Léon Pillet--His uniform--Soissonnais susceptibility--Harel
returns to the charge with his play--I set out for
la Vendée--The quarry--I obtain pardon for a coiner
condemned to the galleys--My stay at Meurs--Commandant
Bourgeois--Disastrous effect of the tricolours in le
Bocage--Fresh proofs that a kindness done is never lost
As I crossed the place du Carrousel on my way to see Madame
Guyet-Desfontaines, whom I had not yet thanked for her hospitality
during the perilous days of the Revolution, I saw coming towards me a
man I recognised, and I ran to meet my good friend Léon Pillet. Léon
Pillet was one of my best friends, and, although his father, who was
proprietor of the _Journal de Paris_, had given me rather a dressing
down about _Henri III._, it was done so deftly and in such good taste
that, instead of bearing a grudge against the old Classicist, I had
thanked him. But as I ran towards him I was more taken up with the
brilliant costume Léon Pillet was attired in than anything else: he had
a shako with flowing tricoloured plumes, silver epaulettes, a silver
belt and a royal-blue coat with trousers to match. Here was the very
uniform for a man in search of one for his travels in la Vendée. My
first word to Léon Pillet, after inquiring about his health, was to ask
him in what corps he was an officer, and what was the charming uniform
he wore. Léon Pillet was not an officer in any corps; the uniform was
that of an ordinary soldier in the mounted National Guard, a uniform
which, I suspected, he had just invented and was advertising to the
world on his own person. The advertisement certainly produced its
effect on me, for I was much taken with it: I asked for his tailor's
address, and he gave it me. The tailor's name was Chevreuil; he was
one of the best in Paris, and then lived in the place de la Bourse. I
rushed off to Chevreuil immediately, and he measured me, undertaking
to provide me with shako, epaulettes, sword and belt, and to send them
all home by the 9th or 10th. I returned by the Pont des Arts. It was
the first time I had passed by the Institut since I had been stationed
there; its façade was riddled with the marks of bullets and shot, like
the face of a man pitted with smallpox. On coming in, I found two young
men awaiting me: from the gravity of their greeting I guessed they had
some serious motive in their visit. They gave their names: one was M.
Lenoir-Morand, captain of the military firemen, from Veilly; the other
was M. Gilles, of Soissons.
I do not know what paper it was that related my expedition to Soissons
in a way that insulted the town; I think it was, perhaps, _le Courrier
français_; the feelings of the two Soissonnais had been hurt, and they
had come to demand an explanation.
"Messieurs," I said to them, "I can easily explain the matter to you."
They bowed.
"This is what I would suggest to you. In order not to draw public
attention to my very inferior personality in the midst of important
events that were in process of accomplishment, I only gave a verbal
report to General La Fayette upon my expedition to Soissons. I am
going to draw up a written report, which is intended to go into the
_Moniteur_; if that report contains the exact truth _according to your
thinking_, you shall sign it. It shall be inserted in the official
journal with the confirmation of your two signatures, and the matter
will be at an end. If, on the contrary, the report does not seem to you
suitable, and it is only true _according to my version of the facts_,
you will refuse to sign it--though I give you notice that that will not
prevent my putting it in the _Moniteur_; but the same day it appears I
will be at your service, and I will fight a duel with whichever of you
two lot may decide.... Will that satisfy you?"
MM. Lenoir-Morand and Gilles accepted my proposition.
I sat down there and then at a sort of desk which was almost useless
to me to work at, as I had the habit of working only in bed, and, as
fast as my pen would go, I drew up a report containing the account of
the events I have herein related. When I had done it, I read it out to
the two Soissonnais, who considered it to be so exact that they both
signed it without making a single objection. This report, signed first
by myself and Bard and Hutin, and then by MM. Lenoir-Morand and Gilles,
can be read in the _Moniteur_ for 9 August 1830.[1]
This point cleared up, I paid a long visit to my good mother, whom I
had neglected somewhat in the midst of all these events; but I first
made an appointment for the Soissonnais and Parisians all to dine
together at the _Frères provençaux._ My poor mother had learnt that
something had been happening in Paris, and was eagerly awaiting my
coming to tell me that M. le Duc d'Orléans had a chance of succeeding
to the throne and to congratulate me upon the advantages which the
new king's accession would bring me. It was my sister, who had just
arrived from the provinces to petition me on behalf of her husband,
who had told her this. Poor mother! I took good care not to let her
know that, far indeed from being able to do anything to further my
brother-in-law's administrative career, my own was quite done for in
the Palais-Royal quarter.
