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Title: The Rebellion in the Cevennes, an Historical Novel. Vol. II.

Author: Ludwig Tieck

Translator: Madame Burette

Release date: March 22, 2010 [eBook #31739]
                Most recently updated: January 6, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans by Google Books.


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                                  THE

                       REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES,

                          AN HISTORICAL NOVEL



                            IN TWO VOLUMES.



                            BY LUDWIG TIECK.



                     TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY
                            MADAME BURETTE.



                                VOL. II.



                                 LONDON:
                         D. NUTT, FLEET STREET.
           DUBLIN: J. CUMMING.--EDINBURGH: BELL AND BRADFUTE.
                                  1845.






                                  THE

                       REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES.




                               CHAPTER I.

The next morning Edmond felt himself considerably better. Cavalier
continually flitted before his eyes, and it appeared to him as if arms
lifted him from his couch, in order to follow his friends. When Eustace
had fallen asleep towards noon, he arose quietly, took his rifle and
with light footsteps hastily descended the mountain path. He felt light
and well, it seemed as if he had never yet walked so rapidly and so
indefatigably. He avoided the high road, and again a sort of
instinctive knowledge conducted him through the shortest and safest
ways.

When the sun went down and the shadows became darker, images arose in
his imagination more clear and defined with the encreasing obscurity.
When night came on, he also distinguished the other forms in the group,
his father, Franz, the paternal home and the little slumbering Eveline
appeared to him, dark figures were lurking about, threatening
destruction.

An hour before midnight, he was standing on the top of a mountain,
beneath him lay a dark valley, a large house, lights gleamed from only
a few of the windows. What was his surprise on recovering his
recollection. It was his home, and he arrived at it by a road that he
had never before trodden. Here he had lately waved a last farewell to
his father. He descended. He heard whisperings in the vineyard, he
perceived figures moving along creeping. Familiar as he was with the
place, he easily gained the back of a rocky wall of a grotto in which
he heard voices speaking. "It must soon take place," said a hoarse
voice, "and truly as I have arranged, it would be better from the
garden, let us all assemble in the vaulted passage, from thence we
shall with greater facility reach the lower window. Two or three others
might in the mean while ascend the ladder and enter by the window there
above. The old man, the child and the domestics must be put to death.
But no shooting, I tell you, for there are royal troops quite close,
who would most certainly forbid us to plunder, on that account also you
must not set fire to the house."

Edmond stole down, behind the barn he found Cavalier and his troop, who
were amazed at seeing him so suddenly and rejoiced at the news he
brought. He conducted them by a different way into the garden and
posted them at the back of the entwined arbour, which, moreover, had no
opening at the sides. He took half of the troops with him to guard the
entrance. The robbers were already in the dark beach avenue; when they
saw men advancing towards them they retreated, but Edmond pursued them;
a fray ensued in the obscurity, and Cavalier and his party now also
appeared and surrounded the assassins. Cavalier quickly caused a torch
to be lighted and after a short, but murderous combat, when the bravest
of the robbers had fallen, the rest were compelled to surrender,
Cavalier caused them to be bound and carried away by his soldiers.

Edmond accompanied by a few followers went in the stillness of night
round the house. He found a ladder ready placed by which it was evident
that some of the robbers intended to enter. He could not resist the
inclination to visit again the house of his childhood. When he reached
the top, he found the whole household asleep, all the lights were
extinguished. He now opened the hall door, there sat his venerable
father, sleeping in an arm-chair, a night lamp by his side, the holy
scriptures open before him. How pale and suffering he looked; for in
the night, fatigue had overpowered him in his meditations. Edmond
approached softly, and with a beating heart. "He has given his angels
charge over thee, that they may keep thee in all thy ways." This
passage presented itself to his eyes from the open book. Inspired he
looked up, wrote his name on a slip of paper and placed it upon this
text of the bible. Then in his dream the old man sighed, "Edmond! my
son!"--"Oh how unworthy am I of these tones, this affection, this
attachment!" said Edmond to himself. He was impelled downwards, he
kissed his fathers feet and then departed.--He shut the window, caused
the ladder to be carried into the garden and then followed Cavalier's
troop through the night back into the wood.




                    CHAPTER II.

They proceeded with the troop in silence. In order to elude the king's
soldiers, who were in the neighbourhood, they were compelled to make a
circuit. Catinat with his band conducted the prisoners that they might
be delivered up to Roland, to pronounce sentence on them in the lonely
mountains, and Cavalier and Edmond separated from their companions in
order to reach the distant height by a footpath through the wood.

They walked together in silence for a long time. In Edmond's mind all
that had appeared to him solid was by the late crowding events thrown
confusedly together. The wound and the weakness that it occasioned, the
wandering in the night and the emotions which alternately shook him,
had at first wonderfully raised his mental and physical strength, and
now almost entirely exhausted it. As they advanced farther into the
obscurity of the wood, he thought of himself and his concerns as of a
stranger; what he had experienced, what desired and effected flitted in
his memory as a strange tale of by-gone times, and Cavalier appeared
either to respect his silence, or to be himself too much occupied with
weighty thoughts to require any conversation. On issuing from the wood,
the light of the moon broke forth from behind heavy, lowering clouds.
As the silvery light with its calm brightness spread over the rocks,
the venerable head of his father presented itself to the imagination of
the youth, and a refreshing and reviving flood of tears gushed from his
eyes. He turned to his companion to excuse his long protracted silence.

"Brother," replied the latter, "the spirit has also visited me and
shewn me visions in which I viewed a consoling futurity. Oh that that,
which I know will and must take place, would soon happen, to spare the
blood and sorrow of the poor people."

"What has been revealed to thee beloved brother," asked Edmond.

They seated themselves on a flat piece of rock which bordered on a
precipice, and Cavalier began: "I imagined myself transported far, far
from hence, beyond our mountains, our plains and rivers. I quitted my
native mountains reluctantly. I saw foreign cities, I heard the various
tones of different men. As I was carried away through the immensity of
space, a beautiful, a very beautiful garden opened to my view, many
cascades were throwing their waters up in the warm summer air, and
beneath them there were strange figures of men and fish, and naked
women, and marine animals, artificially hewn out of brilliant stone,
every thing, such as I had never before seen, and I know not if I ever
heard of them. A large and very extensive palace shone and dazzled with
its innumerable columns and windows. While I was viewing all in
amazement, I suddenly felt a conviction that I should immediately see
our king, our Louis, descend from the great steps before which I stood,
that I should speak to him, that he had already been waiting for me;
and thus it happened, in all the splendour of majesty, surrounded by
his whole court, he descended. He did not embarrass me, it was merely
dazzling, as when the sun upon his journey suddenly darts through a
vapour, and we still retain and know all our ideas and purposes. Now
then was the moment upon which the fate of our country hung, in which
to say all to him, who had requested to speak to me, and to move his
humane, his kingly heart. This hour will come, in which the salvation
of many, many thousands will repose on my tongue, and the Lord will
then lay his fiery flame upon it, that its brand may also light his
spirit; then will our brethren and our faith be free, then will all our
foes fall powerless to the ground, and the sword be no more required. I
will pray that this glorious day may only soon arrive, soon be sent by
the Lord; that there may be an end to this unhappy warfare. When, just
as I intended to address the King, we issued from the wood; thou
spakest to me, and the prophetic vision disappeared." "How camest thou
lately, my friend and brother, into our house?" asked Edmond, "a
multiplicity of events has prevented me until this moment from asking
you about it."

"That was a very, very disastrous day," replied Cavalier, as they
proceeded onwards. "We were surrounded on all sides, by the treachery
of a few faithless brethren, we were enticed down into the plain, the
spirit was silent within us and we thought ourselves secure. A part of
my people had gone to encounter the hermit and I heard (a false report
as I afterwards learned) that he had been entirely routed, when,
suddenly, another new army was in our rear. The fugitives before us
rallied again and faced round. We were compelled to fight our way
through in order to find the mountain footpath, where the heavy horse
of the royal party could not follow; with great loss, it is true, but,
still fortunately, I led my people through, I succeeded in turning the
enemy, so that we had them only on one side of us. Fighting and flying
we reached the wood and being one of the last that I might secure the
retreat of my party, I found myself suddenly cut off. My horse carried
me at full gallop as far as it could, I shot dead two dragoons, who were
pursuing me, but the noble beast fell down; I lost sword, hat, and
fire-arms, while I was disengaging myself from the saddle scarcely
quick enough, I changed clothes with a peasant in a field; soldiers
were scouring in every direction, at the risk of being recognised. I
was forced to seek a shelter, and moreover the storm burst forth, and
thus the Lord conducted me to the house of your venerable father. A few
days after, things would have been much worse with me, if my younger
brother, who is now a prisoner at Nismes, had not liberated me."

"With what admiration I must look upon thee, brother," resumed Edmond,
"thou who younger than I, hast already done such great things, who hast
had so much success, that the whole country speaks of thee. From whence
proceeds this daring, yet circumspect courage, this experience, this
skill to deceive the enemy, to conquer them, or to escape their artful
snares! where couldst thou have learned all this?"

"I have not learned it," replied Cavalier, "nor do I know if the like
can be learned. You esteem me too highly, brother Edmond, if you
believe, that that which I do proceeds from reflection or skill. It is
true I do not lose courage, I preserve my _sang froid_, although I see
before and around me a thousand foes with their swords and guns, but
such is my nature, there is no merit or extraordinary courage in this.
When I was yet a little boy, minding my good old nobleman's sheep, I
was never frightened when I perceived the wolf. I remained calm, and
slew two of these bad fellows, whereupon every body admired my great
courage, and I could not at all understand what they meant by it. Thus,
then, my spirit was roused, and I engaged in this war, in which I soon
succeeded in liberating my brethren and defeating the enemy, so that
all the companions of the faith placed their full confidence in me, and
expected the blessing and success of their hopes from me; but brother
Roland is much wiser and more experienced, he has more penetration and
I must be considered only as a learner in comparison to him, yet the
Lord had not endowed him with so much success as me, on that account
the combatants preferred following me. Now when I lead out the
brethren, and the affair does not turn out as we have arranged and
thought, the spirit suddenly directs me, I see, I remark all that which
was before unknown to me, of its own accord my mouth gives the right
orders, it soars, it hovers round me, so that I know not what to say,
and it leads me and my followers through the enemy's troops. Like
joyous intoxication, it flies with me through the tumult, and the
victory is won."

"Thou wast a shepherd then in thy childhood?" said Edmond; "how fitting
if they compare thee to David."

"I grew up poor and desolate in the solitude of the mountains," replied
the former: "I had forgotten myself, I could never have thought that I
should at some future period have to fight for the Lord, for my faith
had died within me; and I agreed to all they proposed. Until then,
zealous brethren rekindled the extinguished embers into flame, so that
my life was restored, and I was enabled to seek and find the Lord.
Afterwards, when they had so cruelly murdered our brethren, zealous
wrath drove me into their holy community. And since then, I am an
humble instrument in the hand of the Most High. I could not believe,
that I should have been so highly honored, when I was compelled to
endure all the drudgery of an apprentice at St. Hypolite, and my
master, the baker, for a slight, often for no reason at all, beat me
and pulled my hair; yet he was one of our firm companions in the faith,
who, however could not control his passion."

"So the priest was right after all," said Edmond with a smile, "when he
would recognise you for a baker by your knees." "Well," said Cavalier,
"the singular man is not deficient in intellect and penetration. If he
knew more of men than of their legs, perhaps he would be less impious,
for, from the foot, he ought at length to arrive at the heart, and
finally at the mind. It is true we probably stand in the same relation
to great nature; and if the Lord in his mercy does not approach us
personally, we cannot succeed even in loosening the thongs of his
shoes, if it is indeed permitted to talk of him in such a worldly
manner."

Just as daylight was extending itself over every object, and when they
had turned round a projecting rock, they perceived in the valley
beneath then, the Camisards marching with their prisoners. At the same
moment old Favart came running up and announced to them, that Roland
had descended with a troop from, the summit of that mountain, but that
Colonel Julien with a considerable body of men, was now posted between
them both, and that it would be very difficult to turn them. Catinat
marched forward with his band and was highly exasperated on perceiving
the obstacle to his further progress. "Mameluke!" exclaimed he, "this
Julien whose death I have long since sworn, crosses all our
undertakings. No mercy, should he once fall into our hands, nor need he
expect any either, as he is an apostate brother, who has abandoned our
reformed community, merely to please the government and to enjoy
worldly honour."

A loud shouting was heard, and Ravanel with a band, who had fortunately
escaped the royal troops, rushed from a narrow defile. They halted upon
the summit and the prisoners were brought forward. The court martial,
which was quickly held, sentenced them all to death, and scarcely were
the words pronounced, when the ready Ravanel shot the foremost dead
with his pistol, so that the gushing blood sprinkled Edmond, who was
standing close by. The fallen man expired instantly after a few
struggles. Edmond drew back pale and horrified.

"Thou hast surely not seen much blood yet, young man?" cried Ravanel
mockingly; "Thou oughtst to celebrate thy consecration to-day, and
massacre some of those wretches thyself."

"Not now, brother Ravanel," said Catinat, "the royal troops are
stationed so near and we do not know their number, therefore we must
not attract them hither by our firing. It would be difficult enough to
disengage ourselves from them afterwards."

"But the villains must not be suffered to live!" exclaimed Ravanel, his
anger aroused anew, drawing his sword he struck the next prisoner to
him, who also fell instantly weltering in his blood.

"Ought a brother to be blood thirsty?" asked Edmond.

"He ought well be so," cried Ravanel turning angrily towards him: "Oh
my friend, he, who has once tasted the pleasure of stretching an enemy
at his feet, becomes like a lion after the palatable sweetness,
scarcely able to spare his keeper. I am feeble and weak when I am long
without seeing blood; it ascends like the smoke of a lamp in the
mournful twilight, as the rosy dawn after the darkness of night."

Cavalier reprimanded the enthusiast for his cruelty, and Catinat led
the remaining prisoners to the brink of a precipice, when they fell
under the swords of the Camisards. Their leader the fiercest among them
all, only remained alive. He now called out in a powerful voice: "Stay!
far be it from me to beg for my life, I would not for once owe an
obligation to such pitiable people, though, what I require, you may
grant me without prejudice to yourselves."

"What dost thou require, knave?" asked Cavalier, while the others
clustered still closer round him, "That you unbind my arms," said the
fierce, wild man with an expression of the most profound contempt:
"that I may once more, and for the last time, put my flask to my
parched lips, which has been a friend and comforter to me in all my
sorrows, and that you will afterwards be careful to deliver me speedily
from such contemptible society as yours."

The Camisards murmured and would have cut him down, but at a sign from
Catinat, they drew back, he himself unloosed the arms of the prisoner,
and watched him with his drawn sword in his hand, lest despair,
perhaps, might at the moment of his death, impel him to some fool-hardy
attempt. But the powerful old man looked round him with the greatest
composure, shook his arms and shoulders that he might feel his freedom
after the restraint he had endured, then took a flask of wine from his
bosom and emptying it jocosely, dashed it against the rock, where it
broke in pieces, then turned to the bystanders, baring his neck as he
said: "Now, if it please you!" Even Ravanel measured him with a look of
surprise; and Edmond, who had watched all his movements, felt himself
impelled by an inexplicable feeling to save the life of so ruthless a
man. "Strange as I may appear to you, beloved brethren," cried he aloud
advancing into the circle, "I entreat you nevertheless by the high
esteem with which you honour me to make over this luckless man to me,
that his fate may rest in my hands. Shall this lost creature, so
unprepared, in all the nakedness of his crimes, go before his accusing
Judge? shall we not try to moderate the fierce temperament and to lead
the apostate closer to his Maker? Grant me this favour ye friends, do
not refuse my petition and accept my own life as a pledge, that he will
not repay this deliverance by treachery and falsehood?" Cavalier, from
affection to Edmond, joined his entreaties to those of the youth, and
after a short opposition from Ravanel and some murmurs from the troop,
all unanimously consented to pardon the robber. Cavalier informed him
that his sentence was remitted, that he might, added he, feel, that
mercy which exists even in an enemy and that he might also seek for
mercy at the throne of justice of the Eternal. The robber looked long
and searchingly with his large fire-darting eyes on Edmond. He now
bowed low to the little Cavalier, and said with a laughing countenance:
"Ah! my little man! from whence derivest thou thy knowledge of Him on
the throne of justice, that thou chatterest about him as if one had
only to go round the corner there and knock at his house, and fee the
doorkeeper for admission? You think, therefore, that I shall breathe
the air within me, some time longer, and look upon this light which I
have done for almost these seventy years past? Be it so. But I will not
deceive you, you shall not give me this wretched life in order to
rejoice at my conversion, for you have just pitched on the wrong one
with all your atonement, godliness, and love. I will have nothing to do
with your stories and fanaticism, with prayers and singing you shall
also spare me, though I should have no objection to march out with you
and fight valiantly, because I must do something, or other, and for the
present I have nothing better to do."

Again a murmour arose, but now, there was no time to pass sentence, or
to dispute, for the royal troops were already seen marching by. Each
leader quickly betook himself to his troop, called to them, gave the
word of command, and in a short time order was restored, and all in
readiness to await the attack, Edmond and the robber, whose life he had
solicited, stood in the ranks together. While each ranged himself in
opposition to the other, several Camisards fell at the first salvo of
the small cannon, but undismayed, they marched forward, singing their
psalms aloud. They soon met hand to hand, and all appeared one confused
mêleé, for Ravanel and his troop rushed like frantic upon the enemy,
who soon gave way on that side; others tried to come to the help of the
panic-striken men, and thus the mass fought confusedly on the limited
space of ground. A stout officer seized Edmond, while a second raised
his arm to hew down the youth, when the robber with gigantic strength,
seized both the soldiers by the hair, and knocked their heads so
forcibly together, that they fell senseless to the ground. But Edmond
was rescued only for a moment, for he found himself directly afterwards
engaged in a combat with several, and a heavy blow upon the arm
disabled him. He was taken prisoner, while the king's troops were
compelled by his friends to give way. They fled with their leaders, and
carried him with them. He saw himself lost, without hope of
deliverance.

In the wood Colonel Julien drew near and viewed his prisoners with
surprise. He sent detachments hither and thither to reconnoitre the
wood; he also sent a troop backwards, to see whether the rebels would
turn, or if they intended to follow them.

"Leave this single prisoner to me," cried he to the last, which he also
sent forward in some minutes. "I will soon dispose of this unarmed man.
Is it needful?" turned he to Edmond, when he found himself quite alone
with the latter; "So young man, must we see each other again? I would
not believe the reports, nay, I can scarcely trust my own eyes now! Oh
thou miserable father of so degenerate a son!"

"Apostate!" bitterly exclaimed Edmond, "hast thou indeed the right to
use such language?"

"Go, fly," said Julien with an expression of the most contemptuous
pity; "hasten into this thick underwood, I will pretend not to have
seen you. Escape ignominy and execution, before my companions return
and render it impossible."

Edmond sprang into the thick wood, enraged, ashamed and vexed: he ran
without stopping, and was soon in the most lonely part, and when at
last he fell exhausted and breathless in the cleft of a rock, he found
the stout robber reposing there, whose life he had, through pity,
generously solicited, as he in return had been obliged to accept his
own from the hands of a former friend, who now despised him.




                              CHAPTER III.


"Are you satiated with the buffoonery?" asked the fierce man of the
youth after some time. "I should have thought that you had served your
apprenticeship, and were now looking about for some more profitable
business."

"Wretched man!" exclaimed Edmond, "thou, who neither believest in God,
nor man, begone from my presence, for thy thoughts poison my mind."

"Not so haughty, young gentleman," cried the former in a bantering
tone! "today my fist, in spite of my poisonous thoughts, has rendered
you good service, that is, if you do not estimate life as cheaply as I
do; but, as yet, your milky face has not the appearance of that. Why
then are you of a disposition so inhumanly virtuous? Let me still
continue to enjoy your gracious society, for I am indeed yours; early
to-day, you begged me off indeed almost like a dog, therefore, you must
allow me to bark and to remain near you, so that no other may bite
you."

"How couldst thou then have sunk so low?" asked Edmond with some little
sympathy. "I have merely remained stationary," said the former
composedly, "I have only not been enabled to raise myself, and as I
have perceived no wings on my shoulders, I had no wish to put any on,
and still less to address myself on the subject to the first best goose
I met, who, moreover, could not have assisted me."

"Thou meanest," said Edmond, "that thou hast formerly been a man like
others?"

