"Really?" said the old Lord smiling, "They betray themselves by the garments, when closely examined; the hasty, or irresolute gait, the shuffling of the feet, the gliding step of ladies, are certainly very expressive; a certain nonchalant manner of walking, a haughty tread of the heel, an affected, frivolous sliding on tip toe, the indecisive tottering footstep, by which the shoe loses its shape, excepting the qualities which however demonstrate themselves by the high, or low instep, or by the flatness of the foot. But now for the legs; if these were exhibited in their natural state, it would be scarcely possible to mistake the rank, profession, and way of life; then there are tailor's and baker's legs, which it is impossible not to recognise, foot and cavalry soldier's legs, weaver's and joiner's legs, and so on."
"These are very interesting observations," said the Counsellor, "would you, for instance, venture to declare the former manner of life of my Frantz by his legs?"
"By my legs?" exclaimed the old servant, who was still busied in clearing away. "Here they are, reverend sir."
"Stoop a little--now go yonder--come back again--stand perfectly upright--my Lord Counsellor, I could swear that your Frantz has been in his youth, nay at a later period of life, a mariner."'
The servant looked at the priest astounded, and the Lord of Beauvais said: "You have hit it, my reverend friend; but from what do you draw your conclusion?"
"No mariner," said the priest "ever loses entirely the straggling and somewhat stooping gait which he has acquired on shipboard, he sinks his loins in walking, and a slight limp remains for the rest of his life."
When the other servant approached, the priest immediately cried out, "Give yourself no further trouble, one can see at the distance of a gun-shot, that the good man has been a tailor in his youth, and that he certainly pursues the same occupation now, for the bent shins clearly demonstrate it." "You follow the chase," turning to the huntsman who was standing; "it must be so, although I should rather have taken you for a soldier, and from the eye, for a smuggler; by the bye, what is the matter with your right knee? it certainly is not from attending mass, from whence then does this slight protuberance proceed? perhaps you have acquired the strange habit of falling on your right knee when you shoot?"
"Reverend sir," exclaimed the huntsman, "you must be a bit of a wizard yourself, for you have hit the mark. From my youth upwards I have never been able to shoot but in a kneeling position; should a hare run by under my nose, I cannot hit it standing, I must first throw myself down; but I have always been much ridiculed by my companions for it."
"For the rest," resumed the priest, "you have mountain-legs, and you must have been born in the Cevennes, or the Pyrenees, your eye too is characteristic of the mountaineer who is far-sighted."
"Just so," said the huntsman, "I come from Lozère, the wildest part of the mountains."
"Well, my young friend," said the connoisseur in legs, turning to the young lad,--"You pretend to be a miller and want miller's legs, how does that happen? observe, that from carrying sacks, the miller's back is early bent and becomes broad and round, but the principal weight presses upon the calves of the legs, the sinews of the hams become disproportionately strong; but with you these are precisely the weakest parts, the ancles too are not large enough: here, summa summarum fails the miller's character, for my science cannot deceive."
"In this I cannot assist you, sir," said the young man petulantly, "for I am what I am, and will remain so."
"For my part," quickly rejoined the critic, "I desire not to press too closely on your miller's honour, you may probably be a spoilt, effeminate mother's darling, who would not suffer you to be too heavily laden, your hair and whole countenance have a mealy character, your voice too sounds like the wheat-bell and the mill-hopper, but when I look at your knees, they seem to me to be those of a baker, which are turned in from shoving the bread into the oven and taking it out again; during this process he is obliged to keep in a stooping position and rests upon his knees; but I discover the strangest contradiction in your thighs, for they are those of a horseman and of one who rides much, your eye too betrays a martial spirit, it darts here and there and is never quiet as a miller's ought to be, who is attentive to his business; in short, you are to me in your legs and in your whole person a very puzzling youth."
The young man reddened with resentment and the Counsellor endeavoured to turn the entire affair into merriment and laughter,--when the whole party was suddenly alarmed by a violent knocking at the front door of the house, that aroused even Edmond from his reverie. "For God's sake let me in," roared a voice loudly from without, "open to me in the name of heaven!"
At a sign from the Counsellor, who quickly recovered from his surprise, the servants rushed forward, the company looked at one another in silence, the bolts were withdrawn, and the tread of heavy footsteps was heard approaching the hall; the doors were thrown open, and lighted by the servants, a tall, powerfully-built figure with grey hair and moustaches of the same hue entered, he held in his hand a massive staff, that without exaggeration might be termed a club; a long, broad sword trailed clanging after him, and four pistols were stuck, in a black leather girdle. On his entrance he approached the host, and said in a deep, sonorous voice, "Pardon me, my lord, the alarm I must have caused you, I was benighted, pursued and in danger, therefore I ventured, certainly rather unceremoniously, to claim the shelter of your house."
