Vaincre ou mourir

The French Revolution

is a rupture in the history of humanity.

Forever, there will be the before and the after.

The Revolution is favorably received.

Vendée does not stand out among the rest of the kingdom.

There is much hope in the promised reforms.

Promises are put into writing in grievance notebooks,

which are requested from every parish, every corporation.

Soon enough, people will be disappointed

and will take up arms against the French Revolution.

The rebellion breaks out everywhere, very violently.

It's a spontaneous movement, a popular movement

that organizes fairly quickly.

It's astonishing in this war of Vendée.

There is a rapid organization

around, for example, recognized leaders.

In one week, we see things getting organized.

So obviously, the first thing,

we see in uprisings under the old regime,

is to seek out people whom we trust.

People who are known before, in the village,

because they held important political positions,

because they have charisma.

We seek them out because we need to trust these leaders.

François-Athanase Charette de La Contrie

is the most well-known Vendean leader.

He held out the longest. He was called the king of Vendée.

Charette is a rebel.

Yes, and he's a rebel who achieves successes,

who also experiences failures and who is extremely conscious

of the limits of his power, the limits of his action.

Vendée is a big question mark.

Why Vendée?

How Vendée? Why did it come to this?

Vendée is a human story, of men.

It's a story of heroism, of commitment.

Charette was the ultimate hero.

The reference.

Charette is also about honor.

Honor.

Cries and protests in the distance.

Scream.

Intriguing music.

Deep breath.

My heart still beats.

Yet tomorrow,

I will be dead.

I am far from being a saint.

But I will not go to hell.

For I have come from hell.

They have turned Vendée into hell.

That summer, I see nothing coming.

The Revolution promises a better world, we only talk about freedom and equality.

I fought for freedom,

in America, during the War of Independence.

My name is François-Athanase Charette de La Contrie.

I spent my entire career as an officer in the Royal Navy.

On the seas of the world, in the heat of battles.

The Revolution overturns my life.

I am only 30 years old and have no future.

Do you see what you have around your neck?

It's the archangel Saint Michael.

It means you are well protected.

You will become a great knight. Right?

Good blood cannot lie. Right, my son?

My poor friend, nothing remains of your knighthood.

Do you see this?

- No, what? - This distaff

hanging on our door. Do you know what it means?

The reward of the cowards.

Of those who dare not arm themselves against the Revolution.

Of those who prefer hunting

and chasing skirts.

I am leaving for Nantes tomorrow.

Will you come?

Woodcocks.

And a distaff.

These are the trophies that the knight Charette will leave to history.

The peasants are beginning to lose hope.

After the fine promises, the Revolution brings threats.

Priests who refuse to swear allegiance to the Constitution

are hunted down.

They hide to celebrate Mass.

Helplessly, I watch

our world collapsing.

And this is only the beginning.

The Republic sends our king Louis XVI to the scaffold.

His beheading causes a shockwave throughout Europe.

Revolutionary France is overwhelmed on all fronts.

It needs cannon fodder.

That's the spark that ignites the gunpowder.

Fire!

The National Convention

has decreed the conscription of 300,000 men to fight on the eastern border

against the enemies of liberty.

Protests.

We don't want your liberty!

PEACE!

No!

War!

War is Europe of crowned tyrants.

In Coblenz, in Mainz,

everywhere.

Where is this, Mainz?

Why should I die fighting against enemies I don't know?

Protests.

What greater honor than to shed one's blood

for the homeland?

The conscripted citizens will be selected by drawing lots.

NO!

Leave our sons on our fields.

We need hands, lads.

Cheers.

The Republic has no need for harvests

when the army of tyrants threatens to trample liberty.

That liberty

which France has planted on its soil

and which it must sow throughout the world.

- Well spoken. - They are being booed.

Come, my son.

- Please. - Sworn priest.

Join the devil, you serve the good God no more.

Protests.

Give us back our good priests!

Usher, proceed with the drawing.

NO!

Black ball, conscripted.

White ball, exempt.

Discontented exclamations.

I call Citizen Germain Goulard.

- He's my son. - He's a municipal officer.

He's exempt, my son.

Everyone contributes to the Republic.

We need soldiers,

and men of the law.

Protests.

Silence! Enough!

Usher, continue.

I call Citizen Jacques Maupillier.

No, not my son!

Leave him alone!

Gunshot.

Jacques! He's hit!

Jacques! Jacques!

Jacques!

Tragic music.

Cry of rage.

Be cursed!

Cursed! I curse you all!

Thousands of peasants gather

to take up arms

and defend what they hold dearest.

Their sons,

their faith,

- their king. - Dad!

Bell ringing.

On their chests, they wear the Sacred Heart of Jesus

as protection, a rallying sign.

These lads are tough.

But facing the soldiers of the Republic,

the Blues, as they call them,

they need officers to lead them.

I knew sooner or later they would come for me.

I wasn't prepared.

- Come out, Charette. - Charette!

Charette!

- We know you're there! - Show yourselves.

Muffled cries.

You cannot ignore them.

You must speak to them.

Tell them what?

That their fight is futile? That they have gone mad?

Soon, they will have an army against them.

Do you think they can resist with their pitchforks and scythes?

A riot is one thing.

- War is another. - They are asking for you.

They need a leader.

A leader who knows the art of war.

I am a sailor.

War on land...

Especially against armies that defy all of Europe.

They will make short work of a band of farmers.

It's sheer madness.

Clamor - Come on, follow me.

Where is he?

Search every room.

Look everywhere.

Where is he hiding?

He's not here.

He's out hunting.

Hunting?

Look at what's left of the knight Charette.

He has fled, that nobleman.

We don't want his boot, but his head.

The crowd is in a frenzy.

We will eventually find him.

No courage, these pale faces.

This Charette is a coward.

Who are you calling a coward?

Wait for me outside.