CHAPTER III.
The Lord of Beauvais was walking up and down in his garden conversing on various subjects with his friend; as often as they passed the little open summer house, Eveline called out to them and directed their attention to the building, which she was trying to imitate with cards. The Counsellor of Parliament was violently struggling with his feelings, and his friend was trying in vain to tranquillise him.
"I have never yet seen you so obstinate," said the latter, at length, almost impatiently; "what is it then at last, Edmond is a young man like many others, let him exhaust his ardour, at a later period he will afford you satisfaction, for do we not recognise in him strength, character, and a noble heart, and these must certainly produce something good hereafter."
"It is only towards you that I am so communicative," answered the father, "I control my impatience in the presence of others and especially before my son, but much as I must love him, I cannot participate in your hopes. Were he only hasty and inconsiderate, all might be well for I have been so too, I would even look favourably upon his extravagant, overstrained religious zeal and all connected with it; for early in life my own heart singularly experienced these feelings; if with all this deep-rooted self will, this violent excess in every thing, he would only add an inclination to activity, if he would but instruct himself, if he would occupy himself in any way. I feel too well that he presents but a disfigured resemblance of a part of my own youth, but inwardly he is most unlike me, and in some measure inimically opposed to me; thus unhappily is the neglected education of his childhood avenged. You know well my old friend how much and almost how culpably he was beloved by my deceased wife, how extravagantly she admired every idea, impulse and peculiarity of the child, and that Abbé his tutor also, who only excited his imagination and nourished it with legends and miracles; his youthful mind was thus dazzled and rendered incapable of discerning truth and reality, it accustomed him to indulge freely in all the emotions of his heart and to consider them unerring and most exalted. Imperceptibly a contempt for all, who did not coincide with him, crept into his mind, he looked upon them as cold and perverse, and in his zealous hatred, he believed himself infinitely superior to them. I was too weak, too irresolute to remedy the evil while it was yet time, I flattered myself, that it would not take root so easily, and when at last my suffering wife, whose feelings I ever feared to distress, died in giving birth to my youngest child, it was too late."
"All that may be true," rejoined his friend, "but not so bad however as you consider it, stupidity and madness are alone incurable; a vein of good runs through all really excitable natures, and the life of these irritable and violent men is spent in continual struggles between good and evil, so that the best part may be extracted and shine forth glorified."
"You speak," said the Counsellor, "like a physician and chemist, you deny that the soul can appropriate to itself immutable perversities which afterwards constitute its life."
"So long as a man is young," rejoined the former, "I despair of nothing and still less of your son, for he has never given himself up to dissipation. This only and bad company ruin a man entirely, and the exhaustion is not confined to the body, it also causes vacuity of mind, it closes up every avenue to the heart, so that, finally, neither reason nor understanding, nor any feeling for morality or honour remains. Those are such as are incurable. You reproach yourself for the indulgent education you have given him, it is not in that alone, however, my old friend, that you have neglected it; you complain of your son's want of activity, but you have yourself excluded him from every means of exercising it. When he had grown up, he was destined to follow your profession; he had, however, an antipathy to become a lawyer, and then declared he would rather be shorn and become a monk. I cannot censure him for this, forgive me, if I am too frank. He desired to go to sea, you were inflexibly opposed to it: then he wished to try his fortune in the army, our efforts to win your approbation to this were equally ineffectual. I pity the young man; it is terrible for a hair-brained fellow to be irrecoverably destined to sit behind a table, poring over acts and processes. If you have been too indulgent formerly, you are now a great deal too severe towards him."
"You do me wrong, infatuated man," exclaimed the Counsellor vehemently; "it was not exacting too much to require of him to pursue my profession, in which I have been so useful myself, it is an honourable and benevolent one to mankind and corresponds with the noble freedom of our sentiments; sufficient time remained to stroll about, to read, to make verses and to indulge his passion for the chase. I was then convinced that naval and military service were only chosen by him, that he might escape from my paternal eye. I could not persuade myself that he chose them as his profession with foresight and reasonable will. It grieved me to lose him entirely; only too often ill-advised youths seek these pretexts to sink into a busy idleness: for what is the soldier in peace? At that time we had no war. I agree with you in what you say about the dissipated life of our young men; but, perhaps, you will laugh, when I assert that this passion for hunting is equally insupportable to me. As soon as I perceived this rising within him, I considered him as almost lost, for all young people, that I have ever yet seen, entirely devoted to this occupation, are idlers, who cannot again settle to any business; this seeming occupation with its exertions and sacrifices teaches them to despise time, they dream away their lives until the hour, that calls them up again to follow the hare and the woodcock. And besides the penchant he has to rove about the mountains, he frequently does not return for three or four days together, he then walks about the house without rest or quiet, opens a dozen books, begins a letter, or a stanza, scolds the servants and then rushes out again; and thus passes day after day, and week after week."
The doctor looked at him, smiled, and then, after a pause, said: "Let him alone, he will soon become tame, I have no fears on that account, and why do you make yourself uneasy, my good friend? you are quite rich enough; and even if he earns nothing, if he only learns to take care of his fortune, to enjoy with moderation his income and to do good to others, for it often occurs that useful occupations are perilous undertakings. I understand perfectly all that you represent to me, and am only surprised that you do not understand it yourself. Give him the lady of Castelnau, and both will become reasonable, you will be a grandfather and obtain another toy to amuse you."
"Never!" exclaimed the Counsellor of Parliament with the utmost vehemence, "shall that take place as long as I live; it is she, who bewilders him, who torments him, and yet nourishes all his prejudices. Never speak to me of that again."
"You do the girl injustice," said the doctor, "strange she is, indeed, but good, and out of the two excentricities a tolerable understanding would arise." At this moment the garden-gate was closed violently, Edmond entered, and the conversation ended. They saluted one another, and seated themselves in the summerhouse with the little girl. "Brother," cried Eveline, "it is all your fault, that my beautiful house is knocked down. He causes nothing but misfortune." Edmond was in a kindly mood, and said: "build it up again, my sister, and you will have so much the more to do."--"Yes," answered she, "if I were allowed to be as idle as you, it would matter very little, but I have yet to sew to-day, and then to write and cipher, but you have nothing to care for, and that is why you give so much trouble to people."