"Oh heavens, it is the terrible hermit!" exclaimed the miller in a hoarse voice, "I am he, indeed," replied the gigantic figure, "but why terrible, my young simpleton? I may surely be permitted to show my face every where, presumptuous fellow; and I have shown it before other physiognomies than yours.--Your pardon! Sir Baron, if I give way to my displeasure at the presumption of this hireling. Yes, reverend sir, I am he, who under the name of the hermit is not unknown in this part of the country; in this character I wished to do homage to my God, but an envious fate thwarts me. To-day my troop has been entirely dispersed, and I have only saved my own life through the greatest exertions, for I was pursued even in the darkness of the night; my enemies cannot be far off, my life is forfeited, if you refuse me your protection."
"All I possess," said the Counsellor, "is at your service, my house, my servants and myself will protect you as far as we are able, independently of the claims of humanity; my duty to my king and country demand this."
"You are an honourable man," replied the giant, "such as I had every reason to expect."--At his invitation, he sat down by the side of the master of the house to partake of the wine and refreshments, which the servants placed before him. "I hope," said he, "that the storm and sudden fall of night have prevented them from tracing my route, but every moment of this day has been a perilous one to me. Yonder, on the right at Nages, the body of Camisards has been totally defeated; as I passed the Vidourla to give the rout to my enemies, I met a flying detachment of them, who, instead of showing any fear, assembled together, and fell upon me like so many devils; their number was not great, but it seemed as if they were aided by magic, a panic seized my people; they crowded together, they reached the Vidourla, the furious foes behind them. At that moment the storm burst forth, the waters rushed down from the mountains and swelled the rapid mountain-stream to a fearful height, it overflowed its banks, and I saw the dead, the wounded, and the living ingulphed in the waters; I swang myself upon a tree, and from that to a barren rock; more than a hundred muskets were levelled at me, my double-barrelled gun aided me as much as possible, but my sword was useless, the storm threatened to hurl me down, I tried to ascend in spite of the wind and the rushing waters, the rock, from incessant washing, had become slippery as ice, but at length I succeeded in gaining a footing in the midst of the rolling floods, I crept up higher, my steps illumined by the dazzling lightning, and the flashing from the enemy's guns, while the balls wizzed round me: Thus I arrived at a vineyard: I was compelled to scale the wall, on the other side I found two daring fellows, who had climbed over there before me, they fell beneath my sword, I entered a wood, and soon found myself standing upon a level rock, but without track or foot-path, neither road nor bridge was to be seen, precipices yawned below me; must I go back, or down! I slid down, the darkness prevented me from distinguishing anything; after repeated falls, I felt some shrubs under me, a huge shepherd's dog of the most ferocious species attempted to drag me down, there was no herdsman to be seen, or within call, I was compelled to wrestle with the fierce animal; night had now entirely closed in, I thought I heard the sound of bells, I groped my way towards the place from whence the sounds proceeded; soon afterwards I heard men's voices; are they friends or foes? while I was advancing with cocked pistols and drawn sword,--'Who's there?' suddenly grated upon my ears; I discovered they were the Camisards; as I gave no answer, they fired, and by the flashing I perceived distinctly ten of my foes standing at the opening of a ravine; no choice was left me, I advanced, the first fell, shot by my pistol, a second was cut down by my sword, the obscurity of the ravine favoured me, nothing remained but to fly, as quick as age and exhaustion would permit, they shouted and fired after me; at length I perceived I had attained a high road, the flashing from the fire-aims discovered to me a porch, something appeared in the distance like barns and buildings, I ran in that direction, and at last I reached the door of your house."
"Sir captain," said the Counsellor, "repose is necessary to your old age after this exertion and fatigue, lie down, and the safety, which my house is capable of affording, I again assure you, shall be faithfully granted to you."
"May heaven reward you," said the captain; "I look upon this untoward adventure as a hint of fate, warning me to lay down my arms, I shall do so, and return to a cell, or a cloister. Had Cavalier been with the troop, I should not have escaped him, for he possesses the utmost presence of mind, he is the boldest and indeed the most soldierly among the rebels."
"It is said that he is taken prisoner," observed the huntsman.
"The war is over then," exclaimed the hermit, "for, without him, they can undertake nothing; this powerful man is alone the soul of their venturous enterprise. The others understand well enough how to kill and to die, but not how to conduct the war. I wish he had died; for should he be taken prisoner, his fate will be one worthy of commiseration."
