The French Revolution A History Chapter 2.4.VI. - Old-Dragoon Drouet.
by Thomas Carlyle
In this manner, however, has the Day bent downwards. Wearied mortals are
creeping home from their field-labour; the village-artisan eats with relish
his supper of herbs, or has strolled forth to the village-street for a
sweet mouthful of air and human news. Still summer-eventide everywhere!
The great Sun hangs flaming on the utmost North-West; for it is his longest
day this year. The hill-tops rejoicing will ere long be at their ruddiest,
and blush Good-night. The thrush, in green dells, on long-shadowed leafy
spray, pours gushing his glad serenade, to the babble of brooks grown
audibler; silence is stealing over the Earth. Your dusty Mill of Valmy, as
all other mills and drudgeries, may furl its canvass, and cease swashing
and circling. The swenkt grinders in this Treadmill of an Earth have
ground out another Day; and lounge there, as we say, in village-groups;
movable, or ranked on social stone-seats; (Rapport de M. Remy (in Choiseul,
p. 143.) their children, mischievous imps, sporting about their feet.
Unnotable hum of sweet human gossip rises from this Village of Sainte-
Menehould, as from all other villages. Gossip mostly sweet, unnotable; for
the very Dragoons are French and gallant; nor as yet has the Paris-and-
Verdun Diligence, with its leathern bag, rumbled in, to terrify the minds
of men.
One figure nevertheless we do note at the last door of the Village: that
figure in loose-flowing nightgown, of Jean Baptiste Drouet, Master of the
Post here. An acrid choleric man, rather dangerous-looking; still in the
prime of life, though he has served, in his time as a Conde Dragoon. This
day from an early hour, Drouet got his choler stirred, and has been kept
fretting. Hussar Goguelat in the morning saw good, by way of thrift, to
bargain with his own Innkeeper, not with Drouet regular Maitre de Poste,
about some gig-horse for the sending back of his gig; which thing Drouet
perceiving came over in red ire, menacing the Inn-keeper, and would not be
appeased. Wholly an unsatisfactory day. For Drouet is an acrid Patriot
too, was at the Paris Feast of Pikes: and what do these Bouille Soldiers
mean? Hussars, with their gig, and a vengeance to it!--have hardly been
thrust out, when Dandoins and his fresh Dragoons arrive from Clermont, and
stroll. For what purpose? Choleric Drouet steps out and steps in, with
long-flowing nightgown; looking abroad, with that sharpness of faculty
which stirred choler gives to man.
On the other hand, mark Captain Dandoins on the street of that same
Village; sauntering with a face of indifference, a heart eaten of black
care! For no Korff Berline makes its appearance. The great Sun flames
broader towards setting: one's heart flutters on the verge of dread
unutterabilities.
By Heaven! Here is the yellow Bodyguard Courier; spurring fast, in the
ruddy evening light! Steady, O Dandoins, stand with inscrutable
indifferent face; though the yellow blockhead spurs past the Post-house;
inquires to find it; and stirs the Village, all delighted with his fine
livery.--Lumbering along with its mountains of bandboxes, and Chaise
behind, the Korff Berline rolls in; huge Acapulco-ship with its Cockboat,
having got thus far. The eyes of the Villagers look enlightened, as such
eyes do when a coach-transit, which is an event, occurs for them.
Strolling Dragoons respectfully, so fine are the yellow liveries, bring
hand to helmet; and a lady in gipsy-hat responds with a grace peculiar to
her. (Declaration de la Gache (in Choiseul ubi supra.) Dandoins stands
with folded arms, and what look of indifference and disdainful garrison-air
a man can, while the heart is like leaping out of him. Curled disdainful
moustachio; careless glance,--which however surveys the Village-groups, and
does not like them. With his eye he bespeaks the yellow Courier. Be
quick, be quick! Thick-headed Yellow cannot understand the eye; comes up
mumbling, to ask in words: seen of the Village!
Nor is Post-master Drouet unobservant, all this while; but steps out and
steps in, with his long-flowing nightgown, in the level sunlight; prying
into several things. When a man's faculties, at the right time, are
sharpened by choler, it may lead to much. That Lady in slouched gypsy-hat,
though sitting back in the Carriage, does she not resemble some one we have
seen, some time;--at the Feast of Pikes, or elsewhere? And this Grosse-
Tete in round hat and peruke, which, looking rearward, pokes itself out
from time to time, methinks there are features in it--? Quick, Sieur
Guillaume, Clerk of the Directoire, bring me a new Assignat! Drouet scans
the new Assignat; compares the Paper-money Picture with the Gross-Head in
round hat there: by Day and Night! you might say the one was an attempted
Engraving of the other. And this march of Troops; this sauntering and
whispering,--I see it!
Drouet Post-master of this Village, hot Patriot, Old Dragoon of Conde,
consider, therefore, what thou wilt do. And fast: for behold the new
Berline, expeditiously yoked, cracks whipcord, and rolls away!--Drouet dare
not, on the spur of the instant, clutch the bridles in his own two hands;
Dandoins, with broadsword, might hew you off. Our poor Nationals, not one
of them here, have three hundred fusils but then no powder; besides one is
not sure, only morally-certain. Drouet, as an adroit Old-Dragoon of Conde
does what is advisablest: privily bespeaks Clerk Guillaume, Old-Dragoon of
Conde he too; privily, while Clerk Guillaume is saddling two of the
fleetest horses, slips over to the Townhall to whisper a word; then mounts
with Clerk Guillaume; and the two bound eastward in pursuit, to see what
can be done.
They bound eastward, in sharp trot; their moral-certainty permeating the
Village, from the Townhall outwards, in busy whispers. Alas! Captain
Dandoins orders his Dragoons to mount; but they, complaining of long fast,
demand bread-and-cheese first;--before which brief repast can be eaten, the
whole Village is permeated; not whispering now, but blustering and
shrieking! National Volunteers, in hurried muster, shriek for gunpowder;
Dragoons halt between Patriotism and Rule of the Service, between bread and
cheese and fixed bayonets: Dandoins hands secretly his Pocket-book, with
its secret despatches, to the rigorous Quartermaster: the very Ostlers
have stable-forks and flails. The rigorous Quartermaster, half-saddled,
cuts out his way with the sword's edge, amid levelled bayonets, amid
Patriot vociferations, adjurations, flail-strokes; and rides frantic;
(Declaration de La Gache (in Choiseul), p. 134.)--few or even none
following him; the rest, so sweetly constrained consenting to stay there.
And thus the new Berline rolls; and Drouet and Guillaume gallop after it,
and Dandoins's Troopers or Trooper gallops after them; and Sainte-
Menehould, with some leagues of the King's Highway, is in explosion;--and
your Military thunder-chain has gone off in a self-destructive manner; one
may fear with the frightfullest issues!