"Very probably," replied the robber: "now perhaps there is not so great
a gulf between you and me. If one man rates himself so highly, then
certainly to the mind the distance appears immeasureable as between the
king and the beggar; but place both naked on a desert island together,
then are they brothers and boon companions, provided the one does not
devour the other. Thus is it also with the so called souls: when they
compose verses, or are in love, then indeed they think themselves
miracles enshrined, but let them but fall into despair, become utterly
wild and untractable, then all affectation disappears like the rouge
from the cheeks of the harlot when she is compelled to wander about in
a shower of rain."

"Have you never heard my name perchance? I am called Lacoste, I should
be surprised if you had not." Edmond became thoughtful. "It occurs to
me," said he after a while, "that this name is not totally unknown to
me; but I cannot revive my memory."

"Aye, good, young soul," continued Lacoste in his peculiar way. "In
your green age, I was a gallant spendthrift, a sweet rabbit, that with
rosy smiling lips, flattered every one, only tell me, have you ever yet
loved passionately?"

"Oh silence!" angrily exclaimed Edmond: "who now would speak of that
with you?"

"A curious discourse that we are holding," said Lacoste coolly; "if you
know nothing of it, so much the better for you, but at your age, I was
so thoroughly in love and enraptured, that a mere touch from me would
have made a thousand men in love, as by the magnet the bar of iron
acquires the power of attraction. At that time, the earth, with all its
stones, appeared to me transparent, I was so benevolent and
affectionate, that I would willingly have given my eye-brows to the
nightingales, that they might carry them to their nests, to make a bed
for their young brood. And beautiful was my beloved, the blind might
almost have been aware of it, she was even still more loving and
compassionate than I was. She would indeed have voluntarily taken upon
herself all the suffering and sorrows of the whole world, would have
even suffered herself to be condemned, could she thereby have released
from hell, and make the hungry and sick, rich and healthy."

"Even in your wickedness," said Edmond, softened, "you represent this
girl as a noble one, who was well worthy of her heavenly origin."

"Heavenly," said the former, "to disgust: quite natural. That is just
what I mean. To every beggar she would have freely given her all; but
to me--she saw my love, my despair, how I only breathed in her looks,
how I withered away, and my grief, my inexpressible misery would
assuredly have driven me to the grave or to madness.--But that was
indifferent to her, more even then indifferent, it was pleasing to her."

"But how is such a thing possible?" asked Edmond.

"Every thing has its drawback," resumed Lacoste. "It is but just, when
senseless fools, such as I was, are ill-treated by women, that they may
serve as an example to other simpletons. But she would however have
leant to mercy's rather than to justice's side, had it not been for a
fault that lay within myself and which still oppresses me, although I
do not see it as such."

"And what is it?"

"The same upon which our conversation commenced; those same wings which
always sit so ridiculously upon us. To come to the point, I was not
religious; I could by no means comprehend how people made this
discovery. I had learned to think, to judge, to fancy, but I could
believe neither of the new lights of which I had heard so much. From
whence was I to derive it too? I exist, I rejoice if all goes on well
with me, shall I render thanks for that? be resigned and humble? Well,
to whom am I to rescribe the innumerable sorrows? all the sufferings of
this wretched life? the multiplied griefs? There is no one whom I dare
accuse of it. But even all this I am to receive with joy and humility!
If it go well with me: superabundant benevolence; if wrong: parental
correction. I cannot conceive such things as other brains have done.
The nameless Being, whom I know not how to represent to myself at all,
or only with giddiness and with terror, sustains worlds, permits
shipwrecks, wars and earthquakes, therefore he may now suffer me and my
thoughts. But he will, he cannot approach me closely, as they say, if I
do not draw near him with contrition, if I do not believe and speak
thus and thus of him; edifices, words, prostrations, belong thereto, in
order to lay him as by magic in fetters, that he may take an interest
in me, that he may love me, he must even first excite my commiseration.
Aye, truly all this roused my wrath. Instead of these loving, religious
men having patience, instructing and sympathising with me, they imagine
they can offer no satisfaction to their God of love, if they do not
hold me in execration."

"Fearful man!" exclaimed Edmonds "how could they do otherwise? if the
flame of the stake be kindly; it certainly is so for such as you."

"Naturally!" said Lacoste, with a loud laugh. "As the jews burn gold
out of old garments, so also out of the most hardened, callous and
heartless sinner, a little spark of religion may be extracted by
burning. The best and most supportable of all this, is that they
massacre and inflict martyrdom on one another for the sake of this
faith of love, and each treats the other as heretic, each curses the
other and gives him up to hell, but, however much all parties may rage
against one another, they still invariably agree in my damnation." "A
sign," said the youth, "that though all may err in themselves, with
regard to you, they still possess the truth."

"I envy them not their possession," replied the old man; "my life, all
my sorrows, even when I became wicked and with justice so, I have
only to thank this egoism, which calls itself humility, inspiration,
love, or religion; I was rejected, persecuted, nay to use the silly
expression, misunderstood, for what man knows another, or even himself?
Impoverished, brokenhearted, I went forth, and my friends gladly saw me
depart. In every country this self-same miserable farce was repeated.
They would willingly have lent me their aid, confided in me, probably
have loved me, had I but possessed this so called religion. The foolish
virtue of my probity was lost sight of, that I would pretend to none,
even to the very best of them. A few marriages which were almost
decided upon with me, were broken off for the same cause. It did not
fare better with me in other quarters of the world; thus am I become an
old man, thus am I become a villain, and I returned, to revenge myself
on my beloved countrymen, and on my friends. Then you came and spoiled
the thing with me: just, you yourself! strange enough!"

"How so?" asked Edmond excited.

"Come let us go," said the stranger, "we ought to seek our comrades
again."

They arose and walked as chance directed through mountain and wood.
When they ascended higher, they observed a thick smoke advancing
towards them, blackening the heavens with dark clouds. A distant cry
directed their steps. As they proceeded, they beheld on the summit of
the mountain a number of rebels moving hurriedly to and fro. When
Edmond approached he thought he recognised Roland. It was he too, but
before he was able to advance towards the leader, a young man rushed
with a terrific shout, to meet him. "Brother!" exclaimed he,
interrupted by sobs and rage, "brother, all is over! The incendiaries
have rendered thee for ever unhappy."

It was difficult for Edmond to recognise his young friend Vila. "What
is the matter with thee? whence comest thou?" asked he at length,
amazed.

"I am now one of yours!" exclaimed Vila: "I have not been able to
govern my heart, since I beheld the affliction of our people. Yes, I
will assist you to annihilate, to murder, to tear to pieces these
murderous slaves, which, to the shame of all created beings, bear but
the figures of men." When Edmond desired to question, to gain some
information, Vila drew him higher up the mountain, and the youth stood
again above, and looked down, as on that night, upon his father's
garden and house; but the house was in ruins, the fire was still raging
through the apartments, and thick columns of smoke arose, between which
was seen a consuming glow, that frequently sent red streams sideways
and upwards; shepherds and peasants stood beneath, many were gazing
fixedly on the spectacle, some seeking powerless help and deliverance.

"Where is my father?" exclaimed Edmond, when he had recovered from the
first shock. "Fled," answered Vila, "no one knows whither; child,
servants, all were compelled to escape, for the Marshal and the
Intendant had summoned him to a severe account at Nismes. When
miscreants, who call themselves soldiers, found the house quite empty,
they plundered, and then set fire to it."

"I have now nothing more to care for," said Edmond coldly.

"Ah! ha!" cried Lacoste, "has it then fared so ill with the old Lord,
my ancient rival, my former friend and foe? see now yourself, we had
lately scarcely an idea of worse than what has now happened, when you,
Ned, stopped us in the business."

No one heard him, and all gazed in silence, Edmond with deadly pale
countenance, down on the raging fire.




                              CHAPTER IV.


The greatest agitation prevailed in the city of Nismes. New arrests had
taken place, suspicion had increased still more, and many noblemen, who
until then had escaped observation, were shut up in the prisons. No
condition, no inhabitant was now deemed in safety, treachery lurked in
every house. The Marshal had brought some of his ci-devant friends,
even ladies, to a strict trial.

The amiable hero was concealed in the severe judge. The Intendant had
never yet been so pleased with his opponent. The consternation was
still greater in the country, and those who dwelt in the château, no
longer knew how to escape the mistrust and suspicion of the rebellion,
particularly the newly converted, whose assurances were not trusted,
and whose devotedness and patriotism were no longer valued.

The physician, Vila, was also obliged to proceed to the city to answer
numerous accusations against him. Deeply afflicted as he was, he
however testified no depression or humiliation before his judges, but
was able to refute with perfect composure all that they would lay to
his charge. The Intendant as well as the Marshal were undecided,
whether they ought to impute his self-possession and security to
innocence, or to the obstinacy of a rebel.

"No, my honoured lords," said he, as he stood before them in the hall
surrounded by a great number of officers and civilians; "I have nothing
to do with these most unfortunate affairs, for it is impossible that
any one would lay to my charge as evil propense, that I recently
intended to cure the Lord Marquis without a wig, an occurrence, which
may indeed be astonishing enough, but which however does not render the
extremity necessary, that you should now immediately cause my head to
be taken off; whereby I should become an entirely useless and
slaughtered man."

"Be serious sir," replied the Intendant in the greatest anger, but with
a calm exterior: "what took you to the mountains some time since?
wherefore that disguise of which you yourself have complained?"

"Irrepressible curiosity, my noble Lord," said Vila, "as an inquisitive
doctor, I also wished to thrust my nose for once into these spiritual
monstrosities. In my youth, I knew only of four great and twelve lesser
prophets of the bible, the thousand great, and twenty thousand lesser
of our times seemed to me so little plausible, that I wished to see
some examples of them in my proximity, and to examine myself their
ascribed characters."

"And you persuaded your son and the young Edmond to accompany you
there?"

The old man paused a while, and was obliged to wipe his eyes. "Pardon,"
said he then, "man is affected, though already old, by certain
sensations, a kind of cold, which operates on the tear vessels; perhaps
you may have already experienced this. Strong snuff produces the
sensation. Yes, it was I indeed that induced the young men to this folly.
I could never have thought that the young lads would have made a serious
affair of it. They should only have reflected on themselves, collect
psychological observations, to strengthen thereby their own mature wisdom
and corroborate all noble religion; and the simpletons act like that
peasant, who is to take only twelve drops daily from a phial, and would
rather swallow down the whole bottle with cork and label. But believe me
the cholic will not delay coming, and it will require skill to empty the
body of the devilry again."

"You appear to consider the affair on the jesting side," cried the
Marshal.

"Certainly," said the old man, who could not however restrain his
tears, and was obliged to repress his sob by a strong effort; "it is
still pleasant enough, that I have not slept since the last three days,
still less have I been able to enjoy anything: that my cursed
imagination represents my unhappy son upon the scaffold, suffering the
most ingenious martyrdom, and looking upon me with the same dark eyes
that sparkled in his childhood when he ardently desired a fruit, or a
toy. I believe too that I look rather pale and sorrowful, and whatever
you may ordain, I shall bear my head heavily on my weary shoulders for
the future."

"You know then that your son as well as the young Edmond has gone over
to the rebels?" said the Intendant sharply with his icy coldness: "and
who will assure us that this did not happen by your counsel and
suggestions?"

"No man will be security for me," answered, the father with quiet
composure, "and of myself, of my many years of probity and an
assurance, by my honour, I will not even speak, for that appears to
myself absurd. No, my highly honoured lords, my counsel would never
have been able to produce so strange a metamorphosis in a vagabond, who
has hitherto only interested himself in plants and antiquities, or to
make of a catholic enthusiast a fanatic and a rebel; but if I may be
permitted to speak for a moment as a father, it rather appears to me,
that you, my most worthy judges, are the authors of it, without its
being exactly your intention it is true, and may be the cause why so
many other fanatics will run to the mountains."

"Well, this impudence," exclaimed the Marshal.

"Suffer the unhappy man to speak," interrupted the Intendant, "he is
doting in his sorrow, and it is not unreasonable to hear all that he
may bring forward for his defence." "I only say," continued Vila,
"that, with the very best intentions to put down this rebellion, you
add strength to it, for it is precisely the peculiarity and perversity
of the human mind, (and in this I only say what has been of very old
standing) that prohibitions and obstructions irritate and place the
punishable case in a seductive, enchanting light. That, which at first
appeared indifferent and often unimportant, now presents itself with a
kind of glory, danger entices; if only a few victims deriding it, have
fallen, passions master the heart, and the same, who a short time
previously preserved his faith in silent doubt, feels now in each
emotion of caprice, and of anger, the immediate voice of his persecuted
God. He now refutes his adversary with murder and massacre, as if he
would correct the erroneous reading of his mind in his mangled body.
The true believer cannot naturally bear such a turning over the leaf,
he waits with stump and stalk to root out of the breast the perverted
and corrupted text. On both sides the commentators excite one another,
each becomes fiercer and more violent, reconciliation is no longer to
be thought of, instruction profits not, and whoever wishes to step in
coolly and moderately between them is a horror to both parties. You see
indeed all the pills, that you, my honoured Lord Marshal cause to be
turned and moulded and which the thousand surgeons press Upon the
perverted, have not purged them of the evil, nor even ameliorated it.
What does it profit then that the busy men so diligently assist with
their bayonets, nor do these lances, nor the incisions of the gentlemen
dragoons improve the blood. Also your imprisonments and executions in
the public places have no success. What can your reasoning, your cold,
calm persuasions effect, that the whole country, frankly speaking,
stands like a great, disbanded madhouse, where the lunatics with their
dogmas rage against one another, and like dogs, set on to fight, gnash
with their teeth. I think the air is infectuous, and renders insane,
and thus it has happened to young Edmond and my poor son. Whom the devil
rides, cannot certainly affirm that he possesses an abundance of free
will to go and come; but what could have bribed me to lay the stirrup
on the shoulders of my only son, in order that the black raven father
of all lies might be able to mount him more comfortably? only reflect
on that yourselves, generous men."

"I but half understand you," said the Marshal.

"I pardon much in consideration of your grief," replied the Intendant.

"But why as not the Lord of Beauvais appeared at our trial?"
recommenced the general; "wherefore is he fled? Does not that action
bespeak him criminal? and do you know anything of him and of his
retreat? can you impart to us some information of his proceedings? do
you keep him concealed? confess the whole truth."

"Your excellency," said the doctor, "the old sinner has assuredly
escaped because he is indeed suspected, even by me, and certainly could
not appear here with safety and decency."

"Proceed," said the Lord of Basville, "you are approaching nearer the
point to my satisfaction."

"You know it as well as I do," replied Vila, "the scandal is notorious
throughout the whole country. He would have been forced to come here
baldheaded to speak and answer. I will even consent that one may
dispense with ruffles, lay down his sword, embroidery on the garments,
or the cravat may also without herisy be esteemed as superfluous; but
if you consider, that for more than ten years, he lived there yonder in
his desert without a wig like a Theban hermit, you cannot then possibly
have any confidence in the orthodoxy of his sentiments. How should his
head remain sound, when he gives himself up, thus naked to all
weathers, all society, all sorts of phrases, wit, and nonsense. It is
indeed like a fortress, where they have broken down the walls and
redoubt. There, in war, all the rabble ride in without obstruction."
"You are childish," said the Lord of Basville, "but where does the Lady
of Castelnau remain, you must know that she has disappeared. In all
these circumstances we see, say what you will, a concerted plot."

"Ah poor Christine!" sighed Vila plaintively; "I now know for the first
time, how much I have loved the noble girl. She is no longer indeed in
her house, but the Lord Marshal will best be able to give intelligence
of her retreat."

"I?" demanded the latter.

"All the world says, at least," continued the doctor, "that you have
caused her to be incarcerated, and that is not entirely without
probability, as the imprudent girl, some time ago, wholly lost sight of
the esteem she owes you."

"It were derogatory to my dignity," said the Marshal, "to revenge
inpertinences by means of my office.

"Where one cannot inspire love," said the doctor, "which one may
reasonably expect, then terror and the due punishment of the object
must suffice." "I give you my word of honour, I know nothing of the
little fool!" said the Marshal blushing.

"It is very possible," answered Vila, "that you do not know exactly in
which dungeon she languishes, since within the last few years we have
considerably increased these establishments."

"Sir!" exclaimed the Marshal,--"I think, my Lord Intendant, we may
dismiss this dotard, for it is in vain to hope to hear a word of sense
from him. You may thank the Lord Marquis and his zealous intercession,
or rather his caprice, not to suffer himself to be cured by any one
else, that your insolence, which affects madness, is permitted to go
from hence unchastised. But beware that you hold no correspondence with
the rebels and suspected persons, or we shall speak again together and
then in a higher tone."

"As it may please you to order it," said the doctor, and retired with a
low bow. His carriage stood at the door, he went however first into the
stables of the court to seek an old servant, whom he intended to take
to St. Hypolite with him, the latter advanced groaning, limping and
with head and arm bound up. "Coachman," cried Vila to his driver, "make
room on the box for this old servant of mine."

In the mean while Colonel Julien came down the street; "What sort of
merchandise are you carrying off with you there?" asked he,
scrutinising the wounded man.

"My superannuated Conrad," replied the doctor; "the stupid knave found
himself in a village yesterday and took it into his head to engage in
the conversion of a Camisard, who in the true rebel fashion began to
deal out blows, my decrepid enthusiast would let neither his king, nor
his Lord God be outraged and on that account is so bedecked, that our
Phylax at home will scarcely recognise him again." "Look," said the
Colonel, "the poor cripple trembles so, that he cannot attain the high
coach-box. He does not appear accustomed to such a place. Help him a
little, reverend priest."

The sturdy vicar of St. Sulpice, who had pressed forward, helped up the
old man with arms and shoulders. "Accustomed, or not accustomed!" cried
Vila, vexedly, "he may thank heaven, that I take him with me at all. A
knave, who at his years still addicts himself to pugilism, is good for
nothing in my peaceable house. Times, indeed, seem strange enough, so
that the rabble will soon, perhaps, assert their pretensions to ride
with me in my carriage."

"You would have room enough," said the Colonel, taking leave of the
doctor, who had already seated himself at his ease.--

"Now, drive on!" said Vila, "and not too fast, particularly over the
stones, for all my sides, and my head into the bargain, are as if they
were crushed, and take care that that old spectre does not perchance
tumble from the box,--Adieu, reverend priest!"--The coach drove down
the street and out through the gate.

The high road was filled with soldiers and militia, the coach was
forced to stop in many places to let the troops go by. At length, when
they had taken another road towards the mountains, the journey could be
continued without interruption. The doctor was very uneasy, and looked
round on all sides, muttered to himself, and was alternately moved, and
vexed. At last, when the country became rather solitary he ordered the
carriage to stop, descended and assisted the wounded Conrad, as he had
called him in the town, himself, from the coach box. "My poor, old
friend!" exclaimed he embracing him with the greatest emotion: "How
fares it with you? do you feel fatigued? come now inside here with me,
and pardon all that I have been forced to do for your safety."

"I am tolerably well, my kind, faithful friend," answered the Lord of
Beauvais: "but render me one more loving service, that we may once more
visit the ruins of my dwelling."

Vila gave directions to the coachman, and they both ascended into the
carriage.

"But why will you make your heart still heavier?" commenced the doctor.
"Come rather directly with me, that I may conduct you to the little
rural asylum, in order to conceal you there until better times. For it
is not to be thought of, that they will now be able to carry you over
the frontiers in safety."

"Oh my poor country!" sighed the Counsellor of Parliament: "men of
probity must now seek hiding-places like criminals. I will only go once
more to the great hall: an iron closet has perhaps been spared by the
robbers and the flames, in it lies the portrait of my wife, which in
the hurry, I forgot to pack up. It would be very painful to me to lose
this dear remembrance." The sun had already set, and they were now
approaching their native, well-known place. From the blackened walls,
dense, smoky clouds were still rising, although the fire appeared
extinguished. The carriage stopped, the travellers descended from it; a
lantern was lighted, and the Counsellor could not avoid wondering at
the difficulty he experienced in finding his way through the formerly
so well-known mansion. Fallen beams reduced to cinders lay
extinguished, and obstructed the entrance to the hall, ashes and
rubbish filled the vast space, it was impossible to recognise any
thing, the walls alone still indicated the former seat of happiness and
peace. The lantern threw a pale wavering glimmer over the sad
destruction, and while the father tremblingly felt about by its light
for the closet, he thought he heard a voice in another apartment.

