Alexandre Dumas

The Last Vendée

Or, The She-Wolves of Machecoul

Warsaw 2020

Contents

Volume 1

Charette’s Aide-de-camp

The Gratitude of Kings

The Twins

How Jean Oullier, Coming to See the Marquis for an Hour, Would Be There Still If they had Not Both Been in their Grave These Ten Years

A Litter of Wolves

The Wounded Hare

Monsieur Michel

The Baronne De La Logerie

Galon-d’Or and Allégro

In which things do not happen precisely as Baron Michel dreamed they would

The Foster-father

Noblesse Oblige

A Distant Cousin

Petit-pierre

An Unseasonable Hour

Courtin’s Diplomacy

The Tavern of Aubin Courte-joie

The Man from La Logerie

The Fair at Montaigu

The Outbreak

Jean Oullier’s Resources

Fetch! Pataud, Fetch!

To Whom the Cottage Belonged

How Marianne Picaut Mourned her Husband

In which Love Lends Political Opinions to Those who have None

The Springs of BaugÉ

The Guests at Souday

In which the Marquis De Souday Bitterly Regrets that Petit-pierre is Not A Gentleman

The Vendéans of 1832

The Warning

My Old Crony Loriot

The General Eats A Supper which had Not Been Prepared for Him

In which Maître Loriot’s Curiosity is Not Exactly Satisfied

The Tower Chamber

Which Ends Quite Otherwise than as Mary Expected

Blue and White

Which Shows that it is Not for Flies Only that Spiders’ Webs are Dangerous

In which the Daintiest Foot of France and of Navarre Finds that Cinderella-s Slipper Does Not Fit it as Well as Seven-league Boots

Petit-pierre Makes the Best Meal he Ever Made in his Life

Equality in Death

The Search

In which Jean Oullier, Speaks his Mind about Young Baron Michel

Baron Michel Becomes Bertha’s Aide-de-camp

Maître Jacques and his Rabbits

The Danger of Meeting Bad Company in the Woods

Maître Jacques Proceeds to Keep the Oath he Made to Aubin Courte-joie

Volume 2

In which it Appears that All Jews are Not from Jerusalem, nor All Turks from Tunis

Maître Marc

How Persons Travelled in the Department of the Lower Loire in May, 1832

A Little History Does No Harm

Petit-pierre Resolves on Keeping A Brave Heart against Misfortune

How Jean Oullier Proved that when the Wine is Drawn it is Best to Drink it

Herein is Explained How and why Baron Michel Decided to Go to Nantes

The Sheep, Returning to the Fold, Tumbles into A Pit-fall

Trigaud Proves that If he had Been Hercules, he Would Probably have Accomplished Twenty-four Labors Instead of Twelve

Giving the Slip

Mary is Victorious after the Manner of Pyrrhus

Baron Michel Finds an Oak Instead of A Reed on which to Lean

The Last Knights of Royalty

Jean Oullier Lies for the Good of the Cause

Jailer and Prisoner Escape Together

The Battlefield

After the Fight

The ChÂTeau De La PÉNissiÈRE

The Moor of BouaimÉ

The Firm of Aubin Courte-joie and Co. Does Honor to its Partnership

In which Succor Comes from an Unexpected Quarter

On the Highway

What Became of Jean Oullier

Maître Courtin’s Batteries

Madame La Baronne De La Logerie, Thinking to Serve her Son-s Interests, Serves Those of Petit-pierre

Marches and Counter-marches

Michel’s Love Affairs Seem to Be Taking A Happier Turn

Showing How There May Be Fishermen and Fishermkn

Interrogatories and Confrontings

We Again Meet the General, and Find he is Not Changed

Courtin Meets with Another Disappointment

The Marquis De Souday Drags for Oysters and Brings up Picaut

That which Happened in Two Dwellings

Courtin Fingers at Last his Fifty Thousand Francs

The Tavern of the Grand Saint-jacques

Judas and Judas

An Eye for an Eye, and A Tooth for A Tooth

The Red-breeches

A Wounded Soul

The Chimney-back

Three Broken Hearts

God’s Executioner

Shows that A Man with Fifty Thousand Francs about Him May Be Much Embarrassed

Epilogue

Volume 1.

1. Charette’s Aide-de-camp.

If you ever chanced, dear reader, to go from Nantes to Bourgneuf you must, before reaching Saint–Philbert, have skirted the southern corner of the lake of Grand–Lieu, and then, continuing your way, you arrived, at the end of one hour or two hours, according to whether you were on foot or in a carriage, at the first trees of the forest of Machecoul.

There, to left of the road, among a fine clump of trees belonging, apparently, to the forest from which it is separated only by the main road, you must have seen the sharp points of two slender turrets and the gray roof of a little castle hidden among the foliage.

