Kitabı oku: «The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon», sayfa 3

“Tell us what you would like to know,” the young man asked, apparently having paid only the slightest attention to the insult Roland had been about to spit at him.

“I thought,” Bonaparte continued, “that the Bourbons were completely reconciled to exile. I thought the police were sufficiently well organized to keep bandits and robbers off the highways. And finally, I thought that General Hoche had completely pacified the Vendée.”

“But where have you been? Where have you been?” said the young man with a loud laugh.

“As I told you, Citizen, at the ends of the earth.”

“Well, then. Let me help you understand. The Bourbons are not rich; the émigrés, whose property has been sold, are ruined. It is impossible to pay two armies in the West and to organize one in the Auvergne mountains without any money. So the Companions of Jehu, by stopping stagecoaches and pillaging the coffers of our tax officers, have set themselves up as tax collectors for the Royalist generals. Just ask Charette, Cadoudal, and Teyssonnet.”

“But,” ventured the Bordeaux wine merchant, “if the gentlemen calling themselves the Companions of Jehu are only after the government’s money.…”

“Only the government’s money, not anyone else’s. Never have they robbed an ordinary citizen.”

“So yesterday,” the man from Bordeaux continued, “how did it happen, then, that along with the government’s money they also carried off a bag containing two hundred louis that belonged to me?”

“My dear sir,” the young man answered, “I’ve already told you that there must have been some mistake, and as sure as my name is Alfred de Barjols, that money will be returned to you some day.”

The wine merchant sighed deeply and shook his head like a man who, in spite of the reassurances people are giving him, still is not totally convinced.

But at that moment, as if the guarantee given by the young man who had revealed his own name and social rank had awakened the sensibilities of those for whom he was giving his guarantee, a horse galloped up to the front door. They could hear footsteps in the corridor; the dining room door was flung open, and a masked man, armed to the teeth, appeared in the doorway.

All eyes turned to him.

“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice breaking the deep silence that greeted his unexpected appearance, “is there among you a traveler named Jean Picot who was in the stagecoach that was stopped between Lambesc and Port-Royal by the Companions of Jehu?”

“Yes,” said the wine merchant in astonishment.

“Might you be that man, monsieur?” the masked man asked.

“That’s me.”

“Was nothing taken from you?”

“Yes, there was. I had entrusted a sack of two hundred louis to the coachman, and it was taken.”

“And I must say,” added Alfred de Barjols, “that just now this gentleman was telling us about his misfortune, considering his money lost.”

“The gentleman was mistaken,” said the masked stranger. “We are at war with the government, not with ordinary citizens. We are partisans, not thieves. Here are your two hundred louis, monsieur, and if ever a similar error should take place in the future, just remember the name Morgan.”

And with those words the masked man set down a bag of gold to the right of the wine merchant, politely said good-bye to those seated around the table, and walked out, leaving some of them in terror and the others in stupefaction at his daring.

At that moment word came to Bonaparte that the horses were harnessed and ready.

He stood and asked Roland to pay.

Roland dealt with the hotel keeper while Bonaparte got into the coach. Just as Roland was about to join his companion, he found Alfred de Barjols in his path.

“Excuse me, monsieur,” the young man said to him. “You were beginning to say something to me, but the word never left your lips. Might I know what kept you from pronouncing it?”

“Oh, monsieur,” said Roland, “the reason I held it back was simply that my companion pulled me back down by my coat pocket, and so as not to be disagreeable to him, I decided not to call you a fool.”

“If you intended to insult me in that way, monsieur, might I therefore consider that you have now done so?”

“If that should please you, monsieur.…”

“That does please me, because it offers me the opportunity to demand satisfaction.”

“Monsieur,” said Roland, “we are in a great hurry, my companion and I, as you can see. But I will be happy to delay my departure for an hour if you think one hour will be enough to settle this question.”

“One hour will be sufficient, monsieur.”

Roland bowed and hurried to the coach.

“Well,” said Bonaparte, “are you going to fight?”

“I could not do otherwise, General,” Roland answered. “But my adversary appears to be very accommodating. It should not take more than an hour. I shall hire a horse as soon as this business is over and shall surely catch up with you before you reach Lyon.”

Bonaparte shrugged.

“Hothead,” he said. And then, reaching out his hand, he added, “Try at least not to get yourself killed. I need you in Paris.”

“Oh, relax, General. Somewhere between Valence and Vienne I shall come tell you what happened.”

Bonaparte left.

About one league beyond Valence he heard a horse galloping behind him and ordered the coachman to stop.

“Oh, it’s you, Roland,” he said. “Apparently everything went well?”

“Perfectly well,” said Roland as he paid for his horse.

“Did you fight?”

“Yes, I did, General.”

