farewell, france!
five hours elapsed before the vessel got under way; she did so at last, however, and after sailing for an hour, she stopped in the open roadstead. it was nearly midnight.
then there was a great commotion on deck. among the innumerable threats which greeted the exiles at rochefort, cries of "into the water!" and "drink out of the great cup!" had been most frequent, and had reached the prisoners' ears. no one expressed his thought, but they each expected to find the end of their tortures in the bed of the charente. the vessel to which they had been transferred was doubtless one of those which had a movable plug—an ingenious invention of nero's to rid himself of his mother, and utilized by carrier to drown the royalists.
they heard the order to put two of the ship's longboats into the water; then an officer commanded every one to stand to his place in a loud voice. then, after a moment's silence, some one called the names of pichegru and aubry.
they embraced their companions and went on deck. a quarter of an hour passed. suddenly the names of barthélemy and delarue were called.
doubtless the two others had been made away with, and now it was their turn. they embraced their comrades, as pichegru and aubry had done, and went on deck, from which they were made to pass into a little boat, where they had to sit side by side in the thwart. a sailor placed himself upon another thwart opposite; the sail was hoisted and they were off like a shot. the two exiles kept feeling the planks with their feet, fancying that they could see the hole which had already swallowed up their comrades.
but this time their fears were without foundation; they were merely being transferred from the brigantine "brilliant" to the corvette "vaillante," whither two of their[pg 567] companions had preceded them and where the others were to follow. they were received by captain julien, in whose face they sought in vain to read the secret of their destiny. he affected to look severely at them, but when he was alone with them he said: "gentlemen, it is plain to be seen that you have suffered terribly. but have patience; while executing the orders of the directory, i shall overlook and neglect nothing that can add to your comfort."
unhappily for them, guillet had followed them. he heard the last words, and an hour later captain julien was replaced by captain laporte.
strange freak of fate! the "vaillante," a corvette carrying twenty-two guns, which the exiles were now boarding, had recently been built at bayonne; and villot, who was commanding general of the district, had been chosen to christen her. he himself had selected the name "vaillante."
the exiles were sent between decks; and as it did not occur to any one to give them anything to eat, dessonville, who suffered more than any of the others from lack of food, asked: "do they really propose to let us die of hunger?"
"no, no, gentlemen," said an officer named des poyes, laughing. "do not be uneasy, you will have your supper."
"only give us some fruit," said the dying barbé-marbois; "something to cool our mouths."
a fresh burst of laughter welcomed this request, and some one threw the poor famished creatures a couple of loaves of bread from the deck.
"what a delicious supper," exclaims ramel, "for poor devils who had eaten nothing for forty hours. and yet a supper we often thought of with regret, for it was the last time that we were given any bread."
ten minutes later twelve hammocks were distributed to the prisoners; but pichegru, ramel, villot and dessonville received none.
"and where are we to sleep?" asked pichegru.
"come on deck," replied the voice of the new captain,[pg 568] "and i will see that you are told." pichegru and the others who had not received hammocks did as they were told.
"put these men in the lion's den," said the captain; "that is the lodging set aside for them."
the lion's den is the cell set aside for sailors who are condemned to death. when the exiles between decks heard this order they gave vent to angry cries.
"no separation!" they cried. "put us in that horrible cell with those gentlemen, or leave them here with us."
barthélemy and his faithful letellier—that brave servant who had refused to leave his master—dashed on deck; and seeing their four comrades in the clutches of soldiers who were dragging them toward the cell, they slid rather than climbed down the ladder, and found themselves in the hold with them.
"here!" cried the captain from the top of the hatchway; "come back here, or i will have you driven up with the bayonet." but they lay down.
"there is neither first nor last among us," they retorted; "we are all guilty or we are all innocent. you must treat us all alike."
the soldiers advanced toward them with bayonets levelled, but they did not move. it was only when pichegru and the others insisted upon it that they returned to the deck. the four were then left in the deepest darkness in the horrible cell, which was foul with exhalations from the hold. they had neither hammock nor coverings, and could not lie down, for the cell was too narrow, nor yet stand up, for it was too low.
the twelve others crowded between decks were not much better off; for the hatches were closed, and, like their comrades, they had no air and could not move about.
toward four o'clock in the morning the captain gave the order to set sail; and amid the shouts of the crew, the creaking of the rigging, the roaring of the waves breaking against the corvette, like a sob from the sides of the vessel itself, came the last cry: "farewell, france!"