"What have I done besides upsetting your splendid card-house?" asked Edmond.
"Look papa," cried the child, "he has already forgotten that he shot dead his lady love; Oh, he will kill us all soon, and when he has done that, he will be satisfied."
Edmond frowned; the father reprimanded the child's rudeness and the doctor gave a different turn to the conversation. "Now, dear Edmond," said he, addressing the young man, "what do you say to the news, that the Camisards, in spite of their late defeat, still hold out against the king's troops, that they are masters of the plain, that an English fleet will land in Getta, that a battle is said to have been lost in Germany, and that, if only the half of all this be true, we are thinking how we shall make friends with the rebels, that they may not put an end to us."
"Do not jest," said Edmond, "our country has never yet been in such danger, so long however as such gentle proceedings are used towards these rebels, we are really standing on a precipice, if the foreign foe should succeed in landing even a small army and ally itself with them."
"Do you call their treatment mild?" asked the Counsellor.
"I do not speak," continued the son, "of the executions, the ill-treatment and all these cruelties against individuals, they are severe enough; that even women and children are not spared is enough to inspire all mankind with horror. I mean the dreadful manner in which the war is carried on, so that already a royal army has been destroyed without being able to arrive at the root of the evil itself. Their warfare consists in skirmishes, in the mountains where the strange soldier is almost always more easily entrapped; the rebels are succoured by the mountaineers, who provide them with troops and provisions, by the war these rude men learn to make war, and although they cannot succeed in repeating these attacks in full force, and from all points, at the same time, with military skill and discipline, yet it is evident that the evil will rage still longer and perhaps they may finally conquer."
"You appear to have changed your mind about your Marshal," said the Lord of Beauvais.
"My Marshal?" resumed the son, "he is the King's-marshal, and under this title he serves as a representative of his majesty to us all, although the better part of the people desire that it should not be so."
"Would to heaven," said the doctor, "that he only belonged to one of us; I at least would make a vigourous attack upon him with pills and rhubarb, so that he would soon make room for us; he is the only man against whom I have ever before felt a grudge. Has he not in the space of eight months sentenced to death more men than all the doctors in the province would have been able to do. All those yonder in the mountains, Cavalier and Roland included, he considers merely as his future patients, and like an ignorant empiric he invariably prescribes one and the same remedy for the most opposite constitutions. Yesterday, he again caused twelve prophets to be hanged, who all affirmed, with their latest breath, that a term would be soon put to his power. What is your opinion, Ned, about this gift of prophecy, of these ecstasies and convulsions?"
"It will not be believed in foreign lands," said the latter, "that such things are practised, that many reasonable men speak of them as of a mystery, and that our calender dates 1703."
"Let it date!" said Vila, "it seems then, my child, that you understand the affair, inform me a little on the subject, for I do not understand it at all, or, at least, I cannot express in appropriate words that which has from time to time passed through my mind."
"What is there to understand in it?" said the young man impetuously, "the grossest and most absurd deception that has ever ventured to present itself to the mind."
"Not though in the sense in which you take it," said the doctor, "I have observed many in the prisons, they are very unlike one another and merit truly a serious consideration. I have never yet been in any of their assemblies in the open air; or in barns; but I am resolved to assist at their service yonder there at St. Hilaire, and if you give me a kind word Ned, you shall have permission to accompany me. I have brought some peasants clothing in my carriage, so that no one may recognise us."
"I will accompany you, my good sir," said Edmond, "to make you ashamed of having considered these people of any kind of importance. We shall then be able to be more of one mind concerning this ridiculous deception."
"You shall not go my son," said the father, "what can this curiosity avail? I do not understand you, my friend; are not these unfortunate men miserable enough? must idle curiosity and petulant caprice also make a mockery of them? and what, if the oppressed should be betrayed, or arrested, as it has already so frequently happened, and all massacred without distinction, who then will have been the dupe to have slyly insinuated himself among them? or should they recognise or entertain suspicions of you?
"Does not the old patron himself talk already like a Camisard?" said the doctor, laughing, "in short, do you not verily believe that the prophets would recognise and denounce us as godless people to the multitude? but tranquillise yourself, my cautious friend, a troop of the rebels is here in the neighbourhood, on that account the soldiers dare not trust themselves in the mountains, knowing that they have these good friends in their rear. I wish, for once, however, to be in the right, and you Edmond shall learn something; these are indeed a very singular sort of schools, and information is fetched with difficulty and in small quantities from over the mountains and rocks; all men cannot be wholesale dealers like you. In reality, however, it is my son who has persuaded me to this, and made me promise to bring you, Edmond, too."
"Your son?" exclaimed Edmond, with great vivacity, "the friend of my childhood, is he here again?"
"And you mention this to us now for the first time?" said the Lord of Beauvais.
"You learn it now quite time enough," replied the doctor in his phlegmatical humour; "yes, indeed, the vagabond is returned after many years, he has had some experience, the hair-brained fellow. He has studied in foreign universities, has seen Holland, England, and Scotland, has wandered among the various tribes of India and now he is at length returned suddenly and to my great satisfaction just as mad and wild as ever, but well informed. He has heard wonders related of our prophets in this country. He has seen many plants and animals of this species in Asia, and seems as if fallen from the clouds, that, as he turned his back upon them, a much more extraordinary plant should have shot up in his own country close on the threshold of his native home, than any he had observed in tropical climates, nor has he left me a moments peace, until I promised to set out with him accompanied by you too. 'But why did he not come here immediately with you?' cried Edmond.
"His mother, his cousins, his acquaintances," answered Vila, "The whole town of St. Hypolite would not let him go so quickly, he is obliged to narrate until his throat is dry, he now waits to embrace you in the little inn in the wood, and will then set out with you on your chivalrous expedition.--Now my old friend, make no objections, grant this pleasure to the young people."
"Well, be mad then," said the Counsellor of Parliament, "but there is something in my breast that disapproves of this step. May heaven guide you my son!"--They took leave, the carriage drew up, they ascended into it in order to get over the first few miles.
Scarcely had they departed, when the servant entered hastily from the garden. "A brilliant equipage is advancing on the road from Nismes, I think a visit is intended for you, my Lord."