A messenger came from Harel whilst I was with my mother. That stubborn
manager urged me by every means in his power, as did also Mademoiselle
Georges, to write a _Napoleon_ play. He was expecting me to discuss
conditions, which should be of my own fixing, he said. I sent word to
Harel that I was starting for la Vendée the next day or day after; that
I would reflect upon the subject deeply, and, if I saw the makings of
a drama in it, I would write it and send it him. This was not at all
what Harel wanted, but he had to be content with the promise, vague as
it was. Besides, he had a play by Fontan to put on, called _Jeanne la
Folle._ Fontan was liberated from prison, as a matter of course, after
the Days of July, without which he would have been shut up at Poissy
for ten years, and he was hurrying on his rehearsals.
I paid farewell visits to M. Lethière, and to M. de Leuven and to
Oudard. Oudard wanted to retain me forcibly in Paris, or, rather,
to despatch me to St. Petersburg with M. Athalin, who was going as
Envoy Extraordinary to the Emperor Nicholas, he said. Here was the
very opportunity for me to obtain the cross of the _Légion d'honneur_
which I had missed at the last promotion, in spite of the letter
M. le Duc d'Orléans had written to Sosthènes. I thanked Oudard and
begged him to look upon me in future as in no way connected with the
royal duke's administration. Oudard persisted strenuously in trying
to make me renounce my resolution, and I left him genuinely grieved
at my departure, which he knew very well meant a complete rupture.
Finally, on 10 August, the day after the proclamation of the July
Monarchy, I entered the diligence, very unhappy that I could not make
up an equivalent for Paris of the farewell that Voltaire had made for
Holland.[2]
Thus I started on the evening of 10 August in the grand uniform of
a mounted National Guard. My first stop was at Blois; I wished to
visit its bloodstained château, and I climbed the ladder-like streets
which lead up to it. I hunted in vain for the equestrian statue of
Louis XII. over the gateway, before which Madame de Nemours had stood
weeping, craving vengeance for the murder of her two grandsons; I went
into the courtyard, and admired that quadrangular enclosure built
under four different reigns, each side showing a distinctly different
style of architecture: the wing built by Louis XII., beautiful in its
severe simplicity; that of François I., with its colonnades overloaded
with ornamentation; Henri III.'s staircase, with carved open work;
then, as a protest against the Gothic and Renaissance styles--against
imagination and art, that is to say--the cold, tasteless building by
Mansard, which the concierge kept pointing out to me persistently,
amazed that anybody could admire anything but it in that marvellous
courtyard! The rapidity with which I examined it, the kind of grimace
that expressed itself involuntarily on my face by the unwonted curl of
my lower lip, brought a smile of contempt to the honest fellow's lips,
which I was not slow in justifying entirely, by refusing to believe
his obstinate asseverations that a special spot was where the Duc de
Guise was said to have been assassinated. True, I discovered, beyond
reach of any doubt, at the other end of the apartment, which had been a
dining hall, a secret staircase, by which the Duc de Guise had left the
state room; the corridor which led to the king's private oratory; and
everything, even to the very place where the duke must have fallen when
Henri III., pale and imploring, lifted the tapestry curtain and asked
in a whisper, "Messieurs, is it all over?" for it could only have been
at that moment that the king caught sight of the blood flowing across
the passage and saw that the soles of his slippers were soaked in it;
then he came forward and gave the face of the poor dead body a kick
with his heel,--just as the Duc de Guise in his turn had kicked the
admiral on St. Bartholomew's Day,--then, drawing backward, as though
alarmed at his courage, he said, "Good Lord! how tall he is! He looks
taller lying down than upright, dead than alive!"[3]
Meantime, while I was remembering these things, the concierge was
tenaciously endeavouring to bring me round to his way of thinking.
