Every one hastened to obey. The monks lowered the hoods of their long
robes over their faces, Morgan replaced his mask.
“Enter!” said the superior.
The door opened and the serving-brother appeared.
“An emissary from General Georges Cadoudal asks to be admitted,” said
he.
“Did he reply to the three passwords?”
“Perfectly.”
“Then let him in.”
The lay brother retired to the subterranean passage, and reappeared a
couple of minutes later leading a man easily recognized by his costume
as a peasant, and by his square head with its shock of red hair for a
Breton. He advanced in the centre of the circle without appearing in
the least intimidated, fixing his eyes on each of the monks in turn, and
waiting until one of these twelve granite statues should break silence.
The president was the first to speak to him.
“From whom do you come?” he asked him.
“He who sent me,” replied the peasant, “ordered me to answer, if I were
asked that question, that I was sent by Jehu.”
“Are you the bearer of a verbal or written message?”
“I am to reply to the questions which you ask me, and exchange a slip of
paper for some money.”
“Very good; we will begin with the questions. What are our brothers in
the Vendée doing?”
“They have laid down their arms and are awaiting only a word from you to
take them up again.”
“And why did they lay down their arms?”
“They received the order to do so from his Majesty Louis XVIII.”
“There is talk of a proclamation written by the King’s own hand. Have
they received it?”
“Here is a copy.”
The peasant gave a paper to the person who was interrogating him. The
latter opened it and read:
The war has absolutely no result save that of making the monarchy
odious and threatening. Monarchs who return to their own through
its bloody succor are never loved; these sanguinary measures must
therefore be abandoned; confide in the empire of opinion which
returns of itself to its saving principles. “God and the King,”
will soon be the rallying cry of all Frenchmen. The scattered
elements of royalism must be gathered into one formidable sheaf;
militant Vendée must be abandoned to its unhappy fate and marched
within a more pacific and less erratic path. The royalists of the
West have fulfilled their duty; those of Paris, who have prepared
everything for the approaching Restoration, must now be relied
upon--
The president raised his head, and, seeking Morgan with a flash of the
eye which his hood could not entirely conceal, said: “Well, brother,
I think this is the fulfilment of your wish of a few moments ago.
The royalists of the Vendée and the Midi will have the merit of pure
devotion.” Then, lowering his eyes to the proclamation, of which there
still remained a few lines to read, he continued:
The Jews crucified their King, and since that time they have
wandered over the face of the earth. The French guillotined
theirs, and they shall be dispersed throughout the land.
Given at Blankenbourg, this 25th of August, 1799, on the day
of St. Louis and the sixth year of our reign.
(Signed) LOUIS.
The young men looked at each other.
“‘Quos vult perdere Jupiter dementat!’” said Morgan.
“Yes,” said the president; “but when those whom Jupiter wishes to
destroy represent a principle, they must be sustained not only against
Jupiter but against themselves. Ajax, in the midst of the bolts and
lightning, clung to a rock, and, threatening Heaven with his clinched
hand, he cried, ‘I will escape in spite of the gods!’” Then turning
toward Cadoudal’s envoy, “And what answer did he who sent you make to
this proclamation?”
“About what you yourself have just answered. He told me to come and
inform myself whether you had decided to hold firm in spite of all, in
spite of the King himself.”
“By Heavens! yes,” said Morgan.
“We are determined,” said the President.
“In that case,” replied the peasant, “all is well. Here are the real
names of our new chiefs, and their assumed names. The general recommends
that you use only the latter as far as is possible in your despatches.
He observes that precaution when he, on his side, speaks of you.”
“Have you the list?” asked the President.
“No; I might have been stopped, and the list taken. Write yourself; I
will dictate them to you.”
The president seated himself at the table, took a pen, and wrote the
following names under the dictation of the Breton peasant:
“Georges Cadoudal, Jehu or Roundhead; Joseph Cadoudal, Judas Maccabeus;
Lahaye Saint-Hilaire, David; Burban-Malabry, Brave-la-Mort; Poulpiquez,
Royal-Carnage; Bonfils, Brise-Barrière; Dampherné, Piquevers; Duchayla,
La Couronne; Duparc, Le Terrible; La Roche, Mithridates; Puisaye, Jean
le Blond.”
“And these are the successors of Charette, Stoffiet, Cathelineau,
Bonchamp, d’Elbée, la Rochejaquelin, and Lescure!” cried a voice.
