SERVING AND MIS-SERVING.
Jesuit Morlet and his god-son, little Rodin, had been taken in due
course before the Provost, and the reverend fellow was now awaiting the
hour of his execution, which was set for sun-up. The cord which bound
his arms was fastened to a post of the cart-shed that served as shelter
for the Grand Provost's mounted police; at the foot of the post the
Jesuit lay huddled. Too case-hardened not to face death with a certain
degree of calm, he said to his god-son:
"I have no chance of escaping death. I shall be shot at break of day.
Here ends my career."
"You will soon be with the angels," dryly responded little Rodin, who
now seemed strangely to have recovered both speech and hearing.
"Poor little one! My beloved son, you are, are you not, very sad at my
approaching death?"
"You are an elect of the Lord, predestined to glory, and you will sit at
His right side through eternity. _Hosannah in excelsis!_ On the
contrary, I rejoice in your martyrdom."
"So young, and already devoid of affection!" muttered the Jesuit to
himself. "Are you not grieved at the idea of being left behind and
forsaken by my death?"
"The Lord God will watch over His servant, as He watches over the birds
of the air. He provides for all."
"Listen, dear child; when God has called me to Him, go you to Rome, to
the General of the Order. God will perform the rest."
"I shall go to Rome; your recommendations will be precisely followed,
dear god-father; I shall serve the holy cause of God."
As little Rodin concluded these words, a courier came up and said to the
cavalryman on picket duty before the Jesuit and his god-son: "Comrade,
can you show me to the quarters of Citizen General Donadieu? I have a
message for him."
"You haven't far to go. Pass through the shed, turn to the right, and
you will see another cavalry picket before the door of a house. There is
where General Donadieu is quartered," replied the sentry, while the
courier vanished in the direction indicated.
"Good god-father, General Donadieu is attached to this army! Good news
for us!"
"But, dear god-son, how will the presence of this general serve us any?"
"Good god-father," replied young Rodin in a whisper, "if you wish it,
you need not go to-day to visit the angels of the Lord. Think and decide
whether you would rather go. I am here to obey you."
With a nod the Jesuit approved the advice of his god-son, and beckoning
to the cavalryman, who approached them, he said: "Hey, sentry! Is it
indeed decided that I be shot at daybreak?"
"In the shake of a lamb's tail. You won't have long to wait."
"Well, well! Since it must be so, I have decided to make
revelations--very important ones."
"I shall call the brigadier and he will take you before the Provost."
"No, no. It is to a general that I wish to make my revelations. Let your
chiefs know without delay."
"You hear that, brigadier!" commented the sentry to an under-officer who
had come up. "The old rascal calls for a general to make revelations
to!"
"I'll go see the Provost about it," said the brigadier. The few moments
he was gone the Jesuit utilized to confer in whispers with his god-son.
The brigadier quickly returned, went up to the post to which the
reverend was tethered, and said to him:
"Off to General Donadieu. But look out for yourself if your confidences
are a sham!" And seeing that little Rodin made ready to follow the
prisoner, the soldier added: "Has this brat also revelations to make?
Has he got anything to do with you?"
"The child will attest, by his tender candor, the sincerity of my
communications, and will complete them in case of gaps in my memory."
General Donadieu, commandant of a brigade of light cavalry in the Army
of the Rhine and Moselle, had just finished reading the order he had
received, when one of his aides-de-camp informed him that a spy,
condemned to be shot at sunrise, asked for an audience to give him
information of the utmost importance, but requested that the interview
have no other witness than the child who would accompany him.
"I do not accept the scoundrel's proposal," replied the General to his
aide-de-camp. "His condition is compromising. Send him in, and stay here
yourself."
Accompanied by his god-son, the Jesuit appeared. Both were calm. The
General looked the spy over from head to foot, and said to him sharply:
"You pretend to have important matters to disclose to me, which, you
say, concern the army? I shall listen to you. But be brief. Do not abuse
my patience."
"When we are alone," replied the Jesuit, glancing at the aide-de-camp.
"Our interview must be in secret."
"My aide is my second self. He may hear all. Speak, then. Speak at once,
or go to the devil!"
"I shall speak, then, General, since you command it. The day after the
battle of Watignies a cavalry colonel in the republican army was taken
prisoner. He was marched to headquarters--"
"Wait a moment!" cried General Donadieu, visibly troubled at these
opening words of the Jesuit's. "You hope to obtain a suspension of
sentence as the price of your revelations?"
"More than that. I must be set at liberty."
"I can grant you neither delay nor liberation without the authority of
the Representatives of the people. Captain, find Citizen St. Just at
once, and ask him whether I may suspend the execution of this man if his
revelations seem worthy of it."
"At your orders, General," replied the aide, as he left the room.
The General, at last overcoming the uneasiness which the Jesuit's first
words caused him, now resumed, haughtily:
"As you were saying, the day after the battle of Watignies a cavalry
colonel--"
"General Donadieu," came imperiously from the Jesuit, "your moments are
numbered. If, before your aide returns, you have not contrived a way to
set me at liberty, you are lost. Think it over. A prisoner at the battle
of Watignies, you were conducted by the Count of Plouernel before
Monseigneur the Prince of Conde, who received you most flatteringly. You
admitted to him that it was with regret that you served in an army so
lacking in military pride as to submit to the yoke of the
Representatives of the people. You added--still speaking, be it
remembered, to the Prince of Conde--these words, literally:
'Monseigneur, my dignity as an officer is so outraged by subjection to
the tyranny of these bourgeois pro-consuls, that, without the slightest
scruple of conscience, I would offer you my sword and serve on your
side.'"