"But, monsieur, only you, and a big fair gentleman named M. Vitet, have
ever disbelieved what I state," he said.
Then he went on to show me the fireplace where the bodies of the duke
and cardinal had been cut in pieces and burnt; the window out of
which the ashes of the two bodies had been scattered to the winds;
the oubliettes made by Catherine de Médici, eighty feet deep, with
their steel blades as sharp as razors, their cramp-irons as pointed
as lances, so numerous and so artistically arranged in spirals that a
man who fell from above would be a creature in God's image the moment
before falling, but, losing a piece of flesh or some member of his
body at each impact, would be nothing but a shapeless, hacked-up mass
by the time he reached the bottom, upon which quicklime was thrown the
next day in order to consume the remains. And the whole of this castle,
the royal palace of the Valois, with its memories of assassination and
its marvellous art treasures, was now the barracks of the cuirassiers,
who reeled about drinking and singing; who, in their transports of
love or patriotism, scraped with the point of their long swords some
charming bit of carving by Jean Goujon in order to write on the wood
thus planed down, "I love Sophie!" or "Long live Louis-Philippe!"[4]
When I left the château I took the mail-coach, and reached Tours
that same night. People there could talk of nothing but the arrests
of MM. de Peyronnet, of Chantelauze and of Guernon-Ranville; a host
of details concerning these arrests were related to me with exultant
volubility, which details shall be given in their due time and place.
I continued my journey by steamer, and when I arrived at Ponts-de-Cé
I landed in order to go to Angers. Here I had a friend named Victor
Pavie, an excellent young fellow, warm-hearted and true. What has
become of him now? I don't in the least know; I have hardly ever seen
him since then. When I arrived at his house I learnt that he was at a
sitting of the Assizes. They were trying a poor devil of a Vendean,
from Beauprèau, who had silvered Republican sous with quicksilver, and
tried to pass them off for thirty-sous pieces. The poor wretch's object
in coining false money was to buy food for his starving children. A
great interest was felt in the prisoner throughout the whole town; but
at that date the penalty for false coining was terribly severe: it was
not merely a matter of warning that I bank-notes bore an inscription
threatening sentence of death on any who tried to forge them. In spite
of the simplicity of his confession, and the tears of his wife and
children, and the pleading of his counsel, the accused was sentenced
to between twenty and thirty years' penal servitude. I was present
when the sentence was passed, and, like everyone else, I received my
share of the blow which smote the poor wretch. While I listened to
that sentence, which, although severe, was not illegal, the idea came
to me that Providence had sent me there on purpose to save the man.
I returned to Pavie's house, and, without saying a word to anyone, I
wrote two letters: one to Oudard, the other to Appert. I believe I
have already mentioned Appert and have said that he was almoner of the
private charities of the Duchesse d'Orléans. I laid the case before
them and begged them to ask for the pardon of the condemned man: the
one of the king, the other of the queen. I laid great stress upon the
good effect, politically, an act of clemency towards a Vendean would
produce, at a time when there was reason to fear trouble from that
quarter of the country. I made known to both of them that I looked
upon my petition as so just that I should remain at Angers until I
obtained a favourable reply. Whilst waiting, I explored all the town
and neighbourhood under Pavie's guidance. Excellent fellow, Pavie!
He pointed out to me, with an indignation most characteristic of his
national love of art, some workmen, who, by order of the préfet, under
the direction of a local architect, were busy converting the grotesque
figures on the cathedral into brackets! So what you now see, to your
great satisfaction, if you do not appreciate the wonderful grimacing
faces which the Middle Ages fixed to its cathedrals, is a Roman
entablature upheld by Grecian brackets after the model of those on the
Bourse, another modern marvel, a mixture of Greek and Roman styles,
with nothing French about it but its stove-pipes. Furthermore, they
were scraping the cathedral remorselessly without any respect for the
brown colouring that eight centuries had spread over its surface; and
this scraping gave it a sickly paleness which they called "rejuvenating
it"! Alas! it takes twenty-five years to complete a man: a good Swiss
royalist may fire upon him, and then he is killed! It takes six or
eight centuries to colour a building, and then an architect with good
taste arrives, and scrapes it! ... Why does not the Swiss kill the
architect? or why doesn't the architect scrape the Swiss? We went down
to the promenade, and I walked past the tenth-century ancient castle,
which is encircled by a moat and flanked by a dozen massive towers--the
labour of a people, the asylum for an army. "Ah!" my poor Pavie said,
sighing, "they are going to pull it down.... It spoils the view!"