The Counsellor of Parliament hurried into the hall. "How," exclaimed he astonished, "it is the Intendant himself, the Lord of Basville."--The carriage stopped and a tall grave looking man, advanced in years, descended and approached the master of the house with solemn steps. They saluted each other and after a short pause the intendant began: "You are doubtlessly surprised, my Lord Counsellor, to see me here, but a matter of importance has led me to you, it appeared to me more courteous to visit you myself than to request your presence at Nismes, where, perhaps our conversation would not have been permitted to go on so uninterruptedly and familiarly." The Counsellor, astonished at this prelude to the conference, begged that he would immediately disclose what had procured him the honour of a visit.
"You are slandered sir," said the Intendant, as he looked at him fixedly; "I am not so fortunate as to be one of your friends, yet I assert boldly and safely that they are abominable calumnies which are brought against you, but which, when all the circumstances are joined together, might obtain a semblance of veracity with some credulous people." "Who dares attack my name?" said the Counsellor of Parliament.
"Many, very many," said the Intendant in a forcible tone, "and among these are men of importance and respectability. I told you several months ago, that you would repent refusing your son so resolutely and inexorably permission to organise also a troop of volunteers to fight against the rebels and to hunt them out of their hiding-places."
"I do not yet repent of it in the least, my Lord Intendant," replied the Counsellor. "Permit me to differ with you on this subject."
"Had we," continued the Intendant, "obtained the assistance of citizens, peasants, and principally of the nobles of the land, upon which we ought to have been permitted to reckon with certainty, our king would not have been compelled to send an army and a Marshal, who have produced the war they should have quelled, for it was the peasantry themselves who annihilated the villains; and like many other worthy men, you have not offered your assistance, you preferred living in disunion with your son, who is a spirited young man, and an enthusiast in the right cause. This might be taken by all for paternal love and fatherly authority, which certainly are never to be suppressed, but permit me," continued he in a more rapid tone, as he perceived the Counsellor's impatience--"this, joined to the opinions to which you have more than once given utterance in the presence of strangers, furnished matter for various conversations in the country; and what took place some days ago, misleads even those who honour you; and this is what I came here to charge you with."
"I see, with emotion, that I am esteemed, speak out," said the Lord of Beauvais.
"You have," pursued the Intendant with the utmost coolness, "given refuge to rebels; you have received fugitive Camisards; these villains have shouted a vivat to you here in front of your house; you have permitted this rabble to eat at your table; you have yourself opposed violent resistance, when attempts were made to take them prisoners; and your son's affianced bride has insulted the Marshal in public company."
"My lord!" exclaimed the old man entirely beside himself; however, he said composedly, "the web of these lies is too gross not to be immediately recognized as falsehood. She, whom you designate as my son's bride, will never be such with my consent, I know her not, and cannot love her; my house was open to some unfortunate travellers, and one of this party whom I protected, and who announced himself by the name of the Hermit, had nearly drawn destruction upon myself and family."
He then related to him the occurrences of that evening, precisely as he had experienced them and concluded thus: "You now perceive, my Lord Intendant, how falsely people have judged me in this."
"I believe you," said the grave-looking man, "but you have forgotten the saying that walls have ears, it is known how you have spoken sometimes of the Marshal and of his love-intrigues, which he certainly takes too little trouble to conceal, in which injurious expressions you have gone so far as to call him hangman. My severity and inflexibility, for which I am responsible to my God and to my conscience, you call blood-thirstiness. You cannot deny that you have sheltered suspected persons with hospitality, that until now you did not live at variance with your son; that you have refused to allow him to serve his country although he is of age; if the Lady of Castelnau insults our Marshal in the presence of your son, while he keeps silence, one must believe that he has an understanding with her on that subject, and if this should be the case, suspicion further concludes, that you must be quite reconciled and of one mind; therefore, say the malicious, that you must render assistance every way to the rebels privately as well as openly, and that we shall be more reproached for neglect, if we suffer it, than praised for our forbearance; and this admits of no doubt."
"I desire examination, the strictest examination," exclaimed the Counsellor of Parliament. "You know," said the Intendant rising, "that in this perilous confusion there is no time for it; umbrage and suspicion serve as proofs, the most trifling circumstances, if they cannot be refuted, condemn; the martial-law, which the king has caused to be proclaimed to us, must unfortunately take this cursory method, for the welfare of the country and the preservation of millions demand it."
"Then I am condemned without being judged? judged without having been heard? they commence with the punishment and will be at leisure afterwards to enquire into the case," said the Counsellor of Parliament with bitterness.
"Do not be angry, my worthy sir," said the Lord of Basville. "There is no question of all this yet, the proofs of it must be much more positive; but you cannot yourself deny, that one may be allowed to look upon you with suspicion, when so much is alleged, against you."
"And what then is required of me?" said the Counsellor.
"Nothing, unreasonable," replied the man of gravity, "nothing, to which you can in justice offer any opposition. Yesterday I published a new manifesto of his Majesty, wherein, nobles and citizens are summoned, urgently, entreatingly, and commandingly, to stand up unanimously for their country and religion. Three hundred young men have presented themselves; let your son be free as his years demand, permit him thus to testify his attachment to his king, for it is scarcely six weeks since, when in my apartment, in presence of the Lord Marshal, he complained with tears in his eyes, that your excessive parental affection lays a heavy restraint upon him, and prevents him from showing his zeal. You prevent him now again by your fatherly authority; now, certainly, these indications joined to your indifference would with myself weigh heavier in the scale. Your answer, my Lord Counsellor of Parliament!" "My son," said the father with constrained displeasure, "is free; he may serve the king according to his wish if he sets his happiness upon it."
The Intendant bowed in silence, refused all refreshment and the afflicted father followed the carriage with tearful eyes, as it rolled away.--"Is it then, come to this?" exclaimed he, "you have now Edmond, what you wished, I could not say no. You will now spare the roe and the deer, and keep your balls for the chace after your brethren!--Oh what folly to have allowed him to go with that thoughtless old man, under these circumstances; if these blood-thirsty men knew that!--Aye, we think to steer the bark of life with foresight and wisdom, and should the tempest have but a moment's intermission, at the first calm we let go our oars and dreaming we are wrecked on a rock."
Eveline entered from the garden, the old man embraced her tenderly and sighed: "Soon, perhaps, thou wilt be my only child!"