The cracked walls of this manor-house, its broken windows, and its damp roofs covered with wild iris and parasite mosses, gave it, in spite of its feudal pretensions and flanking turrets, so forlorn an appearance that no one at a passing glance would envy its possessor, were it not for its exquisite situation opposite to the noble trees of the forest of Machecoul, the verdant billows of which rose on the horizon as far as the eye could reach.

In 1831, this little castle was the property of an old nobleman named the Marquis de Souday, and was called, after its owner, the château of Souday.

Let us now make known the owner, having described the château.

The Marquis de Souday was the sole representative and last descendant of an old and illustrious Breton family; for the lake of Grand–Lieu, the forest of Machecoul, the town of Bourgneuf, situated in that part of France now called the department of the Loire–Inférieure, was then part of the province of Brittany, before the division of France into departments. The family of the Marquis de Souday had been, in former times, one of those feudal trees with endless branches which extended themselves over the whole department; but the ancestors of the marquis, in consequence of spending all their substance to appear with splendor in the coaches of the king, had, little by little, become so reduced and shorn of their branches that the convulsions of 1789 happened just in time to prevent the rotten trunk from falling into the hands of the sheriff; in fact, they preserved it for an end more in keeping with its former glory.

When the doom of the Bastille sounded, and the demolition of the old house of the kings foreshadowed the overthrow of royalty, the Marquis de Souday, having inherited, not great wealth,–for nothing of that was left, as we have said, except the old manor-house,–but the name and title of his father, was page to his Royal Highness, Monsieur le Comte de Provence. At sixteen–that was then his time of life–events are only accidental circumstances; besides, it would have been extremely difficult for any youth to keep from being heedless and volatile at the epicurean, voltairean, and constitutional court of the Luxembourg, where egotism elbowed its way undisguisedly.

It was M. de Souday who was sent to the place de Grève to watch for the moment when the hangman tightened the rope round Favras’s neck, and the latter, by drawing his last breath, restored his Royal Highness to his normal peace of mind, which had been for the time being disturbed. The page had returned at full speed to the Luxembourg.

“Monseigneur, it is done,” he said.

And monseigneur, in his clear, fluty voice, cried:–

“Come, gentlemen, to supper! to supper!”

And they supped as if a brave and honorable gentleman, who had given his life a sacrifice, to his Royal Highness, had not just been hanged as a murderer and a vagabond.

Then came the first dark, threatening days of the Revolution, the publication of the Red Book, Necker’s retirement, and the death of Mirabeau.

One day–it was the 22d of February, 1791–a great crowd surrounded the palace of the Luxembourg. Rumors were spread. Monsieur, it was said, meant to escape and join the émigrés on the Rhine. But Monsieur appeared on the balcony, and took a solemn oath never to leave the king.

He did, in fact, start with the king on the 21st of June, possibly to keep his word never to leave him. But he did leave him, to secure his own safety, and reached the frontier tranquilly with his companion, the Marquis d’Avaray, while Louis XVI. and his family were arrested at Varennes.

Our young page, de Souday, thought too much of his reputation as a man of fashion to stay in France, although it was precisely there that the monarchy needed its most zealous supporters. He therefore emigrated, and as no one paid any heed to a page only eighteen years old, he reached Coblentz safely and took part in filling up the ranks of the musketeers who were then being remodelled on the other side of the Rhine under the orders of the Marquis de Montmorin. During the first royalist struggles he fought bravely under the three Condés, was wounded before Thionville, and then, after many disappointments and deceptions, met with the worst of all; namely, the disbanding of the various corps of émigrés,–a measure which took the bread out of the mouths of so many poor devils. It is true that these soldiers were serving against France, and their bread was baked by foreign nations.

The Marquis de Souday then turned his eyes toward Brittany and La Vendée, where fighting had been going on for the last two years. The state of things in La Vendée was as follows:–

All the first leaders of the great insurrection were dead. Cathélineau was killed at Vannes, Lescure at Tremblay, Bonchamps at Chollet; d’Elbée had been, or was to be, shot at Noirmoutiers; and, finally, what was called the Grand Army had just been annihilated in Le Mans.

This Grand Army had been defeated at Fontenay-le-Comte, at Saumur, Torfou, Laval, and Dol. Nevertheless, it had gained the advantage in sixty fights; it had held its own against all the forces of the Republic, commanded successively by Biron, Rossignol, Kléber, and Westermann. It had seen its homes burned, its children massacred, its old men strangled. Its leaders were Cathélineau, Henri de la Rochejaquelein, Stofflet, Bonchamps, Forestier, d’Elbée, Lescure, Marigny, and Talmont. In spite of all vicissitudes it continued faithful to its king when the rest of France abandoned him; it worshipped its God when Paris proclaimed that there was no God. Thanks to the loyalty and valor of this army, La Vendée won the right to be proclaimed in history throughout all time “the land of giants.”