On that day I received a letter from Oudard telling me the pardon was
granted, and that only the formalities to be gone through with the
Minister of Justice would retard the liberation of the prisoner; so I
hastened to share the letter with the person most directly interested
in its contents, and, nothing further detaining me at Angers, I jumped
into a passing carriage, so great was my wish to quit a town of Vandal
destroyers, and I was driven to Ponts-de-Cé.
To save Angers still further maledictions, let it be mentioned that it
was the birthplace of Béclard and of David. Upon the journey we passed
through a long village, called, I believe, la Mercerie; they were
inaugurating a new mayor. Two worn old pieces of cannon, which exploded
by the vent, saluted as we entered. Every house displayed its flag, and
we passed under a tricolour canopy. The mayor and all his family were
on the balcony, and the youthful mayoress, who, in her affection for
his people, had stepped close to the edge of the terrace, looked to be
the possessor of a very fine pair of legs; I cannot speak for her face,
as the perpendicular position she occupied with regard to me prevented
me from catching a sight of it.
The spot that I had picked out for my centre of operations was a small
farmhouse belonging to M. Villenave. I have mentioned this farm before;
it lay between Clisson and Torfou, and was called la Jarrie. Madame
Waldor had been living there the last three or four months with her
mother and daughter. My plan was to reach my objective by describing a
large circle and touching Chemillé, Chollet and Beaupréau on my way.
By this means, when I should finally reach la Jarrie, I should already
have gained some idea of the temper of the country, and should know how
to go to work upon individuals and also upon the people collectively.
I intended to go short stages at a time, to stop just where fancy took
me, to leave at the hours that should suit my own convenience and to
stay when it pleased me to remain. There was, therefore, no other means
of transport to adopt than to buy or hire a horse; for it was out of
the question for me, wearing the uniform of the mounted National Guard,
to go afoot. This uniform and a second, which was a shooting suit, was
all the wardrobe I had thought it convenient to bring away with me.
I hired a horse at Meurs. I stopped one day there to pay a visit to
the battlefield of Ponts-de-Cé. There, in 1438, the Angevins defeated
the English; and in 1620 Maréchal de Créquy defeated the troops of
Marie de Médici; finally, in 1793, the Republicans were defeated here
by the Vendeans--defeated, though with difficulty, since they were
Republicans. That defeat of 26 July 1793 was a great one, a defeat
equal to one of those that made Leonidas immortal, and yet nobody
knows who was Commander Bourgeois. When it is my good fortune to come
across one of these forgotten names upon my journey, names buried in
the dust of the past, I take it up and breathe upon it till it shines
out conspicuously before my contemporaries. It is both my right and my
duty, the more so as Bourgeois is one of those brave heroes of '93 who
are slandered when not forgotten.
After the rout of Vihiers, whilst our army was trying to reorganise
itself again at Chinon, Bourgeois, who was in command of the 8th
Parisian battalion, the one that was called the Lombard battalion,
received orders to leave Ponts-de-Cé and to occupy the rock of Meurs.
It was an odious position: to the north, the perpendicular rock,
commanding one arm of the Louët, a little river which runs into the
Loire; to the west, a small plain of undulating ground; to the south,
a ravine, at the bottom of which the Aubance flows; on the other side
were the heights of Mozé, of Soulaines and of Derrée. When camped on
that unlucky plain, there is no possible way of retreat if one is
attacked in front and on the flank. But the command was given, and he
had to obey it. Bourgeois and his four hundred men were encamped on the
rock of Meurs.
"What a queer name, la roche de Meurs, commandant!" one of the soldiers
remarked.