The Breton turned toward him who had just spoken.
“If they get themselves killed like their predecessors,” said he, “what
more can you ask of them?”
“Well answered,” said Morgan, “so that--”
“So that, as soon as our general has your reply,” answered the peasant,
“he will take up arms again.”
“And suppose our reply had been in the negative?” asked another voice.
“So much the worse for you,” replied the peasant; “in any case the
insurrection is fixed for October 20.”
“Well,” said the president, “thanks to us, the general will have the
wherewithal for his first month’s pay. Where is your receipt?”
“Here,” said the peasant, drawing a paper from his pocket on which were
written these words:
Received from our brothers of the Midi and the East, to be
employed for the good of the cause, the sum of....
GEORGES CADOUDAL,
General commanding the Royalist army of Brittany.
The sum was left blank.
“Do you know how to write?” asked the president.
“Enough to fill in the three or four missing words.”
“Very well. Then write, ‘one hundred thousand francs.’”
The Breton wrote; then extending the paper to the president, he said:
“Here is your receipt; where is the money?”
“Stoop and pick up the bag at your feet; it contains sixty thousand
francs.” Then addressing one of the monks, he asked: “Montbard, where
are the remaining forty thousand?”
The monk thus interpellated opened a closet and brought forth a
bag somewhat smaller than the one Morgan had brought, but which,
nevertheless, contained the good round sum of forty thousand francs.
“Here is the full amount,” said the monk.
“Now, my friend,” said the president, “get something to eat and some
rest; to-morrow you will start.”
“They are waiting for me yonder,” said the Breton. “I will eat and sleep
on horseback. Farewell, gentlemen. Heaven keep you!” And he went toward
the door by which he had entered.
“Wait,” said Morgan.
The messenger paused.
“News for news,” said Morgan; “tell General Cadoudal that General
Bonaparte has left the army in Egypt, that he landed at Fréjus, day
before yesterday, and will be in Paris in three days. My news is fully
worth yours, don’t you think so? What do you think of it?”
“Impossible!” exclaimed all the monks with one accord.
“Nevertheless nothing is more true, gentlemen. I have it from our friend
the Priest (Leprêtre), [Footnote: The name Leprêtre is a contraction
of the two words “le prêtre,” meaning the priest; hence the name under
which this man died.] who saw him relay at Lyons one hour before me, and
recognized him.”
“What has he come to France for?” demanded several voices.
“Faith,” said Morgan, “we shall know some day. It is probable that he
has not returned to Paris to remain there incognito.”
“Don’t lose an instant in carrying this news to our brothers in the
West,” said the president to the peasant. “A moment ago I wished to
detain you; now I say to you: ‘Go!’”
The peasant bowed and withdrew. The president waited until the door was
closed.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “the news which our brother Morgan has just
imparted to us is so grave that I wish to propose a special measure.”
“What is it?” asked the Companions of Jehu with one voice.
“It is that one of us, chosen by lot, shall go to Paris and keep the
rest informed, with the cipher agreed upon, of all that happens there.”
“Agreed!” they replied.
“In that case,” resumed the president, “let us write our thirteen names,
each on a slip of paper. We put them in a hat. He whose name is first
drawn shall start immediately.”
The young men, one and all, approached the table, and wrote their
names on squares of paper which they rolled and dropped into a hat. The
youngest was told to draw the lots. He drew one of the little rolls of
paper and handed it to the president, who unfolded it.
“Morgan!” said he.
“What are my instructions?” asked the young man.
“Remember,” replied the president, with a solemnity to which the
cloistral arches lent a supreme grandeur, “that you bear the name and
title of Baron de Sainte-Hermine, that your father was guillotined on
the Place de la Révolution and that your brother was killed in Condé’s
army. Noblesse oblige! Those are your instructions.”
“And what else?” asked the young man.
“As to the rest,” said the president, “we rely on your royalist
principles and your loyalty.”
“Then, my friends, permit me to bid you farewell at once. I would like
to be on the road to Paris before dawn, and I must pay a visit before my
departure.”
“Go!” said the president, opening his arms to Morgan. “I embrace you
in the name of the Brotherhood. To another I should say, ‘Be brave,
persevering and active’; to you I say, ‘Be prudent.’”
The young man received the fraternal embrace, smiled to his other
friends, shook hands with two or three of them, wrapped himself in his
mantle, pulled his hat over his eyes and departed.