Complete Story. The Vendean Marriage

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIX, Issue XX, 15 November 1902, Page 1226

Complete Story. The Vendean Marriage

By

JULES JANIN.

So you have never heard the circumstances of Monsieur BaudeJot de Dairval’s marriage, the man who died four years ago. and was so mourned by his wife that she died a week later herself, good lady? Yet it is a story worth telling. It happened in the Vendee, and the hero, a Vendean, brave, young, daring and of fine family, died tranquilly in his bed without ever suspecting that there would be a second Vendee a year later. Beaudelot de Dairvai was the grandson of that Caesar Baudelot who is mentioned in the “Memoirs of the Duchess of Orleans.” own mother of the regent Louis Philippe. This woman, who has thrown such contempt on the greatest names of France, could not help p ais’.ng ( aesa* de Baudelot. Saint-Simon, skeptic and mocker, but good fellow withal, also spoke highly of him. So yon’ll unceratand that bearing such a name young Henry was not lost to report in the first Vendee, to protest arms in hand against the excesses of th- Revolution. Beaudelot was a Vendean simply because a man of his name and nature could do nothing else. He fought like his associates, neither more nor less. He was the friend of Cathelmeau and of all the others. He took part in those battles of giants; he took part fighting stoutly, and then laughing and singing as soon as he no longer heard the cries of the wounded. What wars, what livid tempests were ever like those? But it is not my business to tell again the story so often told. Nor is it my business or yours to narrate the brave deeds of Baudelot de Dairval.

But I want to tell you that one day, surprised at a farm by a detachment of Blues. Baudelot- unexpectedly called together his troop. “My friends,” said he, “this farm is surrounded. You must all escape! Take with you the women and children. Rejoin our chief, Cathelmeau. As for me. I’ll stay and defend the gate. I certainly can hold it alone for ten minutes. Those three thousand out there would massacre ns all. Good-bye good-bye, my brave fellows! Don’t forget me! It’s my turn to-day. You’ll get yourselves killed to-morrow!

In those exceptional times and in that exceptional war, nothing seemed astonishing. Men did not even think of those rivalries in heroism so frequent in elegant warfare. In such a struggle of extermination there was no time to pose for sublimity of soul. Heroism was quite unaffected. So Baudelot’s soldiers judged for themselves that their chief spoke sensibly, and obeyed as simpiy a* he had commanded. They withdrew by the roof, taking away the women and children. Baudelot remained at the door making noise enough for forty, haranguing, disputing and discharging his gun. One would have thought a whole regiment ready to fire was stationed there, and the Blues held themselves on the alert. Baudelot remained on the defensive as long as he had any voice. But when that failed and he thought his troop must have reached a place of safety, he tired of the warlike feint. He felt ill at ease at thus commanding the absent; and keeping quiet, he merely propped up the door as it was shaken from outside. This lasted several minutes, then the door cracked, and the Blues began to fire through the fissures. Baudelot was not wounded, and as his meal had been interrupted, he returned to the table and tranquilly ate some bread and cheese, and emptied a pitcher of country wine, thinking meanwhile that this was his last repast! Finally the Blues forced the door and rushed in. It took them some minutes to clear away obstructions, and to recognise each other in the smoke of their guns. These soldiers of the Republic hunted eagerly with look and sword for the armed troop which had withstood them so long.

Judge their surprise at seeing only a tall, very handsome young man, calmly eating black bread moistened with wine. Dumb with astonishment the conquerers stopped and leaned on their guns, and thus gave Henri Baudelot time to swallow his last mouthful.

“To your health, gentlemen!” he said, lifting his glass to his lips. “The garrison thanks you for the respite you have granted.” At the same time he rose, and going straight to the captain, said: “Monsieur, I am the only person in this house. I am quite ready for death.”