"Have they taken Edmond away from you?" asked the child.
"They have indeed, my dear little one," replied the father.
"They will soon restore him to you again," said Eveline coaxingly, "we can make better use of him, for others do not know at all what to do with him."
All this moment firing was heard in the distance, and the old man concealed himself with his child in the most retired room of the house.
He was soon recalled to the saloon, and was not a little surprised to see his friend, the doctor, standing before him, and in reality clothed in the dress of a peasant, so that at first he did not recognize him. "Be not uneasy," said he, "nothing unfortunate has happened to us, but something very ridiculous to me; only think, scarcely had I disguised myself in this merry-andrew fashion, and advanced afoot towards the mountains, than a servant, whether luckily, or unluckily, stepped up to me, recognized me again and requested my attendance at the Marquis of Valmont's, who is suddenly taken dangerously ill, the carriage was waiting ready, I threw myself into it, made them drive as fast as the horses could run, and here, just before your door, it occurs to me for the first time, that in the dark and hurry, I left all my unfortunate wardrobe at the inn in the wood, sword, wig, and every thing. Assist me quickly with some of your clothes, or I shall not be able to attend the Marquis."
"And the two foolish youths," said the Counsellor, "they are now alone, without your counsel and prudence. Why did I suffer myself to be infected with your frivolity?"
"Make no objections, my good friend," exclaimed the former, "all these are trifles compared to my misery!--He quickly tore off his clothes;--Bring! give!"
The domestic who was summoned thither assisted him, "My clothes are too long, and perhaps too narrow for you," said the Counsellor. "Never mind," cried the eager doctor, I shall perhaps the more easily impose on the invalid; the black coat, the neckcloth, the waistcoat descends to the knee, no harm in that; now for the wig!
"You know, extraordinary man," said the Lord of Beauvais, "that I have given up that ornament here in this retirement more than ten years ago.--There is not one in the house."
"No wig!" exclaimed Vila, and with horror let fall the black coat, through one of the sleeves of which he had thrust his arm.--"Not a single wig! man! now I begin to believe that you have renounced all faith, what is to be done?"
The Counsellor and the servant endeavoured to quiet the provoked friend, but he scarcely even heard their words. "A doctor to go to his patient without a wig!" repeated he angrily, "it would cause an uproar in the whole province, it would be reported in Paris, a scandalous article would be inserted in the 'Mercure de France,' ah the infidel! it would be even better to have no bread, no catechism in the house than to want the necessary headgear, and the Marquis will not suffer himself to be cured by me in this bald-headed condition, and his fever will have still less respect for me."
But all his complaints were fruitless, he was forced to depart in this strange costume, and could not in the least understand the Counsellor's indifference to his embarrassment, "I should have expected more friendship from the old heathen," muttered he to himself, "and all that the Camisards have done, is nothing in comparison to my going without sword and chapeau bas, dressed in black with ruffles and all the appurtenances; but to advance to the bed of so distinguished a patient, without a wig is nothing less than if I had lived among canibals." Thus did he try by exaggerations to console himself for his plight.
CHAPTER VI.
A large company was invited at the Marshal's at Nismes. The Intendant, the Lord of Basville, sat by the side of the Lord of Montrevel, many officers and respectable inhabitants of the town surrounded the table, and at the head the beautiful Lady of Andreux added lustre to the assembly, who with her husband was present to do honour to this banquet. Some of her female relatives, distinguished ladies of Nismes, sat between the gentlemen, and all seemed as merry as if they were not pondering on the common oppression of the country. The Intendant of the province alone preserved his serious demeanour and joined not in the repeated laughter of the others; he was deeply engaged in earnest conversation with Colonel Julien, who also seemed to be totally regardless of the lively mood of the company. An important advantage had been obtained the day before over the rebels, and all were flattering themselves, that in a short time they would see these unhappy insurrections brought to an end. The Marshal was in higher spirits than people had been used to see him for a long time; his sallies were laughed at and the homage which he conspicuously addressed to the Lady of Andreux, was gratefully received by her and returned with pointed elegance.
"Colonel Julien related to the Intendant the wonderful manner in which he had effected his escape from the recesses of the mountains of the Cevennes, three months previously. He was in command of a small expedition and thought to have entirely defeated the rebels in a hot encounter, when he perceived himself on all sides suddenly surrounded towards evening. 'Around us,' said he, 'were steep, barren mountains, while we were preparing for a retreat, all the heights were suddenly occupied by multitudes of people, before and behind us were swarms of dark figures, we could not long remain doubtful of our position; for suddenly large stones rolled down on our troop, which in their heavy descent crushed our people murderously. Here there was no rallying to be thought of, therefore we retreated almost flying towards a mill near a mountain stream. I was convinced I should find this pass also occupied, and gave myself up for lost. The rocks crushed my soldiers right and left, resistance being impossible. Now sprung from the other side, like chamois, more than a hundred down from the steep heights, and in this disorder, where we could not hold our footing, a bloody fight ensued; I had been already wounded three times, and my fighting men were rapidly decreasing, darkness came on, when, in a moment, while the Camisards burst into their howling hymns, a panic seized the rest of my troop, and they all rushed towards the opening of the valley. The victorious band pursued them from the other side, new foes beset them. Bleeding, I leaned solitarily against a rock and saw through the twilight my company hewn down, the former could not perceive me, however, firmly they had sworn my death. I dragged myself sideways towards the little bridge that leads to the mill on the other side, certain of meeting death; but I found it undefended. A fault that I should not have expected from the rebels, for they were headed by Cavalier, as I heard in the midst of the cries and hubbub. All this misfortune, however, happened to me only in consequence of false informers, who brought me lying accounts; men, that I had long known, and whose fidelity seemed to me to have been tried; but they merely played this part, the better to deceive me, for they belonged to the Camisards.'
"The worst of this is," said the Intendant, "that we dare trust no one, not a single one. The most sincere, the most zealous patriots in appearance, betray us. We are reproached for severity and harshness, but I fear we are yet too mild and compassionate, for these faithless rebels deserve no quarter; they can only be subdued by continued, inexorable severity."
"They should be wholly extirpated," interrupted the Marshal, who in the middle of his own lively conversation had only listened to the last words.
