Ah! ambition is a fine thing! The Duke de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de
Courtornieu were considerably past middle-age; they had weathered many
storms and vicissitudes; they possessed millions in hard cash, and owned
the finest estates in the province. Under these circumstances it might
have been supposed that their only desire was to end their days in peace
and quietness. It would have been easy for them to lead a happy and
useful life by seeking to promote the welfare of the district, and they
might have gone down to their graves amid a chorus of benedictions and
regrets.
But no. They longed to have a hand in managing the state vessel; they
were not content with remaining simple passengers. The duke, appointed
to the command of the military forces, and the marquis, invested with
high judicial functions at Montaignac, were both obliged to leave their
beautiful chateaux and install themselves in somewhat dingy quarters in
the town. And yet they did not murmur at the change, for their vanity
was satisfied. Louis XVIII. was on the throne; their prejudices were
triumphant; and they felt supremely happy. It is true that sedition was
already rife on every side, but had they not hundreds and thousands of
allies at hand to assist them in suppressing it? And when thoughtful
politicians spoke of “discontent,” the duke and his associates looked at
them with the thorough contempt of the sceptic who does not believe in
ghosts.
On the 4th of March, 1816, the duke was just sitting down to dinner at
his house in Montaignac when he heard a loud noise in the hall. He rose
to go and see what was the matter when the door was suddenly flung open
and a man entered the room panting and breathless. This man was Chupin,
once a poacher, but now enjoying the position of head gamekeeper on the
Sairmeuse estates. It was evident, from his manner and appearance, that
something very extraordinary had happened.
“What is the matter?” inquired the duke.
“They are coming!” cried Chupin; “they are already on the way!”
“Who are coming? who?”
Chupin made no verbal reply, but handed the duke a copy of the letter
written by Martial under Chanlouineau’s dictation. “My dear friend,” so
M. de Sairmeuse read. “We are at last agreed, and the marriage is
decided on. We are now busy preparing for the wedding, which will take
place on the fourth of March.” The date was no longer blank: but still
the duke had naturally failed to understand the purport of the missive.
“Well, what of it?” he asked.
Chupin tore his hair. “They are on the way,” he repeated. “The
peasants--all the peasants of the district, they intend to take
possession of Montaignac, dethrone Louis XVIII., bring back the emperor,
or at least, the emperor’s son, and crown him as Napoleon II. Ah, the
wretches! they have deceived me. I suspected this outbreak, but I did
not think it was so near at hand.”
This unexpected intelligence well-nigh stupefied the duke. “How many are
there?” he asked.
“Ah! how do I know, your grace? Two thousand, perhaps--perhaps ten
thousand.”
“All the town’s people are with us.”
“No, your grace, no. The rebels have accomplices here. All the retired
officers of the imperial army are waiting to assist them.”
“Who are the leaders of the movement?”
“Lacheneur, the Abbe Midon, Chanlouineau, the Baron d’Escorval----”
“Enough!” cried the duke.
Now that the danger was certain, his coolness returned, and his
herculean form, a trifle bowed by the weight of years, rose to its full
height. He gave the bell-rope a violent pull; and directly his valet
entered, he bade him bring his uniform and pistols at once. The servant
was about to obey, when the duke added: “Wait! Let some one take a
horse, and go and tell my son to come here without a moment’s delay.
Take one of the swiftest horses. The messenger ought to go to Sairmeuse
and back in two hours.” On hearing these words, Chupin pulled at the
duke’s coat tail to attract his attention.
“Well, what is it now?” asked M. de Sairmeuse impatiently.
The old poacher raised his finger to his lips, as if recommending
silence, and as soon as the valet had left the room, he exclaimed: “It
is useless to send for the marquis!”
“And why, you fool?”
“Because, because--excuse me--I----”
“Zounds! will you speak, or not?”
Chupin regretted that he had gone so far. “Because the marquis----”
“Well?”
“He is engaged in it.”
The duke overturned the dinner-table with a terrible blow of his
clenched fist. “You lie, you wretch!” he thundered with terrible oaths.
