CHAPTER XII.
VENDEAN MARRIAGES.
The young General's good news had preceded him, and when he entered theroom where his friends were assembled, they were one and all ready toembrace and congratulate their successful soldier; he received theblessing of his father, the praises of de Lescure, the thanks andadmiration of Madame de Lescure, and what he valued more than all,Marie's acknowledgments of the promise she gave him, when last he lefther side.
During his absence, three unexpected visitors had reached Laval; thefirst was Father Jerome, who had followed the army, and now brought themnews from the side of Nantes, that Charette was still at the head of alarge body of royalists, and was ready to join himself with the mainarmy, somewhere to the north of the Loire, if any plan could be struckout for their future proceedings, to which both he and Henri couldagree; and the others were perfect strangers. Two gentlemen had calledat the guard-house, and asked for M. de Larochejaquelin: on hearing thathe was not in Laval, they had desired to see M. de Lescure, and had,when alone with him, declared that they came from England, with offersof assistance, both in men and money; one of these gentlemen had withhim a stick, and after having carefully looked round the room to seethat no one but de Lescure could observe him, he had broken the stickin two, and taken from the hollow space within it, a letter addressedto the Commander-in-Chief of the Vendean army.
These two gentlemen were both Vendeans, but early in the contest theyhad passed over into England; they had now returned, habited likepeasants, and in this disguise had come over on their dangerous mission,passing first into Jersey and thence to the coast of Normandy; they hadwalked the whole distance, through the province of Brittany, passingthemselves off, in one place as good republicans, and in another as trueloyalists; they had, however, through all their dangers, managed to keepthe important stick, the promises contained in which could not havearrived at a moment when they would have been more welcome.
Granville was the point at which it was decided that the English troopsshould land, and de Lescure was strongly of opinion that the Vendeanarmy, relieved of its intolerable load of women and children, shouldproceed thither to meet their allies; and this plan, though with somedissentient voices, was agreed to. They could not, however, start quiteimmediately; nor was it necessary for them to do so; and the few daysof secure rest which so many of them anxiously desired, was given to thearmy.
At length Henri found leisure to tell them all the sad, but stillpleasing story of Denot's conduct and fate--of the gallantry by whichhe had redeemed so many sins, and of the death by which he had set aseal to the forgiveness of them all. Each of them had already learntthat Adolphe was the mysterious leader, the Mad Captain of La PetiteVendee, and they listened with deep attention to the story which theynow heard of the way in which he had been living, and of the manner ofhis death.
"Poor fellow," said Henri, "I understand it all, except about the bridgeof Saumur; from the time when I found him in his wretched chamber, tothe moment of his death, he was talking of that, and connecting yourname, Charles, with everything he said; I do not at all know what wasin his thoughts, but something connected with the bridge of Saumur waseither a great trouble to him, or a great triumph."
And then de Lescure told him what had happened; how the poor fellow'sheart had failed him, at the moment when courage was so necessary; howhe had feared to advance at the decisive moment, and had shrunk back,appalled, conquered, and disgraced. Henri now understood why de Lescurehad not allowed Denot to be chosen at Saumur, as one of the twelveleaders of the army; why he had subsequently so generally distrustedhim; and expressed so little surprise of the conduct of which he hadbeen guilty at Durbelliere.
"His history," said de Lescure, "gives us a singular insight into theintricacies of a man's character; Adolphe was not naturally a coward,for madness aggravates the foibles of our nature, and no one can haveshown himself more capable of gallantry than he did yesterday; but hewanted that sustained courage which is only given by principle, andtrust in God. May He forgive his sins, mercifully remembering hisinfirmities!"
Some time after this, preparations were made for the marriage of Henriand Marie--such preparations as the time and place allowed. There wasnow neither inclination nor opportunity for a fete, such as would havegraced the nuptials of Marie de Lescure at a happier time; she nowneither desired, nor could have endured it. Father Jerome had promisedto perform the ceremony; Agatha would be her bridesmaid; and her brotherand her father-in-law, both on their sick couches, would be herwedding-guests. Still she was happy and cheerful; she loved HenriLarochejaquelin with her whole heart, the more probably on account ofthe dangers through which they had already passed together, and she hadfirmly resolved to endure, without complaining, those which were stillbefore them.