Julien looked gravely at the Intendant, while he sighed: "You really believe then that these unfortunate men are no longer deserving of human consideration." "Hardly so indeed," said the Lord of Basville, "for through their own cruelty and disgraceful conduct of every kind, they have rendered themselves unworthy of any sympathy. But go on Colonel: how were you saved in this pressing position?"
"With scarcely strength sufficient to advance a single step, I dragged myself across the river, through the copse and over a meadow towards the mill, for no choice was left me. It was now become quite dark, and yet I would have willingly avoided this mill, for the people there were more than merely suspicious. Two of the sons had gone over to the rebels some time before, and it had been my intention after my victory to take all these people from their houses along with me, and to have them interrogated in prison. A dog announced my arrival; this was the last thing I was conscious of, for I fell fainting before the door of the house. When I recovered from my insensibility, I found myself undressed upon a bed, my wounds bound up, and many strange faces gathered round me, which, by the glimmering light of a lamp caused me a most disagreeable impression. An old man with white hair, who seemed to have the most authority, was the only one in whom I could have any confidence; the more horrible among them, were some women, particularly an elderly one, whom I took for the old man's wife. 'Your wounds are not mortal,' said the old miller, 'you will soon recover, be tranquil on this point.'--May I in reality have no cause for uneasiness? rejoined I. Am I with loyal subjects of the king?--'By heaven, we are such!' exclaimed the aged man with tears in his eyes, 'we have already made many sacrifices to him, and we will protect you, although you seem to know us well, nor are you either unknown to us. My two sons have both suffered martyrdom--but the king commanded it should be so, and God permitted it, we dispute no more with him.' Hereupon the women, particularly the old ones, set up a terrific howling; some young fellows gazed at me with cruel, sanguinary looks; I was prepared for all. 'Peace,' cried the old man, 'this man has not come under my roof as a foe, but as one requiring assistance, who injures a hair of his head, will have to answer for it to me!--We found you lifeless at our door, we recognized you on the spot,' continued he turning to me; 'we need only to have left you without assistance, and we did not murder you; but I have staunched the blood, you may return to-morrow to the town, and I will take care that you shall be conveyed with all speed to the nearest village in an easy manner, for when our companions arrive in a mass, as it may happen to-morrow, I might not be able to protect you any longer.' And so it happened. During the night some rebels, who were seeking after me, were sent away even in the twilight of morning; I was placed comfortably in a small vehicle and conveyed to the opening of the valley from whence I could be carried in safety to the town."
"We may well be astonished at this false virtue," said the Intendant, "but we must refuse it our consideration, for that will not be necessary, if these unfortunate men remain faithful to the king and obey his mandates."
The company was still sitting at desert and sipping choice wines, when, suddenly, a great uproar was raised in the house, several men's footsteps were heard hastening up the steps, the doors burst open and in rushed the clergyman of St. Sulpice, pale, and trembling, followed by a few citizens, and among these a young man who seemed quite beside himself, "What is the matter?" demanded the Marshal in an authoritative tone, and the Intendant arose and addressed himself to the young citizen. "Now Clement," said he, "recollect yourself, what has happened to you?" "Is not this the leader of the city militia at Nismes?" asked the Marshal with contempt.
"Even so," replied the Lord of Basville, "he led the troop of volunteers." "He seems to have lost the power of speech in his expedition," said the Lord of Montrevel, laughing.
"They are behind us--they will be here directly," stammered out young Clement.
"Who?" enquired the Marshal, who had resumed his seat.
"Cavalier and the Camisards!" cried the young man.
"Not so bad, not quite so bad as that," rejoined the priest, who seemed more composed. "But our troop is totally defeated and the rebels have been all along in our rear, and they have the insolence to appear on the plain of Nismes, as if they were going to threaten the town itself."
"Thus it is," said the Marshal cuttingly, "when citizens meddle with affairs to which they are not equal; give the young man a glass of wine to revive him." Casting at the same time a side glance at the Intendant, "Sit down reverend priest," he continued, "you appear more composed, give us a little more circumstantial account."
"According to the order of the gracious Lord Marshal," said the priest, bowing profoundly, "We set fire yesterday to the village, which had furnished provisions to the rebels, when they had quartered themselves there; we then set out five hundred men strong, and three hundred soldiers marched at the same time, with a hundred dragoons on the other side of the river. The wretched, burned out creatures ran howling into the wood and we pursued our way whilst we saw about a hundred rebels flying before us. Behind the wood we joined the royal troops and surrounded the vineyards on three sides near Nages. Some Camisards showed themselves sideways, who, however, after a few shots disappeared, We now advanced on the right, the soldiers on the left, in between the mountains; we fell among the brambles, and--as if fire was vomited forth from all sides, balls flew in among us without our being able to see any one, we hesitate, we halt. Now the villains in the mountains spring to their feet yelling and psalm-singing bellow down upon us, together with hissing balls; we defend ourselves and put our hopes in the royal troops, but the superiority is too great, our people fall, we are compelled to retreat. Difficult enough it was to retire from the mountains, the greater part of our men remain lying there: arriving on the plain, there we beheld the military also beaten and taking flight."
"Defeated!" screamed the Marshal.
"They are most likely following us," replied the priest.
"The volunteers," said the Intendant, "have apparently not been properly supported, as it has often happened already, and how shall the citizen bear up if the soldier takes flight?"
The Marshal, his face crimsoned, would have retorted angrily, when some officers, covered in dust and bewildered, entered hastily. "The rebels, Lord Marshal," said a young captain, "are seen before the gates of Nismes; Cavalier has played us a fine trick this time; our informers enticed us among the vineyards, the volunteers did not unite with us as had been agreed upon and we are entirely routed. Cavalier knows how to dispose of his men like an old soldier.
"Lord Marshal," exclaimed a veteran colonel entering the room, "the foe is without! and the fearful Catinat has, through retribution, as he calls it, reduced three catholic villages to ashes, and with his own hands set fire to the churches."
Some prisoners were brought in, among whom there was a child of twelve years of age. "What means this lad?" exclaimed the Marshal.
"He is a brother of Cavalier," replied the old colonel, "we had already made this dangerous leader prisoner, we had taken possession of a bridge and he could not rejoin his people, when this brat, this boy here, rallied the rebels, harangued them, brandished his sword in his outstretched hand, fell upon us, retook the bridge, made his brother free, but became himself our prisoner."
