CHAPTER XII.
SENTENCE OF DEATH.
After parting with their companion, de Lescure and Henri were not longin reaching Durbelliere; and on the road thither they also learnt thatSanterre, and upwards of a hundred blue horsemen, were prisoners in thechateau, or in the barns, out-houses, or stables belonging to it; andthat the whole place was crowded with peasants, guarding their captives.As they entered the chateau gates, they met Chapeau, who was at thebottom of the steps, waiting for them; and Henri immediately asked afterhis father.
"Monseigneur is much fatigued," said Chapeau, "but apparently well; heis, however, still in bed."
"And my sister?" said Henri.
"Mademoiselle has of course been much fatigued, but she is well; she iswith your father, M. Henri."
"And tell me, Chapeau, is it true, is it really true that M. Denotbrought the blues here, and that since he has been here he has treatedmy sister in the manner they describe?"
"It is true as gospel, M. Henri. I knew that this would be the worst ofthe whole affair to you. I knew you would sooner the chateau should havebeen burnt than have heard this. We are only waiting for you and M. deLescure, to hang him as a traitor from the big chestnut out on theroad-side. You might have seen as you came in, that they have the ropesand everything ready."
Henri shuddered as he followed his cousin into the house. The steps werecrowded with his own followers, who warmly welcomed him, andcongratulated him on the safety of his father, his sister, and hisproperty; but he said very little to them; he was thinking of the friendwhom he had loved so well, who had so vilely disgraced himself, andwhose life he now feared he should be unable to save.
"Where is he?" said he to Chapeau.
"Who--Monseigneur?"
"No--M. Denot."
"He is in the great salon, with Santerre, and Father Jerome, and theChevalier, and three or four of the lads from Echanbroignes."
"Charles," said he, as he reached the door of the salon, "do you go in.You are better able to say what should be said, and to do what must bedone, than I am. I will go up to my father. But, Charles," and he spokeinto his ear, so that no one else should hear him, "save his life--formy sake, save his life. He is mad, and does not know what he has beendoing." De Lescure pressed his cousin's hand, and as Henri ran up stairsto his father, he entered the room, where the party abovementioned weresitting.
The occupants of the room certainly formed a very remarkable group. Thefirst person whom de Lescure saw was Adolphe Denot; he was seated in alarge arm-chair, placed against the wall immediately opposite the door,and between the stove and the folding-doors which opened into the otherroom. His legs were stretched out to their full length before him hishands were clasped together between his legs; his head was bent down,so that his chin rested on his breast; he was scowling awfully, hiseyebrows nearly met above his eyes, and he continued constantly curlingand twisting his lips, sometimes shewing his teeth, and sometimescompletely covering his under with his upper lip. He had sat twelvehours, since Agatha had left the room in the morning, without speakinga word, or once changing his position. He had refused food when it hadbeen brought to him, with an indignant shake of the head; and whenSanterre had once half jocularly told him to keep up his spirits, andprove himself a man, he had uttered a horrible sound, which he had meantfor a laugh of derision, such as is sometimes heard to proceed fromdark-haired, diabolical, provincial tragedians.
There were three men from Echanbroignes in the room, distinguished bythe notable red scarf, acting as guards, to prevent the escape of theprisoners; but as the two objects of their care during the whole day hadmade no attempt at escaping, the guards had by degrees laid aside theeager watchfulness with which they had at first expressed theirreadiness to pounce upon their captives, should they by any motion havebetrayed an intention to leave their seats, and were now resting onthree chairs in a row, each man having his musket between his legs, andlooking as though they were peculiarly tired of their long inactiveservices. Santerre and Father Jerome were seated together on a sofa, andthe Chevalier occupied a chair on the other side of a table on which theprisoner and the priest were leaning. When Santerre found that he andhis men were in the hands of the royalist peasants, he at first ratherlost both his temper and his presence of mind. He saw at once thatresistance was out of the question, and that there was very littlechance that he would be able to escape; he began to accuse himself ofrashness in having accepted from the Convention the very disagreeablecommission which had brought him into his present plight, and to wishthat he was once more among his legitimate adherents in the Quartier St.Antoine. He soon, however, regained his equanimity. Those whom he hadin his rough manner treated well, returned the compliment; and heperceived that, though he would probably be kept a prisoner, his lifewould not be in danger, and that the royalists were not inclined totreat him either with insult or severity.