Charette and la Rochejaquelein alone were left. Charette had a few soldiers; la Rochejaquelein had none.

It was while the Grand Army was being slowly destroyed in Le Mans that Charette, appointed commander-inchief of Lower Poitou and seconded by the Chevalier de Couëtu and Jolly, had collected his little army. Charette, at the head of this army, and la Rochejaquelein, followed by ten men only, met near Maulevrier. Charette instantly perceived that la Rochejaquelein came as a general, not as a soldier; he had a strong sense of his own position, and did not choose to share his command with any one. He was therefore cold and haughty in manner, and went to his own breakfast without even asking Rochejaquelein to share it with him.

The same day eight hundred men left Charette’s army and placed themselves under the orders of la Rochejaquelein. The next day Charette said to his young rival:–

“I start for Mortagne; you will follow me.”

“I am accustomed,” replied la Rochejaquelein, “not to follow, but to be followed.”

He parted from Charette, and left him to operate his army as he pleased. It is the latter whom we shall now follow, because he is the only Vendéan leader whose last efforts and death are connected with our history.

Louis XVII. was dead, and on the 26th of June, 1795, Louis XVIII. was proclaimed king of France at the headquarters at Belleville. On the 15th of August, 1795,–that is to say, two months after the date of this proclamation,–a young man brought Charette a letter from the new king. This letter, written from Verona, and dated July 8, 1795, conferred on Charette the command of the royalist army.

Charette wished to reply by the same young messenger and thank the king for the honor he had done him; but the young man informed the general that he had reentered France to stay there and fight there, and asked that the despatch he had brought might serve as a recommendation to the commander-inchief. Charette immediately attached him to his person.

This young messenger was no other than Monsieur’s former page, the Marquis de Souday.

As he withdrew to seek some rest, after doing his last sixty miles on horseback, the marquis came upon a young guard, who was five or six years older than himself, and was now standing, hat in hand, and looking at him with affectionate respect. Souday recognized the son of one of his father’s farmers, with whom he had hunted as a lad with huge satisfaction; for no one could head off a boar as well or urge on the hounds after the animal was turned with such vigor.

“Hey! Jean Oullier,” he cried; “is that you?”

“Myself in person, and at your service, monsieur le marquis,” answered the young peasant.

“Good faith! my friend, and glad enough, too. Are you still as keen a huntsman?”

“Oh, yes, monsieur le marquis; only, just now it is other game than boars we are after.”

“Never mind that. If you are willing, we’ll hunt this game together as we did the other.”

“That’s not to be refused, but much the contrary, monsieur le marquis,” returned Jean Oullier.

From that moment Jean Oullier was attached to the Marquis de Souday, just as the marquis was attached to Charette,–that is to say, that Jean Oullier was the aide-decamp of the aide-decamp of the commander-inchief. Besides his talents as a huntsman he was a valuable man in other respects. In camping he was good for everything. The marquis never had to think of bed or victuals; in the worst of times he never went without a bit of bread, a glass of water, and a shake-down of straw, which in La Vendée was a luxury the commander-inchief himself did not always enjoy.

We should be greatly tempted to follow Charette, and consequently our young hero, on one of the many adventurous expeditions undertaken by the royalist general, which won him the reputation of being the greatest partisan leader the world has seen; but history is a seductive siren, and if you imprudently obey the sign she makes you to follow her, there is no knowing where you will be led. We must simplify our tale as much as possible, and therefore we leave to others the opportunity of relating the expedition of the Comte d’Artois to Noirmoutiers and the Île Dieu, the strange conduct of the prince, who remained three weeks within sight of the French coast without landing, and the discouragement of the royalist army when it saw itself abandoned by those for whom it had fought so gallantly for more than two years.

In spite of which discouragement, however, Charette not long after won his terrible victory at Les Quatre Chemins. It was his last; for treachery from that time forth took part in the struggle. De Couëtu, Charette’s right arm, his other self after the death of Jolly, was enticed into an ambush, captured, and shot. In the last months of his life Charette could not take a single step without his adversary, whoever he was, Hoche or Travot, being instantly informed of it.

Surrounded by the republican troops, hemmed in on all sides, pursued day and night, tracked from bush to bush, springing from ditch to ditch, knowing that sooner or later he was certain to be killed in some encounter, or, if taken, to be shot on the spot,–without shelter, burnt up with fever, dying of thirst, half famished, not daring to ask at the farmhouses he saw for a little water, a little bread, or a little straw,–he had only thirty-two men remaining with him, among whom were the Marquis de Souday and Jean Oullier, when, on the 25th of March, 1796, the news came that four republican columns were marching simultaneously against him.

“Very good,” said he; “then it is here, on this spot, that we must fight to the death and sell our lives dearly.”