As he listened more attentively, all was still; yet after a short
interval, a deep, painful sigh was heard again, and then as if from a
heavily oppressed bosom resounded these words: "Yes, my sinful fire has
laid this dwelling in ashes, my wicked impetuosity has murdered the
happiness of this beloved house."

"Oh my unhappy son!" exclaimed the old man as he endeavoured to reach
that apartment; but Edmond advanced immediately, sank down before him
and embraced his knees. "Can you forgive? can you still love me?" cried
he in violent emotion; "I, I, wretch that I am, have flung the brand
into this house, I have rendered you and my sister miserable, I am
indeed the cause of your death. Oh, most gracious, mildest of men, with
what a torn heart do I lie here at your feet, unworthy to embrace them,
unworthy of the dust.--"

The old man raised, pressed him to his heart and said: "Not so,
my son, we are not to criticise and blame the ways of destiny in so
short-sighted a manner. It was you, as I well know, who delivered me
from the hands of the incendiaries. Your heart has remained to me;
those walls, this inanimate possession belonged not to my happiness and
existence, you are nearer to me, you are, God be praised! not lost to
me. Let me enjoy the satisfaction of having found you again among the
ruins, and I will thank Heaven with heartfelt tears for my calamity.
Follow me now and abandon your unfortunate covenant. The time and
favourable moment will be found, when we may fly over the frontiers of
our native land, and under another sky be permitted to rear the
blessing of our love again."

"Only require not this of me, generous man," cried Edmond, as if in
unconscious anger: "at least I must punish, avenge, retaliate, in some
degree on our and God's foes. Oh Catinat! how unjust I have been in
censuring thee. No, I will not degrade mercy so far by wasting it on
these wretches, who might take the tiger in apprenticeship in order to
augment his malice and cruelty."

Vila came up with the lantern and turned the light upon the youth's
pale, agitated countenance, saying with the greatest good nature: "ah!
Ned! my boy! be advised: now for once only follow your aged parent
there, who has ever merely required from you what is quite reasonable."

"Leave vengeance to Him," said the father in a powerful voice, "to Him,
who rules, permits and superintends all, and in whose almighty arm our
wrath and weakness, are no longer vengeance! I do not understand the
word. Our hearts were not created for this feeling."

"Still and ever the same folly!" cried a deep voice from behind and the
gaunt figure of the grey-headed Lacoste was groping his way towards
them in the dark, over heaps of rubbish. "Vengeance! hatred!" exclaimed
he; "who knows not those sentiments, knows love but in part. Knowest
thou me still, thy rival, the Lacoste, whom thou renderedst many years
ago so unhappy? Who meant thee evil were it not for thy gallant
Edmond."

"How comest thou here?" cried the father astounded. "What art thou
doing here?"

"I am become thy son's dog," replied the former, "I do him what service
I can, at least I run after him, out of gratitude, because he has saved
my life."

"I have scarcely time and feeling," said the Lord of Beauvais, "to
wonder at this extraordinary rencontre."

"The hour presses indeed," cried Vila, "we have yet a long way before
us and we must take advantage of the night."

"Here is the concealed closet still unconsumed," cried the Counsellor
of Parliament, "just as I had supposed." He took a key, opened and held
a light into it, among various articles, which were kept there, he
found the picture in a little casket. He gazed upon it with tears, and
was going to attach it to his person, when Lacoste seized his hand and
said: "Only one moment, for the sake of former acquaintance and
friendship: suffer this face after so many years to blossom once again
in my desolate heart."

The father gave it to him trembling; Lacoste held it close to the light
and gazed fixedly on it with his widely opened grey eyes; a tear
unconsciously escaped him, he imprinted a kiss on the portrait and
returned it to the Counsellor. "See, see," said he to himself, "every
man remains still a fool, let him behave as he will. If they can feel
and imagine as much over their relics, as I at this moment feel, then
the unfortunate ones are not so entirely in error."

"Roland is stationed in the neighbourhood with his troops; a few of us
may conduct your dear father, as far as you wish, so that at least our
party does not harm you."

"Prudently spoken," said Lacoste, "for we are, with permission, very
outrageous people."

The Counsellor of Parliament re-ascended the carriage with his friend,
saying: "We are now indeed so far on our road, that the usual
precaution becomes superfluous. Let us only be careful, that our friend
Vila meets with no misfortune on our account." "Were my son only
reasonable," said the latter, "they might do what they liked with me,
old, half dead and worn out sinner; to die is almost a diversion to be
sought for, to that have the ruling lords pushed affairs."

They drove off, and Edmond and Lacoste followed on horseback, in order
to accompany them to Roland's troop.




                               CHAPTER V.


When the night was nearly elapsed and that Roland had long with-drawn
with his troop into the distance, the little escorting band of
Camisards was suddenly surprised, out of an ambush, by a considerable
multitude of royalists. It was in the direction of Florac, where Vila
with his friend had intended to seek a place of refuge, which he deemed
safe. The confusion was general, and it seemed, that the destruction of
the little troop of Camisards, as well as that of the travellers, was
absolutely inevitable. During the firing and cries, Vila sprang from
the carriage with pistols in his hand, and the Counsellor of Parliament
followed him, without knowing clearly what was going to happen. By the
grey light of the morning it was discovered that the attack was given
from a valley lying sideways; the travellers were on the heights. The
Counsellor of Parliament, who had quitted the carriage the last, saw
immediately, that all were engaged in a mêleé, the royalists seemed to
give way, when a second troop rushed out of the underwood of whom it
was difficult to decide whether they were soldiers, or rebels. Before
however the Counsellor was able to gain any certainty, or to form any
resolution, the coachman laid hold of him, pressed him urgently to get
into the carriage, and as he saw the old man's hesitation, he lifted
him into it almost forcibly. "Better without the master, than to perish
here with him, he will soon find us again," cried he in the utmost
anxiety, and whipped the horses, so that they started off snorting in
full gallop over hill and dale. After some time the Lord of Beauvais
recovered his recollection and with much argument and dispute, he
compelled the obstinate man to stand still again. On the summit of a
mountain, from whence they could overlook the whole surrounding
country, they awaited the one, who had remained behind. Of the combat
nothing more was to be discovered: it seemed as if far in the distance
a band of fugitives was flying; but nothing could be clearly
distinguished. At length they espied two riders emerge from a copse,
who pursued the same road. They approached nearer and the doctor was
now seen waving a handkerchief and working his way up to the summit,
mounted on a little horse. A young lad with his head bound up was
following him. "You did well," cried he, when he arrived at the top,
"to retreat immediately at the commencement of the battle; that is
dull, insipid business, which does not suit us civilians."

"There Martin, for such is your name, take the nag again to yourself
and do what you will with him." With these words he dismounted, and
betook himself to the carriage, where he was first obliged to listen to
many self-praises from his coachman, who wished to appropriate to
himself the whole credit of this clever retreat, and on account of
whose over-haste, the Lord of Beauvais abashed, entreated the pardon of
his old friend. "It was no over-haste," cried Vila, "but the most
prudent that could have occurred, I ought to have remained sitting in
the carriage, for my little bit of firing was like a drop in the stream
compared to the bravery of the Camisards; with them none of us can
engage. These knaves understand no reason, whether balls fly, or swords
glitter, it is to them mere pastime, and the smallest boys, who are
scarcely weaned from their mother's breast, are just as much infatuated
with this devilry as any of the oldest grey beards. I have seen that,
for once quite close, which I could not have believed by hearsay; but
now that I have witnessed it, it is enough for the rest of my life."

They stopped at a lonely inn to refresh the horses, and while they were
enjoying their breakfast the doctor proceeded to relate the sequel of
the event to his old friend. "How fortunate." he commenced, "that you
were not present at our battle, for only think, your Edmond continued
to accompany us, he would not be dissuaded from attending in person to
your safety. When the scene now opened he was ever foremost. There was
a young lad, who then came forward. 'From whence come you?' shouted the
Camisards.--'What's that to you,' answered the impudent fellow,--'You
are a traitor.'--'Wherefore insult,' cried the little man, 'honest
people act not thus.'--'Hew him down!' cried another.--'Hew me down;'
said the hop of my thumb, 'when I would sacrifice my life for
you.'--'Who art thou?' was again reiterated.--'My name is Martin,
further it is not necessary for you to know.'--Inquiry was cut short by
firing and hewing down. It came near me, and I felt a goose-skin all
over my body. I had already spent my powder without, perhaps, having
hit any one, when the gigantic Lacoste took compassion on my trouble,
and hewed down the knaves together as if they had been merely poppy
heads. But Edmond who tried to cut his way through to me, got into a
desperate mêlée. Two dragoons fell upon him, and struck furiously; but
before they were able to hit, behold, my dear friend--the little rascal
Martin, cut down one of them from his horse, and shot the other at the
same moment almost through the breast, as if the urchin had been
accustomed to nothing else all his life long. The stout Lacoste, the
dog as he styles himself, was not tardy either, and your son lost
neither courage nor strength; the Camisards were like so many devils,
and thus those of the true faith were obliged to leave the field to us,
on which a great number of their friends remained lying.--I could not
discern my poor, dear son; he may very likely have gone with the main
body of the troops; if they have not already slain, or taken him
prisoner."

"And Martin! the boy, of whom you spoke, who so valiantly saved my
son's life?" inquired the Lord of Beauvais.

"Martin;" cried the doctor aloud: "where then do you hide yourself?
yes, that's true indeed, you are both indebted to the stripling. He
wore, when he entered, a thick handkerchief round his head, it may have
been from a blow that reached him; after he had rescued your son, he
received a right deep cut in the head again from a sabre, so that a
stream of blood gushed out. As if for a change, he wiped his nose and
without ceremony bound a second turban over the first, though he turned
ghastly pale from it.--Martin! Where then is the rascal!" But there was
no one to answer his call. "Thus is it with foolish youth," said the
doctor vexedly: "he has misunderstood me about taking back the horse,
and in his simplicity returned immediately. Poor youth! I trust no
fever may be added to it."

"It would make me miserable," said the Counsellor, "if I should not be
able to testify my thanks to the dear boy. If I were persuaded that he
was suffering, ill, helpless, or dying, I should weep tears of blood."

"It will not turn out so bad as that," muttered Vila chagrined: "Why
should the oaf run off thus, as if----Aye! Aye! at least I would have
bound up his wounds for him. But now, the devil will not catch him
directly. Such Camisard webs are usually formed of very tough
materials."

"They were compelled to proceed again, in order to reach with safety
the solitary village in the mountain heights." "You must know," said
the doctor, when they were again seated in the coach, "that it is
merely to an old maidservant of mine I am now conducting you, a simple
person, who served me long, but who is, however, so faithful and
honest, that it is almost a scandal, what perhaps many free thinking
exquisites would say of her. She has married a gardener, or peasant,
who also plays the surgeon in the mountains. There you will pass for an
old invalid cousin, whose house and farm the Camisards have set fire
to; you will find your daughter there already, the intelligent child
however must not betray you; the husband and wife would suffer
themselves to be torn to pieces rather than give out any thing else of
you. If you will but sit half an hour in the room with Barbara, she
herself will take you for her cousin, and there will be no further
necessity for lying. That is why such things often succeed better in
this class than in a higher one: education they have none, but they
possess the proper capacity for belief. Only lose not courage yourself,
and in that solitude there do not become a timid hare's foot. All may
yet be well." With these and similar conversations they, at length,
arrived in the afternoon at the village in the centre of the mountains.
The houses lay dispersed midway, or above the declivity of the
mountain; each had a garden and shrubbery attached to it, and the
church situated on the highest point, looked down on the lowly
cottages. The little dwellings after which the travellers were obliged
to inquire, stood at the extremity of the village, immediately over a
rapidly flowing brook, a kitchen-garden was in front and a few chesnut,
ash, and plantain-trees spread a shade and freshness around. When the
travellers alighted, the rather elderly hostess advanced to the little
vestibule to meet them. "Welcome! right welcome!" said she half
jestingly, but with the heartiest good will: "So the old gentleman is
my cousin? I rejoice in the acquisition of his relationship." "Where is
my daughter?" asked the Lord of Beauvais.

"Hush! hush!" said Barbara with a significant look; "my little cousin
sleeps in the room above--which you too will now inhabit, my much
honoured cousin."

"That's all right," said the doctor: "only study nicely your
expressions; and what is sick Joseph doing?"

"Ah, heaven!" said the old woman, he did not get over his fright, "the
poor man has died at the next village below there, for when he was
obliged to make off so quickly, helter skelter with my little cousin,
and had lost his master, who had taken another road, and that the
police officers became so troublesome, and the militia would also
interfere, then all that affected his liver and spleen, and he died of
it.

"Poor Joseph!" sighed the Counsellor.

"But pray, make yourselves comfortable," pursued the old hostess,--"sit
down then cousin, poor man, there on that soft chair; you must now
forget, that you were formerly accustomed to anything better."

"Well," asked Vila, "and the household, how fares it? what is your
husband doing?"

"Thanks for the kind inquiry," answered the chatterer; "Ah! dear God!
nothing can be done with him, he will remain a boaster his life long."

"Wait until he comes a little to years," said Vila, "his petulance will
then pass away."

"Ah good heaven!" exclaimed she, "he is already past fifty; it does not
depend upon that, God has permitted him to arrive at years of
discretion, youth no longer oppresses him, but he is past all hope of
amendment."

"Is he idle then? or does he squander your substance?"

"No," continued she quickly, "that must not be said against him, he
spends nothing on himself, scarcely will he allow himself the extreme
necessaries, and as to running about, working and lending a hand, he is
not remiss, but he lays by no store. Indeed times are no longer as they
were formerly."

"You get no profit then?"

"Just so, most respected doctor. Look you, here among us in the
country, my old husband is called nothing, far and wide, but the clever
man. Where an animal is sick, where a man is infirm, there is he
called, and it must be true, that heaven has placed a very peculiar
blessing in his hands, for almost whatever he merely touches becomes
better. Where his misicaments, or his proscriptions fail, he is then
compelled to have recourse to symphonies, or what you call the
sympathretical system, and that is always among the peasantry most
liked and most fructifying."

"You have then learned something from him," observed Vila.

"Should not something have devolved to me in so many years?" replied
she modestly. "But if he would only not do so much without
remuneration, all would be well and good. Look you, instead of planting
cabbage, our little garden is full of learned rampons, and horse radish
and onions with Latin names, which he then mingles or distils, as he
calls it, and economises powders and opiates out of them that cannot be
equalled. But they know already throughout the whole neighbourhood that
he is a fool, for they frequently knock him up at midnight and summon
him to a sick child, or to a tom-cat or taby-cat that has eaten or
drank too much. And when they are to pay, the service is forgotten and
there is no money in the coffers. 'They are poor people,' says the
good-for-nothing fellow, 'they have already misery enough; and God be
praised, we have never yet been in want of bread.'

"Thus was he ever," remarked Vila. "I thought he would become more
reasonable, and learn to think a little of himself. He was always too
devout."

"Devout!" exclaimed the wife: "ah heavens! your honour, we now come in
earnest to the foul spot. No, Monsieur Vila, religion, or what people
so call christianity, he is utterly deficient in."

"How then has he thus fallen into error?" asked the old man.

"The Lord knows best," answered she, "who has created him so confused.
He will ruin himself yet with his curing. Look you, it is not alone his
companions of the faith, the Catholic Christians that he succours
without remuneration, if they only give him the least hint of poverty;
nay also--God be with us--the Huguenots and even the Camisards he
attends, as one of us, if he can find an opportunity. The wounded whom
they ought to have taken off to Florac swarmed here; look you, the
God-forgetting man quartered, healed and fed them and occupied himself
so much with them, that they were able afterwards to run off in health,
and I will not answer for it, that he did not also give them money and
the worth of money to take with them on the road. No, not a spark of
true genuine faith and of proper christianity is in the man."

"He is probably a sort of Samaritan," said Vila affected.

"You are right, good sir," continued Barbara, "Samariter, or Samoid,
and if he only does not turn out an anibaptist in his old days. Would
you believe it, six weeks ago, when they gave up so many of those poor
sinners to justice at Florac, thither did he run the first, and bound
up the wounds of the sick and set their broken limbs. Husband, said I,
they will certainly be put to the wheel, and hanged, there is nothing
more to heal in them. Then said the simple fellow, God or nature had
taken so much pains to suffer their joints, bones, muscles, and I know
not what else to grow, that one is obliged out of charity to spare and
take care of them as long as they will last. Look you, he has such
enthusiasm stuff in his head that, as the saying is, he is Jack in
every corner, where there is only any thing to doctor, should it even
be the greatest criminal, there he is."

"I shall read him a sermon on that point," said Vila.

"That's right!" cried she joyfully, "scold him a skin full, for he
always says, that I am too stupid; and my persuasions tend to nothing."
The woman had got up several times to look at the little bed.
"Perhaps, you have a sick child there?" asked the doctor.--"Child!"
answered she somewhat mockingly! "quite otherwise! only look at the
present!"--when she removed the cushion, there lay a cur dog with
bandaged paws.--"The history," commenced the narrator, "correcterises
exactly the simple man. The people about here often make him their
laughing stock, because he is such a good-humoured, easy fellow; and so
the smith at length gave him his dog to doctor, having in a passion
broken its hind-paws in two with a hammer. My Godfred wrapped up the
dog and dragged it home to me, bound up its wounds himself, laid him
down, raised him up, suffered him not to run about, bound the cushion
tight over him, made him a kind of maskinnery for his legs, because he
said the dog would not be taken proper care of at home, and that he
must have it under his own eyes. Well, my good smith's dog became
healthy again, and went off without saying good day, or by your leave.
That may be about two months ago; last week, towards evening, something
came scratching at our room door; come in! no one opened; but the
scraping and scratching continued: so my Godfred opened the door and
looked out, in springs our old smith's dog like a fool and behind him
came hobling the diseased thing, the cur there with a broken leg
dragging behind him, and the smith's dog danced and sprang round my
husband, as if to beg, and thus supplicated him that he would also
doctor his comrade. In my rage, I seized the botanix stick from my old
man to cudgel the curs out of the room. But he, as if affected, said,
'Never could I have imagined so much understanding and gratitude in a
dog,' and immediately took him in his arms, examined his foot, bandaged
it, and busied himself about the animal. Gratitude! cried I, you
call it thus, if the bull dog recommenders you to the cur which will
afterwards spread the story about among all the dogs in the country, so
that finally with all the fame of dog-pratix, you will no longer be
able to stand, or walk? But all in vain! there is the beast, and I must
attend to it, when the old fool is not at home."

The husband now returned, his arm full of herbs, which he immediately
carried into a closet; he then saluted his guests quietly and affably,
and before he sat down he looked after his four-legged patient, which
in gratitude licked his hands, and looked fondly in his face. With the
greatest composure and as if there was nothing remarkable in it, he
rebandaged the foot, placed the invalid again in its bed, which he also
bound fast, then pressed its head down on the cushion, as if to
intimate that it must now go to sleep. The dog seemed also to
understand him, for he only blinked a few times up at his benefactor,
and then resigned himself to sleep.

"Your wife here," commenced the doctor, "complains of you, that you do
not think enough of your own concerns, you cure every body, even dogs
and cats, and receive nothing for it, for this dog as little as for the
former; have they not paid your bills yet?"

"I made none for them," said the old man with the driest gravity.

"Then I must make them out for you; you negligent fellow!" exclaimed
Vila vehemently: "What; write out prescriptions for nothing? truly you
degrade our whole art. Take this then on account of what the poor
sinners, the wounded, the beggar-train, and the oppressed race of
animals owe you up to the present."--He threw to the astonished and
perplexed individual a heavy purse of gold, and without waiting for his
thanks, he hastened out, and was already seated in the carriage before
the rustic practioner had recovered from his astonishment. The Lord of
Beauvais gazed with emotion after his rapidly departing friend.




                              CHAPTER VI.