"My good fellow, it is the imperative of the verb _mourir_ (to die),"
answered Bourgeois.
"What in the world is an imperative?"
"I will show you when the time comes."
The Vendeans debouched from the Brissac road. There were twelve
thousand of them, commanded by Bonchamp and supported by d'Autichamp
and Scépeaux. The Lombard battalion, as we have said, only numbered
four hundred men. The fight lasted five hours. When the redoubts of the
camp had been carried and the camp stormed, d'Autichamp shouted, "Stop
killing!" but there were priests in the Vendean ranks who cried, "Give
no quarter!" Three hundred and ninety-six men perished in the massacre!
Bourgeois flung himself into the river with his three remaining men,
two of these men were killed in the river by his side and he and his
companion were both wounded. But, wounded though he was, Bourgeois made
his way along the Angers road and caught up at _l'Image de Morus_
the 6th battalion of Paris which was also fleeing. He rallied the
fugitives and stopped them. Just at that moment the Jemmapes battalion
was marching out of Angers, and Bourgeois found himself at the head of
a battalion and a half. He retraced his steps, in his turn attacked
the Chouans and forced them to entrench themselves in the château
and island. An eye-witness told me that, for more than a league, red
serpents could be seen on the foam of the waves of the Loire! Whole
squads were being carried by the river to the ocean.[5]
I left Meurs, as I have said, after a day's sojourn there.
On this journey through la Vendée, the same phenomenon occurred to
me a second time as that during my Soissons excursion--namely, the
farther the distance increased between me and Paris, the nearer did I
seem to advance towards the North Pole. My uniform excited enthusiasm
in the neighbourhood of Paris and at Blois I still found admirers; at
Angers, this was reduced to mere curiosity; but at Meurs and Beaulieu
and Beaumont I fell into frigid regions and felt that, as La Fayette
had forewarned me, if it went on much longer there would be some danger
in passing along within range of hedges and thickets. At Chemillé my
uniform nearly caused a riot. As I have mentioned, I had with me a
change of dress; it was a new shooting costume. After the three days
and the journey to Soissons and the expedition to Rambouillet, the old
one was not fit to wear again. Well, this costume was in a kind of
long portmanteau, one compartment of which contained my rifle, which
was taken to pieces. All I should have to do, then, would be to divest
myself of my National Guard uniform, fold it up neatly and pack it into
my portmanteau, in the place of my shooting suit, put that on my back
and continue my journey, and, evidently, three-fourths of the dangers I
might be running would disappear; but it seemed to me that to do such a
thing would be an act of cowardice unworthy of one who had taken part
in the fighting of July. So I stuck to my uniform and contented myself
instead with airing my gun. Next day I ordered my horse for eight in
the morning. I ostentatiously loaded my gun with two balls (which was a
fresh imprudence), I slung it across my back, and I passed through half
the town in the midst of what I felt was a distinctly menacing silence.
I did not mean to sleep at Chollet (it was hardly six leagues from
Chemillé to Chollet), but to arrive at two in the afternoon and stop
there until the following morning.
At eleven o'clock I had passed Saint-Georges-du-Puy, and Trémentines
by noon; finally, about one o'clock, I approached a place which looked
dangerous (should there be danger abroad at all), because the road I
had to traverse ran between the wood of Saint-Léger and the forest of
Breil-Lambert. I was debating in my mind whether it would be better
to pass this _malo sitio_, as they say in Spain, at a foot pace or at
a gallop, when I thought I heard my name pronounced behind me in a
panting voice. Directly I heard my name called I felt no fear of the
person who was uttering it. It was scarcely probable, however, that I
had heard correctly. But I now heard it repeated a second time and more
distinctly than the first. Who on earth could know me in the department
of Maine-et-Loire, between Chemillé and Chollet? I turned my horse's
head in the direction whence the voice came and soon saw a man running
with breathless haste from the corner of the road to Nuaillé, signing
to me with his hat that it was he was calling me to stop. There was no
longer any doubt that the man wished to catch me up and that he was
calling to me; but what could he possibly want? As he came nearer, I
could distinguish his costume, which was that of a peasant. I waited,
more puzzled than ever. The man ran as fast as his legs would carry
him, and, as his voice failed him for want of breath, he put more and
more expression into his gestures. At last he joined me, and flinging
himself on my boot, began to kiss my knees.