"Satan's brood!" growled the Marshal, "away with them all to prison, and we, gentlemen, to our posts!" all hastened out, the guests had already retired without taking leave: the boy looked boldly and smilingly round the saloon, and carelessly followed his guard; no one remained behind but Colonel Julien and the Intendant, who took their hats and sticks to go to their respective houses. "This cannot continue," said the Lord of Basville, "the king sacrifices his army fruitlessly and the rebellion becomes more obstinate and stronger."
"Things will change," said the Colonel, "I have the surest intelligence from Paris;--but you testify too openly your contempt of him; he also knows what you report concerning him at court."
"Can I do otherwise," said the Intendant, "if I am a faithful servant to the king? you have witnessed all, and must acknowledge in your heart, that but for this Marshal, this rebellion would never have become a war; he nourishes it, he is rejoicing at the idea of becoming important through it, he squanders all his time with women and is brave as a soldier only through pityful vanity, and he piques himself in gaining the affections of silly women."
"If we now obtain a better general," said Julien, "it is to be hoped, that this system of overreached severity and cruelty would be given up and trial made of gentle means."
"No good subject of the king can counsel that," said the Intendant taking a hasty leave of the Colonel.
The streets were in an uproar and every one was hastening to make resistance against the rebels, who appeared more dangerous than ever.
CHAPTER VII.
Some days had elapsed and the Counsellor of Parliament had not seen his son. Franz, the old domestic, had in the mean while set out on a journey, and Joseph, as well as the female servants had not ventured to disturb Edmond. The father was deeply concerned, for his son had never before so pointedly avoided him. His grief lay principally in the feeling, that he could not simply take the shortest and most natural way, with all a father's authority, to force an entrance into his room, which was always locked, and to question him about his condition. He learned from Joseph, that his son always locked himself in, that he was heard to sigh, nay, to weep, and that at night he would steal out to wander about on the mountains, and then would as secretly return in the morning, and avoid every body, in order to go and shut himself up again as before. He seemed also to observe a rigid fast, for he took no food and sent away every thing that was offered to him. "I no longer understand him," said the old man to himself, as he was left once more alone; "his high-wrought feelings destroy him, and I, his father, must see him go to ruin without being able to do anything to save him. At length the dark spirits are roused, that I have so long heard in their slumbers; they have now assuredly taken possession of his soul."
It was late, and the night was still and dark; he dismissed the servants, in order to be able to converse uninterruptedly with his son, for it appeared to him an indispensable duty to make himself acquainted with his condition, the uncertainty of which weighed more painfully on his heart than the conviction of an actual misfortune would have done. He took therefore the master-key, in order to ascend the great staircase, when he heard the door of his son's room opened; he stood still, and a ghastly pale figure in a dusky green coarse doublet, descended towards him, his gun was slung over his shoulder, his hair in wild disorder, his eyes dim, "Oh heaven!" exclaimed the father, "I think I see a spirit, and it is you my son!"--He tottered, and trembling was compelled to sit down on the stairs. "Is it you in reality?"--"It is myself," answered Edmond in a hollow voice. "How?" said the old man, "thus, in this figure? thus ill? in this dress? you look though as like a Camisard, as if you were one of them."--"It is so too," answered the son, "I am now going up into the mountains to them."
The father started up violently, he seized his son powerfully in his arms, and thus carried him with supernatural strength into the saloon; he placed him in an armchair, took the candle, looked at him scrutinizingly and examined his whole figure, seized him by the breast and cried out vehemently: "Wouldst thou act thus to me, unnatural son?"--
"Yes," answered Edmond coldly, "I cannot do otherwise, I must!--leave me! I thought, however, for once that I should win your approbation."
"As a rebel?" cried the Counsellor of Parliament in a vehement voice, "as a murderer? that I must see die under martyrdom at the gallows? to outrage my grey hair? one whom the father must deliver up into the hands of the executioner?"
The son looked at him fixedly, but coldly and collectedly; the father was deeply affected at it, but, at this ghastly look, had lost the strength which supernatural terror had lent him for a moment, and weeping aloud, he fell upon his son, who threw his arms round him, embraced him, and by his caresses sought to console the afflicted old man, "Oh, my son!" began the father, after a long pause, often interrupted by sobs, "for many years I have not experienced these tokens of affection in you, and now in this terrible moment, in which my whole life vanishes as in a dream, in which you have so violently torn my heart!--I cannot recover myself, I cannot question you, and what shall I experience if my entreaties, my love, if nothing will break your stubborn, enigmatical will? Oh, God of love! is there, in all the feelings thou hast created, one more fervid than that of a father to a child? and do we know the tremendous affliction we implore, when we entreat heaven for children?"
They remained long clasped in each other's arms, at length Edmond said: "Let me depart with your blessing, my father."
"That I cannot give to your dreadful designs," replied the Counsellor; "It is so fearful, that I must still look upon you and myself as two spectres."
Both were silent for a long time. At last the father said: "I will not entreat of you to go to rest, for I greatly fear that you will not obey me, it is fruitless also that I should seek for repose in sleep, for slumber would flee from my shaken brain; what I may learn to-morrow, I may as well hear to-day; if I can conceive, if I can comprehend that which is incomprehensible, perhaps, it would terrify me less, perhaps, I shall yield to grief and sorrow, and necessity, as to the storm, or the earthquake; but from this spectral terror, from this almost mask-like enigma, which threatens to drive me mad, deliver me at least from this by speech and narration."
"Can it be expressed, my father?" began Edmond, "will you comprehend what I myself cannot understand with my common knowledge? We should not indeed comprehend, if this hall round us were suddenly turned into Hesperian gardens, but we should enjoy the fruit, we should live and exist in the miracle, even though by that means we should forget that yet some other knowledge were wanting."
"Has that delirium also taken possession of you," cried the old man, "in its peculiar way and wrapped you in the folds of its dark vestments? now I would have sworn that you were free from that! and yet I should have done wrong, for all fanaticism is but the twinborn of the apparently most improbable and inimical."
"You speak what your mind prompts," said the son, "and I understand you perfectly, but you do not understand me."
"Well, Edmond, you may be right, only speak, relate to me, perhaps I may be able to approach nearer to your soul."