Then he kept quiet, and waited. To his great surprise he was not shot at once. Perhaps he had fallen into the hands of recruits so little exercised as to delay 24 hours before kißing a man. Perhaps his captors were moved by his coolness and fine bearing. and were ashamed at setting three hundred to kill one. We must remember that in that sad war there were French feelings on both sides. So they contented themselves with tying his hands and leading him, closely watched, to a manor on the outskirts of Nantes, which, once an attractive country-seat, had now become a kind of fortress. Its master was no other than the chief of the Blues. who had captured Baudelot. This Breton, a gentleman, although a Blue, had been one of the first to share revolutionary transHe was one of those nobles so heroic to their own injury, who renounced in a day fortunes, coats of arms, and their own names, forgetting both what they had promised their fathers and what they owed tu their sons, equally oblivious of past and future, and unfortunate victims of the present. But we will not reproach them, for either they died under the stroke of the Revolution, or lived long enough to see that all their sacrifices were vain. Baudelot de Dairval was confined in the donjon, or, rather, in the pigeon-house of his conqueror. The doves had been expelled to give place to Chouan captives. Still covered with shining slates, still surmounted by its creaking weather-cock, this prison had retained a calm, gracious air, and it had not been thought necessary to bar the openings by which the pigeons came and went. Much as ever, a little straw had been added to the usual furniture.

At first the dovecote of a country manor struck him as a novel prison. He decided that as soon as his hands were free he would compose a romance upon it, with a guitar accompaniment. While thus thinking, he heard a violin and other instruments playing a joyful march. By piling up the straw against the wall and leaning on it with his elbow, Baudelot could look out of one of the openings. He saw a long procession of young men and pretty women in white gowns, preceded by village fiddlers, and all merry and joyous. As it passed at the foot of the dovecote, a pretty girl looked up attentively. She was fair, slender and d reamy-looking. Baudelot felt that she knew of the prisoner, and he began to whistle the air of Richard, “In an Obscure Tower,” or something of the kind. For this young man was versed in all kinds of combats and romances, equally skillful with sword and guitar, and adept at horsemanship, a fine dancer, a true gentleman of wit and sword, such as are manufactured no more.

The wedding procession passed, or, at least, if not a wedding it was a betrothal, and Baudelot stopped singing. He heard a sound at his prison door; some one entered.

It was the master of the house himself. He had been a Marquis under Capet, now he called himself simply Hamelin. He was a Blue, but a good fellow enough. The Republic ruled him body and soul; he lent his sword and his castle. But he had not become cruel or wicked in

jta service. The morning of this very day, Captain Hamelin, for ao he had teen appointed’by the Be public, learning that some Chouana were at his farm, had headed a detachment of Blues and postponed b.is betrothal. You know how he had seized Baudelot. As soon as the thouan was in keeping the Captain bad returned to his betrothal feast, end this is the reason why he did not (hoot his prisoner at once or take him to Nantee.

Captain Hamelin was not so thorough a Blue as to have quite forgoten the hospitable old customs of Bretagne soil. Therefore, while his friends were sitting down to table, he felt it incumbent to call upon his captive. "Can I do anything for you, monsieur?” he asked. "Monsieur,” said Baudelot, bowing, ”1 should like the use of at least one of my hands.” “YouU hands shall be unbound, mcnsienr,” answered Hamelin, “if you will promise not to try to escape. But before you promise, remember that at six o’clock to-mor-row morning you will surely be taken to Nantes.”

“And shot at eight o’clock just as surely?” asked Baudelot. Captain Hamelin was silent. "Very well, monsieur,” said Baudelot. “Unbind my hands, and unless I’m delivered, I give my word as a gentleman and a Christian to stay here like a pigeon with clipped ■sings.” Captain Hamelin could not help (Trailing at his prisoner’s allusion, and untied his hands. “Now,” said Baudelot, stretching his arms like a man stiff from sleep, “now, monsieur, I thank you, and am truly your servant until to-morrow. It will not be my fault if my gratitude does not last longer!” Captain Hamelin said: “If you hare any last arrangements —a will to make, for instance—l will send you writing materials.” He was touched, for he was not a Breton for nothing. Seeing this, Baudelot. took his band. “Do you know,” he said, sadly, “that simple word ‘will’ wounds me more than the words ‘death at Nantee!’ It recalls that all my friends are dead. There is no one to whom I can bequeath my name, my sword, my love and my hate, and these are all I have left. Yet It must be sweet to dispose of a fortune, to be generous even beyond the tomb; and while writing last benefits, to imagine the tears of joy and sorrow they will cause. That is sweot and honourable, isn’t it, Captain? I must not think of ft.”