During this discourse, the priest, who had until then considered himself of so much importance, now felt lost and dwindled to nothing by the side of the so far greater adventurer. He would willingly have testified his veneration for him by an embrace, or, at least, by a grasping of the hand, but he dared not venture to approach one, whose wrath was so easily excited by any degree of familiarity. The tall man paced up and down the hall, examining all present with a scrutinising look: "Two servants, perhaps, moreover a valet and a huntsman," he muttered to himself, but loud enough to be heard, "will not indeed be capable of offering much resistance, the house is by no means fortified in case of an attack, then the young lord here, a sort of sportsman, the black one also in case of necessity to engage the enemy, but that chicken-hearted one, (looking penetratingly at the young miller) that downy-faced fellow is quite useless. May God forbid, we should be put to so severe a test." He now, as well as the others, paid their parting compliments to the Counsellor, as they were retiring for the night; they were lighted to their apartments by the domestics, and Edmond alone remained in the hall with his father. The rain had ceased, but the night was dark and the sky was covered with lowering clouds. The father and son walked up and down for some time in silence; at length the Counsellor said: "will you not retire to rest my son?" "I am still too much agitated and did you not hear, that our last guest feared we should perhaps have to receive another unexpected visit?"--Silence ensued, but Edmond after a pause recommenced: "Forgive me, my father, if I confess, that I have not understood you to-day, that I have not recognised in you the same person as formerly. That you received these people and sheltered them from the storm, was natural enough, but how it could be conformable to your disposition, (or what shall I call it) to suffer them to eat at your table without distinction, I cannot explain to myself. Often already have our people entertained menials; and what countenance shall I assume when this squinting huntsman shall wait upon me again at the table of the Lord of Basville, I know not; and what will the Intendant and the Marshal, who certainly must hear of it, think, or say? How shall I explain it to myself, that you received that miller's boy not only with kindness and condescension, but yet with hearty familiarity? who is even too low to be your menial, that you allow my sister, who is always too forward to play and romp with him?"
"My son," said the old man with some emotion, "it seems indeed, that, the older I become, the less capable do I feel of justifying myself to you: I might say, accustom yourself to my ways, as I must through affection bear with yours, though I misunderstand them so often. You must certainly excuse me, as you did not explain yourself before, our conversation to-day had made so deep an impression on me, indeed, such as I have not experienced for a long time. In my emotion I forgot to attend to the usual etiquette of life, and as I could not avoid entertaining the priest at our own table, I added the two other poor fellows, but as to that miller, who has more particularly drawn upon himself your hatred and contempt, his child-like countenance and frank, open manners, in my opinion, did more honour to my table, than your Marshal Montrevel could ever do. Accident, the weather brought us together; the times are also so changed that we do not yet know, but we ourselves may be compelled to sue for refuge among the most miserable. But as you so despise that youth, I still less comprehend that you should honour him so highly as to argue with him, nay, to seek yourself for a dispute; for the future interfere not with my ways."
They sat down and as Edmond was silent, the Counsellor said, after a pause: "What do you think then of this priest and his manners? such as these, you see, are appointed to direct and instruct the people, the unfortunate people! these became combatants and murderers like this colossus. That my house is compelled to shelter such, that is it indeed which humbles me. All champions for a good cause may not be individually good," said Edmond.
"Retire to rest now, my son," said the Counsellor kindly, "I shall sit up some time longer, I am too disturbed to be able to sleep, I shall read yet a little while, rest will then ensue with cooler blood." Edmond embraced his father, and then retired to his chamber. The old man gazed sorrowfully after him, and thought upon his son's future destiny; he sunk into a deep and melancholy reverie, no where did hope, or comfort seem to await him. He took up his book in order to calm the perturbation of his spirit, he tried to collect himself; he reflected upon the wonderful disposition of the mind, to divert itself by that which is most profound, in order to escape from its own appropriate feelings, and to be itself again in the inward sanctuary of the spirit. Thus without reading Plato, which he had laid open before him, he became more and more absorbed in a contemplative investigation on the double nature of the soul and of the mind, that reflects on itself and comprehends its nature and property, which, in thought, at the same time, views, and proving it, ponders upon this thought, being at once actor and spectator, and being only at this moment truly conscious of itself. He did not know how long he might have indulged in these reflections; when raising his eyes, he was surprised to see his son by his side. "You are still here, Edmond?" said he wondering. "No, my father," whispered the son, "I have reposed quite two hours, but just now when I awoke, I heard under the window a whispering and a movement as of many men, I approached, but could distinguish nothing, however, it seemed to me, as if people were gathering round our house, I have loaded in haste all our fire-arms, and quietly awakened the domestics. The strangers are still asleep, but they must now assist in our defence."
