CHAPTER VII.
CATHELINEAU'S MOTHER.
The old motto, attributing disrespect to every prophet in his owncountry, had not been proved true with reference to Cathelineau in St.Florent. His deeds, during the short period of his triumph, had beencelebrated there with general admiration, and since his death, hismemory had been almost adored. The people of the town had had no publicmeans of showing their appreciation of his valour; they had not as yethad time to erect monuments to his honour, or to establish otherchronicles of his virtues, than those which were written in the heartsof his townsmen. He had left an aged mother behind him, who had longbeen dependent on his exertions for support, and they had endeavouredto express their feeling of his services, by offering to place herbeyond the reach of poverty; but, unaccountably enough, she was the onlyperson in St. Florent, who was dissatisfied with her son's career, andangry with the town which had induced him to adopt it.
She still lived in a small cottage near the extremity of St. Florent,which had been the residence of Cathelineau as long as he supportedhimself by his humble calling. It was now wrecked and shattered, andshowed those certain signs of ruin which quickly fall on the dwellingsof the aged poor, who have no young relatives round them. Here she wouldsit and spin, seldom now interrupted by any; though at first herneighbours used to flock thither to celebrate the praises of her son.She had loved her son, as warmly as other mothers love their children;but she had loved him as a hard-working labourer, earning for herselfand for him their daily pittance; not as a mighty General, courted andcomplimented by the rich and great of the land. She had begged him notto go out into the town on the morning when he had been so instrumentalin saving his townsmen from the ignominy of being pressed into theservice of the Republic; and when he returned in the evening, crownedwith laurels, she had not congratulated him. She had uttered nothing butevil bodings to him on the day when he first went to Durbelliere; andwhen he returned from Saumur, chief General of all the forces of thenvictorious La Vendee, she had refused to participate in the glorieswhich awaited him in his native town. On his departure to Nantes she hadprophesied to him his death, and when the tidings of his fall were firstbrought to her, she merely said that she had expected it. The whole townmourned openly for Cathelineau, except his mother. She wept for him insilence and alone; but she wept for the honest, sturdy, hard-workinglabourer whom she had reared beneath her roof, and who had been beguiledaway by vain people, to vain pursuits, which had ended in his death;while others bewailed the fall of a great captain, who had conferredhonour on their town, and who, had he been spared, might have heapedglory on his country. Since that time, she had not ceased to rail onthose who had seduced her son into celebrity and danger; and, after awhile, had been left to rail alone.
When nearly all the inhabitants of the town flocked down to theriver-side, anxious to escape from the wrath of the republicans, sheresolutely refused to move, declaring that if it were God's will thatshe should perish under the ashes of her little cottage, she would doso, and that nothing should induce her, in her extreme old age, to leavethe spot on which she had been born, and had always lived. During thewhole confusion, attending the passage of the river, she sat thereundisturbed; and though she saw all her poor neighbours leave theirhumble dwellings, and all their little property, to look for safety inBrittany, she did not move.
On the day after that on which de Lescure had passed over, she wassitting alone in her cabin, and the unceasing whirl of herspinning-wheel proved that the distractions of the time had not made heridle. By this time all those who had lived immediately near her, weregone. It is not to be supposed that absolutely every inhabitant of thetown left his home; there were some who had taken no prominent part inthe war, and who could not believe that the republicans would destroythose whom they found quietly living in their own houses; but all thepoorer part of the population were gone, and not a living soul butherself remained in the row of cabins, of which Cathelineau's motheroccupied one.
