Boisberthelot resumed—
"In France and in the carriages of the king he is a marquis—as I am a count, and you a chevalier."
"The carriages are far away!" exclaimed Vieuville. "We are living in the time of the tumbril."
A silence ensued.
Boisberthelot went on—
"For lack of a French prince we take one from Brittany."
"For lack of thrushes—No: since an eagle is not to be found, we take a crow."
"I should prefer a vulture," remarked Boisberthelot.
La Vieuville replied—
"Yes, indeed, with a beak and talons."
"We shall see."
"Yes," replied Vieuville, "it is time there was a leader. I agree with Tinténiac—a leader and gun-power! See here, commander, I know nearly all the possible and impossible leaders—those of yesterday, those of to-day, and those of to-morrow. Not one of them has the head required for war. In this cursed Vendée a general is needed who would be a lawyer as well as a leader. He must harass the enemy, dispute every bush, ditch, and stone; he must force unlucky quarrels upon him, and take advantage of everything; vigilant and pitiless, he must watch incessantly, slaughter freely, and make examples. Now, in this army of peasants there are heroes, but no captains. D'Elbée is a nonentity, Lescure an invalid; Bonchamps is merciful—he is kind, and that implies folly; La Rochejaquelein is a superb sub-lieutenant; Silz is an officer good for the open field, but not suited for a war that needs a man of expedients; Cathelineau is a simple teamster; Stofflet is a crafty game-keeper; Bérard is inefficient; Boulainvilliers is absurd; Charette is horrible. I make no mention of Gaston the barber. Mordemonbleu! what is the use of opposing revolution, and what is the difference between ourselves and the republicans, if we set barbers over the heads of noblemen! The fact is, that this beastly revolution has contaminated all of us."
"It is the itch of France."
"It is the itch of the Tiers État," rejoined Boisberthelot. "England alone can help us."
"And she will, captain, undoubtedly."
"Meanwhile it is an ugly state of affairs."
"Yes—rustics everywhere. A monarchy that has Stofflet, the game-keeper of M. de Maulevrier, for a commander has no reason to envy a republic whose minister is Pache, the son of the Duke de Castries' porter. What men this Vendean war brings face to face—.on one side Santerre the brewer; on the other Gaston the hairdresser!"
"My dear La Vieuville, I feel some respect for this Gaston. He behaved well in his command of Guéménée. He had three hundred Blues neatly shot after making them dig their own graves."
"Well enough done; but I could have done quite as well as he."
"Pardieu, to be sure; and I too."
"The great feats of war," said Vieuville, "require noble blood in those who perform them. These are matters for knights, and not for hairdressers."
"But yet there are estimable men in this 'Third Estate,'" rejoined Vieuville. "Take that watchmaker, Joly, for instance. He was formerly a sergeant in a Flanders regiment; he becomes a Vendean chief and commander of a coast band. He has a son, a republican; and while the father serves in the ranks of the Whites, the son serves in those of the Blues. An encounter, a battle: the father captures the son and blows out his brains."
"He did well," said La Vieuville.
"A royalist Brutus," answered Boisberthelot. "Nevertheless, it is unendurable to be under the command of a Coquereau, a Jean-Jean, a Moulin, a Focart, a Bouju, a Chouppes!"
"My dear chevalier, the opposite party is quite as indignant. We are crowded with plebeians; they have an excess of nobles. Do you think the sans-culottes like to be commanded by the Count de Canclaux, the Viscount de Miranda, the Viscount de Beauharnais, the Count de Valence, the Marquis de Custine, and the Duke de Biron?"
"What a combination!"
"And the Duke de Chartres!"
"Son of Égalité. By the way, when will he be king?"
"Never!"
"He aspires to the throne, and his very crimes serve to promote his interests."
"And his vices will injure his cause," said Boisberthelot.
Then, after another pause, he continued—
"Nevertheless, he was anxious to be reconciled. He came to see the king. I was at Versailles when some one spit on his back."
"From the top of the grand staircase?"
"Yes."
"I am glad of it."
"We called him Bourbon le Bourbeux."
"He is bald-headed; he has pimples; he is a regicide. Poh!"
And La Vieuville added:—
"I was with him at Ouessant."
"On the 'Saint Esprit'?"
"Yes."
"Had he obeyed Admiral d'Orvillier's signal to keep to the windward, he would have prevented the English from passing."
"True."
"Was he really hidden in the bottom of the hold?"
"No; but we must say so all the same."
And La Vieuville burst out laughing.
Boisberthelot continued:—
"Fools are plentiful. Look here, I have known this Boulainvilliers of whom you were speaking; I knew him well. At first the peasants were armed with pikes; would you believe it, he took it into his head to form them into pike-men. He wanted to drill them in crossing pikes and repelling a charge. He dreamed of transforming these barbarians into regular soldiers. He undertook to teach them how to round in the corners of their squares, and to mass battalions with hollow squares. He jabbered the antiquated military dialect to them; he called the chief of a squad a 'cap d'escade'—which was what corporals under Louis XIV. were called. He persisted in forming a regiment of all those poachers. He had regular companies whose sergeants ranged themselves in a circle every evening, and, receiving the sign and countersign from the colonel's sergeant, repeated it in a whisper to the lieutenant's sergeant, who repeated it to his next neighbor, who in his turn transmitted it to the next man, and so on from ear to ear until it reached the last man. He cashiered an officer for not standing bareheaded to receive the watchword from the sergeant. You may imagine how he succeeded. This simpleton could not understand that peasants have to be led peasant fashion, and that it is impossible to transform rustics into soldiers. Yes, I have known Boulainvilliers."
They walked along a few steps, each one engrossed in his own thoughts.
Then the conversation was resumed:—
"By the way, has the report of Dampierre's death been confirmed?"
"Yes, commander."
"Before Condé?"
"At the camp of Pamars; he was hit by a cannon-ball."
Boisberthelot sighed.
"Count Dampierre—another of our men, who took sides with them."
"May he prosper wherever he may be!" said Vieuville.
"And the ladies—where are they?"
"At Trieste."
"Still there?"
"Yes."
"Ah, this republic!" exclaimed La Vieuville. "What havoc from so slight a cause! To think that