"If it be so, and that you have not been mistaken," said the father, "promise me only not to be too eager; let us be quiet and collected, for thereby one may be often enabled to prevent the worst, but I well know, by experience, that from the love of danger and fiery courage, which as easily defeat their object as cowardice, misfortune and destruction may be drawn down upon us. We must not venture alone, you must not forget your little sister. Now do I wish, that I had been a soldier, that I might meet this invasion with serenity, should it come to this, but we shall do what honour demands of us; but more than the danger itself do I fear your hastiness." In the mean while a murmur and the approach of footsteps were heard nearer; several voices were distinguished, a noise proceeded from the road and garden, so that it appeared, that they were taking possession of all the outlets. Immediately afterwards a knocking was heard at the door. The servants drew near, but at a mute signal from their master they remained tranquil; immediately the tumult became louder and several voices raised an unintelligible cry, Edmond grew warm, his father looked at him significantly; but soon, however, the name of the hermit resounded clearly and distinctly from out of the confused murmur. "They demand him," cried Edmond; "They are the Camisards!" The cry was repeated, they knocked louder, they became even noisy, the screams of women and the cries of children were now also heard; the Counsellor caused all the weapons to be brought forward, he was hastily distributing them to the servants, when trembling and ghastly pale the tall figure of the hermit, half dressed, tottered in, followed by the priest, bewildered and terrified; both seized the hand of their host, and while they were firing without, the knocking at the door and demands for the hermit became more violent. "Oh, heaven! compassion!" exclaimed the latter, "thou hast heard my oath, that I would in future refrain from blood, but it is too late, I am a victim to their vengeance!" With these words the tremendous figure fell senseless to the ground in utter despair! the child rushed into the hall with her maid; terrified and crying aloud she threw herself into her father's arms; the latter tried to comfort her, but one could see in his pale countenance, that he himself entertained but little hope. "I will protect you as long as I can," cried he, "but the multitude appears too great to allow of my defending the house." Fire! fire! cried a hundred voices from without at the same time, and lighted fire brands were seen through the windows! at that moment the door was shaken, by large trees, which were thrown against it like battering rams. "Oh heavens!" cried the priest, while his teeth chattered, "had I but the tenth part of my former courage,--but I am not at all prepared for this, I have slept a little already, which has completely relaxed my spirit." He took off his hat, "how impolite I am!" sighed he, but it was almost laughable, even in that moment, that under this he still wore his night-cap, without being aware of it, and in wandering about in every corner of the hall, he carried his hat in his hand. The huntsman now stole in, took his loaded gun from the shelf, and placed himself quietly by the chimney; "whither are you going" exclaimed Edmond, "out with the rifle, you must all defend yourselves!" "Impossible," stammered the man, "give up the old villain, otherwise the whole house is lost, I know the Camisards." "Scoundrel!" thundered the young man--"where is the miller? Still in bed? all of you, you miserable varlets, shall defend this place with me, nay, even that weak, effeminate boy shall make common cause with us."
"The hermit was praying on the ground, all were shouting confusedly in the hall, but no word was heard distinctly; all was confounded with the storm, which every moment became more violent without. The window-frames were demolished, the door cracked and appeared to give way, when, with an apparent air of indifference, the young miller entered, carelessly tying his neckerchief and said: 'Let me out by the back-door, I will speak to the enraged multitude,--quick, give me the key!' These last words were uttered in a tone of command. The old Lord looked at him, took the key from the wall, and opened the door to him himself, the youth went round to the other side of the house. Edmond posted himself with a loaded gun opposite the door, in order to fire among the assailants, in case they succeeded in forcing an entrance. Suddenly a tremendous shout was raised, which seemed like acclamations of joy and was reiterated by the crowds surrounding the house. Then all was still; and after a while a deep voice exclaimed: 'He must come out the assassin, on this spot he shall be torn to pieces!' 'Merciful God,' cried the hermit from the ground, where he still lay, 'that is the terrible Catinat, who knows no compassion!'--after a few words exchanged among them, the high and almost hoarse voice of the youth was heard. 'Silence all,' cried he vehemently: nothing more could be distinguished, for a confused murmur arose. The child glancing from under her dishevelled fair long tresses, said: 'Observe, my little David will yet save that great Goliath there.' The crowds without drew themselves up and marched away, the youth returned again by the garden-door, much heated and nearly breathless; he approached, the hermit still lying prostrate, fixed his eyes upon him, then caught him by the breast and said, 'rise up, God has again spared you to-day, you are safe, return to the town or to your own house:' He then turned to the huntsman, whispered something in his ear, whereupon the latter suddenly fell terrified upon his knees and exclaimed, 'Mercy!' 'Be silent!' said the young miller hastily. The priest looked as if he could have embraced the knees of the wonderful youth, who now turned to the master of the house, and said, in gentle tones: 'my honoured host, I consider myself fortunate in having been able to protect you; there were certainly a few Camisards, but the crowd was principally composed of a number of drunken millers-men from my part of the country, who had met with some other rough, intoxicated fellows. It was lucky, that I was known to some of them, in consequence of which, the small number of Camisards also suffered themselves to be pacified. It seems that they assembled more for pleasure than for any wicked purpose. Receive my thanks for your noble hospitality, worthy and honoured man.' He bowed, the old Lord seemed as if he wished to embrace him, but the opportunity was lost in irresolution and the stranger was already at the door.