Her wheel was turning fast round, obedient to the quick motion of herfoot, and her two hands were employed in preparing the flax before itwas caught by the wheel; but her mind was far away from her ordinarypursuit. She had been thinking how true were the prophetic warnings withwhich she had implored her son to submit to the republicans, and howsurely she had foreseen the desolation which his resistance had broughton all around her. And yet there was more of affection than bitternessin her thoughts of her son. She acknowledged to herself his highqualities; she knew well how good, how noble, how generous, had been hisdisposition. She was, even in her own way, proud of his fame; but shehated, with an unmixed hatred, those whom she thought had urged him onto his ruin--those friends of noble blood, who would have spurned thepostillion from their doors had he presumed to enter them in formerdays; but who had thrust him into the van of danger in the hour of need,and had persuaded him, fond and foolish as he had been, to use hiscourage, his energy, and his genius, in fighting for them a battle, inwhich he should have had no personal interest.
As she sat there spinning, and thinking thus bitterly of the causes ofall her woe, a figure darkened the door of her cottage, and looking upshe saw a young lady dressed in black. She was tall, and of a noblemien; her face was very beautiful, but pale and sad, as were the facesof most in these sad times. Her dress was simple, and she wasunattended; but yet there was that about her, which assured the oldwoman that she was not of simple blood, and which prepared her to lookupon her as an enemy.
It was Agatha Larochejaquelin. She and her father had, by slow stages,reached St. Florent in safety; and, after having seen him at rest, andspoken a word to her brother, her first care had been to inquire afterthe mother of Cathelineau. She had been told of her solitary state, andof her stubborn resolution to remain at St. Florent, and she determinedto offer her any aid in her power, as a duty due to the memory of him,with whom she had been, for a short time, so strangely connected.
The old woman rose mechanically, and made a slight obeisance as she sawAgatha's commanding figure, and then reseating herself, hastilyrecommenced her work, as though she had forgotten herself, in havingbeen thus far courteous to her guest.
"I have come to express my esteem and respect to the mother ofCathelineau," said Agatha, as soon as she found herself inside thecottage. "I knew and valued your son, and I shall be glad to know hismother. Was not the brave Cathelineau your son, my friend?" she added,seeing that the old woman stared at her, as though she did not as yetcomprehend the object of her visit.
"My name is Francoise Cathelineau," said the sybil, "and JacquesCathelineau was my son."
"And proud you may be to have been his mother. He was a great and goodman: he was trusted and loved by all La Vendee. No one was so belovedby the poor as he was; no one was so entirely trusted by the rich andgreat."
"I wish that the rich and great had left him as they found him. It wouldbe well for him and me this morning, if he had not so entirely trustedthem."
"His death was a noble death. He died for the throne which he honoured,and loved so loyally; and his name will be honoured in Poitou, aye, andin all France, as long as the names of the great and the good areremembered. It must be a bitter thing to lose an only son, but hisdearest friends should not regret him in such a cause."
"Dearest friends! What do you know of his dearest friends? How can youtell what his dearest friends may feel about it?"
"I know what I feel myself. Perhaps I cannot judge of all a mother'sagony in losing her son; but I may truly say, that of those who knewCathelineau, none valued him more than I did."
"Valued him! Yes, you valued him as you would a war-horse, or a strongtower, but you did not love him. He was not of your race, or breed. Hishands were hard with toil, his hair was rough, and his voice was harshwith the night air. The breath of the labouring poor is noisome in thenostrils of the rich. His garments smelt of industry, and his awkwardgait told tales of his humble trade. You did not love him: such as youcould not have loved a man like him. You have
come here to bid me toforget my son, and you think it easy for me to do so, because you andhis noble friends have forgotten him. You are welcome, Mademoiselle, butyou might have saved yourself the trouble."
"God forbid that I should ask you to forget him. I can never forget himmyself."
"Would that I could--would that I could! He left me that morning whenI bade him to stay, though I went down on my knees to ask it as afavour. He was a stubborn self-willed man, and he went his own way. Henever passed another night under his mother's roof; he never again heardhis mother's blessing. I wish I could forget him. Indeed, indeed, I wishI could!" and the old woman swayed herself backwards and forwards in herchair, repeating the wish, as though she did not know that any one waswith her in the cottage.