He by degrees got into conversation with the Chevalier; and before theday was over, even Father Jerome, much as he abhorred a republican, andespecially a leader of republicans, and an infidel, as he presumedSanterre to be, forgot his disgust, and chatted freely with the captiveCommissioner. The three dined together in the afternoon, and when deLescure entered the room, wine and glasses were still on the table. Acrowd of the royalist peasants followed de Lescure to the door of thesalon, and would have entered it with him, had not Chapeau, with muchdifficulty, restrained them. They were most anxious to hear sentencepronounced on the traitor, who had betrayed their cause, and insultedthe sister of their favourite leader; and could not understand why thepunishment, which he had so richly merited, should be delayed. All thatChapeau and Father Jerome had ventured to ask of them was to wait tillHenri himself should arrive; and now, that he had come, they conceivedthat judgment should at once be passed, and sentence of deathimmediately executed.
When de Lescure entered the room, they all, except Denot, rose fromtheir chairs; the three guards stood up, and shouldered their muskets,the Chevalier ran up to him to shake hands with him, and Father Jeromealso came out into the middle of the room to meet him. He looked firstat Denot, who kept his eyes steadily fixed on the ground; and then atSanterre, whom he had never, to his knowledge, seen before. Santerre,however, knew him, for he immediately called him by his name.
"My soldiers have met with a reverse, General de Lescure," said he,"which has thrown me and them into the power of your friends. I take theearliest opportunity of thanking you for the kind treatment we havereceived."
"If, at some future time, when our soldiers may be in your power, youwill remember it; the Marquis de Larochejaquelin will feel himself amplyrepaid for such attention as he has been able to shew you," said deLescure.
"You know we were in General Santerre's power last night," said theChevalier; "and he could have shot us all had he pleased it; indeed weall expected it, when the blues came upon us."
"They shall not find that we will be less merciful, Arthur," said deLescure. "General Santerre knows that the Vendean royalists have neverdisgraced themselves by shedding the blood of the prisoners whom thechance of war may have thrown into their hands. He knows that they canbe brave without being cruel. I grieve to say that the republicans havehitherto not often allowed us to repay mercy with mercy. We shall nowbe glad to take advantage of the opportunity of doing so."
"What will you do with him, M. de Lescure," said Father Jerome in awhisper, pointing to Denot. "I never before saw the people greedy forblood; but now they declare that no mercy should be shown to a traitor."
"We must teach them, Father Jerome, that it is God's will that those whowish to be pardoned themselves must pardon others. You have taught themlessons more difficult to learn than this; and I do not doubt that inthis, as in other things, they will obey their priest." And as he spokede Lescure laid his hand on the Cure's shoulder.
"You won't hang him then?" whispered the Chevalier.
"You wouldn't have me do so, would you, Arthur?"
"Who--I?" said the boy. "No--that is,
I don't know. I wouldn't like tohave to say that anybody should be hung; but if anybody ever did deserveit, he does."
"And you, Father Jerome?" said de Lescure, "you agree with me? You wouldnot have us sully our pure cause with a cold-blooded execution?"
The three were now standing at an open window, looking into the garden.Their backs were turned to Santerre and Denot, and they were speakingin low whispers; but nevertheless Denot either guessed or overheard thathe was the subject of their conversation. The priest did not immediatelyanswer de Lescure's appeal. In his heart he thought that thecircumstances not only justified, but demanded the traitor's death; but,remembering his profession, and the lessons of mercy it was his chiefbusiness to teach, he hesitated to be the first to say that he thoughtthe young man should be doomed.
"Well, Father Jerome," said de Lescure, looking into the priest's face,"surely you have no difficulty in answering me?"
The Cure was saved the necessity of answering the appeal; for while hewas still balancing between what he thought to be his duty, and thatwhich was certainly his inclination, Denot himself interrupted thewhisperers.
"M. de Lescure," said he, in the deep, hoarse, would-be solemn voice,which he now always affected to use. De Lescure turned quickly round,and so did his companions. The words of a man who thinks that he isalmost immediately about to die are always interesting.
"If you are talking about me," said the unfortunate wretch, "pray spareyourself the trouble. I neither ask, nor wish for any mercy at yourhands. I am ready to die."