"Farewell David!" exclaimed the child. He looked back once more with a serious and enquiring expression, raised his hand and eyes as if invoking a blessing, and then quitted the hall.
Those who remained behind, looked at one another as if they had witnessed the performance of a miracle. The first light of morning already dawned, and the dense multitude was seen retreating over the mountains, Edmond was standing in deep thought, and the old Lord, after having unlocked his gun, gave it to the servant, to carry away. The hermit drew near abashed, as if he felt considerably diminished in size since the day before. "I leave your house, my Lord," said he, in a voice scarcely audible, and with a heart greatly depressed; "I had almost drawn upon your honoured head the malediction attending my own errors, but the Lord has averted it." He took the road to Nismes; the huntsman had already slipped away.
"My Lord Counsellor of Parliament," cried the priest, "you have not seen us to-day in the most favourable light, now that all has passed off happily; I am a man again; courage revives once more within me, I could now show you that I am no coward, if a few of these villains would but return. Receive my thanks, honoured sir, and you too my young--but what do I see?" Now, for the first time, he perceived that he was politely taking leave with his hat in his hand, and his night-cap still on his head;--abashed he pulled it off, and thrust it into his pocket?--"This is the worst of all," said he, his whole face reddening; "One may thus see to what a sensible man may be reduced in these troublous times." He again made a hasty bow and retreated.
"Who was this youth?" asked the old Lord. "Probably one of those infamous rebels," replied Edmond in great wrath; "I had rendered perhaps a service to God and the king, if I had sent this ball after him!" "Father," said the child, "believe me, he was the angel Gabriel, and brother Edmond will yet be converted, and love him as I do." "Go to bed again, my little one," said her father, "you require rest, poor child!"
"That was no good night," said Eveline, "so now good morning, father! it grows so beautifully bright!" she retired with the female attendants, and Edmond and his father alone remained behind in the saloon. They were both silent for a long time, at length Edmond took his gun, and said, "what do you think of all this, and especially of this mysterious fellow, who can demean himself so innocently, and with so much naïveté?"
"I must not express my thoughts," answered his father, "perhaps they would sound too romantic. You will leave us again, my son? and probably will not come back to dinner?"
"You know," replied Edmond, "my passion for hunting and the delight I take in mountains and forests; nature elevates us above our suffering; she strengthens our feelings; she inspires and gives us that noble vigour, which becomes but too often enervated in society, and in every day life. This will be a glorious day after the storm; I will forget all that I have experienced here."
"Let us but bring to nature a pious and purified spirit," said his father, "and she becomes to us the holiest of temples, psalms and songs of praise will then re-echo our holy inspirations; but her gloomy rocks and waterfalls, her desolate solitude with black masses of clouds brooding above, her wild echo can also excite still more the uneasy, agitated mind, and arouse more powerfully the turbulent spirit, for she answers only as she is questioned."
"I will therefore speak to her in my way," replied Edmond, half petulantly, "woods and mountains will perhaps understand me better than men." He bowed and went through the garden, and descended the vineyards already glittering, with the first rays of morning.
"He is going there again to Alais," said his father sighing, "and his wild enthusiasm for nature gives place to a well-lighted saloon, card-playing, witticisms, and frivolous conversations. Woe to me that I must thus recognise in him the characteristics of my youth, disfigured and exaggerated!"
CHAPTER II.
The candles were already lighted, when Edmond stood before a large house, undecided if he should enter or not; "she has company again, the same as ever," said he to himself; "and how shall I in my dusty shooting-dress present myself among well-dressed ladies? However, she is kind and indulgent, I am at a distance from home, the strangers too are already accustomed to this in me." He ascended and laid down his gun and pouch in the anti-chamber, the servant ushered him in, and he found only a small circle, the young lady's two old aunts and a few younger ladies of the town of Nismes, established at two card tables and entertained, as usual, by an old Captain. They were relating to one another the defeat of the Camisards on the preceding day, and how they had assembled again, and how their leaders had escaped.
"Where is the Lady Christine?" asked Edmond of the Lady de Courtenai.
"My niece," replied the lady, "is within there, indisposed as she says: her capricious fits have returned again, and no one can make anything of her; perhaps you may be able to enliven her, or perhaps she is sad, because the Marshal is not yet come."
Edward passed into the adjoining room, the door of which stood open, it was lighted up, and there, on a sofa with tearfraught eyes sat the Lady Christine; her lute lay negligently on her arm, as if she would have played, but she was so deeply plunged in thought, that she started up terrified, when Edmond greeted her and inquired after her health. "Lady, dearest," he exclaimed, "what is the matter with you? I have never yet seen you thus!"