"How much I hated these Huguenots," began Edmond, "how much I abhorred their war against the king, their fanaticism and prophets, that I despised the gross deception of those people, I need not tell you, for my irritated feelings made you unhappy and it seems that I am destined to cause your misery, I may place myself now as then on whatever side I like.--"
He stopped for a short time and then returned; "with these sentiments I dressed myself in the peasant's clothes, which were so hateful to me, our friend quitted me, as you know, and I went with his son up into the mountains. Florentine jested about our expedition, I was much vexed at and ashamed of my purpose. When we advanced farther into the mountains, some figures glided before us on the solitary footpath, we followed the direction they took, and arrived with them in about half an hour at a lonely barn. They knocked; it was opened to us. I cannot describe the feeling with which I entered into this rustic assembly. It was a loathing of mind and body. Some were kneeling, others were standing praying, I approached the latter and tried to imitate them. Everything went on quietly, all eyes were bent on the ground, a few old women only muttered their psalms between their teeth. All at once a boy about eight years old fell down as if in convulsions. My repugnance was at its highest pitch, for now I saw before me the deformed spectacle, the relation of which had for many years previously excited my liveliest indignation. The child's breast heaved, he leaped up, and threw himself down again, and I thought to have distinctly perceived the voluntary exertion. All the faithful, hoping and comforted, turned upon him their eyes. Never in my life had I more self-possession, never was I so rock-firm in my conviction; my thoughts became more and more irritated, I only wished myself back again, in order to give free vent to my hatred. Suddenly the child exclaimed in a hoarse voice: 'verily I bless ye, ye shall be blessed!'--Now in the stream which flowed incessantly, came innumerable prayers and exhortations as well as passages from the holy scriptures and their explanation, all in reference to existing circumstances. I was still more astounded, when the boy cried out: 'Beware my brethren; for two traitors have made their way into the assembly, who intend you evil.' I looked up, young Vila turned pale, he was standing at the door, and slipped out, when it was opened to new comers. 'One is escaped,' groaned the child as he still lay with his eyes and senses closed, 'but the second mocker is still present, he knows not that I, the Lord, have led him hither, that he may become one of mine.' I was terrified, my inmost soul was moved and emotions rose in my heart, which I had never experienced before. They began to sing psalms, and however discordant they may have sounded, they made no unpleasant impression on me, my mind followed the glorious words? the misfortune of these desolate creatures, their contrition before the Lord, the fearful haughtiness of their adversaries, vibrated and shrieked heartrendingly in this unharmonious lamentation; it appeared to me absurd that until now harmony had been necessary to me when I wished to raise my heart in prayer. Does not the universal lament of creation strike on his ear? Do not praise and thanksgivings with tears and cries of sorrow rise equally to his throne? To this feeling were added many more, and weak, poor and unintelligible did the whole course of my past life appear to me. Do these statues, lights and temples then make any difference, said I to myself, with all this pomp of riches and splendour? will the Lord who walked bound as a slave among us, and suffered himself to be illtreated, will he not be mocked through it? Do not these wretched beings represent him anew before our eyes? can I not in each one of these persecuted ones greet himself? feed, clothe, and protect him?--Then I felt as if all the sorrow and strife, which these mountains have endured for years were piercing in countless multitudes through my own wounded breast. Another boy now fell down and cried, 'go out into the wood, Elias, Marion, and some of the faithful are approaching, they have strayed; induce them to come with psalms, for to-day, you have no persecution to fear.' Some went out from the assembly, and sang with loud voices, and soon afterwards returned with a great number of enthusiasts, among whom a tall man advanced, who was respectfully saluted by all. 'Triumph!' said the child aloud, still prostrate on the ground, 'the disbeliever is overcome, he will enter into the kingdom of the Lord.' Then I felt the blow of a great hammer suddenly against my breast. I struggled with this feeling, and conquered it. The humble divine worship of this poor pitiable congregation was continued with psalms, and calmly uttered inspired discourses. Marion spoke the word of life, which penetrated through all my faculties; in what dreadful error I had been wandering untill then! All contingencies vanished, it was granted to me to look upon the Lord, and the strength of his miracles in their simple glory, and to behold his meek and lowly form. If until then my soul had been only overshadowed by pomp, legends, false emotions and artificial elevations; as splendid hanging of silk and gold only confine the pure rays of celestial light, and give but a false brilliancy to its glory. My heart was contrite and as a wound of sorrow and emotion; my spirit was like that of a child. The Most High stood by my side, and stretched out his bleeding hand to me, which had been now again pierced by us miserable wretches. The glance from his tearful eyes went to my soul, then I was filled with wrathful melancholy and joyful sorrow, and in this emotion, I was smitten again when the assembly dispersed. What is nature? this question I had often asked myself when I rambled with enthusiasm through wooded mountains and verdant valleys magically lighted and covered with the breath of morning, embalmed by the fresh zephyrs, and filled with all the lovely presentiments which inspire us with such pleasing dreams. Oh, my father! now I understand the deep wailings in the woods and in the mountains, in the gurgling stream, the word of the Eternal himself and his almighty compassion on us unhappy, lost creatures, was murmured to me from every wave and from every bough. With a million of tongues the countless foliage reproached my negligent tardiness. My eye pierced through the past and future, my thoughts were adoration, my feelings holy devotion.
