of its principles.
But there are citizens, dear to France, who have been misled by their wiles. It is so such that truth and light are due.
Unjust laws have been promulgated and executed; arbitrary acts have threatened the safety of citizens and the liberty of consciences; mistaken entries on the list of emigres imperil citizens; the great principles of social order have been violated.
The Consuls declare that liberty of worship having been guaranteed by the Constitution, the law of 11 Prairial, year III., which gives the use of edifices built for religious worship to all citizens, shall be executed.
The government will pardon; it will be merciful to repentance; its mercy will be complete and absolute; but it will punish whosoever, after this declaration, shall dare to resist the national sovereignty.
“Well,” said Hulot, after the public reading of this Consular manifesto, “Isn’t that paternal enough? But you’ll see that not a single royalist brigand will be changed by it.”
The commandant was right. The proclamation merely served to strengthen each side in their own convictions. A few days later Hulot and his colleagues received reinforcements. The new minister of war notified them that General Brune was appointed to command the troops in the west of France. Hulot, whose experience was known to the government, had provisional control in the departments of the Orne and Mayenne. An unusual activity began to show itself in the government offices. Circulars from the minister of war and the minister of police gave notice that vigorous measures entrusted to the military commanders would be taken to stifle the insurrection at its birth. But the Chouans and the Vendeans had profited by the inaction of the Directory to rouse the whole region and virtually take possession of it. A new Consular proclamation was therefore issued. This time, it was the general speaking to his troops: —
There are none but brigands, emigres, and hirelings of England now remaining in the West.
The army is composed of more than fifty thousand brave men. Let me speedily hear from them that the rebel chiefs have ceased to live.
Glory is won by toil alone; if it could be had by living in barracks in a town, all would have it.
Soldiers, whatever be the rank you hold in the army, the gratitude of the nation awaits you. To be worthy of it, you must brave the inclemencies of weather, ice, snow, and the excessive coldness of the nights; you must surprise your enemies at daybreak, and exterminate those wretches, the disgrace of France.
Make a short and sure campaign; be inexorable to those brigands, and maintain strict discipline.
National Guards, join the strength of your arms to that of the line.
If you know among you any men who fraternize with the brigands, arrest them. Let them find no refuge; pursue them; if traitors dare to harbor and defend them, let them perish together.
“What a man!” cried Hulot. “It is just as it was in the army of Italy – he rings in the mass, and he says it himself. Don’t you call that talking, hey?”
“Yes, but he speaks by himself and in his own name,” said Gerard, who began to feel alarmed at the possible results of the 18th Brumaire.
“And where’s the harm, since he’s a soldier?” said Merle.
A group of soldiers were clustered at a little distance before the same proclamation posted on a wall. As none of them could read, they gazed at it, some with a careless eye, others with curiosity, while two or three hunted about for a citizen who looked learned enough to read it to them.
“Now you tell us, Clef-des-Coeurs, what that rag of a paper says,” cried Beau-Pied, in a saucy tone to his comrade.
“Easy to guess,” replied Clef-des-Coeurs.
At these words the other men clustered round the pair, who were always ready to play their parts.
“Look there,” continued Clef-des-Coeurs, pointing to a coarse woodcut which headed the proclamation and represented a pair of compasses, – which had lately superseded the level of 1793. “It means that the troops – that’s us – are to march firm; don’t you see the compasses are open, both legs apart? – that’s an emblem.”
“Such much for your learning, my lad; it isn’t an emblem – it’s called a problem. I’ve served in the artillery,” continued Beau-Pied, “and problems were meat and drink to my officers.”
“I say it’s an emblem.”
“It’s a problem.”
“What will you bet?”
“Anything.”
“Your German pipe?”
“Done!”
“By your leave, adjutant, isn’t that thing an emblem, and not a problem?” said Clef-des-Coeurs, following Gerard, who was thoughtfully walking away.
“It is both,” he replied, gravely.
“The adjutant was making fun of you,” said Beau-Pied. “That paper means that our general in Italy is promoted Consul, which is a fine grade, and we are to get shoes and overcoats.”
II. ONE OF FOUCHE’S IDEAS
One morning towards the end of Brumaire just as Hulot was exercising his brigade, now by order of his superiors wholly concentrated at Mayenne, a courier arrived from Alencon with despatches, at the reading of which his face betrayed extreme annoyance.
“Forward, then!” he cried in an angry tone, sticking the papers into the crown of his hat. “Two companies will march with me towards Mortagne. The Chouans are there. You will accompany me,” he said to Merle and Gerard. “May be I created a nobleman if I can understand one word of that despatch. Perhaps I’m a fool! well, anyhow, forward, march! there’s no time to lose.”
“Commandant, by your leave,” said Merle, kicking the cover of the ministerial despatch with the toe of his boot, “what is there so exasperating in that?”
“God’s thunder! nothing at all – except that we are fooled.”
When the commandant gave vent to this military oath (an object it must be said of Republican atheistical remonstrance) it gave warning of a storm; the diverse intonations of the words were degrees of a thermometer by which the brigade could judge of the patience of its commander; the old soldier’s frankness of nature had made this knowledge so easy that the veriest little drummer-boy knew his Hulot by heart, simply by observing the variations of the grimace with which the commander screwed up his cheek and snapped his eyes and vented his oath. On this occasion the tone of smothered rage with which he uttered the words made his two friends silent and circumspect. Even the pits of the small-pox which dented that veteran face seemed deeper, and the skin itself browner than usual. His broad queue, braided at the edges, had fallen upon one of his epaulettes as he replaced his three-cornered hat, and he flung it back with such fury that the ends became untied. However, as he stood stock-still, his hands clenched, his arms crossed tightly over his breast, his mustache bristling, Gerard ventured to ask him presently: “Are we to start at once?”
“Yes, if the men have ammunition.”
“They have.”
“Shoulder arms! Left wheel, forward,