The father went up to his daughter, who now awaked from her refreshing
sleep. The little girl, in a flood of tears threw herself into the arms
of the new comer, and was never weary of kissing his hands and cheeks:
it seemed as if it were a necessity for her to indulge this once, in an
unrestrained declaration, and expression of her love. "Man, indeed,"
thought the Lord of Beauvais within himself, "has nothing else but
these poor tokens, or the action of alleviating sorrow, and
administering food, clothing the naked, or affording warmth to the
freezing: perhaps it may be that in a future state spirits intermingle
in love." When both were more composed, the father said, "Eveline, you
have ever been a sensible child, but now you have an opportunity of
shewing it in deed for my safety; and for your own also. Never must a
word escape your lips here of our former residence of my friends, or of
your brother. When we are both quite alone, you may then talk of these
things, but below, or when anybody is present, you must ever be the
little cousin of our good hosts. Be therefore in company rather
perfectly quiet, or try to accommodate your behaviour for a short time
to these people; for your father's life depends on our not being
discovered and spied out in this place of concealment." "My dear, my
poor father," said Eveline, "all this will not be difficult to me, now
that you are with me again. You know well how our great Hector always
looked up to my brother, or to Frantz, and from a sign understood, when
he was to go, to stay, to lie down, or to eat; the animal has never
once made a mistake: Now, dear papa, thus will your little pet dog
attend to the slightest sign from your dear eyes and understand, and
conceive everything. I was not allowed to speak of many things in the
presence of my brother, many things that Martha related I was unable to
tell you, because you were angry with my nurse formerly; one must,
indeed, learn from childhood to suit one's self to the world. But shall
we see Frantz and Hector again? my brother too? ah, it has ever floated
in my mind, that he would one day become downright godless; for no good
can come of it, when men approach God as it were too rudely."

The father descended again, and was very much surprised to find a newly
arrived guest in his host's room. Old Godfred was at that moment
employed in dressing two deep and dangerous wounds in the head of a
young lad, who seemed scarcely fourteen years of age. "See now,
cousin," cried the talkative Barbara, turning towards him, "as I told
you, our Sam-Rocious, as the old gentleman called him, a short time
ago, is again seized with a vertigo, a real vagabond, as they call such
deserters; who asks here in the village after such and such an one,
after a coach and strange travellers, and immediately our dealer in
herbs there brings him to our house, because he has something to cure,
which is once for all his greatest passibility." The Counsellor of
Parliament listened not to the chattering, but examined with the
greatest attention the handsome countenance and noble expression of the
stranger, who seemed to be yet almost a boy. This sight attracted him
the more, as the supposition occurred to him, that this wounded youth
might probably be that Martin of whose astonishing fearlessness the
doctor had spoken. Emotion and gratitude mingled therefore in those
feelings of sympathy which drew him towards the sufferer, and he only
waited for the others to retire to interrogate him. The surgeon Godfred
seemed dissatisfied at the appearance of the wounds, he comforted the
youth, and cut his short brown hair still shorter, and stroked his
handsome head with tender sympathy. "The Lord has blessed us with
money," exclaimed he aloud, "it shall benefit you, not only thee, I was
going to say, dear old cousin, but this young patient here as well. I
will run directly to the town and fetch better food, for wounds must
not be neglected by any means."

A gaunt, haggered-looking man, in a tattered uniform entered, the
surgeon sprang joyfully to meet him, and shook his meagre hand so
heartily, that his long arm quivered with emotion, and a grim smile of
affability passed over his pale face, under a large hat, which he still
kept on. The new comer who now perceived the Counsellor, took off his
hat, and said: "I did not know, gossip, that you had strangers."

"Not exactly strangers," immediately replied dame Barbara, preventing
her husband's reply, "but a dear cousin of ours, Mr. Peter Florval, who
possessed a pretty house and garden below there in the fruitful
Camargue. The antichrists, the rebellious Camisards have plundered and
burnt every thing, and it was with difficulty that he saved himself
with our little cousin; he will now remain here contenting himself with
our poor house until better times." The stranger drew near, and said
solemnly, while he extended his hand to the Counsellor with a certain
majestic air; "Venerable Mr. Peter Florval, be but at peace and let not
your spirits flag, these times will pass quickly and in less than a
year you will be happy again. I have had dreams, which have predicted
this and still more to me, and my dreams never deceive, as I know how
to give them the right interpretation. The abominable Cavalier has
appeared to me, I could have painted him; behold: a head taller than
myself, broad, muscular as a hercules, moustaches that he might have
twisted twice round his whole head, which he did too, several times, to
make himself look still more terrible. He came up to me, he had a
guard's uniform in his hand: sergeant, I shall be once more under the
banners of the royal guards, and that shall be the sign, that this day
twelve months I shall wear this uniform, and then peace will be in the
land, for without my supernatural giant-strength the rebels would be
unable to do anything, and would be obliged to surrender. Remember
Gerard Dubois, my good Peter, when the thing comes to pass."

Without paying particular attention to the speaker, the surgeon had
again devoted himself to the invalids for whom he had also made up a
bed in the hay loft. He looked after the dog too once more, then gave
his hand to the Counsellor and fetched his hat and stick. "I will go
with you," said Gerard, "if you do not botanise, for I cannot endure
that cursed stooping and mountain-climbing." On learning that the walk
was only to the neighbouring market-town, he took leave, rejoiced to
have an opportunity of accompanying his gossip.

"Look you, dear cousin," commenced the old dame, immediately again,
"that great herculus is also the cause, that my old man will not be
anything as long as he lives. He seduces him fearfully to idleness,
because he himself has nothing to do. He has been formerly a dreampeter
in the royal guards, but as he was weak at the chest, he obtained his
discharge and a pension, and with a small fortune, he plays the
nobleman here, and gives himself such intolerable airs, that he
addresses almost every body with familiarity. He was so enamoured with
blowing, that they were obliged to pull the dreampet forcibly out of
his mouth, for he is phthisical, properly hictical, as my old man calls
it, for he looks wicked enough for it. Now the great beast stalks about
here, and no one can bear him, because he is so very haughty and
moreover wearisome and quite ennuiyant when he speaks of his
forefathers. My good calf, however, will suit him, he might easily
speak and listen to him in his leisure hours, and often may be thinking
of other things at the same time; but this is not the case, he has
nothing to think of, and is delighted when the bully goes on with his
gasconading to him. Only think, cousin, because he is not permitted to
blow any more, he whistles, or lisps a little with his tongue all his
old dreampeter airs for hours together into my husband's ears; when he
tells of campaigns, at times, with his mouth screwed up, he imitates
the sounds of appelle, and retreat, the attack, every thing; or he
beats it with his long stork-fingers on the table, which then is to
represent the dulcimer or the harpichord, and thus does he play the
harpichord as it is called before my old husband the live-long day and
he talks of x sharp and z soft, and crosses and stories of fughes and
passages, such gibberdish, that one might loose one's senses, looking
at these two fools wasting their time. The lanky fellow frequently
assists in searching, for herbs, and makes out of old rags a lineament
for wounds, or cooks a mixture, and syrup quackery, and as they are
almost always together, he seduces my old husband away from me. They
will no longer suffer the long Urian in the public-house, because he
drives away all the guests with his blowing and harpchord playing, even
the common people are wise enough for that, my Godfred alone suffers
himself to betaken in. But this quick dreampeter-blower is an arrant
rogue. He tices my old husband out of his chimistical experiments and
begins to doctor patients, but he principally makes use of symphonies,
which besides is much easier when one is once in the way of it, and the
silly peasants therefore begin to have faith in the spoil-trade. What
does a physician know of symphony; books and study appertain to that,
and no little dreampeters. Moreover, he is for ever telling his stupid
dreams. The times are so very bad, because now children, and old
people, women and maid-servants, almost every one in the country, when
they at once gave up the faith, began with prophecying and prediction
to prepare misfortune; formerly my husband was asked this thing and
that, he also looked at the hands to see whether they would get rich
husbands and so forth; he drew their line of life longer, once even he
cast the Hurenskorp of a right noble lady, yonder in Florac, for he was
much renowned at that time; but since this new-fashioned superstition
has arisen, hardly any one inquires after him, all tell their own
fortunes, or run to the unbelieving children, and what can these
urchins know of philosophy or chiromantic and particularly of the
stars; as if one only needed to take a horn in the mouth in order to
obtain any knowledge of astrology and of all the abstract or dried-up
sciences; for which purpose a great deal more is required." The old
dame would have still run on, if she had not thought that she heard a
pot boiling over in the kitchen; she ran therefore hastily out, leaving
the Counsellor of Parliament alone with the young man. "My son," began
the Lord of Beauvais, "could you be the same of whom a friend of mine
has spoken to me? perhaps your name may be Martin?"

"It is so," said the youth; approaching nearer and seizing the
Counsellor's hand, over which he bent with deep emotion.

"And this blood."----

"It is mine, mingled with that of your son." "Thanks then," exclaimed
the father and embraced the youth much affected. "You know then who I
am?"

"Yes," replied Martin, "in the fight your son pointed you out to me;
Vila spoke of you, and now, my honoured sir, as I have discovered you,
as I enjoy such kind care here, and as I shall soon be cured, grant
that I may remain by you, and be your servant. Your domestic household
is far from you, flown, dead, your tender child requires more
affectionate, more gentle attendance, than these people here, with all
their good will, are able to bestow. I shall be wretched, if you reject
my petition."

The Counsellor gazed long on the youth's dark, sparkling eyes. "My
dear, beloved son," said he then, "I am indeed bound to you by the
dearest ties; oh, ought I not call it friendship cemented with blood?
How shall I command you, as you are here the guest of our benevolent
host? I dare not now have any attendants, I must conceal myself, I must
appear as a poor man of inferior condition. Would you wish to belong to
me, so that I might put full confidence in you, you must give me
further knowledge of yourself. Who are you? from whence come you? your
appearance is too refined and delicate for service to be your vocation;
this small, nobly-formed hand has not yet been hardened by any labour,
your pale face has never yet been exposed to the inclemency
of the seasons; tell me then what is your parentage, your name, how you
became a member of this unfortunate rebellion?"

"Dear, beloved, paternal friend," said the pale Martin with a gush of
tears, "did you but know the excruciating pain you give my heart by
these questions, you would spare me. Will it not suffice, that I
venerate your family, that it has long been my desire to be at your
beloved side? you can guide, you can reform me; let my whole life be
consecrated to you. I can, I dare not return, they would seize and
sentence me to an ignominious death; my brethren too, the Camisards,
distrust me and hold me for a traitor. Why put my poor parents to the
blush, by naming them at this moment? They brought me up with
tenderness and affection, and the more bitter must their sorrow be, to
behold me degenerate, and liable to be executed. They are wealthy, but
not of such high rank as to have their name disgraced by my humble
services in my attendance on the noblest of men."

"I will believe you, young man!" cried the Lord of Beauvais; "could
such an eye as that deceive? Be to me in lieu of child, of son, perhaps
soon----." He could not proceed from emotion, and Martin also appeared
deeply moved.

The repast was served up and Godfred also returned from his wandering
loaded with poultry, and delicate vegetables, Eveline descended, who in
her peasant's attire appeared very attractive; the Counsellor placed a
chair for Martin, by the side of Eveline, saying at the same time, "My
dear cousins, this young man belongs to me, he is related to me, and
whatever expenses you may incur for him, I shall return to you again:
only do me the favour to call him also cousin Martin and be kind to
him."

"Aye! aye!" Smiled Barbara, "last week, I could not have supposed, that
all on a sudden my family would thus increase, sit down then, cousin
Martin, and you Godfred, take care only not to make blunders before
strangers." Grace was said, and the little Eveline made the sign of the
cross, just as gravely as she saw the old people do; Godfred had
prepared a separate soup for the invalid Martin, and would not allow
him to eat of such meats as he deemed injurious to him. Godfred spoke
little, he seemed as if he had almost entirely renounced the habit of
speech in the society of his too loquacious spouse, but on that account
he had imbibed the peculiarity of frequently expressing aloud, when a
pause occurred, whatever was at that moment passing in the train of his
thoughts, for he listened but seldom to Barbara's wonderful
phraseology.

"The fever will now be kept under," said he; just then Martin perceived
that he was the subject of discourse, and the Lord of Beauvais would
willingly have inquired more closely into the state of the invalid, if
the dame had not again launched out into narrations and far-fetched
ideas.

"A little deeper and all would have been over," continued Godfred.

After the repast, Martin, for whom a room had been prepared near the
Counsellor of Parliament, lay down. The rustic doctor, who had already
fed the dog, now examined his wounds; Eveline and her father retired to
the room up stairs.

"Have I done all well?" asked the little girl. "Quite well, my child,"
answered the father, "I am satisfied with you."

"That is a beautiful rule," recommenced Eveline, "to pray before and
after the repast. Why did we not do the same at home?"

"You are not wrong, my child," replied the Counsellor; "for fear of
being like tradespeople, or appearing very hypocritical, much that is
good is neglected!"

"Ah! what a beautiful prayer the old woman said before dinner,"
continued Eveline: "All eyes wait upon thee!"--"Do you know too, papa,
how at home, when our Hector, or the other dogs, were fed in the hall,
all gazed up so fixedly into the eyes of old Frantz? and as he turned
his head, so went all the eyes like so many torches, right and left,
still peeping at the old man, without ever blinking, until they at
length obtained their portions. No other animal, no ox, tat, nor horse
can so affectionately gaze into the eyes as the faithful dog. Even the
smallest child is ashamed, when it begs so fervently. That sick dog
looks thus hungrily at old Godfred, and immediately shuts its eyes,
when dame Barbara glances that way. That is indeed a glorious thought,
that here, in all towns, in all France, in all countries, and in the
whole world, all hungry eyes, young and old, rise up to our Heavenly
Father so devoutly, so confidingly, and it must also be pleasing to
him, mighty and great as he is, when he beholds prayers and confidence
shining from all parts wherever he turns. But indeed all men are not,
or perhaps at all times grateful. Ah! dearest papa, how often have I,
in my short little life, already been ungrateful to you! Forgive me,
pray, good papa, how often have I sulked, when you would not give me a
toy, or when you have kept me steadily to work, for then I forgot so
intentionly in my ill-humour and wickedness, how much I ought to thank
you, how you love me, and care for me. That God exists and gives me
every thing, I have often forgotten the whole day long. But I will
become better and more reasonable."

The father took his child in his arms, and his heart was gladdened by
the prattle of simplicity.




                              CHAPTER VII.


Roland had in the mean while by several successful engagements entirely
cleared the higher mountainland of the royal troops. The Camisards were
incamped in safety in the woods, and upon the lofty mountain table
lands, and all were rejoicing in the hope of soon beholding their
worship and liberty of conscience reestablished. Edmond had been but
slightly wounded in the last combat, and was now sitting by the side of
Roland, that he might converse with him on the probable issue of the
war. Cavalier was incamped opposite on the confines of the wood,
surrounded by Clary, Marion, and other religious men, who were
discoursing on ghostly matters. Upon the most elevated height stood
Mazel, the charcoal-burner, Eustace, young Stephen, and a swarm of
young people, all in the greatest excitement, for they were expecting
the commander Castanet, who on this day intended to conduct Mariette,
his bride, from the village below, in order to unite himself with her
in the bonds of marriage. "So the God of love," said Lacoste
deridingly, "has made his way even to these solitary mountains, and
what is still more, into the enlightened hearts of such pious rebels of
the woods? The old heathens were certainly quite right to call him,
although a boy, the greatest among all the Gods."

"Cease your profitless mockery," said Marion, who had also climbed up
to the summit, "our brother has been long since betrothed to her; the
poor girl is there exposed to the daily peril of her life, because her
connexion is known, here at least she will share the fortunes of her
husband, and shall be protected by us; and if marriage be a holy
ordinance, why should not the command of the Lord be fulfilled in the
solitude of the mountains, under oppression and distress, with a
religious, modest mind and christian humility?" "Do not trouble
yourself," said Lacoste, "at least no expence or parade will attend the
marriage, I think too, that neither bridegroom, nor any of the guests
will retire nosily to bed."

At that moment Castanet, his bride and a croud of his friends issued
from the wood, Cavalier and all the others advanced to greet them with
kindness. The young girl was dark and not particularly tall: a peasant
girl of a healthy robust appearance, a little embarrassed at first but
in a short time she conducted herself with a composed and easy bearing
in the circle of the brethren.

"Brother Castanet," said the tall slender Marion, "it is you that I
have to thank for my conversion, but for your early admonitions, I
should perhaps now be wandering in error, permit your grateful pupil
here in the circle of the brethren; to bless you in your new condition,
under the Almighty eye religiously and christian-like." Roland and
Edmond had also approached, and Elias and Marion delivered a short,
touching discourse concerning their oppression, the distress of the
times, and how by reason of the perishable tenure of all earthly goods,
and the ever increasing danger, it was expedient to unite together in
the name of the Lord, in life and in death; that they might find solace
and strength in general consolation of love and mutual perseverance. A
simple meal was prepared, and in peaceable enjoyment, the various
groups dispersed; while many sang psalms, and others discussed their
past adventures. It was announced that a troop was approaching, and the
pale, sickly Duplant advanced with a band of men leading a number of
prisoners, among whom were Clement and the Vicar, who had again headed
the volunteers in an expedition against the Camisards. Roland and the
others now arose, and formed a large circle to pass sentence on the
unfortunate men. Young Clement trembled violently on seeing himself
exposed to the cruel arbitration of his enemies, and the Vicar looked
round, to try and discover an acquaintance, to be able to find, at any
rate, some means of deliverance, or mitigation of his condition. At
length he perceived Cavalier, who with the rest had approached nearer,
and cried: "Oh! best of young men, I know not 'tis true, who you may
be, but you have, as you know, rescued us formerly, intercede for me
now, for I perceive clearly that you must be quite at home here among
you comrades."

"Have not you and your fellows," said Roland, with the greatest
gravity, "reduced to ashes that same benevolent house since that time,
which then saved our brother Cavalier, as well as yourself, and the
execrable hermit." "There is not much to say in reply to this," said
the priest, opening wide his eyes, "than that I am wondering, that the
little delicate fellow should be nothing less than Cavalier."

Duplant said, "The Lord has given you into our hands at the moment that
you were in the act of plundering a commune after having slain several
of our friends. We came unexpectedly, to the succour of the oppressed,
many have fallen, some escaped, but these, forty in number, have become
our prisoners."

"Shall they die?"

"Have mercy on us," whined Clement, as he threw himself down before
Roland.

"I cannot give you grace," said the latter retiring from the circle,
"you spare none of us and with your own free will you urge on to
murder: endure then your fate."

"Little man," cried the Vicar, "world-renowned Cavalier, listen to
reason and be humane."

"Is it seemly in you to speak thus?" replied the young commander, "you,
who revel in cruelty; who has called upon you to dye your hands with
the blood of innocence."

Castanet came forward: "Will you, beloved, honoured brethren, deliver
the execrable wretches up into my hands?" asked he, looking round the
circle. "Yes! yes!" resounded from all sides, "this solemn day belongs
to you, annihilate them, command, do with them what you will, they are
given up to you."

"Now we are falling out of the frying-pan into the fire," said the
priest to Clement, "for the thick, stout, prophecying man will play an
ugly game with us, even the gentle Cavalier would not grant us grace;
courage! make the best of a bad game, and do not be so chop-fallen."

Castanet took Mariette, by the hand, who was weeping bitterly, for, a
short time before, these men had slain, or delivered up her brothers to
be executed; "Weep not," said he, with suppressed sorrow! "let us give
an example to these miserable wretches, that we think better than they;
that our union may not be stained with blood. I pity these poor, these
erring men, and this timid youth. Return without danger to you
dwellings and preach mercy to your party; refrain from blood and tell
your magistrates, who call their cruel bloodthirstiness justice, how
much better are our sentiments, how much better we are than they.
Heaven will the more readily bless my marriage the less I indulge my
wrath and desire of vengeance." Young Clement threw himself again on
his knees, weeping with gratitude; the others, who had already given
themselves up as lost, followed his example, the priest alone drew
himself up after a very low bow, and said stammering with
embarrassment: "You are a generous man, Mr. Castanet, and I shall know
how to extend your fame, although people are loath to believe anything
of the kind of such as you; I however have experienced it myself, and
thank you for it in my own name, and in that of these prisoners. Mr.
Cavalier, let us commend ourselves to God, au revoir!" "No, not au
revoir!" cried Cavalier, hastily advancing, "this may only happen in
one way, in the field, and I counsel you with your bold, unblushing
manner not to reckon again on our generosity, nor brave our
condescending flexibility; for mercy and love are not always to be
dispensed, and should we see each other a third time, it will be your
death, thus does the spirit prophecy to me."

"Let the spirit rest, Sir Captain," said the clergyman, as he again
made a low bow and retired with the volunteers and Clement, who all
more or less testified their gratitude and emotion.