“I will send you some dinner,” said Hamelin. “This is my day of betrothal, and my table is better provided than usual. My fiancee herself shall serve yon, monsieur.” In one of the highest apertures of has cage, Baudelot saw a daisy which had been sown there by one of the first occupants of the dovecote. The pretty flower swayed joyously in the wind, and he gathered It and offered it to the Captain. “It is our custom at home, Captain, to offer the bride a gift. Be so good as to give yours this little flower, which has blossomed in my domain. And now, good-night. I have kept Jou from your loves long enough. May God remember your kindness toward me! Good-by. Best wishes' Send me some supper, for I’m hungry and need rest.” And they separated with friendly looks. . - —

Dinner was brought the young Vendean by a pretty Breton girl with white teeth, rosy lips, and the pensive air which befitted a shy country maiden, who had already seen so many prescripts. She served him zealously, and gave h»m no peace if he did not eat of this or that dish, drink this or that wine. . It was a magnificent repast. The dovecote grew fragrant. It was almost like the time when the winged occupants of the tower gathered crumbs from the feast. As the girl was pouring champagne, Baudelot said to “What is your name, my child?” “My name is Marie,” she answerltd. “The same as my cousin’s,” went

on the young man; “and how old are you, Marie?”

“Seventeen years,” said Marie. “The age of my cousin.” said Baudelot, and as he thought of his pretty cousin butchered by the executioner, his heart almost failed him. But he blushed to weep before this child in whose eyes tears were gathering, and as he could not speak, he held out his glass. But the glass was full, and in the last rays of the sun the champagne sparkled joyously, for wine sparkled and spring bloomed even during the Terror. Seeing that his glass was full, Baudelot said:

“You have no glass, Marie?” “I am not thirsty,” said Marie. “Oh!” said Baudelot, “this bright wine does not like to be drunk by a man alone. It is convivial «i>y nature, and rejoices to be among boon companions. It is the great support of the Fraternity of which you have heard so much, my poor Marie, and which men really comprehend so little. Be friendly; dip your lips in my glass, my pretty Breton, if you would have me drink champagne once more before I die,” and he lifted the glass to Marie’s lips. She held them out, but at the words, “to die,” her heart overflowed, and copious tears rolled into the joyous wine. “To your health, Marie!” said Baudelot, and drank both wine and tears. Just then they heard the horn, the hautboys, and the violins. “What’s that?” said the young man setting down his glass. “God bless me, it’s a ball!” “Alas!” said Marie, “alas! yes, it's a ball. My young mistress did not want dancing, but her lover and her father insisted. She is very unhaprpy this evening.” "Oh!” said the young Vendean, “my good Marie, if you are as kind as I think, you’ll do something for me! Go, run, fly, tell your mistress that Count Baudelot de Dairval, Colonel of light Horse, requests permission to pay her his resp>ects. Or, no; find my host, not his bride, and tell him that his prisoner -is very dull, that the noise of the ball will prevent his sleeping, that the night will be long and cold, that it’s a charity to snatch an unhappy young man from the sad thoughts of his last night, that I beg him, in heaven’s name, to let me attend his ball. Tell him he has my word of honour not to try to escape. Tell him all that. Marie; and tell him whatever else comes into your heart and mind. Speak loud enough for your mistress to hear and be interested; and, thanks to you, Marie, I’m sure he will yield. Then, child, if I am invited, send me your master's valet. Tell him to bring me clean linen and powder. There must be some powder still left in the castle. Tell him to bring me one of his master’s coats, and get them to lend me my sword just for the evening. I will not unsheath it. So, Marie, go, child!” And the prisoner hurried her off and held her back in a way to make one both laugh and cry.