Agatha hardly knew what to say to the strange woman before her, or howto soften her bitterness of spirit. She had felt an unaccountableattraction to Cathelineau's mother. She had imagined that she couldspeak to her of her son with affection and warmth, though she could notdo so to any other living soul She had flattered herself that she shouldhave a melancholy pleasure in talking of his death, and in assuring hisaged mother that she had soothed her son's last hours, and given him,in his dying moments, that care which can only be given by the hands ofa woman. She now felt herself repulsed, and learnt that the short careerof glory which had united her with Cathelineau, had severed him from hismother. Nevertheless her heart yearned to the old woman; she still hopedthat, if she could touch the right cord, she might find her way to themother's heart.
"I thought, perhaps," she said, "you would be glad to hear some tidingsof his last moments; and as I was with him when he died, I have come totell you that his death was that of a Christian, who hoped everythingfrom the merits of his Saviour."
"May his soul rest in peace," said the mother, crossing herself, andmechanically putting her hands to her beads. "May his soul rest inpeace. And you were with him when he died, Mademoiselle, were you?"
"I knelt at his bed-side as the breath passed from his body."
"It would have been better for him had one of his own degree been there:not that I doubt you did the duty of a good neighbour, as well as itmight be done by one like you. Might I ask you your name, lady?"
"My name is Agatha Larochejaquelin."
"Larochejaquelin! I'm sorry for it. It was that name that first ledJacques into trouble: it was young Larochejaquelin that first made myson a soldier. I will not blame you, for you say you were kind to himat a time when men most want kindness; but, I wish that neither I norhe had ever heard your name."
"You are wrong there, my friend. It was Cathelineau made a soldier ofmy brother, not my brother who made a soldier of him. HenriLarochejaquelin was only a follower of Cathelineau."
"A Marquis obey a poor postillion! Yes, you stuffed him full with suchnonsense as that! You made him fancy himself a General! You cannot foolme so easily. My son was not a companion for noble men and noble ladies.A wise man will never consort with those who are above him in degree."
"We all looked on Cathelineau as equal to the best among us," answeredAgatha. "We all strove to see who should show him most honour."
The old woman sat silent for a while, turning her wheel with greatviolence, and then she moved abruptly round, and facing Agatha, said:
"Will you answer me one question truly, Mademoiselle?"
Agatha said she would.
"Are you betrothed as yet to your lover?"
"No, indeed," answered she; "I am not betrothed."
"And now answer me another question. Suppose this son of mine, who, asyou say, was as great as the greatest among you, and as noble as thenoblest; suppose he had admired your beauty, and had offered to take youhome to his mother as the wife of his bosom, how would you then haveanswered him? What would you then have thought of the postillion? Wouldhe then have been the equal of gay young counts, and high-bloodedmarquises?"
Agatha at first made no reply, and a ruby blush suffused her whole face.She was not at all unwilling that Cathelineau's mother should know thefeeling which she had entertained for her son, but the abruptness, andthe tone of the question, took her by surprise, and for a momentscattered her thoughts.
"Now I have made you angry, Mademoiselle," said the other, chuckling atthe success of her scheme. "Now you are wrath that I should have daredto suppose that the daughter of a Marquis could have looked, in the wayof love, on a poor labourer who had been born and bred in a hovel likethis."
"You mistake me, my friend; I am not angry--I am anything but angry."
"You would have scorned him as a loathsome reptile, which to touch wouldbe an abomination," continued the old woman, not noticing, in hereagerness, Agatha's denial. "You would have run from him in disgust, andthe servants would have let loose the dogs at him, or have chained himas a madman. Yes, your delicate frame shakes with horror at the idea,that a filthy stable boy could have looked on your beauty, and havedared to wish to possess it: and yet you presume to tell me thatCathelineau was among you as an equal: he was with you as a Jew is amongChristians, as a slobbering drunkard among sober men, as one strickenwith fever among the healthy. My son should have been too proud to haveeaten bread at a table where his hand was thought unclean, or to haveaccepted favours, where he dared not look for love."