Lacoste now came forward and said laughing: "Generosity, as I observe,
is common among you, and your turn is come do-day, thick, little stump.
Thus every trade, even that of incendiary, has its good side; nothing
in the world is perfectly bad, as there is nothing perfectly good to be
found in it. To-day, however, there is a greater extension of
generosity than what was lately accorded, when I alone remained, though
my companions were not a whit worse than myself. But such magnificence
suits so festive and splendid a wedding, and the short-legged fellow
has delivered his speech in quite a royal style and in a most
impressive tone. You, rosy-cheeked, stunted-grown, and brown-armed
spouse, be now the Queen and Princess of these mountains. Infanta of
have-nothing, Dauphiness of hunger-sufferings, heiress of all the airy
castles, and governess of all mad-visionaries, I present you my sincere
congratulations, and hope to see you soon rise to the rank of the
prophets."

"Scoffer!" said Castanet reddening; "your presence would not suit our
assembly, if your speeches were not useful in rendering our humility
still more humble, and to make our reproach before men, and our misery
still more conspicuous to us."

"That thereby spiritual pride be so much the more glorified! Be not
however disturbed in your feelings and convictions by me; compared with
a christian, my speech is merely the barking of a dog, and in this
animal dignity, I now indeed follow my illustrious patron, the
spiritually-minded Edmond, and prophet also by the grace of God."

A murmur arose round about, which probably would have broken out into
anger and tumult, had not Cavalier directed the attention of the
brethren to a different subject. "My friends," cried he in a lively
manner, "I have just had a vision. At this very moment the commandant
of Usez has sent a courier with important dispatches to the Marshal at
Nismes. New troops are to arrive, and they intend hemming us in on all
sides. But little was said, neither could I distinguish all. The enemy
has just ridden out of the gates of the city; Bertrand, if thou wilt
seize him, thou wilt meet him in the ravine two miles from hence. He is
not to be mistaken, he wears a red coat, and a blue cloak over it, in
consequence of the threatening rain, he has spread his white
handkerchief over his new hat, by these marks he will be clearly enough
known to you: he is an elderly man, who, I should think, has never been
a soldier. Bring him here safe and sound with his dispatches."

Bertrand took with him two assistants, and mounted on light ponies,
they hurried down the mountain towards the well known ravine.

Lacoste listened to these instructions with staring eyes: "Little
brother," said he thoughtfully, "if thy information be at all true, thy
little finger has more penetration than the whole of my large body. But
I still believe, thy red-coated courier will not be found in the circle
of created beings, and good Bertrand will have been made a little bit
of an April-fool by his general, in order to afford some innocent
amusement to the bridal pair. If it's not all a humbug, well and good,
more must be said about it when an opportunity occurs."

"May it not be allowed to-day," began young Stephen, blushing up to the
eyes, "to play a little on the flute?" while he was yet asking, he took
it in his hand, and Roland smilingly gave his assent. He first played a
psalm, and after they had gravely chimed in with him, the fair-haired
amateur, to please the company, gave a few worldly, airs. The swarthy
Eustace, who was now quite convalescent sprang merrily forward, and
cried: "Brother! if thou lovest me, play, to enliven me, the old dance
of the Cevennes, to which formerly, in my youth, we tripped so gaily."

The young man modestly commenced his melody, and as he received no
interruption, he continued to play with renewed vigour, and it was not
long before several, castanets were heard with their pleasing
clattering, so that Eustace could no longer, resist singing aloud, with
the most grotesque gestures, and jumping round the circle highly
delighted. The little shoemaker Anton, as well as the still younger
François could not withstand so enticing an invitation, they danced as
partners, and several other young people came forward to exhibit their
rustic dexterity.

An old, careworn man now came from the wood and cried: "As this is to
be a day of merriment, suffer then my son, the silly Michael, to
receive a little honor; besides, consider his small capacity for
prophecying, formerly when a shepherd in the fields, he learned several
inimitable capers, which well deserve to be seen. The tall lad has such
strong legs, that he can spring almost to the height of a man."

Michael, a robust, tall lad of an idiotic appearance, advanced
sneakingly and lazily, turning his little blue eyes timidly and
inquisitively round on the circle, and as he thought he perceived no
disapprobation any where, he suddenly changed his lagging laziness into
the most surprising activity, and jumped backwards two or three yards
high, turned head-over-heels in the air, and ran over the ground in the
same manner, and was so souple in all his motions, that it was scarcely
possible for the eyes to follow his changes. Eustace, in amazement,
clapped his hands over his head, and the young lads in admiration tried
to imitate their unattainable model. With the loud laughter, which the
comical jestures and attitudes excited, the merry Stephen was compelled
to suspend his blowing for awhile, and the whole enclosure, when the
old and religious men had retired, appeared only a merry, nay,
extravagantly joyous company, which the bride, and even the grave
Castanet, by their loud applause encouraged to new and still more
extraordinary feats of skill.

As the grass was already tolerably beaten down, the dance might be
continued with greater safety; and now old Favart stepped upon the
level ground, and said: "As we are celebrating a festival to-day, pray
permit for once, that the brothers Mark Anthony and Cesar may perform
some of their exploits, they think, that they know some more refined
amusements, which would contrast very well with the high leaping and
peasant dances."

The two ci-devant noblemen after this short preface, exhibited in the
then customary dances of the more refined society, but these did not
excite that admiration among the spectators, with which Michael had
been encouraged; the wilder exertions therefore resumed their place,
and the noblemen found themselves compelled to conform to this taste,
if they wished to share in the festivity. Many other instruments struck
up, a flute resounded, a hautboy was raised, and between these and
Stephen's pipe a flageolet was heard, mingled at intervals with the
loud and merry song of the mountaineers; now the air of a dance, now
old national songs, and merriment and jesting resounded loudly through
the wood, so that the cliffs of the adjacent precipices repeated with
joyful echo the tones of wild gaiety.

The merry-making, that to-day, once in motion, would have lasted
longer, had it not been suddenly interrupted and broken up by a
terrible outcry. The fearful sound proceeded from the summit of a
pointed cliff, which rose almost perpendicularly over the green sward
to the scene of the joyous tumult. All eyes turned quickly thither, and
they beheld a demoniacal figure with upraised, extended arms, face,
head, and body coloured and besmeared with blood. Once again the
lunatic shouted, and then ran and precipitated himself down the steep
rock into the arms of the brethren. It was the wrathful Ravanel. "Curse
you! curse! ye apostates!" screamed he, "as if mad; that ye thus forget
the Lord! Lamenting, mourning, discoloured with the blood of our
brethren, of the enemy and with my own, shed in the holy cause, I
returned to summon ye to vengeance, and I find the idolators here in
the heathenish dance round the golden calf. Thus Moses descending from
Sinai, in his wrath broke the tables of the law, as I now in my burning
zeal, curse the bond that unites me to ye, ye impious ones!"

They tried to pacify the zealot. Stephen had long since replaced his
pipe, the dancers stood at an embarrassed distance, and Eustace, who
could as quickly turn from prayer to the dance as from this to that,
was already sunk in profound meditation. "My brother," shouted the
infuriated man anew, "has been executed to-day at Florac, ten believers
have suffered martyrdom with him; I wished to rescue them, but have
been beaten back with my brethren with a great deal of bloodshed, and
in the mean while we forget our God, our misery, our faith, thus
scandalously bring curses on yourselves, voluntarily draw down the
malediction of heaven, the scornful laugh of hell voluntarily upon
ye,--does no fire then fall down upon the scum? does not the earth open
and swallow the iniquitous bands? Howl! howl! ye laden with sin, and
roll in the dust, smite on your stony hearts and be contrite before
the Almighty, that peradventure his mercy may awaken and a look of
grace from the fiery wrath of his eye may light upon ye."

He threw himself down and writhed on the ground. "Mercy! mercy!" roared
he in convulsions,--"No, there is no compassion, mercy is a lie, love
is no more!"--"Now is woe come upon us!" sighed Eustace, "our brother is
again fallen into his ravings! assist me with your prayers, beloved
brethren, that his reason may become strong again.--" He threw himself
on his knees by his side and prayed fervently. Duplant and Salomon came
forward, that they might help the old man in his supplications; but for
the present their good intention had no influence on the lunatic, who
was exclaiming as if unconsciously, while he was trying to tear himself
away from the arms of his friends who were supporting him. "Whither art
thou fled," cried he, "lost, wandered away, thou great inexpressible
being, whom we with stammering tongue wish to call God? It was a
fearful, a terrible event, when before the beginning of time, created
spirits in their arrogance rebelled against him, and would be God and
ruler and crush and annihilate him. Then he withdrew himself from the
rebels through the whole heaven of heavens, through all the starry
infinities, through the immensity of space, which thought alone can
reach, presentiment alone can fathom, and the audacious ones lonely and
abandoned, in their malice, bitter as gall in their wrathful fire, in
impotent fury, were transfixed and turned to stone and in their dark
interior their last, their expiring consciousness is lost, those are
the cliffs, the stony rocks, the deep masses of granite, which reach
far into the centre of the earth and still rise up in defiance over
clouds and vapour: that is the flesh and bone of the arrogants that the
earth is now compelled to bind together as with a cramp iron. Then
malice, wrath and discontent as if extinct; Yea, the flame expired,
when it should have nourished itself. Was it lost, departed love
recovering itself again, which would collect and burst from its
powerless state. Figures move in the sea, in the air, and on the earth,
and all persecute, hate, kill one another; bloodthirstiness is delight,
lacerations, tearing asunder, martyrdom and devourings of one another
are raiment and food. Yea, malice is now for the first time awakened
into life, if it contracts and unites itself with the sentiment of
love, thou hoary darkness of the primeval rocks, and as a lighted brand
penetrates into the bones of the snuffing lions and tigers, and roars
in the waterfall, that crumbles the mountains and thirst in the fiery
torrent, that greedily eats its way to the stream and siding with his
brother, the storm, swallows up woods and fields, and mocking as dead
spits forth from itself the former existence as dead, cold as ashes."

Edmond turned away with indignation, and said: "Woe to thee slanderous
tongue that in perverted folly takest upon thee to disfigure the most
holy, and inspirest superstitious rage."

"Why are you thus unjust?" said Lacoste smiling, "it affords me
inexpressible pleasure to hear for once so cool and impartial a
philosopher reason thus conclusively. One does not meet every day with
anything so good." The others became outrageous, and were still more
fervent in their prayers. Ravanel foamed and continued crying out: "But
how pious is the world, how mildly the brand still searches into the
bowels of all! Then man came forth, the image of God, as he calls
himself, and now in him hell first broke out in glowing, purple
triumph, the loud joyful laugh of inward horror. Whatever subtilty can
invent, imagination create, the wildest dream depict, and
voluptuousness can attain, will turn into martyrdom, into cutting off
the beings that give themselves out as their brother. All the pulses of
the everlasting Satan beat joyously. Here is God! exclaims the brood,
murder, torture them! here is Christ! roar the others, and slay the
adversaries. Does an eye from heaven behold? Do the stars know of us?
will the lost, the nameless one after eternity find himself once more
in his, by himself accursed creation, and will he not then send forth,
epidemics, pestilences, famines, fiery flames, and floods of waters,
together with earth-quakes and a thousand all-powerful deaths on white
horses, in order to crush this his brood, to grind, to powder into
nothing, who scandalously imagine that the sparks of his spirit dwell
in them. He, He himself inspires them? Yea no future hell; we are it
and live in it, prophecied from the ancient prophets mouth. We dust of
dust, we curse of curse!"

Now the prayer of the prophet seemed to operate with greater fervour,
for the voice of Ravanel died away, he appeared to sink into slumber
totally exhausted, and Lacoste said: "Oh that this pithy syllogism
should be thus interrupted, he might have added to the preceding
several other arguments just as bold and subtle."

Bertrand now returned with the courier prisoner, whom he had met in the
ravine. "Behold," said Lacoste to himself, "all corresponds, either
these are slyer devils, than they have ever been considered, or there
is some other devilry in the game, which is still strange enough."

The courier, a rather elderly man, was raised from his horse, his
dispatches had already been taken from him. "Who are you?" asked
Cavalier. "Ah your excellency," stammered the embarrassed man, "Now I
am, indeed, nothing but an insignificant ambassador, formerly a surgeon
in the royal guards."

"Your Name?"

"Dubois, by your leave."

When he announced himself as surgeon, he was commanded to bind up the
wounds of Ravanel and several of the other brethren. Cavalier and
Roland discovered from the papers the position of the royal troops, and
it was decided to anticipate the attack. As they intended to dispatch a
trusty person to reconnoitre the country, Edmond stepped forward and
said: "As yet I have not been able to do any thing for you, my dearest
brethren, intrust this commission to me." It was granted to him, and he
retired to dress according to his own ideas, in a manner befitting his
design; Lacoste, who would never separate from him, now pressed forward
again as his companion. As soon as they had discussed and ordered every
thing, Cavalier proposed, that the courier should be detained until
they should have brought their plan to a fortunate conclusion, and
Castanet with his young wife repaired to the leafy hut, that had been
got ready for them both, while the darkness of night set in.




                             CHAPTER VIII.


Edmond intended visiting the valleys under pretext of inquiring after
and purchasing an estate and castle in the district, that were
abandoned by the owner, and now for sale. He had become acquainted with
an aged secular priest, who dwelt in a beautifully situated village of
a charming valley, and his companion had under other pretences taken up
his quarters in a neighbouring village. As Edmond wandered solitarily
through the enchanting landscape, for the purpose of acquainting
himself with its conveniences, his heart became oppressed as he
struggled to know if the object, that led him hither might in itself be
a good, whether it might be a justifiable one. "Shall I," said he to
himself, "bring war into these peaceful valleys, where hitherto no
noise of arms has ever resounded? Here the monsters still slumber,
which we are going to awaken, in order to provide victims even in these
communes for their grim jaws." He quieted his perturbed feelings with
the thought, that without his assistance the royalists would march
hither, for the purpose of entangling and, if possible, extirpating his
new brethren from this part of the country, which was almost wholly in
the possession of Catholic inhabitants.

His host, the Catholic priest, was a very little grey-haired man, who,
with just as old and amiable a housekeeper lived under the vines and
olive trees, that shaded his dwelling so quietly and peaceably, that
Edmond on his first entrance was involuntarily reminded of the fable of
Philemon and Baucis. He could not divest himself of the idea, that in
this habitation the earliest and dearest recollections of his childhood
were hovering round him, he was confounded at himself, that his wrath,
his burning, religious zeal seemed here nearly exhausted, he was almost
obliged to confess that it was forgotten. He meditated and dreamed in
the rustling of the trees, by the murmuring of the little waterfall,
how softly his soul melted away, and his resolution, like that of
Rinaldo's in the enchanted garden of Armida, lost all its strength.
When he could not regain his former energy in his waking dreams, as he
strolled by the side of the brook, he called it the stream of oblivion,
where he now enjoyed the vernal gales and flower breathing elysium and
in Lethe separating himself for ever from the world of strife and
suffering.

The clergyman had also received the youth with the greatest cordiality;
whenever Edmond returned from his rambles, such pleasure beamed on the
countenance of the old man, that the stranger felt himself bound to his
host by kindliness and emotion. The latter frequently examined him
fixedly and as if he had known him already at an earlier period, and
then sank into a reverie as if he could not connect his recollections.

"My dear Chevalier de Valmont," (thus Edmond had named himself)
commenced the old man on the second day, as they sat at table, "the
longer you are with me, the greater pleasure do I experience in your
society. An extraordinary resemblance to an old friend almost compels
me to treat you as a beloved brother, nay, I may say as a son. It is
long since any stranger has visited me in my solitude, here I learn but
little of the world, and that is why such a visit as yours is so
acceptable to me." "I too am delighted with your society," replied
Edmond, "and I ask myself not without sadness, wherefore it should not
be granted to man to spend his days in peaceful quiet, elevated and
instructed by nature, enlivened and comforted by the simplest and most
delightful enjoyments."

"Perhaps this will be your fate my good sir." answered the priest with
vivacity, "perhaps we may then see each other very often and
confidentially, if you should only, become the possessor of yonder
castle, which is scarcely half a league distant from hence."

"And," said Edmond hesitatingly,--"if the war should rush down here
also? should this castle, this house here be consumed in flames? Where
is safety in our times?" "The Lord will protect us replied the priest,
as he has done heretofore." "And should he confer victory on the foes?"
"His will be done," prayed the old man, "for his decree is wisdom, he
is just and good, and with his might dwells love." "It almost appears,"
said Edmond surprised, "that you will not be disinclined to grant
victory to the rebels; at least you express yourself so mildly, that I
do not recognise in you the Catholic, as zealous for his religion as,
however, he ought to be."

"Let us not misunderstand each other," replied the priest, "I only
mean, that I surrender myself intirely, wholly, and unconditionally to
the will of my Lord, and resign the reins to him without murmuring, or
contending. But I love my religion, I am thoroughly imbued with it, and
on that very account be it far from me to banish these poor deluded
ones and to call down a curse upon their heads."

"You are thus a worthy servant of your religion," answered Edmond, "and
deserve that the enlightening should be made manifest to you."

The venerable man looked smilingly on the youth and said: "You have now
betrayed yourself young gentleman,--do not blush," continued he in the
mildest tone, "fear nothing from me; you are not the less welcome to me
on that account. Perhaps we shall understand, when we have learnt to
know each other and perhaps not; but you shall ever remain my beloved
guest, may become also my friend, although it may happen that I should
blame your enthusiasm, or your fanaticism. How many worthy, noble,
truly inspired, loving minds have I also known among the Huguenots and
how many harsh and pitiless ones in my own church. It is now indeed a
woeful time in our country, and moreover, we see as yet no end to the
misery."

Edmond had recovered from his surprise and embarrassment, and said: "Is
it though right, to remain thus indifferent and irresolute as you
appear to me to be? Yet, perhaps, at a later period of life I shall
also feel thus, for my father, to my sorrow, spoke almost as you do."

"You do not know me yet," answered the priest, "and I may well assert,
without pretention, that sentence ought not to be pronounced so hastily
and so readily on a man, who has had such experience of himself and of
the world, who has reflected and really lived. In religious affairs
particularly, my brain whirls in agony, when I see how so many place
the whole tenor of a profound mystery in a book, an expression, a
phrase, or even a syllable, and weigh the immensity of love in grains
and scruples, that they may know the faster how surely their brother is
to be damned, who in other countries and with different vessels draws
out of the ocean of grace. Whoever too hastily gives a yes, or a no to
the interrogations of the conscience, in such assuredly neither doubt,
nor conviction is as yet awakened. That exhaustion, that mournful
faintness which comes over us, when we see all parties fallen into
error, all truth and inspiration mingled and disfigured by human
passion, is not to be called indifference. Whom the revealed word has
once enlightened can never again forget the glance of love, that has
arisen in his inmost soul, he would rather forfeit his life than his
conviction, he requires no proofs, no renewing to confirm him, no
passion, no illusion, or miracle to ground him more firmly in himself,
as little will raillery, or doubt, brilliant talent, or presumptuous
philosophy, again be able to displace in his heart that directing
star."

Edmond became thoughtful. "You are recalling," said he at length,
"my former existence within me; I believe I comprehend you, and
yet formerly I did not understand myself. You even mention the
miraculous and similar things slightingly, do we not live in the age of
such things? Oh! my honoured, venerable friend, could you have beheld
what I have seen, could I tell you what I have myself experienced, you
would then be bewildered at yourself and your own conviction, but you
content yourself in peace, that you may escape the conflict, you deny
the gift of prophecy, the visions, the wonderful state of these
children and inspired Camisards, or censure with your church all, as
deception and falsehood, if perchance you do not, as however I cannot
believe of you, agree with the most infamous, and declare it the work
of Satan and of hell." "Aye, no, my young enthusiast," cried the old
man, "nothing of all this; I have spoken with sensible men, and I have
witnessed myself years ago similar singularities: Why should I deny
these miracles, and may be, here and there mingled with lies, what
should deter me from believing in them?"

"Well, nevertheless," interrupted Edmond passionately, "you will
withdraw from the truth, you will uphold only your church as truly
orthodox?"