“How?”

“With pistols.”

“And?”

“And I killed him, General.”

Roland took his place beside Bonaparte and the coach set off again at a gallop.

IV The Son of the Miller of La Guerche

BONAPARTE NEEDED ROLAND in Paris to help him organize the 18th Brumaire. Once the 18th Brumaire was over, what Bonaparte had heard and seen with his own eyes at the common table in Avignon came back to him. He resolved to do all he could to track down the Companions of Jehu and try to bring Cadoudal around to support the Republic.

It was Roland to whom Bonaparte entrusted that mission.

Roland left Paris, gathered some information in Nantes, and took the road toward La Roche-Bernard. There, he was able to get information that sent him to the village of Muzillac. For that is where Cadoudal could be found.

Let us enter the village with Roland. Let us walk up to the fourth thatched-roof house on the right and look in through an opening in one of the shutters. There we see a man dressed like a rich Morbihan peasant. His collar, his lapels, and the edges of his hat are trimmed with one gold stripe the width of a finger. His clothing is made of gray wool, with a green collar. His outfit is complete with Breton suspenders and leather gaiters coming up nearly to his knees. His saber is lying on a chair, and on the table a pair of pistols are within reach. The blaze in the fireplace reflects off two or three gun barrels.

The man is seated at the table. Light from a lamp shines on his face and on some papers he is attentively reading. His expression is open and joyous. Curly blond hair frames his face, his bright blue eyes give it life, and when he smiles, he displays two rows of white teeth that clearly have never needed to be touched by a dentist’s brush or tools. He is nearly thirty years old.

Like his fellow countryman Du Guesclin, he has a large, round head. Consequently, he is as well known by the name General Tête-Ronde as he is by the name George Cadoudal.

George was the son of a farmer in the parish of Kerléano. He had just finished an excellent education in the secondary school in Vannes when the Royalist insurrection’s first appeals were made. Cadoudal responded, gathered together his hunting and partying companions, led them across the Loire, and offered his services to Stofflet.

But Monsieur de Maulevrier’s former game warden had his prejudices. He did not like nobility and liked the bourgeoisie even less. Before agreeing to take Cadoudal, he wanted first to see him at work, and Cadoudal asked for nothing more.

Already the next day there was combat. When Stofflet saw Cadoudal charge the Blues without concern for their bayonets or guns, he could only say to Monsieur de Bonchamps, who was standing beside him, “If some cannonball doesn’t carry off that tête ronde, he will make a name for himself.” The name stuck with him.

George fought in the Vendée until Savenay was routed, when half of the Vendée army died on the battlefield and the other half faded away like smoke.

After three years of prodigious feats of strength, skill, and courage, he crossed back over the Loire and returned to the Morbihan.

Once back on his native soil, Cadoudal fought on his own account. As general-in-chief, he was adored by his soldiers, who obeyed him at a simple signal. Thus Stofflet’s prophecy came true. Replacing La Roche-Jacquelein, d’Elbee, Bonchamps, Lescure, Charette, and even Stofflet himself, Cadoudal became their chief rival in glory and their superior in force. He alone continues to fight against the government of Bonaparte, who has been consul for two months and is now about to leave for Marengo.

Three days ago, Cadoudal learned that General Brune, victor at Alkmaar and Castricum, savior of Holland, has been named general-in-chief of the Western armies. Now in Nantes, he is at all costs supposed to wipe out Cadoudal and his Chouans.

So, that being the case, Cadoudal has no choice but to take it upon himself to prove to the general-in-chief that he is not afraid and that intimidation is the last weapon that Brune should use against him.

At this particular moment he is dreaming up some brilliant maneuver with which to dazzle the Republicans. Suddenly he raises his head. He has heard a horse galloping. The horseman must surely be one of his own for to enter Muzillac without difficulty, he’d have had to pass through the Chouans spread out along the road from La Roche-Bernard.

The horseman stops at the front door of the thatched hut and comes face to face with George Cadoudal.

“Oh, it’s you, Branche-d’Or,” Cadoudal says. “Where have you come from?”

“From Nantes, General.”

“Any news?”

“Bonaparte’s aide-de-camp has come with General Brune on a special mission for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Roland de Montrevel.”

“Have you seen him?”

“As I see you now.”

“What kind of man is he?”

“A handsome young man about twenty-six or twenty-eight years old.”

“And when is he getting here?”

“An hour or two after me, probably.”

“Have you alerted our men along the highway?”

“Yes. He will be able to pass freely.”

“Where is the Republican vanguard?”

“In La Roche-Bernard.”

“How many men are there?”

“Approximately one thousand.”

At that moment they heard a second horse galloping up. “Oh!” said Branche-d’Or, “can that be him already? That’s impossible!”