"Ah, indeed? So I said that to the Prince of Conde, did I? And perhaps
you have proofs of what you say?"
"The proofs are inscribed in a certain register kept in the Prince's
staff headquarters. In that register are kept the names of all the
officers in the republican army on whom, in case of need, the royalist
party thinks it can call. The fact which concerns you was related to me
by the Count of Plouernel, former colonel in the French Guards, who was
present at your interview with Monseigneur the Prince of Conde; which
interview was continued by his Most Serene Highness in these words: 'My
dear colonel, remain in the republican army. You will there be able to
serve the cause of our rightful King most efficaciously by spurring your
regiment to rebel at the proper moment in the name of military honor,
against these miserable bourgeois pro-consuls. Be sure, my dear colonel,
that the day the good cause triumphs you will be rewarded as you
deserve. Until then, keep snug behind your republican mask.' So,"
continued the Jesuit, "you have so well worn your mask that after being
returned to the army in the exchange of prisoners, you were first
promoted to the rank of Brigadier General, then to Division General--"
"Enough, stop," cut in Donadieu in a sardonic tone of complete
reassurance. "What now is your project? You intend to make your
disclosures to others besides me, if I do not at once enable you to
escape?"
"Aye, General, that is my intention."
"There is only one obstacle--"
"And that is, General? Have the goodness to make it known to me. We will
find a way around it."
"Eh!" replied Donadieu, moving towards the door, "It is that I shall
call the mounted patrolman who brought you hither, order him to shoot
you on the spot, and your secret dies with you. The solution is swift
and simple."
"And St. Just, to whom you have just applied for permission to remit my
sentence? You have forgotten that detail."
"I shall tell St. Just that your revelations were rubbish, and I let the
execution take its course. St. Just is not the man to reproach me for
hastening the death of a counter-revolutionist. So, then," continued
General Donadieu, taking another step toward the door, "you will be
shot at once. Our conversation in over."
"And me?" piped up little Rodin, who had so far kept himself motionless
and silent in a dark corner of the room. "And me? They won't shoot me,
I'm very sure. I am hardly eleven. So then, if you send my good
god-father to the angels, I shall tell everyone what I have just seen
and heard."
"Whence it follows, General," chimed in the reverend, "that you have no
other safe course than to shut your eyes to our flight, and if you are
wise, accompany us, and carry the plan of to-morrow's battle to the
Austrian headquarters with you."
"This low window opens on the ground," volunteered Rodin, examining the
casing. "We will be able to clear out through it, General, before your
aide-de-camp comes back. The rest--God will care for."
"The light will help us to avoid your picket lines, among whom we fell
last night," added the prelate, in turn approaching the window, whence
he beheld the first grey streaks of dawn. Then to Donadieu, who stood
paralyzed with fear, he added: "Come, General, loose me of my bonds. I
must have this place far behind me when your aide returns."
"What shall I do?" stammered the bewildered General. "My aide will
return with St. Just's orders. The prisoners' escape will be the end of
me--I shall be suspected of having assisted in it--and suspicion is
death!"
"Good god-father," cried Rodin, who had been ferreting around the room
and had just opened a door leading into a neighboring apartment,
"listen, the General does not wish to fly with us--he will let us
escape. He will say to his aide-de-camp that while he was in the next
room a minute or two, we profited by his momentary absence to cut the
cords on your wrists and to vanish by yonder window."
"What presence of mind!" exclaimed the Jesuit; and, turning to the
General, "My god-son is right. There is nothing else left for you to do.
You will be accused of negligence; that is grave. But you will at least
have a chance of averting suspicion."
"All the more, seeing that if the General had had the intention of
letting us escape he would not have sent his aide to St. Just for
orders," judicially added Rodin. "You have every chance not to be
molested because of our escape, General. But if you have my god-father
shot, I shall denounce you to St. Just."
This reasoning commanded prompt action. General Donadieu chose of the
two evils the lesser. Hurriedly whipping off the prelate's bonds he
said: "Fly, quick. You will find a clump of trees a hundred paces off,
within our picket line. Hide there; and lie close till you hear the
cannon, which will announce to you the battle is on. Then you will have
nothing more to fear. Now go!" cried the General, flinging open the
window, "Go, quickly!"
"I shall not prove an ingrate," promised the Jesuit as he passed towards
the opening the other had made for him. "When I see the Prince of Conde,
I shall report to him that he may always count on you."
The prelate's god-son slipped like a serpent through the window, and was
gone. The Jesuit followed suit.
"Ah, well," said General Donadieu to himself. "If St. Just suspects me,
over I go to the enemy. We soldiers know how to serve or mis-serve
according as our interests or safety demand. If I carry the plans of the
battle to the Austrians, I shall at least have saved my life and
general's commission. Devil take the Republic!"