"I plunged into the thickest woods and gave a free course to my flowing tears, I now received the third summons and I no longer resisted it. In the solitude of night, my whole being was absorbed in prayer and thanksgiving, wonderously the strongest words poured forth without the slightest exertion, as tears flow without design, as wave follows wave down the stream, as the wind puts in motion the numberless foliage of the forest, thus led by a higher and invisible spirit, my speech was changed into prophecy. A new being arose within me, I no longer recognised that of yesterday. In the mirror of my inmost soul another eye, different from my own, met mine, nevertheless this was really myself. Now resting, now walking, I found myself in the twilight of morning in the district of Sauve among the recesses of the mountains. You know, my father, the lofty situation of the dreary landscape there, no tree, no shrub, scarcely a solitary blade of grass upon the barren, white chalky waste, and as far as the eye extends, trunks of trees, heaps of lime stones in all shapes, like men, animals and horses, dazzling and fatiguing the sight, spread about, and at intervals rolling stones, and a little lower down, the small, gloomy, solitary town. Here I threw myself down again and gazed upon the waste ruin around, and upon the dark blue sky above me, strange how my spirit wandered there! I cannot explain by any human language, how instantaneously my heart was impressed with every feeling of belief, with every noble thought, how creation, nature, and the strangest mystery, man with his wonderful energies and his common dependance on the elements, how vain, how contradictory and ridiculous all this appeared to me now. I could not collect myself, I was compelled incessantly to follow this train of thought and to find relief in loud laughter. Then there was no God, no spirit, nothing but puerility, madness, and deformity, in all that creeps, swims, and flies, especially in this ball that thinks, reflects, and weeps, and underneath devours and masticates. Oh, let me be silent and not again discover the maddening images that took possession of my mind, annihilation, dead, cold non-existence appeared to me alone desirable and noble. I was utterly undone, and painful was my return to life, but I at length found it with the help of the compassionate one." The father seized his son's hand, "Mark my child," said he mildly, "as soon as all these wonderous sensations shall in wild controversy have traversed your soul, you will assuredly be yourself again and return to us entirely. Your lacerated heart will resume its tranquility and repose after these commotions, and then will your understanding and free will abandon your fearful purpose."
"Never! my father," exclaimed the youth with sudden vehemence, "this was my temptation in the wilderness, which the All Merciful shortened to a few hours, and then opened his paternal arms to me again. It might have lasted for weeks and months, had he not been willing to shew compassion to my weakness. You believe me not, you doubt, but what will you say if I give you the most undeniable proofs, that this my enlightening is no false, or artificial one, if you will even be compelled to own to me, that I not only know myself by this, but also all that is unconnected with me."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded the old man bewildered, "I do not understand you, my son."
"When I resumed my human feelings and had refreshed myself, I wandered again to the green wood that extends towards Florac, there, where the rocks assume a grand character as far as the mountains of Lozere. The place pleased me and I passed the night in the open air.
"What did you do on this second night of my absence? where did Franz remain? do you think that I do not know all?" The father looked at him with fear.
"What do you know?" asked he stammering. "When I again turned my thoughts on the Saviour," said the son, "and endeavoured to account for my bewilderment, in order to assist my researches, I felt compelled to think on you, on my sister and on our house, thus will it assuredly be after death, the soul will still cast lingering looks after its cherished old nature and be unable for a length of time to comprehend its new thoughts and strange existence. Suddenly, when my ardent desire was accomplished; I saw you; all was still in the house, you went with Franz more quietly than usual and with great caution into the library, the window shutters and doors were closed, there was only one taper burning. With the help of Franz you removed the folios, and at the same time drew back the first bolt of the by chest, the pressure of a spring you opened the pannel, which slid back into the wall and threw light into the little enclosed recess. I saw several small chests standing there, jewels of costly value were in them, that I never knew of and which you never mentioned to me, but Franz seemed to know all. You opened the cases, arranged them and added some others to them. Franz wept and said: 'So now my wish will be at length accomplished of living at Geneva in future and openly acknowledging the faith that I have been compelled to deny here.' This also was new and unexpected to me. Then you embraced the old servant heartily, kissed him on the mouth and said with emotion: 'You are now no longer my servant, but my friend, my most confidential friend, for to you I confide my entire welfare, my property, and my children. God protect you on your way there and back, give these letters into the right hands at the same time with this little treasure; steal as you can over the frontiers, then we are safe, and return directly with favourable answers.' That very night, he accomplished fifteen leagues."
The old man trembled violently; he examined his son doubtingly, his face was pale. "Where have you seen all this?" demanded he at length. "Yonder in the mountains of Lozere, fourteen leagues from here." There was a pause. "I must believe you," said the father. "Be it a miracle, delirium, an undiscovered strength of nature; I see, but I understand it not. All is in reality as you have said, but your manner is terrible to me. Do you not then believe, that as you have fallen, in so unusually strange a manner, into this disposition, conviction, and miraculous gift, there may be also means, which heaven, if you in faith and humility call upon God will open to reconduct you into the ordinary walk of mankind, far from these fearful rocks upon which you must inevitably founder."
"You understand me not, I tell you once more," cried the youth, "although I quite understand your meaning. You do not trust the token that I have given you. Yet," added, he smiling, "you are not quite so hardened just now, better thoughts steal over your soul, though also from the region of unbelief."
"And what is it?" asked the father, "you will otherwise make me believe that you are able to penetrate into all the hidden depths of the heart."
"You were thinking just now," said Edmond:--
"Let him take his course, the evil must now have reached its height, perhaps God wills that he should find at length by this more than wonderful means, his salvation, and that he may learn later to cool by reason and true christian humility, the fanaticism, that now transform him into a lunatic. Thus do you think of me, thus do you deny the spirit." "My son," said the old man with uplifted looks, "is it a good spirit that prompts you? is it not perhaps the wild wandering of nature herself in you that transports you beyond her own limits?"
The son cast again that terrifying look on his father, which rendered him mute.
"You are free," said the old man, "affection alone, not force should retain you. Go then and follow the dictates of your own heart. My prayers shall accompany you, and, may be, they will have the power to mitigate, or ward off the worst."
"Surely you are not opposed to my taking to my poor brethren my small fortune," said Edmond perfectly tranquillised, "they are more in need of it than we."
"Take also this purse from me," said the father, "I desire not to know to what purpose you destine it, but the unfortunate men yonder are in want of it."
"Franz is coming!" exclaimed Edmond; "Where?" enquired the Counsellor:--"He is still far behind the mountains, I see him only with my inward eyes. The over-cautious old man! he has hidden the letter in his boot, there he is leaning against an old tree, and is pulling it out. I could read the letter to you if I liked, but I perceive that it contains good news for you, let that suffice. Permit me now to go, before the old man returns to oppress my heart anew with his lamentations, or to excite my anger."
Father and son long held each other closely embraced; the old Lord seemed overpowered with grief and tears; Edmond gently disengaged himself from his paternal arms, returned once more and kissed his father. With hasty steps he traversed the garden and ascended the vineyard; there he stood still once more, and from thence waved a handkerchief downwards in salutation, while Franz issued from the wood ou the opposite side and held up the letters exultingly in the distance.