As de Lescure looked at him, and observed the alteration which a fewweeks had made in his appearance--his sunken, sallow cheeks; his wildand bloodshot eyes; his ragged, uncombed hair, and soiled garments--ashe thought of his own recent intimacy with him--as he remembered howoften he had played with him as a child, and associated with him as aman--that till a few days since he had been the bosom friend of his ownmore than brother, Henri Larochejaquelin, the tears rushed to his eyesand down his cheeks. In that moment the scene in the council-room atSaumur came to his mind, and he remembered that there he had rebukedAdolphe Denot for his false ambition, and had probably been the meansof driving him to the horrid crime which he had committed. Though heknew that the traitor's iniquity admitted of no excuse, he sympathizedwith the sufferings which had brought him to his present condition. Heturned away his head, as the tears rolled down his cheeks, and felt thathe was unable to speak to the miserable man.
Had de Lescure upbraided him, Denot's spirit, affected and unreal as itwas, would have enabled him to endure it without flinching. He wouldhave answered the anger of his former friend with bombast, and mightvery probably have mustered courage enough to support the same charactertill they led him out to death. But de Lescure's tears affected him. Hefelt that he was pitied; and though his pride revolted against thecommiseration of those whom he had injured, his heart was touched, andhis voice faltered, as he again declared that he desired no mercy, andthat he was ready to die.
"Ready to die!" said the Cure, "and with such a weight of sin upon yourconscience; ready to be hurried before the eternal judgment seat,without having acknowledged, even in your own heart, the iniquity ofyour transgressions!"
"That, Sir, is my concern," said Denot. "I knew the dangers of the taskbefore I undertook it, and I can bear the penalties of failure withoutflinching. I fear them not, either in this world or in any other worldto come."
De Lescure, overcome with distress, paced up and down the room tillChapeau entered it, and whispered to him, that the peasants outside wereanxious to know what next they were to do, and that they were clamorousfor Denot's execution. "They are determined to hang him," continuedChapeau, who had induced de Lescure to leave the room, and was nowspeaking to him in the hall. "They say that you and M. Henri may do whatyou please about Santerre and the soldiers, but that Adolphe Denot hasbetrayed the cause, insulted Mademoiselle, and proved himself unfit tolive; and that they will not leave the chateau as long as a breath oflife remains in his body."
"And you, Chapeau, what did you say to them in reply?"
"Oh, M. de Lescure, of course I said that that must be as you and M.Henri pleased."
"Well, Chapeau, now go and tell them this," said de Lescure: "tell themthat we will not consent that this poor wretch shall be killed, and thathis miserable life has already been granted to him. Tell them also, thatif they choose to forget their duty, their obedience, and their oaths,and attempt to seize Denot's person, neither I nor M. Henri will everagain accompany them to battle, and that they shall not lay a hand uponhim till they have passed over our bodies. Do you understand?"
Chapeau said that he did understand, and with a somewhat melancholyface, he returned to the noisy crowd, who were waiting for their victimin the front of the house. "Well, Jacques," said one of them, an elderlyman, who had for the time taken upon himself the duties of a leaderamong them, and who was most loud in demanding that sentence should bepassed upon Denot. "We are ready, and the rope is ready, and the gallowsis ready, and we are only waiting for the traitor. We don't want tohurry M. Henri or M. de Lescure, but we hope they will not keep uswaiting much longer."
"You need not wait any longer," said Chapeau, "for Adolphe Denot is notto be hung at all. M. de Lescure has pardoned him. Yes, my friends, youwill be spared an unpleasant job, and the rope and the tree will not becontaminated."
"Pardoned him--pardoned Adolphe Denot--pardoned the traitor who broughtSanterre and the republicans to Durbelliere--pardoned the wretch who sogrossly insulted Mademoiselle Agatha, and nearly killed M. le Marquis,"cried one after another immediately round the door. "If we pardon him,there will be an end of honesty and good faith. We will pardon ourenemies, because M. de Lescure asks us. We will willingly pardon thisSanterre and all his men. We will pardon everything and anybody, if M.Henri or M de Lescure asks it, except treason, and except a traitor. Goin, Jacques, and say that we will never consent to forgive the wretchwho insulted Mademoiselle Larochejaquelin. By all that is sacred we willhang him!"
"If you do, my friends," answered Chapeau, "you must kill M. de Lescurefirst, for he will defend him with his own body and his own sword."
Chapeau again returned to the house, and left the peasants outside,loudly murmuring. Hitherto they had passively obeyed their leaders. Theyhad gone from one scene of action to another. They had taken towns andconquered armies, and abstained not only from slaughter, but even fromplunder, at the mere request of those whom they had selected as theirown Generals; now, for the first time they shewed a determination todisobey. The offence of which their victim had been guilty, was in theireyes unpardonable. They were freely giving all--their little property,their children, their blood, for their church and King. They knew thatthey were themselves faithful and obedient to their leaders, and theycould not bring themselves to forgive one whom they had trusted, and whohad deceived them.