A few minutes late Captain Hamelin’s valet appeared in the dovecote. He was a good old feHow, faithful to powder and to all the old customs. Although a member of the municipal council he was an honest man, devoted to Monsieur Robespierre only because he alone in all republican France had dared to continue powder, ruffles, and embroidered vests.

He brought a complete suit, which Captain Hamelin had ordered when younger and a Marquis, to visit the court and see the King when there was a court and a King. This suit was very rich and handsome, the linen very white, the shoes very fine. Baudelot’s host had forgotten nothing, not even the perfumes and cosmetics of an old-time Marquis. Baudelot confided his head to the valet, who adorned it complaisantly, not without profound sighs of regret. Baudelot was young and handsome, but had not been groomed for some time. Therefore when he saw himself dressed, curled and fresh shaven, his eyes animated by a good meal and by the music in the _ distance, he could not help smiling with self-content and recalling his beautiful nights at the “bal masque” and at the opera with the Count da Mirabeau. He lacked only his sword, which

was given him at the door with a reminder of his promise. It was night when he crossed the garden to the ballroom.

All the most beautiful republican ladies- of the province were there. But you know women are not so revolutionary that they do not feel aristocratic sympathy for a young and handsome gentleman who is to be shot on the morrow.

To return to our story. The betrothal ball had begun. The fiancee was Mademoiselle de Mailly, grandniece of the beautiful De Mailly so beloved of Madame de Maintenon. She was a sad young blonde, evidently unhappy at dancing and marrying in that period of proscription. She was one of those strong spirits which seem weak until a certain fatal hour has sounded, when apparent weakness becomes invincible energy. The heroine replaces the little girl, and the ruins of a whole world could not intimidate her, who, until then, trembled at the least sign of displeasure. Eleanor de Mailly was then very dejected. The friends of her childhood imitated her silence and despondency. Never before was Bretagne feast so gloomy. Nothing went as it should, neither dance nor dancers, and there was general lack of ease. The young men did not even try to please the pretty girls, and when the hall had scarcely begun every one wished it would end.

Suddenly the door Into the great hall opened, and every one looked that way. There entered a pretty court gentleman, a lost type, a handsome officer, smiling and well dressed. He had the dress and elegant bearing of court. This apparition was in charming contrast with the dullness of the gathering. The men and women who were bluest at heart were delighted to find with them this remnant of the old French society so suddenly blotted out, alas! And, indeed, it was charming to see this young proscript, whom death on the morrow awaited, entering into this republican company, recalling its gaiety, and thinking of nothing but to be agreeable and please the ladies, faithful to the end to his calling of French gentleman! His entrance took only a minute. Once in the room, he gave himself up to the ball and went to invite the first woman he saw. It was the blonde girl wnom he had noticed in the garden. She accepted without hesitation, remembering that republican death, the most unpleasant of all deaths, was offering her partner a bloody hand. When the men saw Baudelot dancing, doomed as he was, they blushed at their own lack of ardour. All the women were in-

▼ited to dance at onoe, and accepted in order to see Baudelot nearer. So, thanks to the victim, the ball grew really gay. Baudelot heartily shared this convulsive pleasure. His smile was not forced; his dance was light and graceful. He alone was genuinely entertained. TLe others amused themselves in \ery terror, and became almost delirious at sight of this beautiful youth, who was king of the fete far more than the bridegroom. Animated by such passion, terror and bloody jhterest, the ball took possession of all. Baudelot was everywhere, saluting old ladies like the King of France, and young ones with joy and admiration, talking to men in the mad language-of youth and of nature mixed with wit.