“No, because the man arriving now is coming from Vannes.”

The second horseman stopped by the door and entered as had the first. Although he was wrapped in a large coat, Cadoudal recognized him immediately. “Is that you, Coeur-de-Roi?” he asked.

“Yes, General.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“From Vannes, where you sent me to keep an eye on the Blues.”

“Well, what are they doing?”

“They are starving, and to get some food, General Harty is planning to steal our stores in Grand-Champ. The general himself will lead the expedition, and so they can move rapidly, the column will be made up of only one hundred men.”

“Are you tired, Coeur-de-Roi?”

“Never, General.”

“And how about your horse?”

“He has run hard but can surely cover three or four leagues more without collapsing. With two hours of rest.…”

“Two hours of rest and a double ration of oats, and then your horse will need to cover six leagues!”

“He can do it, General.”

“In two hours you will leave, and you must give the order in my name to evacuate the village of Grand-Champ at daybreak.”

Cadoudal paused for a moment and turned to listen. “Ah,” he said. “This time it must be him. I hear a horse galloping up on the La Roche-Bernard road.”

“It’s him,” said Branche-d’Or.

“Who?” asked Coeur-de-Roi.

“Someone the general is expecting.”

“Now, my friends, please leave me alone,” said Cadoudal. “You, Coeur-de-Roi, get to Grand-Champ as quickly as possible. You, Branche-d’Or, wait in the courtyard with thirty men ready to carry a message to all parts of the country. I trust you can arrange to have the best possible supper for two brought here to me.”

“Are you going out, General?”

“No, I’m simply going to meet the person who’s arriving. Quickly, go to the courtyard and stay out of sight!”

Cadoudal appeared on the threshold of the front door just as a horseman, bringing his mount to a stop, was looking around uncertainly.

“He’s right here, monsieur,” said George.

“Who is right here?” the horseman asked.

“The man you are looking for.”

“How did you guess that I’m looking for someone?”

“That is not difficult to see.”

“And the man I’m looking for.…”

“Is George Cadoudal. That is not hard to guess.”

“Huh,” responded the young man in surprise.

He jumped down from his horse and began to tether it.

“Oh, just throw the bridle over his neck,” said Cadoudal, “and don’t worry about him. You will find him here when you need him. Nothing ever gets lost in Brittany. You are on loyal ground.” And then, showing him the door, he said, “Please do me the honor of entering this humble hut, Monsieur Roland de Montrevel. I can offer you no other palace for tonight.”

However much Roland was master of himself, he was unable to hide his astonishment from George. More from the light of the fire that some invisible hand had just stirred up than from the light of the lamp, George could study the young man who was trying in vain to figure out how the person he was looking for, and at, had been notified of his arrival ahead of time. Judging that it would be inappropriate to display his curiosity, Roland sat down on the chair Cadoudal offered and stretched his boots out toward the fire in the fireplace.

“Are these your headquarters?” he asked.

“Yes, Colonel.”

“They are guarded in a strange way, it seems to me,” said Roland, looking around.

“Do you say that,” asked George, “because you didn’t meet a soul on the highway between La Roche-Bernard and here?”

“Not a soul, I must say.”

“That does not prove the highway was unguarded,” said George with a laugh.

“Well, then it was guarded by owls, for they seemed to be accompanying me from tree to tree. And if that is the case, General, I withdraw my comment.”

“Exactly,” Cadoudal replied. “Those owls are my sentinels. They have good eyes, and they have the advantage over men of being able to see in the dark.”

“Nonetheless, if I hadn’t taken care to get directions in La Roche-Bernard, I never would have found a soul to show me the road.”

“If at any place along the road you had called out, ‘Where might I find George Cadoudal?’ a voice would have answered, ‘In the town of Muzillac, the fourth house on the right.’ You saw no one, Colonel. However, there are now approximately fifteen hundred men who know that Monsieur Roland de Montrevel, the First Consul’s aide-de-camp, is meeting with the miller of Kerléano.”

“But if they know I’m the First Consul’s aide-de-camp, why did your fifteen hundred men allow me to pass?”

“Because they had received orders not only to allow you free passage but also to help you if you should need them.”

“So you knew I was coming?”

“I knew not only that you were coming but also why you were coming.”

“Well, then, there’s no reason for me to tell you.”

“Yes, there is. For hearing what you have to say will be a pleasure.”

“The First Consul wishes peace, but a general peace, not a partial one. He has signed a peace treaty with the Abbé Bernier, d’Autichamp, Châtillon, and Suzannet. He considers you a brave and loyal adversary and is saddened to see you alone continuing to stand up to him. So he has sent me here to talk to you directly. What are your conditions for peace?”