Chapeau returned to the house, but he did not go back to M. de Lescure.He went upstairs to his master, and found him alone with his sister, andexplained to them what was going on before the front-door.
"They will never go away, Mademoiselle, as long as the breath is in theman's body. They are angry now, and they care for no one, not even forM. Henri himself; and it's no wonder for them to be angry. He that wasso trusted, and so loved; one of the family as much as yourself, M.Henri. Why, if I were to turn traitor, and go over to the republicans,it could hardly be worse. If ever I did, I should expect them to pinchme to pieces with hot tweezers, let alone hanging."
"I will go down to them," said M. Henri.
"It will be no use," said Chapeau, "they will not listen to you."
"I will try them at any rate, for they have never yet disobeyed me. Iknow they love me, and I will ask for Adolphe's life as a favour tomyself: if they persist in their cruelty, if they do kill him, I willlay down my sword, and never again raise it in La Vendee."
"If it were put off for a week, or a day, M. Henri, so that they couldget cool; if you could just consent to his be
ing hung, but say that hewas to have four-and-twenty hours to prepare himself, and then at theend of that time they wouldn't care about it: mightn't that do? Wouldn'tthat be the best plan, Mademoiselle?"
"No," said Henri. "I will not stoop to tell them a falsehood; nor if Idid so, would they ever believe me again." And he walked towards thepassage, intending to go down to the front-door.
"Stop, Henri, stop a moment!" said Agatha, "I will go down to them. Iwill speak to them. They are not accustomed to hear me speak to them innumbers, as they are to you, and that of itself will make them inclinedto listen to me. I will beg them to spare the unfortunate man, and Ithink they will not refuse me."
She got up and walked to the door, and her brother did not attempt tostop her.
"Let me go alone, Henri," said she. "You may, at any rate, be sure thatthey will not hurt me." And, without waiting for his reply, shedescended the stairs, and walked into the hall. When Chapeau left them,the crowd were collected immediately in the front of the house and onthe steps, but none of them had yet forced their way into the chateau;since he had gone upstairs, however, they had pushed open the door, andnow filled the hall; although their accustomed respect for the personsand property of those above them, had still kept them from breaking intothe room, in which they knew were M. de Lescure and Adolphe Denot. Theforemost of them drew back when they saw Agatha come among them, and asshe made her way to the front-door, they retreated before her, till shefound herself standing on the top of the steps, and surrounded by whatseemed to her a countless crowd of heads. There was a buzz of manyvoices among them, and she stood there silent before them a moment ortwo, till there should be such silence as would enable them to hear her.
Agatha Larochejaquelin had never looked more beautiful than she did atthis time. Her face was more than ordinarily pale, for her life hadlately been one of constant watching and deep anxiety; but hers was acountenance which looked even more lovely without than with its usualslight tinge of colour. Her beautiful dark-brown hair was braided closeto her face, and fastened in a knot behind her head. She was dressed ina long white morning wrapper, which fell quite down over her feet, andadded in appearance to her natural high stature. She seemed to the noisypeasants, as she stood there before them, sad-looking and sorrowful, butso supremely beautiful, to be like some goddess who had come direct fromheaven to give them warning and encouragement. The hum of their voicessoon dropped, and they stood as silent before her, as though no strongpassion, no revenge and thirst for blood had induced them, but a momentbefore, all but to mutiny against the leaders who had led them so truly,and loved them so well.
"Friends, dear friends," she began in her sweet voice, low, but yetplainly audible to those whom she addressed; and then she paused amoment to think of the words she would use to them, and as she did sothey cheered her loudly, and blessed her, and assured her, in theirrough way, how delighted they were to have saved her and the Marquisfrom their enemies.
"Dear friends," she continued, "I have come to thank you for thereadiness and kindness with which you have hurried to my protection--totell you how grateful I and mine are for your affection, and at the sametime to ask a favour from your hands."
"God bless you, Mademoiselle. We will do anything for MademoiselleAgatha. We all know that Mademoiselle is an angel. We will do anythingfor her," said different voices in the crowd. "Anything but pardon thetraitor who has insulted her," said the man who had been most prominentin demanding Denot's death. "Anything at all--anything, withoutexception. We will do anything we are asked, whatever it is, forMademoiselle Agatha," said some of the younger men among the crowd, whomher beauty made more than ordinarily enthusiastic in her favour."Mademoiselle will not sully her beautiful lips to ask the life of atraitor," said another. "We will do anything else; but Denot must die.""Yes, Denot must die," exclaimed others. "He shall die; he is not fitto live. When the traitor is hung, we will do anything, go anywhere, forMademoiselle."
