"It is impossible!"
"Nevertheless, I must."
"Why so?"
"Because I am advised,--more than that, I am adjured to do so."
"By whom?"
"By those whose judgment and intelligence I cannot doubt, any more
than I distrust their devotion and fidelity."
"But for what reasons?--under what pretexts?"
"It seems that the royalist cause is despaired of even in La Vendée;
the white banner is a rag which France repudiates. I am told there are
not in Paris twelve hundred men who, for a few francs, would begin a
riot in the streets; that it is false to say that we have sympathizers
in the army, false that certain of the government are true to us,
false that the Bocage is ready to rise as one man to defend the rights
of Henri V.--"
"But," interrupted the noble Vendéan who had for the time changed a
name illustrious in the great war for that of Gaspard, and who seemed
incapable of longer controlling himself, "who gives such advice? Who
speaks of La Vendée with such assurance? Who measures our devotion,
and says, 'Thus far and no farther shall it go'?"
"Various royalist committees that I need not name to you, but whose
opinion we must regard."
"Royalist committees!" cried the Marquis de Souday. "Ha! _parbleu!_ I
know them; and if Madame will believe me, we had better treat their
advice as the late Marquis de Charette treated the advice of the
royalist committees of his day."
"How was that, my brave Souday?" said Petit-Pierre.
"The respect I have for your Royal Highness," replied the marquis,
with magnificent self-possession, "will not, unfortunately, allow of
my specifying further."
Petit-Pierre could not help smiling.
"Ah!" she said; "we no longer live in the good old times, my poor
marquis. Monsieur de Charette was an autocratic sovereign in his own
camp, and the Regent Marie-Caroline will never be anything but a very
constitutional regent. The proposed uprising can succeed only on
condition of complete agreement among all those who desire its
success. Now, I ask you, does that complete agreement exist when, on
the eve of the uprising, notice is given to the general that three
fourths of those on whom he counted would not take part in it?"
"What matter for that?" cried the Marquis de Souday; "the fewer we are
at the rendezvous, the greater the glory to those who appear."
"Madame," said Gaspard, gravely, "they went to you, and they said to
you,--when perhaps you had no thought of re-entering France,--'The men
who deposed King Charles X. are held at arm's length by the present
government and reduced to impotence; the ministry is so composed that
you will find few if any changes necessary to make there; the clergy,
a stationary and immovable power, will lend its whole influence to the
re-establishment of the legitimate royalty by divine right; the courts
are still administered by men who owe their all to the Restoration;
the army, fundamentally obedient, is under the orders of a leader who
has said that in public policy there should be more than one flag; the
people, made sovereign in 1830, has fallen under the yoke of the most
idiotic and most inept of aristocracies. Come, then,' they said, 'your
entry into France will be another return from Elba. The population
will everywhere crowd around you to hail the last scion of our kings
whom the nation desires to proclaim!' On the faith of these words you
have come to us, Madame; and at your coming we have risen to arms. I
hold it, therefore, an error for our cause and a shame for ourselves
that this retreat, which would impeach your own political sagacity and
prove our personal powerlessness, has been demanded of you."
"Yes," said Petit-Pierre, who by a singular turn of fate found herself
called upon to defend a course which was breaking her heart,--"yes;
all you say is true. I was promised all that; but it is neither your
fault nor mine, my brave, true friends, if fools have taken baseless
hopes for realities. Impartial history will say that when I was
accused of being a faithless mother (and I have been so accused) I
answered, as I was bound to answer, 'Here I am, ready to make all
sacrifices!' History will also say of you, my loyal friends, that the
more my cause seemed hopeless and abandoned the less you hesitated in
your devotion to it. But it is a matter of honor with me not to put
that devotion to the proof uselessly. Let us talk plainly, friends.
Let us come down to figures; they are practical. How many men do you
think we can muster at this moment?"
"Ten thousand at the first signal."
"Alas!" said Petit-Pierre; "that is many, but not enough.
Louis-Philippe has at least four hundred and eighty thousand
unemployed troops, not to speak of the National Guard."
"But think of the defections of the officers who will resign," said
the marquis.
"Well," said Petit-Pierre, addressing Gaspard, "I place my destiny and
that of my son in your hands. Tell me, assure me, on your honor as a
gentleman, that we have two chances in ten of success, and instead of
ordering you to lay down your arms, I will stay among you to share
your perils and your fate."
At this direct appeal, not to his feelings but to his convictions,
Gaspard bent his head and made no answer.
"You see," resumed Petit-Pierre, "that your judgment and your heart
are not in unison. It would be a crime in me to use a chivalry which
common-sense condemns. Let us, therefore, not discuss that which has
been decided,--wisely decided, perhaps. Let us rather pray God to send
me back to you in better times and under more favorable auspices.
Meantime, let us now think only of my departure."
No doubt the gentlemen present felt the necessity of this resolution;
little as it agreed with their feelings. Believing that the duchess
was fully determined on it, they answered nothing and only turned away
to hide their tears. The Marquis de Souday walked about the room with
an impatience he did not attempt to disguise.
"Yes," said Petit-Pierre, bitterly, after a long silence,--"yes, some
have said, like Pilate, 'I wash my hands of it,' and my heart, so
strong in danger, so strong to meet death, has yielded; for it cannot
face in cold blood the responsibility of failure and the useless
shedding of blood. Others--"
"Blood that flows for the faith is never uselessly shed," said a voice
from the chimney-corner. "God himself has said it, and, humble as I
am, I dare to repeat the words of God. Every man who believes and dies
for his belief is a martyr; his blood enriches the earth and hastens
the harvest."
"Who said that?" asked Petit-Pierre, eagerly, rising on the tips of
her toes.