"You are unjust to Cathelineau," replied Agatha. "You are in every wayunjust, both to your son and to me. He accepted no favour from us, buthe did--but he did look--" and she paused, as though she still lackedcourage to speak the words which were on her tongue, but after a momentshe went on and said, "he did look for love, and he did not look invain."
"He did love, do you say, and not in vain! He did love, and made hislove acceptable to one of those fine flaunting ladies who sit at easeall day, twirling a few bits of silk with their small white hands. Doyou say such a one as that loved Cathelineau! Who was she? What is hername? Where is she?"
"She is close to you now," said Agatha, sitting down on a low stool atthe old woman's feet. "I told you her name a while since. It is I wholoved your son: I, Agatha Larochejaquelin."
Francoise Cathelineau dropped from her hand the flax, which she hadhitherto employed herself in preparing for the wheel, and pushing fromher forehead her loose grey locks, and resting on her knees her twoelbows, she gazed long and intently into Agatha's face.
"It is just the face he would have loved," said she aloud, yet speakingto herself. "Yes, it is the face of which he used to dream andtalk--pale and sad, but very fair: and though I used to bid him mind hiswork, and bring down his heart to love some poor honest labouring girl,I did not the less often think over his strange fancies. And Jacquestold you that he loved you, did he, Mademoiselle? I wonder at that--Iwonder at that; it would have been more like himself to have carried hislove a secret to the grave."
"He was dying when he told me that he regarded me above other women; andI am prouder of the dying hero's love, than I could have been had aPrince knelt at my feet."
"He was dying when he confessed his love! Yes, I understand it now:death will open the lips and bring forth the truth, when the dearesthopes of life, when the sharpest pang of the heart fail to do so. Hadhe not been sure that life with him was gone, he never would have spokenof his love. He was a weak, foolish man. Very weak in spite of all hiscourage; very weak and very foolish--very weak and very foolish."
She was talking more to herself than to Agatha, as she thus spoke of herson's character, and for a minute or two she continued in the samestrain, speaking of him in a way that showed that every little action,every wish of his, had been to her a subject of thought and anxiety; andthat she took a strange pride in those very qualities for which sheblamed him.
"And did you come to me on purpose to tell me this, Mademoiselle?" shesaid after a while.
"I came to talk to you about your son, and to offer you, for his sake,the affection of a daughter."
"And when he told you that he loved you, what answer did you make him?tell me: did you comfort him; did you say one word t
o make him happy?I know, from your face, that you had not the heart to rebuke a dyingman."
"Rebuke him! How could I have rebuked him? though I had never owned itto myself I now feel that I had loved him before he had ever spoken tome of love."
"But what did you say to him? tell me what you said to him. He was myown son, my only son. He was stubborn, and self-willed, but still he wasmy son; and his words were sweeter to me than music, and his face wasbrighter to me than the light of heaven. If you made him happy beforehe died, I will kneel down and worship you," and joining her skinnyhands together, she laid them upon Agatha's knees. "Come, sweetest, tellme what answer you made my poor boy when he told you that he loved you."
"It is a fearful thing, you know, to speak to a dying man," answeredAgatha. "You must not suppose that we were talking as though he werestill in the prime of health and strength--"
"But what did you say to him? you said something. You did not, at anyrate, bid him remember that he was a poor labouring man, and that youwere a lady of high rank."
"We neither of us thought of those things then. I do not know what itwas I said, but I strove to say the truth. I strove to make himunderstand how much I valued, esteemed--and loved him."