"Ah! friends," said she, "the favour I would ask of you is to spare thelife of this miserable young man. Hear me, at any rate," she continued,for there was a murmur among the more resolute of Denot's enemies. "Youwill not refuse to hear what I say to you. You demand vengeance, yousay, because he has betrayed your cause, and insulted me. If I canforgive the insult, if my brother can, surely you should do so too.Think, dear friends, what my misery must be, if on my account you shedthe blood of this poor creature. You say he has betrayed the cause forwhich you are fighting. It is true, he has done so; but it is not onlyyour cause which he has betrayed. Is it not my cause also? Is it not mybrother's? Is it not M. de Lescure's? And if we can forgive him, shouldnot you also do so too? He has lived in this house as though he were achild of my father's. You know that my brother has treated him as abrother. Supposing that you, any of you, had had a brother who has doneas he has done, would you not still pray, in spite of his crimes, thathe might be forgiven? I know you all love my brother. He deserves fromyou that you should love him well, for he has proved to you that heloves you. He--Henri Larochejaquelin--your own leader, begs you toforgive the crime of his adopted brother. Have we not sufficient weightwith you--are we not near enough to your hearts, to obtain from you thisboon?"
"We will, we will," shouted they; "we will forgive--no, we won't forgivehim, but we'll let him go; only, Mademoiselle, let him go from this--lethim not show himself here any more. There, lads, there's an end of it.Give Momont back the rope. We will do nothing to displease M. Henri andMademoiselle Agatha," and then they gave three cheers for theinhabitants of Durbelliere; and Agatha, after thanking them for theirkindness and their courtesy, returned into the house.
For some days after the attack and rescue, there was great confusion inthe chateau of Durbelliere. The peasants by degrees returned to theirown homes, or went to Chatillon, at which place it was now intended tomuster the whole armed royalist force which could be collected in LaVendee. Chatillon was in the very centre of the revolted district, andnot above three leagues from Durbelliere; and at this place the Vendeanleaders had now determined to assemble, that they might come to somefixed plan, and organize their resistance to the Convention.
De Lescure and Henri together agreed to give Santerre his unconditionalliberty. In the first place, they conceived it to be good policy toabandon the custody of a man whom, if kept a prisoner, they were surethe Republic would make a great effort to liberate; and who, if he everagain served against them at all, would, as they thought, be lessinclined to exercise barbarity than any other man whom the Conventionwould be likely to send on the duty. Besides, Agatha and the Marquisreally felt grateful to Santerre, for having shown a want of thatdemoniac cruelty with which they supposed him to have been imbued; andit was, therefore, resolved to escort him personally to the northernfrontier of La Vendee, and there set him at liberty, but to detain hissoldiers prisoners at Chatillon; and this was accordingly done.
They had much more difficulty in disposing of Denot. Had he been turnedloose from the chateau, to go where he pleased, and do what he pleased,he would to a certainty have been killed by the peasantry. De Lescureasked Santerre to take charge of him, but this he refused to do, sayingthat he considered the young man was a disgrace to any party, or anyperson, who had aught to do with him, and that he would not undertaketo be responsible for his safety.
Denot himself would neither say or do anything. Henri never saw him; butde Lescure had different interviews with him, and did all in his powerto rouse him to some feeling as to the future; but all in vain. Heusually refused to make any answer whatever, and when he did speak, hemerely persisted in his declaration that he was willing to die, and thatif he were left alive, he had no wish at all as to what should becomeof him. It was at last decided to send him to his own house at Fleury,with a strong caution to the servants there that their master wastemporarily insane; and there to leave him to his chance. "When he findshimself alone, and disregarded," said de Lescure, "he will come to hissenses, and probably emigrate: it is impossible for us now to do morefor him.
May God send that he may live to repent the great crime whichhe has attempted."
Now again everything was bustle and confusion at Durbelliere. Arms andgunpowder were again collected. The men again used all their efforts inassembling the royalist troops, the women in preparing the differentnecessaries for the army. The united families were at Durbelliere, andthere was no longer any danger of their separation, for at Clisson notone stone was left standing upon another.
VOLUME III.