HOW THE OWLS HOOTED IN THE DAYTIME
The sun poured into the little salon, all polished wood and gay-coloured
chintz, where Monsieur Joseph de la Marinière and his four friends were
talking at the top of their voices.
The four guests sat in more or less tired attitudes round the room; the
host stood poised on the hearth-rug, a dark, dandy little gentleman with
a brilliant smile. He had a way of balancing himself on one foot and
slightly extending both arms, as if he were going to fly off into space.
This, and his gentle, attractive manner, sometimes touched with
melancholy, gave him a sort of angelic, spiritual air. It was difficult
to imagine him either a soldier or a conspirator, yet he had been one
and was still the other. More than once, only a politic indulgence not
often extended by Napoleon's administrators, and the distinguished
merits of his younger brother, had saved Monsieur Joseph from sharing
the fate of some of his friends at Joux, Ham, or Vincennes.
These fortress prisons held even now many men of good family whom only
the Restoration was to set free. They, as well as plenty of inferior
prisoners, owed their captivity in most cases to a secret meeting
betrayed, a store of arms discovered, a discontented letter opened, or
even to an expression of opinion, such as that France had been better
off under the Bourbons. Napoleon kept France down with an iron hand,
while the young men and lads in hundreds of thousands shed their blood
for him, the women wept, and the old men sometimes raged: but yet France
as a whole submitted. The memory of the Terror made this milder tyranny
bearable. And genius commands, as long as it is victorious, and till
this year of the Spanish war, there had been no check to Napoleon. He
had not yet set out to extinguish the flame of his glory in Russian
snows.
The police all over France obeyed his orders only too well--"_Surveillez
tout le monde, excepté moi!_" To a great degree it was necessary, for
French society, high and low, was honeycombed with Royalist plots, some
of them hardly worthy of a cause which called itself religious as well
as royal. Leaders like Cadoudal and Frotté were long dead; some of their
successors in conspiracy were heroes rather of scandal than of loyalty,
and many a tragic legend lingers in French society concerning the men
and women of those days.
To a great extent, the old families of La Vendée, the La
Rochejacqueleins at their head, refrained from mixing themselves up in
the smaller plots against the Empire in which hundreds of Chouans,
noble and peasant, men and women, were constantly involved during these
years with probable loss of life and liberty. It was not till later that
the general feeling became intensified so that Napoleon had to weaken
his army, in the Waterloo campaign, by sending some thousands of men
against a new insurrection in the West, under Louis de la
Rochejaquelein, a second La Vendée war, only stopped by the final return
of the Bourbons.
Monsieur Joseph's gay little room looked like anything but a haunt of
conspirators; but his friends were earnestly discussing with him the
possibility of raising the country, arming the peasants, marching on the
chief town of the department, capturing the Prefect, as well as the
General in command of the division, and holding them as hostages while
the insurrection went on spreading through Anjou and the neighbouring
provinces.
The most eager, the most original of the plotters was the Baron d'Ombré,
a dark, square young man with frowning brows. He turned quite fiercely
on a milder-looking person, a Monsieur de Bourmont, a distant cousin of
the well-known leader of that name, who doubted whether the peasants
would rise as readily as César d'Ombré expected.
"I tell you," he said, "they hate, they detest the Empire. Look at their
desolate homes, their deserted fields! I tell you, the women of France
alone, if they had a leader, would drive the usurper out of the
country."
"There is your mission, then, dear César," said the Vicomte des Barres,
a delicate, sarcastic-looking man of middle age. "March on Paris with
your phalanx of Amazons."
"César is right, nevertheless, gentlemen," growled the Comte d'Ombré,
the young man's father, the oldest of the party. "It is energy, it is
courage, that our cause wants. And I go farther than my son goes. Take
the Prefect and the General by all means--excellent idea--"
"If you can catch them--" murmured Monsieur des Barres, and was frowned
upon furiously by César d'Ombré.
The Comte was rather deaf. "What? What?" he asked sharply, being aware
of the interruption.
"Nothing, monsieur, nothing!" cried their host, with one spring from the
fireplace to the old man's chair--"and what would you do, monsieur, with
the Prefect and the General? I am dying of curiosity."
Monsieur d'Ombré stared up into the sweet, birdlike face, which bent
over him with flashing eyes and a delighted smile.
"Do? I should shoot them on the spot," he said. "They are traitors: I
would treat all traitors the same. Yes, I know the Prefect is a friend
of your brother's--of your own, possibly. I know my son and I are your
guests, too. Never mind! Any other conduct would be cowardly and
abominable. No member of my family would ever be guilty of opportunism,
and remain in my family. Those two men have done more harm in this
province than Napoleon Buonaparte and all his laws and police. They
never tried to make his government popular. The Prefect, at least, has
done this--I know nothing about the General."
"A wooden image of his master," said Monsieur des Barres.
Monsieur Joseph returned, rather sobered, to his hearth rug. "Shoot
them, well, well!" he muttered. "A strong measure, but possibly politic.