[pg 569]
and like an echo from the entrails of the hold the same cry was repeated, almost unintelligibly, on account of the depths whence it came: "farewell, france."
the reader may perhaps wonder that i have dwelt so long upon this melancholy tale, which would become more melancholy still, were we to follow the ill-fated exiles to the end of their journey of forty-five days. but the reader would probably not have my courage, which i owe to the necessity not of rehabilitating them—i leave to history that task—but of directing the compassion of future generations toward the men who sacrificed themselves for france.
it has seemed to me that the old pagan saying, "woe to the vanquished!" has always been brutal, and is nothing less than impious in these days of modernity; and by some instinct of my heart i always incline toward the vanquished and my sympathies are ever with them.
they who have read my books know that i have described with the same degree of impartiality and sympathy the demise of joan of arc at rouen and the passing of mary stuart at fotheringay, the appearance of charles i. upon the scaffold at whitehall and of marie antoinette on the place de la révolution.
but there is one peculiarity of historians which i have ever deplored, and that is that they marvel at the tears a king can shed, without studying as carefully the burden of agony which oppresses that poor human machine when dying, when it is supported by the conviction of its innocence and integrity, whether it belong to the middle or even the lower classes of society.
such were these men whose sufferings i have endeavored to describe, and for whom we find not a single historian expressing regret, and who, by the clever expedient adopted by their persecutors of confusing them with men like collot d'herbois and billaud-varennes, were first despoiled of the sympathy of their contemporaries, and then cheated of their inheritance of the compassion of posterity.
[pg 570]
the eighth crusade
when we announced to you, dear readers, the importance in matter of size alone of our novel of "the whites and the blues," that is to say, when we warned you that it would comprise a certain number of volumes, we said at the same time that it was the sequel of "the companions of jehu."
but as our plan comprised the description of the great events of the end of the last century and the beginning of this one, from 1793 to 1815—that is to say, to offer you a panorama of the twenty-two years of our history—we have filled nearly three volumes with descriptions of the principal crises of the revolution, and have only reached the year 1799, in which our story of "the companions of jehu" begins.
if several of our characters, who play parts in that novel also appear in "the whites and the blues," it will not be surprising if at five or six points of the fresh episode upon which we are about to enter, the two narratives coincide, and if some of the chapters of the first book are repeated naturally enough in the second, since the events are not only on parallel lines, but are often identical.
once we have passed the execution of morgan and his companions, our novel will in reality become a sequel to "the companions of jehu," since the third and only remaining brother of the family of sainte-hermine becomes the hero and principal personage of the volumes which remain to be published under the title of "the empire."
we give this explanation, dear readers, that you may not be surprised at this coincidence between the two books; and if we dared to ask so much at your hands, we would beg you to read again "the companions of jehu" when reading the "eighth crusade."
[pg 571]
do i need to add, dear readers, that this new work is the most strictly historical of any that i have undertaken, and was conceived, composed and written in pursuance of a great object; that, namely, of obtaining the perusal of ten volumes of history under the guise of ten volumes of romance? the events related in "the whites and the blues" are the most important of our age; and it is essential that our people, who have played such a leading r?le for the last seventy years in the affairs of europe, and who are called upon to play a still greater part, should know these grand pages of our annals as they deserve to be known.
then when restorations follow revolutions, and revolutions follow restorations, when each party, at the moment of its elevation, raises statues to those who represent it—statues destined to be cast down by the opposite party, only to give place to others—feeble minds and short-sighted visions falter before all these great men of the moment, who become traitors, and whom their contemporaries find no more difficulty in dishonoring than they did in exalting. it is therefore well for a keener eye and a more impartial mind to say: "this is plaster and this is marble; this is lead and this gold."
there are statues which are thrown from their pedestals and which rise again of themselves. there are, on the contrary, those which fall of themselves and which are shattered in their fall. mirabeau, after having been carried to the pantheon with great pomp, has no statue to-day. louis xvi., after being tossed into the common ditch, has his memorial chapel.
perhaps posterity has been rather severe with mirabeau, and equally lenient toward louis xvi., but we must bow alike before its severity and its indulgence. and yet, without envying louis xvi. his memorial chapel, we would like to see a statue erected to mirabeau. the more guilty of the two, in our opinion, was not he who sold but he who bought.