"Has mine then no miracles to bring forward?" said the old man meekly:
"and why should I not recognise them? But should the truth of
revelation be grounded upon these alone, we were then indeed entrapped
in the worst of errors. That, which habit renders necessary to us, we
call nature and its laws: When I see a deviation from this, which
surprises and confounds me, I speak of miracles; as if these so named
laws were not likewise miracles; as if I were able to interpret, to
comprehend and explain the daily phenomena; as if each flower did not
blossom before me as a miracle; my origin, growth and decay, sun, moon,
and stars, light, air, and water, nay, the organisation of the smallest
fly were not also miracles like horror and spectre. All life surrounds
me spiritually, miraculously; or, if my spirit is torn out of the
peaceful element of its heavenly atmosphere; then love becomes hatred
and despair, and wisdom as well as the revealed word of the Lord
madness and blasphemy." Edmond was mute. "Know I then," continued the
old man, "that which I call nature and its energies, the mind and its
faculties? how each day it varies in different men for the most
insignificant occasions! The poet, the artist knows how to speak of
feelings, which to the uninitiated must appear as delirium, or miracle:
energies unfold themselves, of which the former world was ignorant,
many others have in the course of time declined, or have been
forgotten; they appear again probably to astonish, or to give a firmer
foundation to true science. Would my mind set limits to the Almighty,
and know I, what God from wise, unsearchable causes will permit or
execute? but no miracle can ever be elevated to a religious mystery;
revelation requires not this to announce its eternal truth; the Saviour
himself did not perform his miracles for that purpose, and reproaches
the pharasees and people; miracle seeking testifies disbelief and
irreligion, and where passion, party or sect, in the conflict of
opinions, relies upon these inexplicable phenomena and wish to found
conviction, or even to prove and explain for ever and ever out of what
is indefinite, then is it all over long since with every sincere
examination, with all true religion."

"And the resurrection of the Lord?" said Edmond. "Is not," said the
former, "to be reckoned among the phenomena, commonly called miracles,
if the grosser, unenlightened mind can indeed comprehend them only in
this manner." "Go on," said Edmond, "to make your opinions clear to me,
I am not yet too old to learn." "It happens not unfrequently," resumed
the priest "that remorse and despair either in criminals or in weak,
sickly men have produced a sudden cure of old paralysis, so that the
strength of the arm has been able to tear off their fetters, or to
break iron posts; passion or terror exasperated that man, and gave him
what in an ordinary state he did not possess. In dreams, in sickness,
strange worlds are often discovered to us, and unknown feelings,
scarcely foreboded, are presented to our view, and thus it may well
happen, nay, I have myself experienced it, that in excited minds,
inspired by enthusiasm, remorse, and passion, a state, as if between
sleep and wakefulness, originates, in which, in the struggles of the
organs, the spirit breaks in a short time through the bonds that
confine it; it sees and hears as a spirit, distance approaches it,
barriers obstruct not its view, futurity becomes the present, and in
this total overthrow, the original vigour of the soul resumes its own
appropriate right."

"And wherefore should not this, according to your own words," said
Edmond, "be able to be pure and heavenly?"

"I will neither combat, condemn, nor ratify it," answered the
clergyman, "were our nature entirely pure and refined, had we never
falsified our heavenly origin, then indeed might these phenomena
deserve our praise and thanksgiving to the Almighty, who again ever
raises us to the rank of apostles, and denies us not the gift of
prophecy. But frivolity, mortality, and evil have penetrated into us,
this death obscures our life, this annihilation struggles against our
spirit, as we are of heavenly origin; our outward existence is,
however, as well as our spiritual operations continually exposed to
this pitiful enemy, as the shadow, it follows every thought and every
deed, and to combat it in thought and action, as well as in pure faith
and devotion, is the task of our existence; the past must be
continually put aside to make room for the coming, of the Lord. But woe
to us when that wonderful excitement of the mind, when these gifts of
prophecy associate themselves with this nullity, this chaos, and all
the dark passions! Then eternal truth, which never slumbers within us,
summons falsehood, vanity, pride, wickedness, and bloodthirstiness, to
enter into the shadowed gloom of our dark deformed soul, hyenas and
tigers then tear themselves free from their fetters, and hapless man
imagines, while the spirit of murder is roaring within him, that the
Spirit of the Lord is prophesying directly from out of his mouth."

Edmond looked at him searchingly. "Often, however," pursued the old man
composedly, "it is only the Immortal Spirit, that collects all its
present and future energies, that it may step beyond the ordinary
limits of nature, and that it merely takes with it the images of folly,
and the almost innocent mask, in order to announce even in the
supernatural, that which is absurd and contrary to nature."

"If you are right." said Edmond, "what do you counsel those, who are
thus gifted? This state must be a most critical one; but how
disembarrass yourself of it?"

"By simplicity of conduct," replied the old man, "by estrangement from
all passion and pride, and by pure prayer for the deliverance from this
error, and from the deluding gift."

"That signifies," answered Edmond passionately and bitterly, "I ought
to entreat the Lord to withdraw from me, I ought to pray to him to
remain far away from me; in order to become godly, I must commence with
consummate impiety. Is it thus that a priest of the Lord can exhort and
counsel? but thus they are, thus they speak, these persecutors. And if
they be but consistent, they must also entirely deny the miracles of
their church, nay, even censure sacred Scripture as a lie."

"You have not indeed completely understood me, young man," answered the
priest. "May not the ardour of love kindle so intensely, that the
matter, the obscurity, the nothingness in us, may become temporally
annihilated, and our speech, with the Lord's permission working in his
strength may issue forth? That this may be possible, the example of the
apostles teaches us, the prophets bear witness; that many great saints
whom the world venerated, may have thus spoken and worked, is certainly
credible.--And thus belief may move and elevate, it may be a positive
crime to mock reservation,--but what can this avail true religion, or
its mysteries? How weak would it be, if these supports, as I have
already said, were indispensable to it! The miracle of all miracles, my
young friend, is the great moment which is revealed to all sinning,
hapless mortals in their limited life, when the lord himself advances
to meet the penitent, the indifferent, and creates his heart anew. This
metamorphosis is more wonderful incomprehensible, and more mysterious
than all the overthrows of the laws of nature, which attract the eye
searching for miracles, for here out of nothing something is brought
forth, out of death, suddenly like a flash of lightning, life is
created."

They were disturbed at this moment by several peasants, who were
begging directions from their priest how to proceed respecting the
approaching festival and procession. Edmond in the mean while walked
about the little garden, variously excited and inclined to
contemplation, for his earlier youth had been recalled to his
remembrance, many of his father's words, many of his early
instructor's, his mother's admonitions were again revived within him.
The clergyman returned after a short time and said: "Still I must ever
lovingly admire the human mind, when it preserves itself pure, and so
many sentiments and customs affect, while they appear to us childish,
and foolish. Let no severe judge expunge these feelings from our
religion, for even, these sucklings will hang on their mother's breast,
and while they nourish themselves, they gaze in her dark eyes, whose
expression they understand more from the instinct of childhood than
from knowledge. We have here in our little church a miraculous portrait
of the mother of God, which is renowned and honored far and wide by the
country-people of the mountain. An old shapeless figure cut in wood of
small size, probably in the early age of art, when it was yet scarcely
aware of its own existence. I have seen the sick, when they prayed
before the altar, restored to health, for faith and the commotions of
the mind are able to bring forth the strongest phenomena in our
delicate nature. Now when I reflect that upon this little spot so many
thousands have for centuries derived consolation and joy, I cannot look
upon her without emotion. The war has rendered a festival impossible
this year, which otherwise has annually been celebrated on the morrow.
From several village communities, even from those which lie twelve
leagues off, processions of the communities arrived; eight young girls
crowned with flowers bore the portrait of the Madonna of their church,
singing all those hymns, which sound so beautifully in the mountain
dialect in their tunes: Thus they walked round the church and one
procession after another brought many with spiritual songs into our
temple, here the strange visitor must bow low before ours, who then in
a chaunt thanked and praised the Lord, in the song which our young
women here sing most enchantingly in alternate chorusses. Thus all the
processions bring in their mother of God quite similar to the theories
of the ancient Greeks, and retired again in praise and thanks. This
ceremony, which to the wise may only appear puerile, has, since I have
been able to observe the people here, always produced much good and
salutary fruit. The common man (though what do I say, who among us that
calls himself the educated,) need not such things at times. The whole
village all the winter long rejoiced in the anticipation of this day,
the possession of this Marie endears this spot of the mountain, and
renders it invaluable to them, the pilgrimage church here dazzles to
the absent from a distance as if surrounded with a glory. The wandering
through unknown districts encouraged the young and old, the visitings
of a foreign nature, made the accustomed home more agreeable to them.
Religious sentiments, pious designs, were developed, and at a later
period, in peace brought to perfection. On the road they encountered
the poor and sick, who needed assistance, all the feelings of the heart
were renewed and reinvigorated, for man requires a similar renewal at
times, that he may not become too monotonous to himself. Shall I also
remind you, that by this means their native land became to all more
endeared and beloved? without mentioning, that people from far
countries became acquainted, and one heard of this and that from
another; affection and also marriages were contracted among the distant
mountaineers, and thus the useful, the good with piety and an
inclination for the wonderful, as well as the love of nature went hand
in hand." "All this," said Edmond, "however much you may speak in its
favour, the Huguenots call idolatry."

"It would be so too," answered the old man, "if persecution, hatred and
malice, were excited by this love and festivity. It might be perilous
to celebrate the festival now, especially if it should be interrupted
by enthusiasts of the other party. In bygone years, however, I have
seen even protestants, who were unable to look upon the puerile
ceremony without shedding tears. For it is just in a similar way, when
man suffers himself to yield to his most cherished sentiments as if he
were at home, when in an entirely childish and artless spirit he draws
near to his God, or to his representative, his mother, or the saints,
(whom he believes nearer to the nameless one,) plays and sports with
the dreaded, the worshipped, laying aside all solemnity and all serious
pomp, then does mankind appear purest and simplest. All ages, all
nations are the same, let them think and worship as they like, have
never been able to do entirely without it, and what we are often
compelled to hear from free-thinkers or reformers, that we have again
introduced the old overthrown idolatry, is only, if rightly understood,
in the spirit of love, the regeneration of the human mind, which will
never permit this source of its holy thirst to be exhausted. But abuse
and error attach themselves to everything human. Indeed, the most
beautiful body consists merely of earth, and dust; and yet beauty is
more sublime than the moist clay of the fields."

Thus was Edmond compelled to hear from strange lips his former thoughts
detailed. He was so affected by the presence of the old man, that he
felt himself compelled to discover to him what a zealous catholic he
himself had once been and had but a short time previously turned to the
Huguenot faith; he was silent, however, respecting his alliance with
the Camisards, and the purpose for which he had descended into the
valleys.

"It is easy to understand," answered the old man, "how lively minds in
these troublous times forsake their party and seek on the opposite
side, what is wanting to them; that love makes such attempts to become
reconciled with itself, even though these attempts should fail. My
dear, young friend, you recall to my mind by your confession, your
countenance and presence my own past youth in the most lively colours,
and I cannot refrain from exchanging confession for confession,
confidence for confidence. I am indeed tempted to impart to you the
history of my little limited life, that has almost only experienced
emotions of the mind."

They seated themselves in an arbour, before which stood plantains
entwined with vines, the green wooded mountains were open, and the
murmuring of the brook resounded pleasingly through the solitude, while
from to time to time, the bells of the village church on account of the
festival on the morrow, rang out their monotonous and solemn tones.

"I come from the Netherlands," commenced the priest, "born of
Huguenot parents, whom I lost at a very early period. My guardians,
worldly-minded men, troubled themselves more about the preservation of
my small fortune than of giving me a sound education, and therefore it
happened that I was consigned to a tutor, with whom they, as well as
myself, were very well pleased. He was a man of extensive information,
who had also travelled much, and had resided a considerable time in
London. As he was descended from a good family, and possessed himself
some tact, he became acquainted with and acquired each day the
confidence of many beaux esprits and of the courtiers here, and
although his morals had not suffered as much as one might well have
been led to fear, his religious principles at least, which may never
have been very strong, were by this intercourse entirely stifled and
destroyed. Knowledge, understanding were the most important to him,
however he devoted himself with religious worship to poetry, as well as
to the history of the ancient Greeks. No one could be more eloquent
than he, when he enlarged upon these subjects. That these sentiments,
as I was of a very lively disposition, should influence me, was very
natural; my tutor seemed to me the most gifted of mortals, and his
decisions were my oracles. Though I may still honour his memory, I must
nevertheless censure as a weakness in what then certainly appeared to
me his greatest forte, namely, his unwearied mockery of Christianity
and of every religion; all others rather than the various sects of the
Christian Church, found a release from his satires; the present, as
well as the past, the history of the development, its mysteries, all
was a subject of his derision, and the apostles, even the Saviour
himself, were not spared by him, how much less Luther, or Calvin, and
Zwingli, or even those so named mystics, who desire to form in
themselves a peculiar spirit to recognise God. My mind had soon become
so intimately connected with his, that I could not endure that there
should be any religion for me on the earth, that any pious sentiments
should ever arise in my heart. I had indeed my heroes of the former
world, the Grecian antiquity, the high-minded Romans, in whose
patriotism I glowed in dreams, the boundless fields of poetry with its
gardens of wit and humour; and out of Sophocles and Eschylus, those
dreamers of a world of spirits not understood, these seemed to me the
most sublime objects that could ever have the power to shake my soul.
In a short time I was honestly and truly ashamed of being a Christian,
when I thought of the variegated world of fiction, of the ambiguous
Grecian mythology, of those feasts and spectacles, lofty statues, and
noble temples: Where then were the deliverer on the ignominious cross,
and his impoverished disciples? how this faith of poverty and
misfortune dwindled into nothing compared with those sacrifices and
public parade, and the jubilee of the Pindaric hymns? neither did I
reckon myself among the community, and the dullest day of my young,
life, was that on which I was received into the church of our sect with
the customary ceremonies. Each word seemed nonsense to me, all
solemnity degradation, in anger only I responded to the questions, and
while still in the church, I swore never again to visit it: A
contradictory and foolish oath, which, however, I long observed. At a
later period, when I reentered into the world, I remarked that all, who
were called strong-minded, were either privately or publicly of my
belief. All did not openly mock; the weak disapproved of this outrage,
but only from the feeling of not making weak men err, or become
unhappy, who though had nothing better themselves, or were not able to
produce any thing but the old, miserable tale, that, without a
connexion, one often contradicts the other. Many forcibly denied
altogether the history of the Saviour, with others still worse, he was
merely an unfortunate rebel, and to the best, a moral man, but who
indeed, according to their views must be far inferior to Socrates,
whose life was clearer, and whose doctrines seemed more comprehensible.
Several of these free-thinkers, to whom the catholic church was a
stumbling block, and who, that they might not be considered as
antichristians, turned all the strength of their mind, under pretext of
protecting the protestant freedom, to tear to atoms and to disfigure
their catholic brethren, the history of the church, spiritual and
temporal ordinances, in the most barbarous manner: thus behind this
rampart, they imagined under false names, to be able to annihilate
Christianity itself, for this it was which was hateful to them, not
this, or that party. All this was very evident to me, and I lent my aid
as much as my limited power would permit. I arrived at the age of
maturity, and my opinions only became  still more deeply rooted. I
travelled, I saw the world, but only on the side, which confirmed my
prejudices. If I met with pious enlightened Christians, they appeared
to me only as strange disordered spirits, worthy of remark perhaps, of
pity assuredly. In a German town I took out of sheer insolence the book
of a German mystic from the library to my own dwelling, that I might
for want of better amusement, divert myself in the spirit of derision
with the madness of the absurd and the foolish. Unconsciously, I had
brought the fire-brand into my house, which soon set in flames all this
edifice of pride and worldly impiety. I turned over the leaves, read
and laughed, read again and found the puerility at least poetical. The
book left me no rest, I felt as it were attracted to it, it tortured
me, and to my shame I was soon forced to confess to myself, that it
contained connexion, strength, and spirit, that it instructed me, and
that gardens, flowers, and trees of love bloomed, where I had only seen
a waste desert. The presentiment seized me, that another God might rule
the universe than he, whom in my enthusiastic views of nature, or in my
poetical inspirations, I had been willing to discover, or to
acknowledge in the vortex of frivolity.

"My mind much affected, after some weeks of anxiety and meditation,
longed ardently to read the Holy Scriptures. None of my numerous
acquaintances, even such as were book collectors, or who possessed
extensive libraries, had this book in their households. I felt ashamed,
that I too had never required it. From that time this treasure became
my faithful companion on my travels. I read in solitary and consecrated
moments, and experienced what every thirsty one feels, who is
susceptible of humiliation, in whom the utter sense of helplessness is
not entirely extinct, which, indeed, is so indispensably necessary
before the spiritual word can take root in the uncultivated heart.
Faith! this so often disputed, attacked and variously explained word.
Oh! who has experienced it, in whom it has arisen with its strength, he
will not dispute it. I could not withdraw myself from the revelation,
the faith, so triumphantly did the words, the images, the language of
the gospel glittering in the splendour of arms pierce through my soul,
and all my energies became the prisoners of eternal love, and were now
happy and blessed in the service, in the sweet slavery. My former
rebellion against the Lord appeared to me mean and despicable, and my
contempt turned from its course, no longer understood the folly of its
early wisdom. Many indeed imagine, that faith, humility, and unbounded
trust in the Lord, are nothing else than killing our energies, nay the
faculty of thinking, and consequently withdraw in anger or in trembling
from that work of regeneration, which, nevertheless speaks sometimes
from afar indirectly to their insensible hearts. Unhappy men! This so
much dreaded faith would first elevate their capacities to energies and
kindle new lights and flames in their spirits. Without him, the
revealed Christ, no sense in profound thought, no spirit in history, no
consolation in nature and no peculiarity in our existence. Art, love,
humour, who possesses him, they are then free play-fellows. How joyous,
sweet, yea intoxicating and full of merriment, cheerful, and smiling
does Christianity appear through all the genuine works of modern art,
how blessed and pleasing are they, when in the greatness and fulness of
the old world, yet like a spirit of gentle melancholy that passes away
as the cloud, momentarily over the beautiful landscape in the
brilliancy of spring." The old man paused, and Edmond said: "Oh! how
willingly I listen to you, and remember all the sentiments and
vicissitudes of my stormy youth."

"What I had before rejected," continued the priest, "now became the
most urgent want of my soul, for I felt, how much a christian
congregation, in unison together, must strengthen and elevate the
individual. I visited the church therefore and wished to join in the
worship of my sect. But whether it was that my mind was too much
agitated, or that I had perhaps fallen on the wrong one, it appeared to
me that every where the church overreached itself by preaching. All
preferred their own explanations, and their close reasoning philosophy
to the word of the Lord, they were all ashamed of Christ and denied him
in artfully spun phrases, they misinterpreted him, merely that they
might bring him nearer to their own weak necessities, as if he and his
disciples must be subservient to their enlightened times, as servants
and sextons of the church. I knew well, that every believing auditor
and layman must be a priest himself to be able by his own power to
transform the worthless into the good, but all my vital energies sank
in the midst of that which surrounded me; the shrill singing stunned
me, and the whole left a void and almost brought me back again to the
state of a despairing infidel. It was certainly unreasonable on my part
to require that all should partake of the intoxication of my newly
planted vineyard. I was now compelled to feel, that fanaticism, and
stepping beyond the limits was yet worse than remaining cold and
apathetic below the mark. I continued my travels, and quarrelled on the
way with my companion, already an old acquaintance, who neither could,
or would not share in all my feelings. Thus we arrived at Nismes; there
my destiny ordained, that I should long remain, in order that my whole
life fully aroused should be determined and resolved. My companion, a
certain Lacoste, introduced me to a house, where new feelings awaited
me, to torture as much as to bless me."

"Lacoste!" exclaimed Edmond, "should he, perhaps--but proceed my
venerable friend, I may be mistaken."

"My former friend," pursued the priest, "was tall and robust, a
handsome man in every sense of the word, feeling and kind, but
frivolous, and as far from every religion, as I had been a short time
previously. This friend introduced me to the family of a worthy
magistrate, which soon, as the good man and his excellent wife received
me so hospitably, became my daily abode. They had a son, an amiable
youth whose enthusiasm quickly procured him my confidence, for just as
much as Lacoste disputed all religious principles, young Beauvais
warmly cherished them, voluntary lived in and for religion: he was the
most zealous defender of his Catholic party, that I have ever been
acquainted with."

"Heavens!" exclaimed Edmond, "you are then, venerable man, the Edmond
Watelet, of whom I have so often heard the Counsellor of Parliament
speak, as the favourite friend of his youth?"

A long pause ensued.--"It is indeed so," said the aged priest wiping
away his tears, "the young enthusiastic Beauvais must now be an old
man; I too though am become old! Aye, truly, there is a period which
our heart refuses to believe, it is that alone which exalts the life of
each one of us to a strange fiction, to a wonderful tale. He is still
living then? ah, my dear Chevalier, you are yourself very like him.
That is the spell, which so inseparably bound me to you."