It is what one would _like_ to do, of course, officially. Not
personally--no--though Monsieur d'Ombré may be right. It is a crime, no
doubt, to make the Empire popular. I am afraid my poor brother has tried
to do the same, and succeeded--yes, succeeded a little."
"My father is quite wrong," César d'Ombré muttered in the ear of
Monsieur de Bourmont, who listened with a superior smile. "Such mad
violence would ruin the cause altogether. Now as hostages, those two men
would be invaluable."
"Time enough to discuss that when you have got them," said Monsieur de
Bourmont. "To me, I must confess, this plan of a rising sounds premature
and unpractical. What we want first is money--money from England, and
stronger support, too--as well as a healthier public opinion all through
this part of the country."
"Ah! but none of your waiting games for me," cried the young Baron.
"_'De l'audace'_--you know--that is the motto for Frenchmen."
"Boldness and rashness need not be the same thing," said Monsieur de
Bourmont, drily. "And remember whom you are quoting, my dear César. A
dangerous person, to say the least."
A grim smile lightened d'Ombré's hard face. "It was the right thing to
say, if the devil said it," he answered.
The Vicomte des Barres rose from his chair and lounged into the middle
of the room.
"To be practical, friends," he said, "the feeling among the peasants is
the question. In this country side, Monsieur de la Marinière ought to
know pretty well what it is. And I fear he will tell us that a good deal
of exertion will be necessary, before they will take up their guns and
pikes, and march where they are led. It goes without saying that he,
himself, is the one man to lead them. I believe, though he chooses to
live like a hermit, he is the most popular man in Anjou."
"But no--no, dear Vicomte," said Monsieur Joseph, shaking his head
violently. "It is true there are some of them who love me--but their
interest, you see, is on the other side. My brother is more popular than
I am, and he deserves it, in spite of his lamentable opinions."
"Ah, monsieur, forgive me, but do you understand your peasants?" cried
César d'Ombré. "Are you doing them justice? Would they set a good farm
against their king, their religion, the salvation of their country?
Bleeding from the loss of their sons--will they think more of money and
corn-stacks and vintages than of that true peace and freedom which can
only be won by driving out tyranny? Nobody wants to put them back as
they were before 1789. The feudal ages are gone--we have given up our
rights, and there is an end of it--but we want our own kings again, and
we want peace for France, and time to breathe and to let her wounds
heal. We want to be rid of this accursed usurper who is draining her
life blood. That, I say, is what the peasants feel, most of them, as
strongly as we do. But they are of course uneducated. They need stirring
up, drilling, leading. And I can hardly believe, monsieur, that the
weight of one man in the other scale--even of your learned and
distinguished brother--would outweigh all the claims of faith and
affection and loyalty. No--delay and hesitation are useless. Trust the
peasants, I say."
"You may be right--I hope you are--" said Monsieur Joseph, more gravely
than usual. "But my brother will not now be alone in the left-hand
scale. Lancilly, under his care, has given the people work and wages for
years, remember. And now, with Hervé de Sainfoy's return--"
A howl from César d'Ombré, a groan from his father, a grimace of disgust
from Monsieur de Bourmont, who had reason, for his own cousin, once a
Chouan, was now an Imperial officer--a laugh from Monsieur des Barres;
all this greeted the name of the owner of Lancilly.
"Although that renegade is your cousin, monsieur," old d'Ombré growled,
"I hope the country side may soon be made too hot to hold him."
Monsieur Joseph shrugged his shoulders, smiled, looked on the floor. He
did not take up the old man's words; he could not very well have done
so. But there was something about him which reminded his guests that the
slender little boyish man was a dead shot and a perfect swordsman, and
that once, long ago, in old La Vendée days, he had challenged a man who
had said something insulting of his brother Urbain, and after one or two
swift passes had laid him dead at his feet.
There was a moment of rather awkward silence. Then Monsieur des Barres
took up the word again.
"To be practical, my friends," he repeated, "the first step to action,
it seems to me, is to sound and encourage the peasants. Each of us must
be responsible for his own neighbourhood."
"We will answer for ours," said César d'Ombré.
Monsieur de Bourmont, the most cautious of the party, murmured something
to the same effect, and Monsieur Joseph nodded gravely.
The Vicomte's eyes dwelt on him, a little anxiously. It seemed as if
that word "renegade," applied to his cousin and neighbour, might have a
tendency to stick in his throat. Des Barres, who admired and loved the
little gentleman, was sorry. He wanted to remind him how the old Comte
d'Ombré was universally known for bad manners, stupidity, and violence.
He would have liked to reason with him, too, on the subject of that
cousin, and to point out kindly, as a friend, how Monsieur de Sainfoy
had had absolutely no real and good excuse for going over to the
Emperor. Nothing but ambition and worldiness could have led him into the
course he had taken. Urbain de la Marinière, known even before 1789 as a
philosophical Republican, held a very different place in the estimation
of honest men.
"That farmer on the _landes_"--said the Vicomte, looking at his host--"a
good example of a superior peasant, is he not? We passed near his farm
this morning. What line does he take?"
