"I don't know," said Jean, "why a smith's daughter should not marry a baker's son; but I did not mean to vex Annot, and will say no more about him; only good bread is a very good thing to have in one's house."

"And a butcher is a good trade too," said the old man inside the chimney. "Jean Geldert, he that Lolotte Gobelin ran off with, he was a butcher."

CHAPTER VII.

SUNDAY IN THE BOCAGE.

The remainder of that week was spent by Henri and the Cure as actively and as successfully as the day in which they visited Echanbroignes. The numbers they enrolled exceeded their hopes, and they found among the people many more arms than they expected, though mostly of a very rude kind. The party separated on the Sat.u.r.day night, with the understanding that they were to meet together at Done on the Tuesday evening, to proceed from thence to the attack of Saumur. Henri Larochejaquelin returned to Durbelliere. The Cure of St. Laud went to his own parish, to perform ma.s.s among his own people on the following morning, and Jacques Chapeau, according to agreement, took up his quarters at the smith's house in Echanbroignes.

On the following morning, he and Annot, and most of the young men and women of the village walked over to St. Laud's to receive ma.s.s from Father Jerome, and to hear the discourse which he had promised to give respecting the duties of the people in the coming times.

The people, as in olden days, were crowded round the church about half-past ten o'clock; but the doors of the church were closed. The revolt in La Vendee had already gone far enough to prevent the possibility of the const.i.tutional priests officiating in the churches to which they had been appointed by the National a.s.sembly; but it had not yet gone far enough to enable the old nonjuring Cures to resume generally their own places in their own churches: the people, however, now crowded round the church of St. Laud's, till they should learn where on that day Father Jerome would perform ma.s.s.

The church of St. Laud's did not stand in any village, nor was it surrounded even by a cl.u.s.ter of cottages. It stood by itself on the side of a narrow little road, and was so completely surrounded by beech and flowering ash trees, that a stranger would not know that he was in the neighbourhood of a place of worship till it was immediately in front of him. Opposite to the door of the church and on the other side of the road, was a cross erected on a little mound; and at its foot a Capuchin monk in his a.r.s.e brown frock, with his hood thrown back, and his eyes turned to heaven, was always kneeling: the effigy at least of one was doing so, for it was a painted wooden monk that was so perpetually at his prayers.

The church itself was small, but it boasted of a pretty grey tower; and on each side of the door of the church were two works of art, much celebrated in the neighbourhood. On the left side, beneath the window, a large niche was grated in with thick, rusty iron bars. It occupied the whole extent from the portico to the corner of the church, and from the ground to the window; and, within the bars, six monster demons--spirits of the unrepentent dead, the forms of wretches who had died without owning the name of their Saviour, were withering in the torments of h.e.l.l-fire; awful indeed was the appearance of these figures; they were larger than human, and twisted into every variety of contortion which it was conceived possible that agony could a.s.sume. Their eyes were made to protrude from their faces, their fiery tongues were hanging from their scorched lips; the hairs of each demon stood on end and looked like agonized snakes; they were of various hideous colours; one was a dingy blue; another a horrid dirty yellow, as though perpetual jaundice were his punishment; another was a foul unhealthy green; a fourth was of a brick-dust colour; a fifth was fiery red, and he was leaping high as though to escape the flame; but in vain, for a huge blue flake of fire had caught him by the leg, and bound him fast; his fiery red hands were closed upon the bars, his tortured face was pressed against them, and his screeching mouth was stretched wide open so as to display two awful rows of red-hot teeth; the sixth a jet black devil, cowered in a corner and grinned, as though even there he had some pleasure in the misery of his companions.

The s.p.a.ce occupied on the other side was much larger, for it was carried up so far as to darken a great portion of the window. That on the left represented the misery of h.e.l.l--torment without hope. That on the right contained two tableaus: the lower one was purgatory, here four rec.u.mbent figures lay in the four corners, uncomfortably enough; for the bed of each figure was six sharp spikes, each of which perforated the occupier of it. But yet these dead men were not horrible to look at as those six other wretches; their eyes were turned on a round aperture above, the edge of which was all gilt and shining, for the glory of heaven shone into it. This aperture entered into paradise. Through the aperture the imaginative artist had made a spirit to be pa.s.sing--his head and shoulders were in paradise; these were also gilt and glorious, and on his shoulders two little seraphims were fixing wings; his nether parts below the aperture, were still brown and dingy, as were the four rec.u.mbent spirits who rested on their gridirons till the time should come that they also should be pa.s.sed through.