"You told him that you loved him; you are sure you told him that. I wishhe had lived now. I wish he had lived and won more battles, and beat theblues for good and all, and then he would have married you, and broughtyou home as his wife to St. Florent, wouldn't he, love? There would havebeen something in that. There would have been something really grand inthat. Such a beautiful bride! such a noble bride! so very, verybeautiful!" and the old woman continued gazing at the face of her whomshe was fancying to herself a daughter-in-law. "Real noble blood of thevery highest. Had he married you, he would have been a Marquis, wouldn'the? I wish he had lived now, in spite of all I said. Why did he die whenthere was such fortune before him I Why did he die when there was suchgreat fortune before him!"
"He was happy in his death," said Agatha. "I do not think he even wishedto live. As it is, he has been spared much sorrow which we must allendure. Though I loved your son, I do not regret his death."
"But I do--but I do," said the old woman. "Had he only lived to call youhis wife, there would have been honour in that--there would have beenreal glory in that. People would then not have dared to say that afterall Cathelineau was only a postillion."
"Do not regard what people say. Had a Princess given him her hand, hisfame could not be brighter than it was. There was no thought of marriagebetween us, since we first knew each other. There has been no time forsuch thoughts; but his memory to me is that of a dear--dear friend."
From the time when Cathelineau first went to Durbelliere, after thebattle of St. Florent, his mother had expressed the greatest dislike athis attempting to associate with those who were so much above himselfin rank; with those who would, as she said, use him and scorn him. Shehad affected to feel, or perhaps really felt, a horror of the insolenceof the great, and had quarrelled with her son for throwing himself amongthem. This feeling, however, arose, not from contempt, but fromadmiration and envy. In her secret soul the high and mighty seemed soinfinitely superior to those in her own rank, that she had felt surethat her son could not be admitted among them as an equal, and she wastoo proud to wish that he should be admitted into their company as ahumble hanger-on. What Agatha had now confessed to her had surprised anddelighted her. There could be no doubt now; there was the daughter ofone of the noblest houses in Poitou sitting at her feet in her owncabin, owning her love for the poor postillion. Agatha Larochejaquelin,young, noble, beautiful, grandly beautiful as she was, had come to herto confess that she had given her heart to her son. There was, however,much pain mixed with her gratification. Cathelineau had gone, withoutenjoying the high honours which might have been his. Had he lived,Agatha Larochejaquelin would have been her daughter-in-law; but now thesplendid vision could never be more than a vision. She could solaceherself with thinking of the high position her son had won for himself,but she could never enjoy the palpable reality of his honours.
She sat, repeating to herself the same words, "Sad and pale, but verybeautiful--sad and pale, but very beautiful; just as he used to dream.Why did he die, when such fortune was before him! Why did he die, whensuch noble fortune was before him!"
Agatha suffered her to go on for a while before she interrupted her, andthen she came to the real purport of her visit. She offered the oldwoman her assistance and protection, and begged her to pass over withthe others into Brittany, assuring her that she should want for nothingas long as Henri or her father had the means of subsistence, and thatshe should live among them as an honoured guest, loved and revered asthe mother of Cathelineau.
On this point, however, she remained obstinate. Whether she stillfancied that she would be despised by her new friends, or whether, asshe said, she was indifferent to life, and felt herself too old to movefrom the spot where she had passed so many years, she resolutely heldher purpose to await the coming of the republicans. "They will hardlyput forth their strength to crush such a worm as me," she said; "andif they do, it will be for the better."
Agatha then offered her money, but this she refused, assuring her thatshe did not want it.
"You shall give me one thing though, if you will, sweet lady, that I maythink of you often, and have something to remind me of you; nay, youshall give me two things--one is a lock of your soft brown hair, theother is a kiss."
Agatha undid the braid which held up her rich tresses, and severing fromher head a lock of the full length to which her hair grew, tied it ina portion of the braid, and put it into the old woman's hand; then shestooped down and kissed her skinny lips, and having blessed her, and bidher cherish the memory of her son with a holy love, as she herself didand always would, Agatha. Larochejaquelin left the cabin, and returnedto her father.