His anger was so threatening, that the old poacher sprang to the door
and turned the knob, ready for flight. “May I lose my head if I do not
speak the truth,” he insisted. “Ah! Lacheneur’s daughter is a regular
sorceress. All the gallants of the neighbourhood are in the ranks;
Chanlouineau, young D’ Escorval, your son----”
M. de Sairmeuse was pouring forth a torrent of curses upon Marie-Anne
when his valet re-entered the room. He suddenly checked himself, put on
his uniform, and ordering Chupin to follow him, he hastened from the
house. He was still hoping that Chupin had exaggerated the danger; but
when he reached the Place d’Armes commanding an extensive view of the
surrounding country, whatever illusions he may have retained immediately
vanished. Signal lights gleamed on every side, and Montaignac seemed
surrounded by a circle of flame.
“There are the signals,” murmured Chupin. “The rebels will be here
before two o’clock in the morning.”
The duke made no reply, but hastened towards M. de Courtornieu’s house.
He was striding onward, when on turning a corner, he espied two men
talking in a doorway; they also had perceived him, and at sight of his
glittering epaulettes they both took flight. The duke instinctively
started in pursuit, overtook one of the men, and seizing him by the
collar, sternly asked: “Who are you? What is your name?”
The man was silent, and his captor shook him so roughly that two pistols
concealed under his over-coat, fell to the ground. “Ah, brigand!”
exclaimed M. de Sairmeuse, “so you are one of the conspirators against
the king!”
Then without another word, he dragged the man to the citadel, gave him
in charge of the astonished soldiers, and again hastened after M. de
Courtornieu. He expected to find the marquis terrified; but on the
contrary he seemed perfectly delighted.
“At last,” he said, “there comes an opportunity for us to display our
devotion and our zeal--and without danger! We have good walls, strong
gates, and three thousand soldiers at our command. These peasants are
fools! But be grateful for their folly, my dear duke, and run and order
out the Montaignac chasseurs----” He suddenly paused, and then with a
gesture of annoyance, he resumed: “The deuce! I am expecting Blanche
this evening. She was to leave Courtornieu after dinner. Heaven grant
she may meet with no misfortune on the way!”
The Duke de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu had more time
before them than they supposed. The rebels were advancing, but not so
rapidly as Chupin had stated, for Lacheneur’s plans had been disarranged
by two unforeseen circumstances.
When standing beside his burning cottage, he had counted the signal
fires that blazed out in answer to his own, and found their number
corresponded with his expectations; he joyfully exclaimed: “See all our
friends keep their word! They are ready; and are now on their way to the
meeting place. Let us start at once, for we must be there first!”
His horse was brought him, and one foot was already in the stirrup when
two men sprang from the neighbouring grove and darted towards him. One
of them seized the horse by the bridle.
“The Abbe Midon!” exclaimed Lacheneur, in amazement; “M. d’Escorval!”
And foreseeing, perhaps, what was to come, he added, in a tone of
concentrated fury: “What do you two want with me?”
“We wish to prevent the accomplishment of an act of madness!” exclaimed
M. d’Escorval. “Hatred has crazed you, Lacheneur!”
“You know nothing of my projects!”
“Do you think that I don’t suspect them? You hope to capture
Montaignac----”
“What does that matter to you?” interrupted Lacheneur, angrily.
But M. d’Escorval would not be silenced. He seized his former friend by
the arm, and in a voice loud enough to be heard distinctly by every one
present, he continued: “You foolish fellow! You have forgotten that
Montaignac is a fortified city, surrounded by deep moats and high walls!
You have forgotten that behind these fortifications there is a garrison
commanded by a man whose energy and bravery are beyond all question--the
Duke de Sairmeuse.”
Lacheneur struggled to free himself from the baron’s grasp. “Everything
has been arranged,” he replied, “and they are expecting us at
Montaignac. You would be as sure of this as I am myself, if you had only
seen the lights gleaming in the windows of the citadel. And look, you
can see them yet. These lights tell me that two or three hundred of
Napoleon’s old officers will come and open the gates of the town as soon
as we make our appearance.”
“And after that! If you take Montaignac, what will you do then? Do you
imagine the English will give you back your emperor? Isn’t Napoleon II.
an Austrian prisoner. Have you forgotten that the allied sovereigns have
left a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers within a day’s march of
Paris?”
Sullen murmurs were heard among Lacheneur’s followers.
“But all this is nothing,” continued the baron. “The chief danger lies
in the fact that there are generally as many traitors as dupes in an
undertaking of this sort.”
“Whom do you call dupes?”
