The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (red scrolls of magic .txt) 📕

from Hugues Capet, they attained their highest grandeur in Philippe Auguste and Louis XI., and fell with Philippe V. and Charles IV. Take the Valois; starting with Philippe VI., they culminated in François I. and fell with Charles IX. and Henry III. See the Bourbons; starting with Henry IV., they have their culminating point in Louis XIV. and fall with Louis XV. and Louis XVI.—only they fall lower than the others; lower in debauchery with Louis XV., lower in misfortune with Louis XVI. You talk to me of the Stuarts, and show me the example of Monk. Will you tell me who succeeded Charles II.? James II. And who to James II.? William of Orange, a usurper. Would it not have been better, I ask you, if Monk had put the crown on his own head? Well, if I was fool enough to restore Louis XVIII. to the throne, like Charles II. he would have no children, and, like James II., his brother Charles X. would succeed him, and like him would be driven out by some William of Orange. No, no! God has not put the destiny of this great and glorious country we call France into my hands that I should cast it back to those who have gambled with it and lost it.”

“Permit me, general, to remark that I did not ask you for all this.”

“But I, I ask you—”

“I think you are doing me the honor to take me for posterity.”

Bonaparte started, turned round, saw to whom he was speaking, and was silent.

“I only want,” said Morgan, with a dignity which surprised the man whom he addressed, “a yes or a no.”

“And why do you want that?”

“To know whether we must continue to war against you as an enemy, or fall at your feet as a savior.”

“War,” said Bonaparte, “war! Madmen, they who war with me! Do they not see that I am the elect of God?”

“Attila said the same thing.”

“Yes; but he was the elect of destruction; I, of the new era. The grass withered where he stepped; the harvest will ripen where I pass the plow. War? Tell me what has become of those who have made it against me? They lie upon the plains of Piedmont, of Lombardy and Cairo!”

“You forget the Vendée; the Vendée is still afoot.”

“Afoot, yes! but her leaders? Cathelineau, Lescure, La Rochejaquelin, d’Elbée, Bonchamps, Stoffiet, Charette?”

“You are speaking of men only; the men have been mown down, it is true; but the principle is still afoot, and for it are fighting Autichamp, Suzannet, Grignon, Frotté, Châtillon, Cadoudal. The younger may not be worth the elder, but if they die as their elders died, what more can you ask?”

“Let them beware! If I determine upon a campaign against the Vendée I shall send neither Santerre nor Rossignol!”

“The Convention sent Kléber, and the Directory, Hoche!”

“I shall not send; I shall go myself.”

“Nothing worse can happen to them than to be killed like Lescure, or shot like Charette.”

“It may happen that I pardon them.”

“Cato taught us how to escape the pardon of Cæsar.”

“Take care; you are quoting a Republican!”

“Cato was one of those men whose example can be followed, no matter to what party they belong.”

“And suppose I were to tell you that I hold the Vendée in the hollow of my hand?”

“You!”

“And that within three months, she will lay down her arms if I choose?”

The young man shook his head.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I hesitate to believe you.”

“If I affirm to you that what I say is true; if I prove it by telling you the means, or rather the men, by whom I shall bring this about?”

“If a man like General Bonaparte affirms a thing, I shall believe it; and if that thing is the pacification of the Vendée, I shall say in my turn: ‘Beware! Better the Vendée fighting than the Vendée conspiring. The Vendée fighting means the sword, the Vendée conspiring means the dagger.’”

“Oh! I know your dagger,” said Bonaparte. “Here it is.”

And he drew from a drawer the dagger he had taken from Roland and laid it on the table within reach of Morgan’s hand.

“But,” he added, “there is some distance between Bonaparte’s breast and an assassin’s dagger. Try.”

And he advanced to the young man with a flaming eye.

“I did not come here to assassinate you,” said the young man, coldly. “Later, if I consider your death indispensable to the cause, I shall do all in my power, and if I fail it will not be because you are Marius and I the Cimbrian. Have you anything else to say to me, citizen First Consul?” concluded the young man, bowing.

“Yes. Tell Cadoudal that when he is ready to fight the enemy, instead of Frenchmen, I have a colonel’s commission ready signed in my desk for him.”

“Cadoudal commands, not a regiment, but an army. You were unwilling to retrograde from Bonaparte to Monk; why should you expect him to descend from general to colonel? Have you nothing else to say to me, citizen First Consul?”

“Yes. Have you any way of transmitting my reply to the Comte de Provençe?”

“You mean King Louis XVIII.?”

“Don’t let us quibble over words. To him who wrote to me.”

“His envoy is now at the camp at Aubiers.”

“Well, I have changed my mind; I shall send him an answer. These Bourbons are so blind that this one would misinterpret my silence.”

And Bonaparte, sitting down at his desk, wrote the following letter with a care that showed he wished to make it legible:

I have received your letter, monsieur. I thank you for the good opinion you express in it of me. You must not wish for your return to France; it could only be over a hundred thousand dead bodies. Sacrifice your own interests to the repose and welfare of France. History will applaud you. I am not insensible to the misfortunes of your family, and I shall hear with pleasure that you are surrounded with all that could contribute to the tranquillity of your retreat. BONAPARTE.

Then, folding and sealing the letter, he directed it to “Monsieur le Comte de Provençe,” and handed it to Morgan. Then he called Roland, as if he knew the latter were not far off.

“General?” said the young officer, appearing instantly.

“Conduct this gentleman to the street,” said Bonaparte. “Until then you are responsible for him.”