"Not thus?" said Christine, looking wildly, and with a smile of bitterness, "and why not, it is thus indeed I should ever be! Only you do not know, nor understand me; you will not understand me!"
Edmond drew back bewildered; "how shall I interpret these words?"
"As you will, or rather as you can."
"Explain yourself," said the young man; "you have been weeping, you appear ill."
"All this is of great importance, is it not?" said she with a passionate movement.
"How have I offended you?" asked Edmond with sympathy, "it almost appears as if I had: are you mortified by me? I do not know myself guilty in anything; what is it then in the name of all the saints?"
"That you are a man!" said Christine, while her pale cheeks glowed with the deepest crimson.
"Well! really," said Edmond, "this transgression is so new, that I know not how to answer. Is this the amiable Christine of Castelnau, who thus greets her friend, who"--
"Amiable!" cried she passionately--"what do you call thus, ye friends? the bad, the wretched, the worthless of this world, with which we cover our naked misery as with torn purple rags from the worn out, faded wardrobes of former times, when there were yet clothes, and ornament and men?--or has the world been always thus miserable?"--she threw the lute from her as if it terrified her. "This is also one of the deplorable customs, that we should warble and play, and make grimaces, though our hearts were to break, in case a particle of heart throb yet within us."
"You are ill," exclaimed Edmond, "so ill, that I shall run immediately to our friend Vila;" "Stop," said Christine, and while they were still disputing, an equipage quickly rattled up; all arose in the first room, it was the Marshal of Montrevel, who in his dress-uniform stepped lightly and gracefully out of the carriage and bounded up the stairs, and while the folding doors were thrown open, and the ladies and gentlemen in the room formed a respectful line, he greeted them all with the most polite condescension, "Good evening ladies," said he kindly, "I rejoice to see you all well; Captain, Mr. Counsellor, your servant; ah, my young friend," turning to Edmond, "you are here very often; but where is our amiable hostess?"
"She too is not far," said Christine, coming forward.
"And well?" asked the Marshal; "certainly this charming serenity, this grace, these divine talents, how could it be otherwise?--I hope ladies that you will not disturb yourselves; let us all sit down and play, or converse as best it may seem."
He laid aside his sword and plumed hat, and with obliging promptitude placed an armchair near the fire-place for the lady Christine; he took a footstool and sat on it at her feet, Edmond leaned over the back of her chair and the rest of the company resumed their play. "At your feet, loveliest of women," began the Marshal, "must I find again the peace and tranquillity, which deserted me to-day: yes, this day is one of the most unfortunate of my life!" "Have the Camisards penetrated into Nismes?" asked Christine.
"They will never do that," replied the Marshal smiling, "means have been taken to prevent it; these miserable men will soon have sung their last song. Yesterday they were as good as annihilated, and we should have given them the rout here near Nages, if treachery and wickedness had not, as usual, rendered our best efforts abortive."
"Certainly," said Edmond, "if the people were unanimous in their exertions to extirpate them, the best part would have been achieved."
"Young man," rejoined the Marshal, "I will annihilate them even without the assistance of the people, for these associations composed of citizens, and peasants to oppose them, are more injurious than useful, these men understand neither service nor war, they rather call forth the vigour and insolence of the rebels, the soldier alone can put them down. How unfortunate has it turned out with the good hermit of Saumière! he is said to have been completely defeated, and at last drowned."
Edmond related what he knew of the affair, and the Marshal said smilingly; "I can easily imagine the anxiety of the old boy; but to continue: an old Camisard, a squinting, bald-headed man passed over to us, he was well acquainted with all the secret passes of the mountains; I think his name is Favart; he promised to deliver into our hands the leader Cavalier, and his principal troop, together with the infamous Catinat; we find the matter as he has announced it; the Lord of Basville had through kindness for the wretched man, taken him into his service as gamekeeper; and whether it is, that he has not been able to conquer his old attachment to the rebels, or that he himself did not know all precisely: the rebel leaders with a numerous troop have escaped us again, and Cavalier has, as I have just learned from a courier, defeated a considerable body of our people in the mountains not far from St. Hypolite."
"I know Favart," said Christine, "he was in our service for a long while; a wild but otherwise good man; I am only surprised that he could have again abandoned his sect. But is this the misfortune that you bewail so much, Marshal?" "No, beauteous lady," said the Lord of Montrevel, "such things which are mere trifles to a real soldier cannot disconcert me, I should blush for myself, if the common accidents of the field or of life could ruffle my temper."
"Your beloved then is become faithless? console yourself, there still remain enough for you," said the young lady drily.