"Joubard? He is a fine old fellow, that. His fifth son was taken by the
conscription a year ago. Four are dead. I think his heart is in the
right place. But he is my brother's best tenant. Yes--I don't know. Old
Joubard is made of good stuff, and he loves me."
"And probably he loved his sons, and their mother loved them too," said
César d'Ombré.
"Here are my children," said Monsieur Joseph, looking out of the window.
"Breakfast will be ready immediately. With your leave we will finish
our discussion afterwards."
All the faces lightened, except that of the Baron d'Ombré, whose soul
was too much in earnest to be glad of a bodily interruption. But the
ride had been long, over difficult roads and under a hot sun, and
breakfast was later than usual. The three elder conspirators were not
sorry to lay aside their plotting for an hour, and they knew by
experience that Monsieur Joseph's cook was an artist. On an occasion
such as this, dishes of the rarest distinction crossed the sandy court
from that quaint high-roofed kitchen.
The children, as Monsieur Joseph called them, came to the glass door and
opened it gently. They were Angelot and Henriette, first cousins, and
alike enough to be brother and sister, in spite of the ten years between
them.
The girl, with her fearless eyes, walked first; it seemed natural to
her. All the men rose and bowed as she came in. She made a formal
curtsey to each one separately, and smiled when Monsieur des Barres, the
man of the world, bent gracefully to kiss her hand as if she had been a
grown-up woman.
"Good morning, my dear uncle," said Angelot, and kissed Monsieur Joseph
on both cheeks; then bowed deeply to the company.
They looked upon him with not altogether friendly eyes; the Comte
d'Ombré even muttered something between his teeth, and hardly returned
the young fellow's salutation. The son of Urbain de la Marinière, a
notorious example of two odious things, republicanism and opportunism!
the mutual affection of him and his uncle Joseph only made him more of a
possible danger. To Monsieur d'Ombré Angelot seemed like a spy in the
camp. His son, however, knew better, and so did the other two. Angelot's
parentage was not in his favour, certainly, but they tried to take him
at his uncle's valuation, and that was a high one. And Monsieur Joseph's
judgment, though romantic, was seldom wrong.
Gigot, the dark-faced valet, having kicked off the sabots which covered
his felt shoes, but still wearing his large apron, set open the door
into the long narrow hall which ran through the back of the house,
widening in the middle where the tower and staircase branched from it.
"Monsieur est servi!"
The hungry guests marched willingly to the dining-room, their heavy
boots creaking, the noise of tread and voices echoing through the bare
boarded house.
"You do not join us, mademoiselle?" said Monsieur des Barres, seeing
that Henriette lingered behind in the drawing-room.
"No, monsieur," the child answered. "My father thinks I am too young to
listen. Besides, I am the _guetteuse_. It is our business to watch--the
dogs and I."
"Indeed! Is that how you spend your life? A curious employment for a
young lady!"
"When there is danger abroad, I am more to be trusted than any one
else."
"I quite believe it. You know, then, that our visit to-day is not
entirely one of pleasure? Monsieur your father has taken you so far into
his confidence, though you are too young to listen?"
"I know everything, monsieur," said Henriette.
"Then we may eat in peace. We are safe in your care. That is charming,
mademoiselle."
"Yes, monsieur. I will let you know at once, if Monsieur le Préfet and
his gendarmes are riding down the lane."
"Good heavens, what an idea! I have not the smallest wish to meet
Monsieur le Préfet. I believe that gentleman keeps a black book, in
which I am quite sure my name is written. Yes indeed, mademoiselle, if
he should happen to pass, send him a little farther. Tell him he will
find a nest of Chouans at Vaujour, or anywhere else your fancy
suggests."
Henriette laughed and nodded. "Trust me, monsieur," she said.
"Your little cousin is charming," said Monsieur des Barres to Angelot,
who was politely waiting for him in the hall.
The six men were soon sitting at Monsieur Joseph's hospitable round
table. As they dispatched their plates of steaming soup they saw the
slim blue figure of Henriette, with two dogs at her heels, flit past the
window in the direction of the steep lane down which Angelot had come
not very long before. This lane led not only to the _landes_, but by
other lanes to one of the rare high roads of the country, and on to the
chief town of the department. It was partly for this reason that
Monsieur Joseph, who valued privacy and independence, left it in its
present break-neck condition, more like the dry course of a torrent than
a civilised road.
A large dish of eggs followed the soup. But only half the guests had
been helped, when all the dogs about the place began to bark savagely.
And then, out of the shadow of the wood, darting down past the back of
the kitchen, Henriette came flying to the dining-room window, almost
upsetting Gigot and his dish as she sprang over the step.
"Papa, papa, there is a party riding down the lane. I believe it is
Monsieur le Préfet and an officer with him, and three servants. I ran up
the wood. They had only just turned into the lane, and they are coming
down very slowly; their horses don't like it."
Monsieur Joseph rapped out a tremendous oath, and looked round at his
guests, whose faces were a study.
"The Prefect and the General!" he said. "Now is your moment,
gentlemen!"