Above the aperture was to be seen paradise in all its blazon of glory, numberless little golden-headen cherubims encircled a throne, on which was seated the beneficent majesty of Heaven. From the towers and roofs projected numerous brazen-mouthed instruments, which welcomed into everlasting joy the purified spirit which was ascending from purgatory.

Thus were paradise, purgatory and pandemonium represented at St. Laud's, and abominable as such representations now appear to be, they had, to a certain extent, a salutary effect with the people who were in the habit of looking at them. That they were absolute accurate representations of the places represented, they never for a moment presumed to doubt; and if the joys of heaven, as displayed there, were not of much avail in adding to the zeal of the faithful, the horrors of h.e.l.l were certainly most efficacious in frightening the people into compliance with the rules laid down for them, and in preventing them from neglecting their priests and religious duties.

The people were crowded round the church; some were kneeling with the wooden monk at the foot of the cross, and some round the bars of purgatory. Others were prostrated before the six condemned demons, and some sat by the road-side, on the roots of the trees, telling their beads. Many men were talking of the state of the times, and of the wars to come; some were foretelling misery and desolation, and others were speaking of the happy days about to return, when their King and their priests should have their own, and La Vendee should be the most honoured province in France.

They made a pretty scene, waiting there beneath the shade till their priest should come to lead them to some rural chapel. The bright colours worn by the women in their Sunday clothes, and the picturesque forms of the men, in their huge broad-brimmed flapping hats, harmonized well with the thick green foliage around them. They shewed no sign of impatience, they were quite content to wait there, and pray, or gossip, or make love to each other, till such time as Father Jerome should please to come; they had no idea that their time was badly spent in waiting for so good a man.

At any rate he came before they were tired, and with him came a man who was a stranger to them all, except to Jacques Chapeau. This man was but little, if anything, better dressed than themselves; he looked like one of their own farmers of the better days; certainly from his dress and manner he had no pretensions to be called a gentleman, and yet he walked and talked with Father Jerome as though he were his equal.

"G.o.d bless you, my children, G.o.d bless you," said the Cure, in answer to the various greetings he received from his flock. "Follow me, my children, and we will worship G.o.d beneath the canopy of his holy throne," and then turning to the stranger, he added: "the next time you visit me at St. Laud's, M. d'Elbee, we shall, I doubt not, have our church again. I could now desire the people to force the doors for me, and no one would dare to hinder them; but I have been thrust from my altar and pulpit by a self-const.i.tuted vain authority--but yet by authority; and I will not resume them till I do so by the order of the King or of his servants."

"I reverence the house of G.o.d," replied M. d'Elbee, "because his spirit has sanctified it; but walls and pillars are not necessary to my worship; a cross beneath a rock is as perfect a church to them who have the will to worship, as though they had above them the towers of Notre Dame, or the dome of St. Peter's."

"You are right, my son; it is the heart that G.o.d regards; and where that is in earnest, his mercy will dispense with the outward symbols of our religion; but still it is our especial duty to preserve to his use everything which the piety of former ages has sanctified; to part willingly with nothing which appertains in any way to His church. The best we have is too little for His glory. It should be our greatest honour to give to Him; it is through His great mercy that He receives our unworthy offerings. Come, my children, follow me; our altar is prepared above."

The priest led the way through a little shaded path at the back of the church; behind a farmhouse and up a slight acclivity, on the side of which the rocks in different places appeared through the green turf, and the crowd followed him at a respectful distance.

"And who is that with Father Jerome--who is the stranger, M. Chapeau?"

said one and another of them, crowding round Jacques--for it soon got abroad among them, that Jacques Chapeau had seen the stranger in some of his former military movements in La Vendee. Chapeau was walking beside his mistress, and was not at all sorry of the opportunity of shewing off.

"Who is he, indeed?" said Jacques. "Can it be that none of you know M.

d'Elbee?"

"D'Elbee!--d'Elbee!--indeed; no, then, I never heard the name till this moment," said one.

"Nor I," said another; "but he must be a good man, or Father Jerome would not walk with him just before performing ma.s.s."

"You are right there, Jean," said Jacques, "M. d'Elbee is a good man; he has as much religion as though he were a priest himself."