Edmond talked of his father, but notwithstanding his deep emotion, he
felt it was impossible to discover to him at that moment, that he was
his son. After a time during which the old man recovered from his
agitation, he continued more calmly: "That which most contributed to
convert the paternal dwelling of my young friend into an enchanted
garden for me, was the society of the young and beautiful women, who
assembled there. Ha himself was affianced to a lovely girl, and he
ardently anticipated his union with her. His Lucy's sentiments
corresponded exactly with his own, and all that drew them nearer to
each other was more or less imbibed into their existence and grew with
the inspired hymn. The elder Beauvais only smiled at the high-strained
feeling of the young people, for though he was himself pious, he rather
feared that overreaching, and this religious ecstasy appeared to him as
such. I now visited the temple in high spirits with my enthusiastic
friend. The solemnity of God's service, the stillness, the enchanting
singing, the dread-inspiring presentiment which hovered over every
mystery that here tried to present itself visibly to the necessitous,
languishing senses, transported my heart. Already accustomed to look
upon every thing as a riddle, as a concealed mystery of love, the
celebration of the Mass appeared to me as elevated and divine, as
revelation and work of art, as type and fulfilment at the same time,
and each word spoken, or sung as it fell on my ear in the full force of
its signification, drove back a bolt from my heart. Art and nature
changed before my eyes, the element of water became glorified, in the
fire, in the light of the church tapers as well as that of the house, I
perceived and recognised the whole tenor of the secret of nature. The
nights became too short to enable us to impart to each other all that
arose in our minds. A young abbé, a mild, miracle-believing enthusiast
was often the third in our consultations in the open air or within
doors, and his learning, his knowledge in old legends and histories of
the church gave to all our spiritual movements body and presence, yes,
my friend, this rosy period of my youth was like the wedding festival
of my soul, and griefs not to be named were already preparing in the
midst of this enjoyment, in order to teach me how weak, how frail man
is and remains."

"And this abbé," exclaimed Edmond, who had scarcely heard the last
words, "was he not named Aubigny?"

"Exactly so," replied the pastor with much astonishment, "it seems
indeed that you know all the companions of my youth."

"Through the Counsellor of Parliament," answered Edmond, "who also
likes to recall to his memory the season of his youth. But I pray you
to continue your narrative. I fear that that Lacoste did not wish to be
the fourth in your alliance."

"The unfortunate man," said the priest, "who had already become so
confidential with us, withdrew from us day by day, although he still
continued to visit frequently the paternal dwelling. Notwithstanding
that we had agreed to deal mildly with him, his derision of us excited
our anger, and his coldness refused all our conciliatory endeavours. It
was not predestined, that our days should flow along in peaceful,
undisturbed cheerfulness.

"Among the young girls that visited my friend's house, the next in
loveliness to his bride, was one Euphemie the most delicate and
beautiful apparition that my eyes had ever beheld. She dazzled less
than Lucy, but she was still more refined more etherial. Her mind was
also already abstracted from this world, her wishes were directed to
the cloister, the life of a nun seemed to her most desirable.
Fortunately this inclination coincided with the views of her parents,
who as it so often happens, wished the whole of the fortune to devolve
on the son, so that he might be able to occupy a more important station
in the world. In order to complete my reformation, the knowledge of
love was only wanting to my deeply affected mind. Euphemie and I drew
near to each other, we became as quickly familiarised as if our being
had for many years been only waiting for this acquaintance. We were as
brother and sister, before we had yet been able to wonder at the
rapidity of this mutual confidence. We soon felt that we could not do
without each other, she could tell me all her thoughts and feelings
more easily and confidingly than she could impart them to her parents,
even more than she ventured to do to her female friends. My heart
floated in the sweetest repose; at the sound of her voice, at the
glance of her mild eye, when I heard her footstep, when she walked in
the garden, nay even when I only thought of her, my mind was as if
plunged in bliss. Even thus the spirits of the pure soar glorified
towards their sacred destiny, estranged from all passion and
inquietude, from all violent incitements. And yet I knew not that I
loved: I had never permitted this word to enter into my mind.

"We conversed on her future cloistered life, on the saints and their
miracles, and Euphemie had in me the most believing pupil. She lent an
equally attentive ear to my enthusiasm and days and weeks passed away
in a pleasing dream. That Italy, whither indeed I was journeying, was
in the world, I had totally forgotten.

"Beauvais took possession of a country house, that lay in the most
beautiful part of the country. I followed the family and my adored
Euphemie also accompanied her friends, for the mother, as well as the
son's future bride respected the wonderful girl. What singular
conversations and outpourings of the heart! the earth and all that
surrounded us, to which we must indeed have applied names, vanished
from us, and our spirits as if in the innocence of Paradise lulled
themselves, void of every want, but penetrated with the most innate,
the most holy love. We understood each other without words, and as all
that was earthly had fled, no feelings of jealousy, suspicion, or
distrust arose in our souls.

"The legends, many of which express a heavenly spirit of resignation to
the mysterious will of the Most High, a renunciation, nay almost an
annihilation of self in fervent love of Christ, a profound mortal
compassion in the endearing adoration, our inebriated enthusiasm was
awakened and nourished especially by those feelings. Many of these
tales are repulsive and contrary to every sentiment, these we discussed
with subtle and ingenious commentaries in order to garnish them with a
milder spirit. But the most beautiful that this species of tradition
has preserved to us, is that, which, however, at the same time is the
most misconceived by the unawakened soul of and which is found absurd
and repulsive by the worldly minded. The life and history of the old
hermits, there may be also much of later invention, to the mind which
is once moved by spiritual things, they present a touching miracle.
What shall I say of the meditations of St. Francis, of his ardent love
and of the visions which arose and were present to this man in the
perfect humility, the compassion, and fervour of his unfettered heart?
He only who has once known the splendour of the world, the insolent
strength appertaining to it, can rightly comprehend this temper of
mind. We also often read the Gospel, and then a trembling, such as has
been frequently observed in many enthusiasts, came over my whole body,
especially when in solitude, for timidity and shame restrained me in
society from exposing my deep emotions to observation. In this frame of
mind, I left Euphemie one morning, some chapters of the Holy Scriptures
had just been read. I threw myself down in the most retired spot in the
garden, in order to give a free course to my tears. The whole world
awakened feelings of pity within me, I experienced such an overflow of
love in my oppressed heart, that it almost burst, in the excess of its
own enjoyment; I read over again the passages in Luke, how Christ met
the poor widow and the dead body of her son, and compassionately
aroused the youth from death. There are no words that can describe the
state of my mind. The elder Beauvais with a suite of servants was just
returning from the chase. He might well be astonished at finding me in
this condition, but he passed me with a mute salutation. I arose, and
now as with a tremendous power it took possession of me. Verily, said I
to myself, as thee no man has ever yet loved; it is the spirit of God,
of the Father himself that stirs within thee to gladden to love, to
sympathise with all; in these, these exalted moments I felt impressed
with the eternal truth, that I myself, I was the son, the God from
God,---and what should prevent me from moving these trees, these stones
with the word of life, that they might change into other forms, and
attest my might, shall I beckon to the angels that hover round me,
visibly to appear to do my service?--Yes! let it be attempted,
ventured--Then trembling and fear came over me, I was stunned and in
despair; in contrite humility I cast myself down before my Creator, I
felt myself undone, now that I perceived my devilish arrogance which
had risen out of pure humility and love; I had experienced the most
fearful apostacy from God, just at the moment when with all my
faculties I felt myself nearer to him.

"This moment in which my spirit became dizzy on the verge of insanity
and frenzy, has since then ever seemed to me the most terrible one in
my life. I now understood myself and human nature, and also the danger
of enthusiastic raptures of love. I had then indeed myself trodden the
bridge over which all enthusiasts have passed, the narrow path (ever
shining brightly, though hell lies beneath it) between virtue and vice,
between wisdom and presumption, which leads from love and kindliness to
hatred and murder, and I had now learned what an unholy spirit had
moved the Anabaptists, and Adamites, and perhaps now glows and rages in
many a heart among the rebels. Oh! my son, man is a most frail and
pitiable being, the more is lent to him, the more has he to answer for,
the brighter the spirit of love glows within him, the darker burns his
reprobation; his gifts granted to him from heaven, may become his dire
enemies, there is no one either that stands so fast, but that he may
also fall. My legends had already taught me that, but I was doomed to
feel it first in this fatal downfall."

"Therefore still hell and devil?" cried Edmond after a long pause.
"However mildly you spoke and sentenced at first, the priestly
condemnation follows in the end. Oh thou unfortunate Cavalier and
Marion! and ye unhappy children, on whose lisping tongues Satan himself
laid the name of the Lord, and the awaking to repentance."

"What then shall we call that?" said the old man mildly, "which works
directly against God? We require not certainly that fearful figure,
which perversity has imagined, in order to represent him personally; we
need not indeed ascribe to him those tremendous attributes, which the
miracle-seeking has invented, fabulously enough, but so much the worse
for us, the weaker, the more powerless he in himself is: how feeble are
we then to permit ourselves to be so ignominously overcome by this
shadow, this delusion, this inefficiency, this nothingness? How our
priests may censure these suggestions and represent them as devilish I
know not, but it suffices for me, that I have experienced in myself,
that such a feeling of all our energies may exist in us in divine love,
which then does not proceed from God, but from his despicable
adversary, and of which we must beware, because we, the image of God,
through our own demerits are, as it were, only shadows of shadows."

The old man arose, and walked several times up and down the garden, to
subdue the emotion, which these recollections had excited. Edmond
remained behind in deep thought, and compared the narrative of the
pastor with his own experience. Should he now view them in an other
light, or wish them effaced from the career of his life? He would have
been more satisfied, could he have heartily embittered his feelings
against the old man, towards whom, however, inclination as well as the
intercourse of soul in which he had spent his youth with his own parent
attracted him. The pastor came back smiling, and seated himself again
by the side of the subtle investigator. "It cannot be otherwise in
life," recommenced he, "each sentiment, each society, each disposition
and friendship has its history, all ascends, attains the highest summit
and falls again. Thus had the most delightful concord in our singular
intimacy already vanished, before we had been able to perceive a
change. The impetuous Lacoste had conceived a violent passion for Lucy,
and the gentle, pious creature felt very unhappy on that account,
although she at same time became reserved towards young Beauvais. At
first the latter was embarrassed at this, then vexed and irritated
against Lacoste, to whom until now he had been greatly attached, whilst
he thought that a secret inclination for this impetuous man had thus
visibly estranged his bride from him. In this mutual constraint, the
two friends avoided each other, they were however compelled to meet in
company: An explicit communication and reciprocal understanding seemed
impossible, so that the rancour took even deeper root, especially with
Lacoste, who, after some time, made but little effort to restrain from
publicly betraying his  aversion to Beauvais. But the state of my own
feelings was such, that I was soon disqualified from observing others
around me. Euphemie's brother, the pride of his family, fell into an
illness, which had all the appearance of consumption, and now the
parents thought of marrying their daughter to a man of distinction,
that through her their name and large fortune might be perpetuated in
the world. When Euphemie first spoke to me on this subject, she was
wholly unembarrassed; her voice was as firm and steady as if she were
speaking of a friend. I felt as if she were relating to me a silly
improbable tale, so pure, exalted, and unattainable had my fancy
painted her. I could almost just as easily have persuaded myself that a
scheme of marriage was projecting with the evening star. But at night,
on my solitary couch, the aspect of affairs took another form: Again
was I doomed to learn, and how painfully! to know myself and the world.
Is she to belong to the world? I asked myself, wherefore then not first
to me? To me, to whom she already belongs, as my soul dwells in hers!

"The concealed ardour, which until now had slumbered in the sweetest
intoxication, burst through its bud and blossomed, and shone forth like
a rare flower, which unfolded a thousand purple leaves. I felt now
thoroughly, for the first time, that what until then I had considered
merely earthly, was of heavenly origin. I deemed myself called upon in
my pure love to renew as a real sacrament, the sublime symbol of
marriage, in such holy perfection as it is seldom, perhaps never, found
on earth. Euphemie was terrified at my plans, my ardent persuasions,
and my enterprising spirit. The more her hesitation, her timidity
increased my passion, the more did I appear to her a strange being,
whom until then she had not known at all. She was to be awakened from
her peaceful repose, thus my love desired it, but she was shocked at
the thought of grieving her parents in any way, to oppose them was with
her an unnatural sin, and all that I urged about elopement, force, and
death, only confused her delicate mind, as in the roaring of the
waterfall no speech can be heard. My high wrought passion grew almost
to frenzy; that she did not love me, that I was hateful to her, that
already she turned her affections on her bridegroom, whom I jealously
cursed, menacing to kill both him and myself: to all these frantic
expressions she listened with a suffering and endearing patience. Thus
then was this heaven destroyed for me, and black demons grinned on me
from the same places, where before my intoxicated ear had heard the
flapping of angel's wings, from whence formerly a sweet smile from a
radiant countenance bloomed on me like roses sparkling with dew in the
rosy light of morning.

"Verily my soul becomes young again, when I think on those days. Oh! he
grows not old, who lives only in the solitude of his recollections, as
I do. With poor Lacoste things went on still worse than with myself. He
wasted away, and wished for death. Often did he call upon it with
fearful words. There was something heart-rending in his look. My friend
Beauvais had also become pale, his youth was evaporating. Oh! there is
nothing so terrible as to be compelled to doubt the worth of the
beloved object; that gives more pain than despised affection. And in
these pangs the hapless man was now perishing. Lucy was a puzzle to me
also, when I was able to direct a look at her, she as well as Euphemie
were constrained and timid, sought, and at the same tine avoided
solitude, longed to pour out the overflowings of the heart to each
other or their beloved, yet could not find the time, or perhaps, could
not exert sufficient courage. All the same men, who, but a short time
previously sounded in concord together like heavenly tones, now
screamed in yelling discord against one another; the apparent sanctity
had changed into human folly, and each understood the other as little
as himself. The elder Beauvais seemed to guess a little the horrible
confusion, for he frequently looked at us all with dark and penetrating
glances.

"At length this twisted knot disentangled itself again. Euphemie's
brother began to recover, the former projects were brought forward
again, and my overwhelming passion was compelled to give place by
degrees to a calm resignation. This only was the case, for I was
determined to make good my supposed rights, until I perceived that the
delicate Euphemie must perish in this storm; Lucy at length declared
herself for Beauvais, and it was discovered, that his too intimate
intercourse with Lacoste was alone the cause of her reserve towards
him. The fear had risen within her, that he himself might be inclined
to the free-thinking opinions of his rival. So great was her love to
her church, that she had resolved, rather to sacrifice her dear
betrothed than to live in the proximity of persuasions, which she
considered as utterly profane. And it is true, the more zealous we were
to recognise truth and divinity in one form only, the more did Lacoste
seize every opportunity to express his incredulity. Indeed, however,
miserable he felt within himself, he sought by a certain vanity to
avail himself of every occasion to prove his strength of mind in
mockery, and in violent bursts of passion, his wretchedness had given
such a bitter turn to his feelings, that sometimes he stood amongst us
like an inspired prophet of Atheism, used such singular similies and
figurative expressions, in a language so touching and elevated, that
the pious maidens turned away from him with inward terror.

"We had all ceased to weep, we were reconciled and of peaceable, quiet
hearts, when Lacoste entered in the midst of our pathetic emotion and
religious conversation. Beauvais made known to him what he had learned
from Lucy, and that he (Lacoste) must quit our society in order that he
might not disturb the happiness of the lovers and their approaching
marriage, perhaps even render it impossible. This blow fell
unexpectedly on the unfortunate Lacoste; his whole emaciated, care-worn
frame trembled violently as if in convulsions, he was unable for a long
time to find words, and when at last they flowed from his colourless
lips, he tried to persuade us, that such a sentence of banishment from
former friends was at least too hard, that he was not able to subdue
his passion so quickly, or entirely to get rid of his persuasions, but
that he combated both, and would strive against them with still greater
energy in our company. But Beauvais was on this day armed with manly
courage and resolution, his intercourse hitherto with Lucy had
made him too unhappy; he insisted on the immediate departure of the
peace-destroyer; the Abbé Aubigny sided with him, the gentle Euphemie
was anxious, and Lucy herself the most decided; I also joined in this
chorus, and we all unanimously declared, as with one voice, that the
godless one should no longer linger near us; it was our duty, the love
of Christ itself required of us to banish him, because through his
intercourse with us, our religion would be sullied, perhaps even
endangered. When Lacoste perceived we were firm in our religious zeal,
he left off prayers and humiliations, and a tremendous fury overcame
the mortified man, his eyes flashed fire, and he cursed himself and us
with the bitterest execrations--that we might never find happiness,
that misery might pursue us, that Beauvais might reap nothing but grief
and sorrow from this marriage, and that he might live to see calamity,
distress, and crime on his dearest children."

Edmond sighed deeply. "Thus," continued the priest, "did the wretched
man leave us, and rushed like a madman out of the house; but a short
time only was requisite to recall us to our senses, and to penetrate us
with a burning shame. In the most devout temper of mind, in feelings of
the purest love, as we fancied, we had been cruel towards a fellow
brother, towards a friend, who deserved forbearance and compassion,
although he might have strayed into the path of error. Beauvais was the
first to recollect himself, and was angry with himself and all of us;
he rebuked us as inquisitors, who condemn in cold blood to the stake
all those that differ in opinion with them. A messenger was quickly
dispatched to his residence in town, but he had already in his fury
departed thence, no one knew whither. He had smashed to pieces
everything in the house there, and with his gigantic strength had so
ill-used a young waiter, who had attempted to appease him, that the
unfortunate lad had been given up to the surgeons as dead. He had so
cut his head with tables and chairs that he threw at the defenceless
boy and crushed both his legs, that it was doubtful whether he would
recover. If we had first been ashamed, we would now have concealed
ourselves in the caverns of the earth, when we learned that this young
lad, bred up in the most ordinary manner, and without any information,
as soon as he had recovered his senses, during excruciating tortures
from the dressing of his wounds, had prayed to God for the man, who had
injured him, that he would forgive and succour the unhappy man, who
must have been inexpressibly, infinitely wretched to have been prompted
in his sorrow to fall upon an innocent person. Who is the true
Christian? we asked ourselves, who the professor of the religion of
love? Ah! we were so zealous, we thought we had learned so much, that
we were able to teach the profoundest doctrine, we looked down daily
with contemptuous pity on those who were less enlightened, who were not
susceptible of our sublime emotions,--but now we were forced to confess
to ourselves, that we were yet standing on the other side of the
commencement; it was just, that we as miserable scholars, should be
compelled to go for instruction to a young and ignorant waiter at an
inn.

"I will conclude. Before my friend had yet celebrated his marriage, my
Euphemie took the veil. On the same day, we had thus arranged it, I
caused myself to be received into the bosom of her church. At first I
intended to become a monk, but as I had delayed, I suffered myself to
be consecrated a priest at a distance, and was transferred to this
solitary part of the mountains. Since then, I have never heard of my
friends, of Euphemie; I even wished to avoid ever seeing them again,
that I might not renew the pains of deep, vital wounds. And yet it is
but weakness, to turn away from the path of sorrow.--It had become
dark, and the two friends repaired to the lighted room, to partake of
the little evening meal. The young peasants who had been there before,
reentered, and led with them a young and beautiful girl. The latter
shewed the pastor the flowers and the ornaments, with which they
intended on the morrow to adorn the image of the mother of God. 'Now,
at last,' said the young and happy Caspar, 'is the time come, reverend
sir, that I can lead home my Louison, my bride. You know very well how
she desired to spend to-morrow's festival still as a virgin, in order
that she might be able to carry our Mary, and sing too. It has been
sorrow enough to me, to be compelled to defer my happiness for so long
a time; but for once she has persisted in her pious obstinacy. Well,
truly it is precious to have such a christian wife, such a holy
treasure. All is well, that everything has been so prosperous as yet;
for who can tell what evil may come between, when man places his fate
on such trials as these, and binds himself to hours and days. However
everything is already arranged for the wedding, and all danger and fear
is surmounted.' 'How thou talkest.' said the blushing Louison, from
whose eyes laughed her approaching happiness; and the fulfilment of all
her wishes. 'I have been friendly to thee for two years past, but must
I on that account love the mother of God less? Ah! the history as it
has come down to us, is too affecting, and therefore we must be
thankful towards her. Look you, my strange young gentleman, before
the village stood here, there was nothing far around but field and
forest. No vine, no olive-tree was to be found here. Then went a poor
wood-cutter, who had come from a distance into the wild forest to cut
down a tree for his trade. And as he applied his hatched to it, he heard
a sigh, and as he listened, a singing. A light appeared in the gloomy
forest, and above in the tree, in the oak trunk, there sat as if in a
hollow the mother of God, and commanded him to build a church on that
very spot. The man made known the miracle, the wood was cleared, and
behind the altar of our church stands still the same old oak trunk, in
which the holy virgin already dwelt from time immemorial as a testimony
and a remembrance. Thus was our good church founded, thus has the
village risen, and men have drawn near the beloved spot, for our Mary
would not thus dwell in solitude any longer. Look Caspar, thus but for
our gracious mother, there would be no house, no man here, and our dear
parent's house, and I, and thou would not be in the world, and upon
this spot of earth, and for all this must we be thankful to her.'