The more he yielded to this frank and natural gaiety, the more he forgot that the night was advancing with frightful rapidity. And the later it grew the more the women trembled in their hearts at the thought he must really die. for they were near the epoch of old French honour, which made Baudelot’s presence at the ball the sign that there was no hope for him. They knew his word bound him faster than iron chains could have done. They knew that both Baudelot and Hamelin were doing right. Baudelot’s pleasure did no wrong to the committee of public safety. As you may Imagine, then, looks and smiles were very tender, and more than one sigh escaped at sight of the handsome proscript. As for him. drunk with success, he has never been so full of love and pasion. So when he went to dance for the third time with the queen of the ball, the blonde fiancee, he felt her little hand trembling and trembled in his turn. For when he glanced at her she was pale and exhausted. “What is the matter, Eleanor?” he asked. “What is the matter, madame? Out of pity for your partner, do not tremble and grow so pale!” Then, turning towards the window curtains which were moving to the dance music, she pointed out the dawning light. “It is morning." she said. “Ah, well!” said Baudelot, “what does it matter? It is morning. I have passed the most beautiful night of my life I have seen you and loved you and been able to tell you I love you, for you know the dying don’t lie. And now, good-bye, Eleanor, goodbye! Be happy and accept the blessing of the Chouan!” It was the custom in Brittany at the, end of the last square dance to kiss the lady on the forehead. The dance finished, Baudelot pressed his lips to Eleanor's brow. She grew faint and stood motionless, her brow

supported by his lips. Then she recovered herself, and Baudelot led her to a seat. She made him sit down beside her and said:

“Listen, you must go. Listen, they are harnessing the horses to take won to Nantes. Listen, in two hours ton will be dead. Fly, then! If you wish, I will go with you. Then they will say you fled out of love, not from fear. Listen, if you will not escape alone, or with me, I will throw myself under the wheels of the carriage, and you will pass over my broken body!” She said this in a low tone, without booking at him, and almost smiling, as though speaking of another ball.

Baudelot did not listen, but he looked at her with a joy in his heart such as he had never before felt. “How I love her!” he said to himself. He answered: “You know very well that is impossible. Eleanor. Oh, yes; if T was free, you should have no husband but me, but I do not. belong either to myself or to you. So goodbye, beautiful angel, and if you love me give me back the wild flower I sent you from my prison. Give it l.ack, Fleanor. The little flower has been on your breast, it. will help me to die.”

At that moment Eleanor looked like death. There was a solemn silence. The music had stopped, and daylight wae filling the room. Suddenly there was a great noise of horses and riders. Tt seemed to come from Nantes, and all the women moved spontaneously to protect Baudelot with their bodies, but his own soldiers appeared to deliver him. They were in the garden; they forced their way into tYie house, crying: “Baudelot! Baudelot!"

They were astonished enough to find their young leader, not loaded with irons, but surrounded by handsomely dressed ladies, and himself adorned as they had never beheld him. . - ' • Bandelet's first question was: “Gentlemen, did you enter the pigeon-house?” “Yes,” was the answer. “That's where wc began, captain. Neither you nor the pigeons will find it again. The pigeon-house is torn down.” “Then," said Baudeilot, drawing his sword, “I am released from my word. Thanks, my brave fellows!” Then he took off his hat. “Madame,” he said, very gently, “receive the humble gratitude of the captive.” He asked - for a carriage. “One is alreadyl harnessed. Captain,” said oue of his soldiers. “The owner of the house tells us it was to take you to Nantes.” Just then Baudelot noticed Hamelin bound with the fetters he himself had worn. “Service! for service, Captain,”' he said; “only, instead of untying your cords, allow me to cut them. No one shall wear them again.” Then, as he saw Eleanor recoverting herself, he continued: “Captain Hamelin, this period of civil war and spilled blood is too sad for betrothals. One can’t tell whether there will be prisoners to watch in the morning or enemies to receive in the evening. Postpone your marriage, 1 beg of you. See, your fiancee herself wishes you to do so. My noble young lady, allow the poor Chouan to escort you back to your home at Mailly, will you not?” And soon all the young Chouans galloped away, rejoicing to have delivered their captain, and glorious in the rising sun. Poor fellows, they had so little time left, most of them, for the sunshine!

There are men who seem immortal whatever they do. Baudelot de Dairval was not'killed, although he did not leave the Vendee for an hour. When his country was less inundated with blood he married Eleanor de Mailly, and Captain Hamelin witnessed the wedding contract.