"And he must be a thorough royalist," said another, "or Father Jerome wouldn't walk with him at all."

"You are right, too, my friend; M. d'Elbee is a great royalist. He is the especial friend of our good Cathelineau."

"The friend of Cathelineau and of Father Jerome," said a fourth, "then I am sure M. d'Elbee must be something out of the common way."

"You are right again, he is very much out of the common way, he is one of our great generals," said Chapeau.

"One of our great generals, is he," said two or three at once. "I knew he was going to Saumur," said Jean, "or Father Jerome wouldn't have walked so peaceable with him, great as he may be."

"But if he is a great general," said Annot, "why has he no lace upon his coat; why doesn't he wear a sword and look smart like M.

Larochejaquelin? At any rate he is a very shabby general."

"He has a terrible long nose too," said another girl. "And he has not a morsel of starch in his shirt ruffles, I declare," said a third, who officiated as laundress to the Mayor of Echanbroignes.

"I'm sure the republicans will never be afraid of such a general as he is. You are joking with us now, Jacques. I am sure he is not a general; he is more like a grocer from Nantes."

"And is not Cathelineau like a postilion?" said Jacques, "and I hope you will allow he is a great soldier. You know nothing of these things yet, Annot. M. Larochejaquelin is so smart because he is a young n.o.bleman; not because he is a general."

"And is not M. d'Elbee a n.o.bleman?" said one of the girls.

"Not a bit of it," said Chapeau.

"Well, I think the generals should all be n.o.blemen; I declare," said the laundress, "M. Larochejaquelin did look so nice last Wednesday, when he was getting off his horse."

"That is all; but Cathelineau," said Annot, "he is the finest fellow of them all. I'd sooner have Cathelinean for my lover, than the Duc de Chartres, and he's the king's cousin."

"You are a foolish girl, Annot," said Chapeau. "You might as well want the picture of St. John out of the church window down yonder, and take that for your lover, as Cathelineau. Don't you know he's the Saint of Anjou?"

"He might marry a wife, and have a house full of children, for all that; that's the difference between being a saint and a priest; there's no harm in being in love with a saint, and I am very much in love with Cathelineau."

"Why, you little ninny, you never saw him," said Chapean.

"No matter," said Annot; "ninny, or no ninny, I'll go where I'm like to see him; and I'm sure I'll never bear the sight of another man afterwards; the dear, good, sweet Cathelineau, with his curly hair, and fine whiskers, and black bright eyes; he's better than all the n.o.blemen: I declare I dreamed of him these last two nights."

Chapeau left the side of his mistress, muttering something about stupid foolish chits of girls, and continued his description of M. d'Elbee to the men.

"Indeed he is a very great general. I don't know very well where he came from, but I believe somewhere down in the Marais, from his being such a friend of M. Charette; but he has been fighting against the republicans this long time, even before Cathelineau began, I believe, though I don't exactly know where. I know he was made a prisoner in Paris, and nearly killed there by some of those b.l.o.o.d.y-minded rebels; then he escaped, and he was at the siege of Machecoult, and got honourably wounded, and was left for dead: and then he was at Thouars--no, not at Thouars; we heard he was coming, but he didn't come; but he was at Fontenay, and that's where I first saw him. M. Bonchamps brought him in and introduced him to M. de Lescure, and our M.

Larochejaquelin, and I was astonished to see how much they made of him, for he was dressed just as he is now, and had no sword or anything.

Well, as soon as he came in they all went to work talking, and settling how Fontenay was to be attacked, for though its a little place, and not walled and fortified like Saumur, we had a deal of trouble with it; but before a word was spoken, M. d'Elbee stood up and said, 'Brethren,' said he, 'let us ask the a.s.sistance of our Saviour:' so down they went on their knees, and he said an awful long prayer, for all the world like a priest. And then again before we fired a shot, he bade all the soldiers kneel down, and down we went, the republicans firing at us all the time. The soldiers call him Old Providence, for they say he talks a deal about Providence when he is fighting."

"You may be sure that's what makes Father Jerome so fond of him," said Jean. "I knew he was a good man."

"And he was a desperate fellow to fight afterwards," continued Chapeau.

"But he walked into the thick of the fighting just as he is now."

"But he had a sword, or a gun, or a spear?" said Jean.