"I," said Jean Oullier, simply, getting up from the stool on which he
was sitting, and entering the circle of nobles and leaders.
"You, my brave fellow!" cried Petit-Pierre, delighted to find a
reinforcement at the very moment she seemed to be abandoned by all.
"Then you don't agree with the Parisian gentlemen. Come here, and
speak your mind. In these days Jacques Bonhomme is never out of place,
even at a royal council."
"I am so little of the opinion that you ought to leave France," said
Jean Oullier, "that if I had the honor to be a gentleman, like those
present, I should lock the door and bar your way and say, 'You shall
not leave us!'"
"But your reasons? I am eager to hear them. Speak, speak, my Jean!"
"My reasons?--my reasons are that you are our flag; and so long
as one of your soldiers is left standing, be he the humblest of your
army, he should bear it aloft and steady until death makes it his
winding-sheet."
"Go on, go on, Jean Oullier! You speak well."
"My reasons?--one is that you are the first of your race who have come
to fight with those who fight for its cause, and it would be a
shameful thing to let you go without a sword being drawn from its
scabbard."
"Go on, go on, Jacques Bonhomme!" cried Petit-Pierre, striking her
hands together.
"But," interrupted Louis Renaud, alarmed at the attention the duchess
gave to Jean Oullier, "the withdrawals we have just heard of deprive
the movement of all chance of success; it will be nothing more than a
mere skirmish."
"No, no; that man is right!" cried Gaspard, who had yielded with great
reluctance to Petit-Pierre's arguments. "An attempt, if only a
skirmish, is better than the nonexistence into which we should drop. A
skirmish is a date, a fact; it will stand in history, and the day will
come when the people will forget all except the courage of those who
led it. If it does not lead to the recovery of the throne it will at
least leave traces on the memory of nations. Who would remember the
name of Charles Edward were it not for the skirmishes of Preston-Pans
and Culloden? Ah, Madame, I long to do as this brave peasant advises!"
"And you would be all the more right, Monsieur le comte," said Jean
Oullier, with an assurance which showed that these questions,
apparently above his level, were familiar to him,--"you would be all
the more right because the principal object of her Royal Highness,
that to which she is even willing to sacrifice the monarchy confided
to her regency,--I mean the welfare of the people,--will otherwise
fail."
"How do you mean?" asked Petit-Pierre.
"The moment Madame withdraws and the government knows she is safely
out of the country, persecutions will begin; and they will be the more
keen, the more violent, because we shall have shown ourselves daunted.
You are rich, you gentlemen,--you can escape by flight, you can have
vessels to wait for you at the mouths of the Loire and the Charente.
Your country is everywhere, in many lands. But as for us poor
peasants, we are tethered like the goats to the soil that feeds us; we
would rather face death than exile."
"And your conclusion is, my brave Jean Oullier--"
"My conclusion is, Monsieur Petit-Pierre," said the Vendéan, "that
when the wine is drawn it is best to drink it; we have taken arms, and
having taken them, we ought to fight without delay."
"Let us fight!" cried Petit-Pierre, enthusiastically. "The voice of
the people is the voice of God. I have faith in that of Jean Oullier."
"Let us fight!" echoed the marquis.
"Let us fight!" said Louis Renaud.
"Well then, what day shall we decide on for the first outbreak?" asked
Petit-Pierre.
"Why," said Gaspard, "I thought it was decided for the 24th!"
"Yes; but these gentlemen in Paris have countermanded the order."
"Without informing you?" cried the marquis. "Don't they know that men
are shot for less than that?"
"I forgave them," said Petit-Pierre, stretching out her hand.
"Besides, those who did it are civilians, not soldiers."
"This counter-order and delay are most unfortunate," said Gaspard, in
a low tone; "had I known of it--"
"What?" asked Petit-Pierre.
"I might not have agreed in the opinion of that peasant."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Petit-Pierre; "you heard what he said, dear
Gaspard,--when the wine is drawn it is best to drink it. Let us drink
it gayly, gentlemen, even though it be that with which the lord of
Beaumanoir refreshed himself at the fight of the gallant Thirty. Come,
Marquis de Souday, find me pen, ink, and paper in this farmhouse where
your future son-in-law has given me hospitality."
The marquis hastened to search for what Petit-Pierre wanted; and while
opening drawers and closets and rummaging the clothes and linen of the
farmer, he contrived to wring Jean Oullier's hand and whisper:--
"You talked gold, my brave _gars_; never one of your tally-hos
rejoiced my heart like that 'boot-and-saddle' you've just rung out."
Then, having found what he wanted he carried it to Petit-Pierre. The
latter dipped the pen into the ink-bottle, and in her firm, bold,
large handwriting, she wrote as follows:--
MY DEAR MARÉCHAL,--I remain among you. Be so good as to come to me.
I remain, inasmuch as my presence has already compromised many of my
faithful followers, and it would be cowardice on my part to abandon
them. Besides, I hope, in spite of this unfortunate counter-order,
that God will grant us victory.
Farewell, Monsieur le maréchal; do not give in your resignation, for
Petit-Pierre will not give in hers.
PETIT-PIERRE.
"And now," said Petit-Pierre, folding the letter, "what day shall we
fix for the uprising?"
"Thursday, May 31," said the marquis, thinking that the nearest time
was the best, "if that is satisfactory to you."
"No," said Gaspard; "excuse me, Monsieur le marquis, but it seems to
me best to choose the night of Sunday, the 3d to the 4th of June. On
Sunday, after high mass, the peasants of all the parishes assemble in
the porches of their different churches, and the captains will have an
opportunity to communicate the order without exciting suspicion."
"Your knowledge of the manners and customs of this region is a great
help, my friend," said Petit-Pierre, "and I agree to your advice. Let
the date be therefore the night of the 3d to the 4th of June."