Speech was altogether out of the question; I believe if he had had only
fifty yards more to run he would have fallen dead on his arrival, like
the Greek of Marathon. Finally, he got his breath again.
"You do not know me," he said, "but I, I know you: you are M. Alexandre
Dumas, who saved me from the galleys!"
Whereupon he fell on his knees and thanked me in the name of his wife
and children.
I jumped down, took him in my arms and embraced him. After a few
moments he calmed down.
"Ah! monsieur," he said, "what recklessness! and what good luck that I
was set at liberty in time!"
"What do you mean?"
"Whoever advised you to travel in la Vendée in such a uniform as that?"
"Nobody.... I acted according to my own wishes."
"But it is a miracle you have not been killed before this!"
"Ah, indeed! then are your Angevins as bad as that?"
"It is not that they are wicked, monsieur, but it is believed
everywhere that you want to set this country at defiance.... I was set
free last night at four, monsieur; I tried to gain information as to
where I could find you to thank you, and I was told you had taken the
road to Chollet. At Ponts-de-Cé I asked for news of you, and was told
you had stopped a day at Meurs: there is no doubt about it, you are
easily recognised, and you are called _le monsieur tricolore_. At Meurs
I was told you had hired a horse, and that you left there yesterday
morning. I only stopped at Beaumont. At break of day I started off
again: by ten I reached Chemillé, and you had left the market-town at
eight.... I learnt, moreover, that your visit had produced an extremely
bad effect there; then I set off running till I was out of breath,
and I have run like that since ten this morning.... Just as you were
turning the corner at Nuaillé I caught sight of you and recognised you;
that was why I called you.... I hoped to catch you up before the forest
of Breil-Lambert, and, thank God, I succeeded! But now here you are, my
dear monsieur.... In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, do not expose
yourself any longer!"
"To what, my friend?"
"To the danger of assassination."
"Bah!"
"But I tell you they believe you have come to upset the countryside."
"Well, then, they have been badly brought up! And so much the worse for
them!"
"Let me precede you or go with you, monsieur; and when they know that
you have saved a Bocage man from the galleys, you can go wherever you
desire, dressed just as you like. I will answer for it, on the faith of
a Chouan, that no harm will come to you ... none whatever.... They will
not touch a single hair of your head. Will you leave it to me?"
All things considered, I thought it was the best thing to do.
"Arrange things as you think proper," I said.
"Ah! that's right! Where are you going at this moment?"
"To la Jarrie, between Clisson and Torfou."
"You are not on the right road."
"I know it all right, but came a long way round on purpose."
"Are you going to friends?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, let me take you to your friends.... We can easily reach
there the day after to-morrow. Stay a week with them; during that time,
I will make such, good use of my feet and hands that you can resume
your journey.... Do you agree?"
"Upon my word, yes.... I will give myself entirely into your care....
You know the country; you are a native! Now, if any accident happens to
me it will be on your shoulders."
"Yes, monsieur, and from this moment I will answer for you to your
guardian angel."
Two days later I reached la Jarrie, not only without accident, but,
moreover, loaded with all kinds of good wishes received all along my
route, freed from all danger, thanks to the story my man related a
score of times, who went before me like a herald, telling everybody who
would listen to his story, and even those who did not care to listen,
the service I had done him. I confess with deep regret, bordering on
remorse, that I, who can remember the name of M. Detours well enough,
have completely forgotten the name of my Vendean.
[1] See first note at end of volume.
[2] See note at end of volume.
[3] I must say, in justice to myself, that recent archæological
researches have proved the correctness of my opinion as against that of
the concierge of the château de Blois.
[4] Owing to the efforts of King Louis-Philippe the cuirassiers
have been moved elsewhere since my visit, and the château has been
beautifully restored.
[5] I refer readers for fuller details to that curious work by M. Fr.
Grille, _La Vendée en 1793._