"Ah, sly one!" said the Marshal, holding up his finger threateningly; "yes, enchantress, if you feel and return my flame, if you only believe in it, then would I consider this gloomy day as the happiest of my life, and to me all the rest of womankind on earth would be as nothing." He declined all the refreshments presented to him by the servants: "This is a fast day for me," he continued, "and I have not yet been permitted to dine to-day."
"You are too severe," said Christine, "too orthodox, too devout; moreover, I do not recollect that this is a fast day."
"It is not that," said the general solemnly; "for, at times, one may break this fast without any great qualms of conscience; but there are things which are not really connected with the church or her ordinances, but which lie in nature, and on that account are more deeply engraven on our hearts; things which many philosophers, as well as ecclesiastics censure as prejudice and superstition, and which nevertheless have, through the implicit faith of millions, been transmitted to us from the remotest times, and from that very circumstance possess, yes, I may so express myself, a revered, a holy authority. These signs and tokens of a dark futurity, the immediate voice, as it were, of fate, speaks so much the more thrillingly to us as they appear to the dull eye only ridiculous or, at least, insignificant, and as every man has his protecting genius, so has he also all the signs, which are peculiarly suited to him, and which are of the highest importance, if he attends to them and knows how to apply to himself their signification."
"Excellent!" exclaimed the Lady, "now I listen to you willingly, for if the hero is at the same time a philosopher, I like him all the better for it."
"Most bewitching of your sex!" said Montrevel while he attempted to kiss her hand, which she hastily snatched from his lips. "Being then of this belief," said the Marshal, "you may judge of my horror as I sat to-day at table,--the Lord of Basville to whom, on account of his station, this attention is due, sat near me, my aide-de-camp and a few officers,--dinner is announced, the plates are changed,--but, my sight becomes again obscured when I think of it."--
"For heaven's sake," said Edmond, "what is it? assuredly some dreadful wickedness of the rebels, fire-brands and murder, or poison."--"No, young man," continued the Marshal, somewhat tranquillized, "against such things I am secure,--my Fleury, the luckless man, my valet, who in other respects is cleverness and dexterity itself, this man at a sign from me (for he only waits upon me and therefore the affair is the more incomprehensible) was handing the salt, and while I was taking it, he entirely upset the saltcellar before me; a mist came over my eyes, I was compelled to go to bed, having discharged my valet, and come here to find consolation and tranquillity."
Edmond, who turned away with the greater shame and vexation, the more he had been excited by the narrative; could not sustain the fiery regards of the Marshal, who, in seeking to arouse sympathy, fixed his eyes steadfastly upon him and Christine. The latter very unceremoniously burst into a loud and hearty fit of laughter, while she looked at Edmond almost maliciously.
"Well, really! madam," began the Marshal, "this treatment is the more unexpected, as I am unaccustomed to it from you; if such things can make you merry, you think too slightly of the happiness, or unhappiness of your friend."
"Not so indeed," said Christine, "besides I am not particularly merry, I think the tale very edifying and dare be sworn, that the woman and children, whom early this morning you so serenely caused to be shot, also upset the saltcellar in their hut yesterday evening, but you are now free from all these accidents, is it not so Marshal?"
"Is it permitted to ask," said Edmond modestly, "what the affair is?"
"Early this morning," said the Marshal more composedly, "I was compelled to sacrifice a few of these unhappy people to the law, for they would have sent provisions to the rebels in the mountains."
"The investigation was somewhat precipitate," said Christine, "not much regard was paid to the denial of the persons arrested; it is true there was some probability, for the mother had a son among the rebels, who may have often enough suffered hunger. She was a woman of forty years of age with two children, one twelve and the other eight years old. They were led through this street."
"But not the children?" said Edmond turning pale.
The Marshal shrugged up his shoulders and answered lightly, "we must enforce with severity our self-appointed laws, in order to terrify; they could not themselves shew why they were on the by-road; for that they still would have gathered fruit is incredible."
"This mother," interrupted the lady, "with her younger children were seeking for some beans, they were found in the fields by a party of soldiers, terror prevented them from replying quickly to their questions,--and this noble marshal, this gay, gallant, amiable man, this bel esprit, who writes verses, beats his enemies and makes netting, this tender-hearted man who sheds tears if I suffer from headache, this hateful monster caused mother and children to be shot, while he blows a feather from his uniform with infinite grace!"
"Lady!" screamed the Marshal starting up, Edmond stepped back, the footstool was upset and the whole company rose from their card-tables at this sudden uproar.