Two days before the ceremony was to take place, Chapeau came up to hismaster, as they were together leaving the quarters of some of thetroops, and with a very serious face, begged permission to speak to him.Now, as it usually happened that Chapeau passed a considerable portionof the day talking to his master in a most unconstrained way, on everyconceivable subject, Henri felt sure that something very much out of thecommon way was going to be said; however, he at once gave the desiredpermission.
"And Monsieur is positively going to be married on Wednesday morning?"commenced Chapeau.
"Why you know as well as myself that I am," said Henri.
"Oh, of course, yes--of course I know it, as Monsieur has beencondescending enough to tell me; and will Madame, that is Mademoiselleas she is at present, go with Monsieur to Granville."
"What the deuce are you about, Chapeau, with all this rhodomontade?didn't I tell you that she would go with me."
"And the other ladies, Mademoiselle Agatha and Madame de Lescure, theywill remain in Laval?"
"Yes, they will remain in Laval with my father and M. de Lescure: butyou know all that already, as well as I do."
"But Madame de Larochejaquelin, that is, when she is Madame, she willwant some young woman to attend her. Madame, of course, cannot go toGranville without some decent female to be near her; of course it willbe quite impossible, will it not, Monsieur?"
"Now, Chapeau, tell me at once what you are coming to, and don't pretendto be so considerate and modest. You know that it is arranged that yourown fiancee, Annot Stein, should accompany my wife."
"Yes--but, M. Henri, Annot Stein has some scruples; or rather--"
"Scruples! Oh, by all means, let her stay behind then. I'll have no onewith me who has any scruples; tell her to stay with her father. I'llspeak to Mademoiselle de Lescure."
"But Monsieur is in such a hurry," said Chapeau, who had not theslightest intention to have the matter arranged in this way. "I waswrong to say that Annot has scruples; indeed she hasn't got any--not oneat all--it is I that have them."
"You! Now, Chapeau, may I ask the particular favour of you, to let meknow at once, what you mean to ask of me?"
"Why, you see, M. Henri, Annot is a poor lone girl, quite unprotectedas any one may say, though, of course, she will not be unprotected, whenshe will have the protection of Monsieur and Madame; but still she isa poor lone girl, and as such, she won't have the--the--the what d'yecall it, you know, which she would have as a married woman--theconfidence and station, you know: she wouldn't be half so useful toMadame; and, therefore, perhaps, Monsieur will think that she and I hadbetter be married at the same time as Madame."
Chapeau had it all his own way; his arguments were unanswerable; and asno good reason could be given, why a wife would not be as serviceableto the man as it was to the master, it was agreed that they both shouldbe married on the same day, at the same hour, in the same room, and bythe same priest. The honour of this was almost too much for poor Annot,and quite upset her father, Michael Stein, who did not at all like theidea of not having his own way, after his own fashion, at his own onlydaughter's wedding. However, he was ultimately reconciled to themelancholy grandeur of the ceremony, by arrangements which were made forso
me substantial evening comfort below stairs; and although no banquetwas prepared for the wedding of the master and the mistress, the valetand the lady's maid were as well provided, as though they had beenunited in peaceful times, and in a quiet church.
And now the sun had risen brightly on the morning which was to addanother care to those which already burthened the shoulders of HenriLarochejaquelin. They all sat down together and eat their quietbreakfast in the parlour, to which a fortnight's habitation had nowaccustomed them. Henri wore no bridal dress. He had on the uniform ofa Vendean officer, and round his waist was fastened a white scarf witha black knot, the distinguishing mark which he now bore of his rank inthe army as Commander-in-Chief. Marie de Lescure was dressed in white,but her dress was as simple and unadorned as it could be well made; nobride, young, beautiful, and noble was ever prepared for the altar withless costly care, with less attention to the generally acknowledgedproprieties of hymeneal decoration. Agatha and Madame de Lescure had inno respect altered their usual attire. It may easily be understood thatleaving their homes in the manner they had done, they had not broughtwith them a full wardrobe; and since their arrival in Laval, they hadhad more pressing cares than that of supplying it.