“Oh, my conditions are quite simple,” said Cadoudal, laughing. “If the First Consul gives the throne back to His Majesty Louis XVIII, and if he in turn becomes the king’s constable, his lieutenant-general, and head of his army and navy, at that very instant I shall convert our truce into a treaty of peace and, further, shall become the first soldier in his ranks.”

Roland shrugged. “But you surely know that’s impossible; the First Consul has already positively refused that request.”

“Well, that is why I am inclined to continue hostilities.”

“When?”

“Tonight. And you have arrived just in time to witness the spectacle.”

“But you do know that the generals d’Autichamp, Châtillon, and Suzannet as well as the Abbé Bernier have laid down their arms?”

“They are from the Vendée, and as Vendeans, they can do as they wish. I am Breton and a Chouan, and in the name of Bretons and Chouans I can do as I wish.”

“So you are condemning this unfortunate country to a war of extermination, General?”

“It is martyrdom, to which I convoke all Christians and Royalists.”

“General Brune is in Nantes with the eight thousand French prisoners the English have just turned over to us.”

“That is good fortune they would not enjoy with the Chouans, Colonel. The Blues have taught us not to take prisoners. As for the number of our enemies, it is not our custom to worry about that. Numbers are only a matter of details.”

“But you know that if General Brune and his eight thousand prisoners, together with the twenty thousand soldiers he is inheriting from General Hédouville, are insufficient, the First Consul is determined to march against you himself, with one hundred thousand men if necessary.”

“We shall be grateful for the honor he bestows upon us,” said Cadoudal, “and we shall try to prove to him that we are worthy adversaries.”

“He will burn down your cities.”

“We shall then withdraw to our thatched-roof huts.”

“He will burn down your huts.”

“We shall live in the woods.”

“You will give it some thought, General.”

“Please do me the honor of staying with me for twenty-four hours and you will see that I have already thought about it.”

“And if I agreed?”

“You would gratify me, Colonel. Only don’t ask more than I can give you: a bed under a thatched roof, one of my horses so you can accompany me, and a safe-conduct for when you leave.”

“I accept.”

“Your word, monsieur, never to act counter to the orders I give you, never to try to thwart any surprises I might attempt.”

“I am too curious about what you’ll be doing for that. You have my word, General.”

“Even when things happen before your very eyes?” asked Cadoudal insistently.

“Even if things take place before my very eyes, I renounce my role as an actor and will remain a spectator. I want to be able to say to the First Consul, ‘I saw.’”

Cadoudal smiled. “Well, you will see,” he said.

At that moment the door opened, and two peasants carried in a table already completely set. Steam was rising up from a crock of cabbage soup and a slab of bacon. An enormous jug of cider, newly drawn, foaming up and overflowing, stood between two glasses. There were two place settings: obviously an invitation to the colonel to sup with Cadoudal.

“You see, Monsieur de Montrevel,” said Cadoudal, “my men hope you will do me the honor of supping with me.”

“And it’s good they do,” answered Roland, “for I am starving, and if you didn’t invite me, I would try to take what I could by force.” The young colonel sat across from the Chouan general.

“Please excuse me for the meal I’m serving you,” said Cadoudal. “I do not receive hardship bonuses like your generals, and you have somewhat cut off my food supply by sending my poor bankers to the scaffold. I could pick a quarrel with you on that score, but I know that you used neither trickery nor lies and that everything happened loyally among soldiers. So I have nothing to complain about. And what’s more, I need to thank you for the money you managed to send to me.”

“One of the conditions Mademoiselle de Fargas set when she identified her brother’s murderers was that the sum she received was to be sent to you. We—that is, the First Consul and myself—have kept our promise, that is all.”

Cadoudal bowed slightly; with his own insistence upon loyalty, he found all that perfectly natural. Then, speaking to one of the Bretons who had borne the table, he said, “What can you give us along with this, Brise-Bleu?”

“A chicken fricassee, General.”

“That’s the menu for your meal, Monsieur de Montrevel.”

“It’s a real feast. There’s only one thing I fear.”

“What is that?”

“As long as we’re eating, things will be fine. But when we need to drink.…”

“Ah, you don’t like cider,” said Cadoudal. “Damn! This is embarrassing. Cider and water. I have to admit that my wine cellar has nothing else.”

“That is not the problem. To whose health will we be drinking?”

“So that’s what troubling you, Monsieur de Montrevel,” said Cadoudal in a dignified tone. “We shall drink to the health of our common mother, to the health of France! We serve France with different minds, but, I hope, with the same love.

“To France, good sir!” said Cadoudal, filling his glass.

“To France, General!” replied Roland, clinking his glass against the general’s.

Their consciences clear, they both sat down gaily, and with good appetites they dug into the cabbage soup. The elder of the two was not yet thirty years old.