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The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.

The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon - Alexandre Dumas


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by the cry of a crow. ‘We’ve identified each other as friends,’ he told Diana. ‘Even so, it’s best if you wait here. I’ll come back to get you.’

      “Two men appeared and opened up a path through the barricade. Diana watched as her traveling companion threw himself into the arms of a man whom she assumed to be the elusive Cadoudal himself.

      “Soon the man crossed the barricade and walked toward Diana. As he neared the carriage, he took off his felt hat. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘either you continue on your way or you do me the honor of asking for hospitality. I can only ask you to decide quickly. In less than an hour the Republicans will be here, and as you can see’—he motioned to the barricades—‘we are ready to welcome them. Not to mention,’ he went on, ‘the fifteen hundred men hidden in the Scotch broom who will soon begin to make music the likes of which you have never heard.’

      “‘Monsieur,’ said Diana, ‘I have come to request your hospitality, and I am thankful that chance allows me the opportunity to witness a spectacle I have always wanted to see: a battle.’

      “Cadoudal bowed and motioned to his men, who made a passageway just large enough for the carriage. Once Diana found herself on the other side of the barricade, she discovered, in addition to the fifteen hundred Cadoudal had said were in the broom, a thousand more lying prone with their rifles ready. And hidden back in the underbrush were about fifty horsemen, their horses’ bridles in hand.

      “‘Mademoiselle,’ Cadoudal said to Diana, ‘please don’t think ill of me for attending to my military duties. As soon as I’ve taken care of them, I shall return.’

      “‘Please, gentlemen, don’t worry about me,’ said Diana. ‘If only there were a horse.…’

      “‘But I’ve got two,’ said d’Argentan. ‘I shall put the smaller at your disposal. Unfortunately it is saddled for battle and for a man.’

      “‘Which is exactly what I need,’ said Diana. And when she saw the young man taking his saddlebag off the horse, she said with a laugh, ‘Thank you, Sir Government Tax Officer from Dinan!’ And then she closed the carriage door.

      “Ten minutes later, the first shots rang out on the hilltop about a quarter of a mile from the barricade, and the battle was under way. At the same time, the carriage door opened and a young man in an elegant Chouan costume stepped down. He was wearing a velvet vest. Two double-barreled pistols protruded from his white belt, a white feather waved from his felt hat, and at his side hung a light saber. On the horse that Coster Saint-Victor’s servant gave to him, he galloped off with an ease that betrayed an excellent horseman. He took his place among the ranks of the cavalry serving under the Breton leader.

      “I shall not recount the battle,” Hector went on, “except to tell you that the Blues were totally defeated; after displaying prodigious courage, they retreated and rallied around their leader, Colonel Hulot, in the village of La Guerche.

      “Although the day had not brought great material gains to Cadoudal and his men, the moral effect was immense. For Cadoudal, his twenty-five hundred men not only had stood up to four or five thousand veteran soldiers hardened by five years of fighting, but had also pushed them back into the town from which they had tried to sally, and he ‘d cost the Blues four or five hundred men. Thus the insurrection in Brittany, following on the heels of the insurrection in the Vendée, got under way with a victory.

      “Diana had fought in the front ranks, had often shot with her rifle, and three or four times, in close battle, had had occasion to use her pistols. As for Coster Saint-Victor, he came back, his Chouan jacket over his shoulder, with a bayonet wound in his arm.

      “‘Monsieur,’ the girl said to Cadoudal, who had been hidden in the smoke while fighting in the front rows throughout the whole battle, ‘before the battle, you said that once it was over, you would attend to my purposes in coming to join you. Now that the combat is indeed over, I would hope you’d allow me a place among your troops.’

      “‘In what capacity?’ Cadoudal asked.

      “‘As a volunteer. For have I not just proven to you that noise and smoke do not frighten me?’

      “Cadoudal scowled; his face became stern. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘your proposal is more serious than it first appears. I am going to tell you something strange. I was first called to become a churchman, and I willingly took all the vows one normally takes when entering orders, nor did I ever break any of them. Now, I have no doubt that you would be a charming aide-de-camp, brave in the face of all. And I believe that women are as good as men. For centuries—from the time of Epicharis, who, while being tortured at Nero’s orders, bit off her tongue so she would not be able to betray her accomplices, up until the time of Charlotte Corday, who rid the earth of a monster before whom men trembled—we have seen constant proof of women’s courage. But in our regions where religion is important, especially in our old Brittany, there are prejudices that can harm a military reputation just as they can force a military leader to operate contrary to his beliefs. Still, in their camps, some of my colleagues have welcomed sisters and daughters of Royalists who had been killed. Did we not owe them the help and protection they requested?’

      “‘And who says, monsieur,’ cried Diana, ‘that I myself am not the daughter or sister of a murdered Royalist, perhaps both, and that I do not have the same claim to the protection you speak of?’

      “‘In that case,’ said the supposed d’Argentan with a smile, ‘how is it that you are carrying a passport signed by Barras and made out to the postmistress of Vitré?’

      “‘Would you be so kind as to show me your own passport?’ Diana riposted.

      “‘Ah! What a good answer,’ said Cadoudal, intrigued by Diana’s strong will and cool demeanor.

      “‘And then you will explain how, since you are General Cadoudal’s friend, almost his right arm, you have the right to circulate, as the tax officer in Dinan, throughout the territory of the Republic?’

      “‘Go ahead, speak,’ said Cadoudal. ‘Explain to the lady how you are a tax officer in Dinan.’

      “‘And then she can explain how she is postmistress in Vitré?’ d’Argentan responded.

      “‘Oh, that is a secret that I would never dare reveal to our modest friend Cadoudal. However, if you push me, I can tell you, at the risk of making him blush, that in Paris, hidden on Rue des Colonnes near the Feydeau Theatre, there is a young woman named Aurélie de Saint-Amour to whom Citizen Barras can refuse nothing. Nor can she refuse anything to me.’

      “‘Well, then,’ said Cadoudal, ‘the name d’Argentan on my friend’s passport hides a name he uses as a pass among all those bands of Chouans, Vendeans, and Royalists wearing the white cockade in France and abroad. Your traveling companion, mademoiselle, who no longer has anything to hide now that he has nothing more to fear, is not a tax collector for the Republican government in Dinan, but rather the intermediary between General Tête-Ronde and the Companions of Jehu.’ Diana winced almost imperceptibly when she heard that word.

      “‘And I must say,’ offered the counterfeit d’Argentan, ‘that I was witness to a horrible execution when I was last among the Companions. The Vicomte de Fargas, who had betrayed the association, was stabbed in my presence.’

      “Diana could feel her blood draining from her face. If she had told them her real name, or if she now revealed it, she would not be able to meet the objectives of her journey. To the sister of the Vicomte de Fargas, who had been judged and sentenced by the Companions of Jehu, never would Cadoudal or d’Argentan reveal the executioners’ names or their whereabouts. So she said nothing, as if she were waiting for d’Argentan to finish his thought.

      “Cadoudal continued: ‘His name is not d’Argentan, but rather Coster Saint-Victor, and even he had given no other guarantee of his loyalty to our holy cause than the wound he has just suffered.’

      “‘Unless it’s a wound merely to prove his devotion,’ said Diana coldly. ‘That would be easy.’


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