De Lescure was daily getting weaker; but still the weaker he got theless he suffered, and the more capable he became of assuming hisaccustomed benevolent demeanour and anxious care for others. Both he andhis wife knew that he was approaching the term of his mortal sufferings;but others, and among them Henri was the most sanguine, still hoped thathe would recover; and there certainly was nothing in his cheery mannerOn the morning of the wedding, to make any one think that such hopeswere misplaced. The old Marquis was more sad and melancholy than he hadused to be among his beloved birds and cherry trees at Durbelliere; and,on this occasion, he was probably the saddest of the party, for he wasthe one who would have rejoiced the most that the wedding of his sonshould be an occasion of joy to relatives, servants, tenants, and thenumerous neighbours among whom he had always lived with so much mutualaffection.
The most singular figure of the whole party was Father Jerome, the Cureof St. Laud's. He still wore the same long grey coat in which he wasfirst introduced to the reader at Durbelliere; which had since that timefigured at Saumur and many another scene of blood and violence, andwhich we last saw when he was found by Madame de Lescure in the chapelat Genet. It had now been so patched and darned, that its oldest friendscould not have recognized it. But Father Jerome still maintained thatit was good enough for the ordinary run of his present daily duties,though he jocosely apologized to Marie for appearing, on such anoccasion, in so mean a garment.
As soon as the breakfast was over, the table on which it had been eaten,was converted into a rude altar, and the ceremony was commenced. JacquesChapeau and Annot, whose turn was immediately to follow, stood close upto the table, opposite to their master and mistress; but Michael Steinand his two sons, who of course were to be present at Annot's marriage,and who had prepared to seat themselves on the stairs till theirpresence should be required, had also been invited to attend; and theynow sat but very ill at their ease, on three chairs, in the veryfarthest corner of the room. Michael Stein, though chance had thrown himamong the loyal Vendeans, had in his heart but little of that love andveneration for his immediate superiors, which was the strong andattractive point in the character of the people of Poitou. Though he hadlived all his life in the now famous village of Echanbroignes, he hadin his disposition, much of the stubborn self-dependence of the earlyrepublicans; and he did not relish his position, sitting in thebackground as a humble hanger-on in the family of a nobleman and anaristocrat. He was, however, unable to help himself; his sons wereVendeans; his daughter was just going to marry the confidential followerof the Vendean Commander-in-Chief; and he himself had been seen fightingfor La Vendee: there he sat, therefore, quiet, though hardly happy,between his two stalwart sons, with his thin hair brushed over hisforehead, and his huge swarthy hands crossed on his knees before him.
The marriage ceremonies were soon performed: and then Henri and Chapeau,each in their turn, led their brides from the altar; and all went on asquietly in the one room which they occupied, as though nothing beyondtheir daily occupations had occurred.
"God bless you, my children!" said the old Marquis, "this is but a sadwedding; but it is useless to regret the happy times which are gone, itseems for ever."
"Not for ever, father," said Marie, kissing the old man's face, "Henriand I still look forward to having our wedding fete; perhaps inParis--perhaps in dear La Vendee, when we shall once more be able tocall our old homes our own; then we will make you, and Agatha, andVictorine, make up fivefold for all that has been omitted now. Will wenot, Henri?"
Below stairs, Chapeau and Annot, wisely thinking that no time was likethe present, endeavoured to be as gay as they would have been had theyenjoyed their marriage-feast in the smith's own cottage; one or two ofChapeau's friends were asked on the occasion, and among them, Plumecondescended to regale himself though the cheer was spread in thekitchen instead of in the parlour. Michael, now relieved from thepresence of aristocracy, eat and drank himself into good humour; andeven received, with grim complacency, the jokes of his Sons, whoinsisted on drinking to his health as a new recruit to the famousregiment which was drawn from the parish of Echanbroignes.
"Well, my girl, may heaven take care of you!" said he, kissing hisdaughter, "and of you too, Jacques," and he extended the caress to hisson-in-law. "I won't say but what I wish you were a decent shoe-maker,or--"
"Oh, laws, father," said Annot, "I'm sure I should never have had him,if he had been."
"The more fool you, Annot; but I wish it all the same; and that Annothad had a couple of cows to mind, and half-a-dozen pigs to look after;but it's too late to think of that now; they'll soon have neither a cownor a pig in La Vendee; and they'll want neither smiths nor shoemakers;however, my boy, God bless you! God bless you! ladies and gentlemen, Godbless you all!" and then the smith completed the work he had commenced,and got as tipsy as he could have done, had his daughter been marriedin Poitou.