"Is it not true," said Christine passionately while she stood in the middle of the room, "that such conduct is great, heroic and noble? have our enlightened times come, that we should experience such things? oh, monster! dare you mention the words friendship and love? have you the arrogance to wish to pass for estimable and benevolent? yes, you are also a contemptible creature like your despicable associates, yet you must have felt, seen, or in your dreams at least experienced what a dark destiny poverty, sorrow, necessity, and holy compassion is, these destitute parents, these hungry children; the mother, who with scanty and meagre food entered her hut, how their eyes sought hers imploringly; how her glance of consolation shone in the eyes of her children; how the small supply spread a heaven of tranquil abundance and mutual love! Had you but the eye of an imprisoned swallow; had you only understood your dog when he begs some crumbs from you: you would have trampled your cross of honour under foot rather than have done that deed. Man only can sink so low; the beast which tears itself is gentle and innocent; a spark of ancient heaven shines still brighter in its savage state than in our more degenerate nature. There are tales for children in which a timid girl is made to kiss a scaly dragon in order to disenchant him; but I could caress the tiger, extend my hand and offer my lips to the hideous hyena, rather than polute myself by being friendly towards you, for I should fear from a woman to be transformed into a dragon. And yet,--as they passed here, exchanging farewell glances, these children, who yet knew nothing of life, and were slaughtered at this tender age--it was indeed as if the last judgment with all its terrors burst upon my heart; behold, I could have kissed the dust from your and your executioner's shoes in the public streets, only to have saved them! I flew to you, I found you not. Yes, most assuredly, all that was felt in those bitter moments by these wretched creatures is now changed for them into peace and blessedness; yes, they have forgotten this life and you, if we do not madly pray to a tyrant instead of to the God of goodness."
"You are mad yourself, miserable woman," exclaimed the Marshal vehemently, "to forget yourself thus--by heaven! you should be shut up in a madhouse. But, by my honour, you shall never see me again."
"Never! never!" cried Christine, with flashing eyes, "Oh, already this is happiness and gain! no, great hero, never, or if you should feel a desire to come, a large vessel filled with salt shall be upset at your feet, as people strew salt over the places where the cursed have dwelt."
The Marshal trembled so violently with rage, that he was not able to gird on his sword; he took it under his arm and left the house without uttering a single word. The captain had already slipped away, when the conversation took this unexpected turn; the aunts curtesied, mutually embarrassed, and retired also, as their niece paid no attention to them; the latter made a sign to the servants to withdraw, and released and exhausted, she fell prostrate on the ground, while tears burst from her eyes so unrestrainedly, as if she would thus weeping pass away and expire.
Edmond, much embarrassed, drew near, she saw him not, he spoke a few words, but she heard him not. "Dearest," he exclaimed at length, "you kill me, you kill yourself! these powerful shocks will destroy your constitution." "And were it not as well?" said she in a feeble voice, without restraining her tears, "look on me, here on the ground, weep with me; all good men should now perish." "Rise, lady," said Edmond, while he assisted her, "if I must not believe that your reason has deserted you."
"It has certainly suffered," said she somewhat tranquillised, while she stood by him, and continued, "otherwise would I have seen and endured these things as others do: it is even so, I have had a glance of the sorrows of the world and of the enormity of mankind and can never more jest and smile with them as formerly, I am awakened from the mock existence and therefore you consider me mad; but you, Edmond, you, among so many, should have known me better!"
"I am yet as in a dream," said Edmond, "how could you thus give way to your grief, how so rudely wound the feelings of the Marshal, even though you were in the right? I no longer recognise you, although I am acquainted with you for more than a year. You were never thus."
"Always Edmond," sobbed she, "never otherwise, only that my grief has burst out too violently. Why do you not understand me? Is your heart incased in some hard metal that no feeling can penetrate it? Do not believe that, on that account, I have neglected my mass or vesper to implore the God of mercy to enlighten these wretches and to succour these poor persecuted creatures, and that he may also strengthen myself? Mark me, Edmond, although I do not belong to the community of Huguenots, but if all these murderers were extirpated in a second by one tremendous blow, our church should institute a festival of thanksgiving that this stigma was removed from her, and her holy banner would be no more dishonoured."
"I understand you now," said Edmond.--They had stepped into the antechamber, "by heaven, I shall soon give up all society and rather hold communion with stones than with men." He took his gun indignantly from the wall, "How wild, Edmond, how obstinate," said she softly, "is it then not permitted that men should understand, in love at least, their confused Babilonean language? disembodied spirits only love--and you say indeed that I have a place in your heart!"
"Love!" exclaimed Edmond, "accursed word! execrable equivocation and madness of mankind! this old misunderstanding, love, this detestable riddle of the sphynx, that no one has unriddled and for which thousands have bled--damnation!" He gnashed his teeth and dashed his gun on the ground, so that it went off and the shot passed through the ceiling. The women and servants of the Lady Christine hastened towards her; he looked at her, she was not injured and smiled at him sorrowfully as he rushed out of the door and to his parting salute only answered by a strange shake of the head, so that her dark tresses were loosened and shaded her face. She pressed them to her weeping eyes and went silently to the garden and out into the fresh night air.