“All those who mistake their illusions for realities, as you have done;
all those who wishing something to happen, are convinced that it _will_
happen--simply because they wish it so. And besides do you really
suppose that neither the Duke de Sairmeuse nor the Marquis de
Courtornieu has been warned of your attempt?”
Lacheneur shrugged his shoulders. “Who could have warned them?” he asked
complacently. But his tranquility was feigned; as the glance he cast on
Jean only too plainly proved. Frigid indeed was the tone in which he
added: “It is probable that the duke and the marquis are at this very
moment in the power of our friends.”
The cure now attempted to second the baron’s efforts. “You will not go,
Lacheneur,” he said. “You cannot remain deaf to the voice of reason. You
are an honest man; think of the frightful responsibility you assume!
Upon these frail hopes you are imperilling hundreds of brave lives? I
tell you that you will not succeed; you will be betrayed; I am sure you
will be betrayed!”
An expression of horrible agony contracted Lacheneur’s features. It was
evident to every one that he was deeply moved; and, perhaps, matters
might have taken a very different course, had it not been for
Chanlouineau’s intervention. “We are wasting too much time in foolish
prattle,” he exclaimed, stepping forward and brandishing his gun.
Lacheneur started as if he had been struck by a whip. He rudely freed
himself from his friend’s grasp, and leaped into the saddle. “Forward!”
he ordered.
But the baron and the priest did not yet despair; they sprang to the
horse’s head. “Lacheneur,” cried the priest, “beware! The blood you are
about to spill will fall on your own head, and on the heads of your
children!”
Arrested by these prophetic words, the little band paused, and at the
same moment a figure clad in the costume of a peasant issued from the
ranks.
“Marie-Anne!” exclaimed the abbe and the baron in the same breath.
“Yes it is I,” replied the young girl, doffing the large hat which had
partially concealed her face; “I wish to share the dangers of those who
are dear to me--share in their victory or their defeat. Your advice
comes too late, gentlemen. Do you see those lights on the horizon? They
tell us that the people of the province are repairing to the cross-roads
at the Croix d’Arcy, our general meeting place. Before two o’clock
fifteen hundred men will be gathered there awaiting my father’s
commands. Would you have him leave these men, whom he has called from
their peaceful firesides, without a leader? No, it is impossible!”
She evidently shared her lover’s and her father’s madness, even if she
did not share all their hopes. “No, there must be no more hesitation, no
more parleying,” she continued. “Prudence now would be the height of
folly. There is no more danger in a retreat than in an advance. Do not
try to detain my father, gentlemen; each moment of delay may, perhaps,
cost a man’s life. And now, my friends, forward!”
A loud cheer answered her, and the little band descended the hill.
But M. d’Escorval could not allow his own son, whom he now perceived in
the ranks, to depart in this fashion: “Maurice!” he cried.
The young fellow hesitated, but finally stepped forward.
“You will not follow these madmen, Maurice?” said the baron.
“I must follow them, father.”
“I forbid it.”
“Alas! father, I can’t obey you. I have promised--I have sworn. I am
second in command.” If his voice had a mournful ring, plainly enough he
was at all events determined.
“My son!” exclaimed M. d’Escorval; “unfortunate boy! Don’t you know that
you are marching to certain death?”
“Then all the more reason, father, why I shouldn’t break my word.”
“And your mother, Maurice, your mother whom you forget!”
A tear glistened in the young fellow’s eye. “I am sure,” he replied,
“that my mother would rather weep for her dead son than keep him near
her dishonoured, and branded as a coward and a traitor. Farewell!
father.”
M. d’Escorval appreciated the nobility of mind which Maurice’s conduct
implied. He opened his arms, and pressed his son convulsively to his
heart, feeling that it might be for the last time in life. “Farewell!”
he faltered, “Farewell!”
A minute later Maurice had rejoined his comrades, now on the plain
below, leaving the baron standing motionless and overwhelmed with
sorrow.
Suddenly M. d’Escorval started from his reverie. “A single hope remains,
abbe!” he cried.
“Alas!” murmured the priest.
“Oh--I am not mistaken. Marie-Anne just told us the place of rendezvous.
By running to Escorval and harnessing the cabriolet, we might be able to
reach the Croix d’Arcy before this party arrives there. Your voice,
which touched Lacheneur, will touch the hearts of his accomplices. We
will persuade these poor, misguided men to return home. Come, abbe; come
quickly!”
They tarried no longer, but swiftly descended towards the ferry.