The spot was La Prélinière, in the parish of Saint–Sulpice. But with thirty-two men Charette did not choose to await the enemy; he went to meet them. At La Guyonnières he met General Valentin with two hundred grenadiers and chasseurs. Charette’s position was a good one, and he intrenched it. There, for three hours, he sustained the charges and fire of two hundred republicans. Twelve of his men fell around him. The Army of the Chouannerie, which was twenty-four thousand strong when M. le Comte d’Artois lay off the Île Dieu without landing, was now reduced to twenty men.

These twenty men stood firmly around their general; not one even thought of escape. To make an end of the business, General Valentin took a musket himself, and at the head of the hundred and eighty men remaining to him, he charged at the point of the bayonet.

Charette was wounded by a ball in his head, and three fingers were taken off by a sabre-cut. He was about to be captured when an Alsatian, named Pfeffer, who felt more than mere devotion to Charette, whom he worshipped, took the general’s plumed hat, gave him his, and saying, “Go to the right; they’ll follow me,” sprang to the left himself. He was right; the republicans rushed after him savagely, while Charette sprang in the opposite direction with his fifteen remaining men.

He had almost reached the wood of La Chabotière when General Travot’s column appeared. Another and more desperate fight took place, in which Charette’s sole object was to get himself killed. Losing blood from three wounds, he staggered and fell. A Vendéan, named Bossard, took him on his shoulders and carried him toward the wood; but before reaching it, Bossard himself was shot down. Then another man, Laroche–Davo, succeeded him, made fifty steps, and he too fell in the ditch that separates the wood from the plain.

Then the Marquis de Souday lifted Charette in his arms, and while Jean Oullier with two shots killed two republican soldiers who were close at their heels, he carried the general into the wood, followed by the seven men still living. Once fairly within the woods, Charette recovered his senses.

“Souday,” he said, “listen to my last orders.”

The young man stopped.

“Put me down at the foot of that oak.”

Souday hesitated to obey.

“I am still your general,” said Charette, imperiously. “Obey me.”

The young man, overawed, did as he was told and put down the general at the foot of the oak.

“There! now,” said Charette, “listen to me. The king who made me general-inchief must be told how his general died. Return to his Majesty Louis XVIII., and tell him all that you have seen; I demand it.”

Charette spoke with such solemnity that the marquis did not dream of disobeying him.

“Go!” said Charette, “you have not a minute to spare; here come the Blues. Fly!”

As he spoke the republicans had reached the edge of the woods. Souday took the hand which Charette held out to him.

“Kiss me,” said the latter.

The young man kissed him.

“That will do,” said the general; “now go.”

Souday cast a look at Jean Oullier.

“Are you coming?” he said.

But his follower shook his head gloomily.

“What have I to do over there, monsieur le marquis?” he said. “Whereas here–”

“Here, what?”

“I’ll tell you that if we ever meet again, monsieur le marquis.”

So saying, he fired two balls at the nearest republicans. They fell. One of them was an officer of rank; his men pressed round him. Jean Oullier and the marquis profited by that instant to bury themselves in the depths of the woods.

But at the end of some fifty paces Jean Oullier, finding a thick bush at hand, slipped into it like a snake, with a gesture of farewell to the Marquis de Souday.

The marquis continued his way alone.

2. The Gratitude of Kings.

The Marquis de Souday gained the banks of the Loire and found a fisherman who was willing to take him to Saint–Gildas. A frigate hove in sight,–an English frigate. For a few more louis the fisherman consented to put the marquis aboard of her. Once there, he was safe.

Two or three days later the frigate hailed a three-masted merchantman, which was heading for the Channel. She was Dutch. The marquis asked to be put aboard of her; the English captain consented. The Dutchman landed him at Rotterdam. From Rotterdam he went to Blankenbourg, a little town in the duchy of Brunswick, which Louis XVIII. had chosen for his residence.

The marquis now prepared to execute Charette’s last instructions. When he reached the château Louis XVIII. was dining; this was always a sacred hour to him. The expage was told to wait. When dinner was over he was introduced into the king’s presence.

He related the events he had seen with his own eyes, and, above all, the last catastrophe, with such eloquence that his Majesty, who was not impressionable, was enough impressed to cry out:–

“Enough, enough, marquis! Yes, the Chevalier de Charette was a brave servant; we are grateful to him.”

He made the messenger a sign to retire. The marquis obeyed; but as he withdrew he heard the king say, in a sulky tone:–

“That fool of a Souday coming here and telling me such things after dinner! It is enough to upset my digestion!”

The marquis was touchy; he thought that after exposing his life for six months it was a poor reward to be called a fool by him for whom he had exposed it. One hundred louis were still in his pocket, and he left Blankenbourg that evening, saying to himself:–

“If I had known that I should be received in that way I wouldn’t have taken such pains to come.”

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