean?" cried two or three together.

  "The Corsican never forgets a vendetta," was the cool reply, as hewalked away.

  "True," said the colonel, thoughtfully; "quite true."

  To me these words were riddles. My only feeling towards Pichegru was oneof contempt and pity, that in any depth of misfortune he could resortto such an unworthy attack upon him who still was the idol of all mythoughts; and for this, the conqueror of Holland stood now as low in myesteem as the most vulgar of the rabble gang that each day saw sentencedto the galleys.