"All well and good," said Caspar, "but just because she is so amiable,
she would certainly have granted us with all her heart, our happiness a
long while ago. God and the saints are not like us men, who are so
ambitious on one little point, that we neglect true honour." "Is it not
true, Caspar," said Louison, laughing, "if thy new jacket with shining
buttons had not been ready, thou wouldst willingly have deferred the
wedding?" Thus laughing and jesting they withdrew again to go and seek
the clerk with whom they wished to consult how best they might attach
the flowers and garlands to the altar. The old man felt happy that his
penitents loved to approach him with this child-like confidence, and
respected him just as much as a father, while at the same time they
fearlessly associated with him in play and merriment. Edmond was grave
and melancholy; when it was time to separate to sleep, he abruptly
asked the priest, as he grasped his hand: "Well, reverend sir, did you
then afterwards in your station find that happiness of which you
dreamed in your youth?"

"Happiness," said the old man, "what is it men call thus? and of what
avail would their dreams be then, if it were to be met with in reality.
I soon saw in the beginning, with bitter sorrow, that I was too
enthusiastic, that my companions in the same calling, my superiors, did
not partake of my burning zeal; disapproved of it indeed, or declared
it heresy and false enthusiasm. They were too much occupied about their
community, the ensuring of their condition, their influence in the
world, and the binding of souls, to have kindled ardour within them, or
to have sought that faith in emotions, which was so necessary to my
life. Well, somewhat late, I undertook to examine the teachers of my
now abandoned church, and discovered that they were not altogether so
inimical to Christianity as I had fancied. I thought that I perceived
more and more distinctly that many roads lead to the Lord, and that he,
as he himself has promised, has prepared many dwellings in his house.
What the innovators, who have split asunder the church, desire, many of
the apostles and earlier teachers have already wished. I hope, this
disunion will just preserve the eternity of the Word. I also perceived,
that to form a spiritual state, to represent a great community, a great
deal by far of that enthusiasm of solitude must be checked, if it were
only to preserve the constitution pure, the strength which alone
renders possible that innate spirit of love for the present as well as
for the future, and prepares for it an asylum. It was granted to my
desire to live here in a small commune, retired from the whole world,
almost like a hermit and thus to suffice for myself. I honour the body
of our church, and am not angry with it, because it has no spirit; I
forgive it the letter, if sometimes it appears to annihilate the
spirit, because I trust in the wisdom and love of the Almighty, who
thus accomplishes all to his ends."

Thus they separated, Edmond could not sleep. How agitatingly did all
this old man's words work upon him, whom he had so unexpectedly met of
whom his father had so often spoken to him in his childhood. He felt
troubled, and prayed fervently, that at length this rebellion, which he
had been sent forth to excite, might not rage in this valley over the
venerable head of this peaceful hermit. But he indeed knew best how
impossible this was, how inevitable must be the dreadful event. In
short slumbers, fearful dreams tormented him, and with the dawn of
morning, he hastened over the mountain to Lacoste to send him off to
Roland and Cavalier.




                              CHAPTER IX.


In the mean while Martin's wound, through the watchful care of his
doctor, had astonishingly improved. Eveline had soon become
familiarised with him, and the young man seemed even more than the
father to doat on her. He exerted himself with humble devotedness to
perform every little service, and was only happy when he was able to
win a smile from the Lord of Beauvais. When the father now returned
from the fields with his daughter, the latter said to him: "Is it not
true, papa, that when I am grown up, I too shall be obliged to marry."

"Probably," answered the Lord of Beauvais, "Well then," continued she,
"give me the young handsome Martin for a husband." "Does he then please
thee so very much?" asked the father.

"Not merely on that account," said Eveline, "but because I should like
to make a good marriage, and such, as I have heard, one does not
frequently meet with. But with our Martin I should be perfectly happy,
and he behaves himself already quite as if he were your son. And I,
when I say to him, Martin! sit thee down here by me! Get up again!
Fetch that flower there for me! Now tell me something! or, Go away, I
should now like to be alone awhile! thus he does everything so exactly
at a signal, as I have never before seen. Neither Martha nor Joseph,
and least of all the old obstinate Frantz, that was eternally scolding,
would thus have obeyed me at a word; with such a smart, well-dressed,
sensible husband, the thing might turn out worse, and therefore I will
choose Martin, if you will allow me." "But he is only a servant," said
the Counsellor. "You have said yourself," prattled the child, "that
there was something in his appearance more than ordinary. He is
certainly the son of respectable people; through the rebellion we too
have fallen into misery, and it may be worse with us yet, one must
therefore look about by times for help."

"And if he will not have you?"

"I have already asked him this morning, then he laughed out quite loud,
what I had never seen him do before, but afterwards he became quite
grave again, sighed, and kissed me on the forehead. That I think is
quite answer enough."

In the little garden under the trellaced bower, they found Godfred and
the tall Dubois sitting at the oaken table; the wife was busy in the
kitchen. They sat down by them both; the musician was at that moment in
the midst of a lively performance. "Do you hear, gossip," cried he,
"the sound when I press and keep it down, do you know what that means?"

"Yes," said Godfrey, "it is pretty enough." "Well, attend," said
Dubois, "how I now pass over and strike the quaver, which afterwards
quivers in the deep tones, and how in the mean while my hand works here
in the bass. You now understand this many-voiced composition? Listen!
see, that is what I call fundamental composition."

"Yes, it is pretty," said Godfred--"he can now move all his paws."

"Do not think of your stupid dog," exclaimed Dubois, "you will not
often be so fortunate as to hear a sonata of Lulli. Collect your
thoughts well together. Hist! now we are passing over suddenly to the
flats? St! do you hear? Ah! the passage is exquisite."

"He must eat a rice mess this evening," said Godfred.

"Can you endure music, Peter Florval?" cried the musician, eagerly
addressing the State Counsellor; "Many nerves are unable to support it.
Now we are coming to the conclusion. Forte! forte! bound! continue!
what do you think? Ah, now comes, the most difficult passage. That is a
composition that requires fingering and skill. It flies right and left.
Now I play over with my right hand in the bass, now the into the
treble. See, now I work away crossing hands; now with all ten fingers!
and again! and again! I need indeed take my elbows to help. Over, over!
dispatch! Ah, it is admirably written. Do you not think so, gossip?"

"At first though he must only be allowed to run with caution," said
Godfred.

"Still those doggish vagaries?" said Dubois, sullenly, "banish, I pray,
those four-legged thoughts from your mind, and for once live entirely
for art."

"I must afterwards though cut the divining-rod," said Godfred in a loud
voice to himself.

"Stop!" cried the long musician, as he jumped up, "you here remind me
of a thought, I have wished for some time to impart to you. Do you know
what to do with such things?"

"So, so," said Godfred, "I discovered my well for myself by means of
it, and thus served several neighbours."

"And treasures!" cried Dubois.

"Water," said the surgeon, "is sufficiently precious; I have never
attempted anything else."

"You know, perhaps," continued the gossip; "It is not yet ten years
ago, since Jacob Aymar, from Dauphiné discovered by means of his
divining-rod, a murder that had been committed long before. The story
created the greatest sensation in Paris and at Lyons at the time. I was
then in Paris with my brother, the universally celebrated great doctor,
and saw myself the simple peasant, who could perform such miraculous
deeds. My brother, who is a very speculating philosopher, repaired
hither at this extraordinary discovery, and employed all sorts of
remarkable essays, so-called experiments in the presence of persons of
distinction, and they succeeded admirably. But the rod must be cut from
a hazel branch at midnight, at the full moon, and without uttering a
word at the time."

"That is superstition," said Godfred, "any rod can answer the purpose,
if the hand possesses the gift."

"What do you know," exclaimed the former, hastily, "about Philosophia
Occulta? you are always on the side of the sceptics, in everything. Do
you think that Moses' staff was anything else than such a divining-rod?
It must discover money just as easily as water; indeed, it must guess
the thoughts, and thereby ward off future crimes. Every city, every
village under a reasonable government should have its priviledged
rod-walker."

"Impiety," said Godfred, "sufficient calamity happens already without
this superstition. The silly hazel-rod should be applied to the backs
of all such fellows."

The musician made a wry face and would have answered angrily, when
Eveline uttered a loud joyous "Ah!" an old peasant passed by, followed
by a large dog. The Lord of Beauvais had risen, Eveline blushed, and at
a sign from her father remained behind. The old peasant cast a
searching glance into the bower, but the Counsellor looked a negative,
without those present being able to observe it, and the peasant
proceeded on his way without forming an acquaintance with the company.
But not so the great dog, that no sooner had he snuffed the air, than
he instantly leaped over the palings of the garden, and howling and
whining with joy, jumped in a hundred playful gambols round the
Counsellor and his daughter, and then lay down, placed his two paws on
their persons and recommenced his frolics anew. It was in vain that
Eveline cried out, "Away, away! what does this nasty strange dog want
here?" she wished to pretend to be angry, but the absurd antics of the
well-known Hector, forced her to burst into a loud laugh.

"Peter Florval," said Dubois, "you must be known to the dog."

"Not that I know of," replied the Counsellor, somewhat embarrassed; "he
must have come from some farm in my former neighbourhood."

"It may be so," answered the musician, "but the peasant though ought to
have come in here; what frightened him away from us? surely we are not
such great folks."

Hector, that now heard old Frantz whistle from a distance, stood
irresolute on the alert, looked inquiringly at the Counsellor, and then
seemed to wait for Frantz, and danced round Eveline again; at length,
however, a second loud whistle called him away. The Counsellor said, "I
must go and see whether the old man is known to me, come with me
daughter." They both, left the garden. "One easily becomes over
cautious," observed he, after having heartily welcomed his faithful
servant; "Had you only known for what we pass here, it had been better
to have come in at once. But you have not yet spoken with Mr. Vila?" "It
has been impossible for me to visit him yet," said Frantz, "for my
journey detained me too long: an accident brings me to this village,
where, indeed, I did not suppose you to be, the royalists, who in large
bands keep the mountains in a state of siege, obliged me to turn away
from the high road. But now, my dear master, no one can pass over the
frontiers, the watches and precautions have been redoubled; every one
in the country is already suspected, how much more so should he desire
to quit it, even the passports from government are no longer
respected."

It was agreed upon, that Franz should go to St. Hippolite to Vila, and
return after some time with news, but never, as had been determined at
an earlier period between the friends, to bring letter, or papers. When
the Counsellor returned to his dwelling with his child, the latter
said, "I should never in my life have thought Hector so stupid; he did
not pay the slightest attention, I might have made signs to him as long
as I liked, and yet he can hunt and perform other feats of skill, which
I should never have been able to learn; but whenever indeed I have
wished to tell him about the slightest fun, or when my brother was gone
out and that he would soon return, he has never understood me. If it is
only not the case with us human beings also. Perhaps we run thus along
just like little dogs by the side of angels, who insinuate much to us,
yet whose language and real meaning we can never comprehend."

"At least," said the father, "man should not dive too deeply into that,
nor with daring enthusiasm desire to confine to himself that which is
denied him by his Creator. But you cannot, however, understand that
yet, my little girl."

"It must be glorious," answered the little one, "to understand all the
thoughts which are permitted to us by God. All that he does grant to us
by degrees, if we are pious and kind! What I have always with delight
seen you do, when for whole hours you used to sit at your great books,
of which I did not understand a single word, and you so often lifted up
your eyes joyfully, and continued to reflect; you cannot think how well
it looks, and what a beautiful sight it is to behold a sensible man
engaged in deep meditation."

They had returned to their friendly home, and Martin with the others
were waiting for them. "It is really abominable," began dame Barbara,
"that the Camelsarts have become so impious, that this year no
processions can go to the village, which lies only six leagues from
hence. One may pass over the mountain in three hours, and I have never
before spent a year in the neglect of edifying things."

"There is no church festival then now a-days?" enquired Dubois. "Well
no wonder; nay, even the great annual markets have been abolished."

"The turkish great sultan and the heathenish Marrelburgh must have
negociated an alliance with the rebels, that we completely fall into
miserere, for one cannot know what the political conjunctive may
produce to us in this year: All indicatives, said our pastor only
yesterday, promise no particular property, and we may indeed be stuck
fast in the mud by the new year."

"Pray, spare us Gossip," said Dubois smiling, "the learned words, in
which indeed you have ever contrary wind, and you do not rightly
understand the tacking about (Laviren)."

"By, expressing myself thus," rejoined Barbara impatiently, "do I then
in any way squander your capital interest? I merely add thereto my own,
and whenever I may require mesicaments, there stands my old man, and
you need not offer me any strange Laxirung.

"Such phrases and notions are indeed not at all proper. What must my
honoured cousin think? he certainly imagines we live quite freely with
each other as if we had been married together. It remains a constant
truth, that whoever has been once a virtoso, can never again become a
simple-minded man, he is for ever lost to pomology, kindheartedness, or
hormanity."

"Do not become warm about it gossip," said the musician, "I have never
dreamed of offending you."

"No more," said she angrily, "to me of dreams and dreampeter stories;
for they are just as unsufferable to me as your sonneteering on my
table there. It too has not once dreamed, that in its old age it would
serve as a finger board.--

"Peace," said Godfred, "you do not understand all that, Barbara, for
the people over there are assembling: What is the matter then. Let our
gossip play the harpsichord, he uses his own fingers for it and not
yours, but something new must have occurred, I should like to hear, we
must question our neighbours."

Thus throwing unconsciously the different conversations together,
because he was curious, and yet he also wished to answer, he now
demanded of one that was running by, why the neighbourhood seemed thus
in an uproar. Now smart firing was heard close by. "There must be great
confusion on all sides in the valley," said a country woman.

All quitted the garden, and the firing of small guns was distinctly
heard as it was borne on the air.

"Ugh!" sighed Dubois, who could now climb the mountain. "One must hear
it much more distinctly up there."

"I like not," said Godfred, "to have any thing to do with war and war
cries. The unfortunate, beautiful, peaceful villages, until now we have
heard nothing of it, except once at the very beginning, now again we
receive the evil visit."

"There yonder," thought the woman, "they have the miracle-working
statue of the Mother of God, that will protect them all, the rebels
cannot effect any thing in opposition to that: Fire and sword, balls
and blows cannot prevail against the heavenly miracle."

Detached light cavalry scoured the village. They enquired the way and
desired to rejoin their companions from whom they had been cut off on
the mountains.

The trumpeter approached the officer with a face of importance, while
he pointed out to him a mountain road, upon which the horses, in a case
of necessity, could make their way through. "I have myself had the
honour to serve in the royal guards;" added he proudly. "As what?"
asked the young officer. "It was granted to me," said the former, "to
be first trumpeter of the regiment. How goes it, sir captain, with the
rebels?" "Grant to me, trumpeter," answered the leader, "to owe you the
answer until we meet again. The knaves are possessed by the devil, and
it faires badly with us. If you could blow them away, we would then
take you with us."

Thereupon they all galloped away, whilst the whole body raised a burst
of laughter. "Service is no longer as it was formerly," observed
Dubois, "the old, genuine soldier-like gallantry must give place to new
fashioned boasting, and venerable age and experience are of no value
among the raw striplings."




                               CHAPTER X.


In the mean while the calamity in which Edmond took a leading part and
too late repented, now burst forth. Cavalier, who this time conducted
every movement of the troops, had so prudently contrived his plans;
valour, and fortune were so favorable to him in their execution, and at
his command on all sides, that the enemy, who thought to have hemmed
him in, saw themselves surrounded. The royalists were forced to give
way, and were decoyed and driven into the narrow valleys, where they
could not employ their strength, the cavalry was cut off, and on
whatever side the soldiers turned, they met with their adversaries, who
fought from the advantageously situated heights.

In the morning, conformably to the arrangement made, the village
procession was put in motion at the festive sound of bells. The church
was beautifully decorated with garlands and flowers; the clerk began to
play the organ, and old and young assembled on the common dressed in
their holiday clothes, in order to join the young girls and follow the
procession into the church. The aged priest was standing already before
the altar, awaiting the congregation, when suddenly a panic seized and
rendered them motionless, for a loud and reiterated firing was
distinctly heard close at hand. "Jesus, Maria!" exclaimed the girls,
and the chains of flowers fell from their arms, the young men spoke of
weapons and defence, and the old looked at one another in alarm. The
firing approached nearer, and the priest and clerk had already quitted
the church. All was in fearful and anxious expectation. Psalm singing
was now heard from over the steep mountain. "They are the Camisards!"
shrieked all aloud and in terror; at the same moment a regiment in
reserve rushed from the left into the valley. The Camisards moved from
above precipitatedly, and jumped and slid down the vineyards, while
they hurled stones and balls among the bewildered, stupified, and
discouraged mass of soldiers. In vain the officers inspirited them,
some fell with their horses, others sought to retreat towards the
outlet of the valley on the right. The procession and the clergy, as
well as the congregation were mingled with the combatants, before they
were yet able to recover their senses. A few only succeeded in flying
to their houses.

"They are beaten!" cried Catinat furiously, who mounted on a great
black horse and roared, "After them! destroy them in the name of the
Lord! and throw fire and sword into these cottages and idolatrous
temples!" Ravanel rode on a small horse at his side and was already
stained with blood, for he was ever foremost in the slaughter. Favart,
Stephen, Anton, and the diminutive François had nimbly clambered down
the mountain. Houses were already seen burning in the distance, the cry
of murder from the inhabitants mingled with the rejoicing shouts of the
victors and the clashing of arms. Stephen now attempted to take the
crucifix, which the youthful Caspar, as leader of the procession
carried, but the latter struck him so forcibly on the head with it,
that his fair locks were smeared with blood, and the youth without
drawing another breath, fell to the ground. When Anton, the shoemaker
saw this, he fell furiously upon Caspar: "Tear the cruel idolaters to
pieces!" screamed he, and struck Caspar with his short sword, who was
on the point of using his weapons on the neck, so that in a moment he
was red with a stream of blood. Louison, who saw that her beloved was
lost, uttered a piercing shriek of woe, tore the short, stumpy Anton by
the hair to the ground, and battered his brains out with the bar of the
crucifix, which Caliper had now let fall. A murderous shout of
bloodthirstiness rang fearfully through the troops of exasperated
rebels, and François was the first to cut down the beautiful Louison,
whereupon an indiscriminate massacre raged in every cottage, in every
street, upon every little bridge, and in the already burning church, so
that the gurgling brook soon rolled in blood-red waves.

In the meanwhile Edmond stood gloomy and despairingly above on the
steep rock, and saw now distinctly, now obscured by the smoke the
streets and houses of the village beneath him. The smoke now rolled
away, the royalists had all fled, a short cry and wailing, the
inhabitants were all slain, cottages burned right and left, the fire
shone through all the trees, and now the flames arose in the church and
the peaceful dwelling under his feet, which had hospitably sheltered
him that very night, already rolled in columns of smoke, the fire
shortly raised the roof, and below was a universal glow of destruction
and death, reflected in the bloody, splashing brook, all like a fiery
river of hell, where yesterday an Eden had bloomed. The green trees
defended themselves from the fiery streams, but they were compelled to
bend and yield to its force. The glowing waves burst up to the heavens
over the church tower, and as a child, unconsciously smiling, plays
even in death, the clock struck the hour once more, and for the last
time, and then fell with the tower and the beams of the roof with a
loud crash into the abyss of fire and smoke.

Edmond sat down indifferent to all, and incapable of further thought.
After a while he saw a troop of his brethren ascending the heights by
different routes. Bertrand appeared soon afterwards on another road
mounted with several horsemen. "Are you defeated?" asked Edmond, as
they assembled near him. "No," cried Bertrand, "God has given us
compete victory, the valleys are strewed with the bodies of the
royalists; Cavalier has advanced yonder against the fugitives; Roland
has now probably beaten another column, and Solomon their third
division. But, as Cavalier knows, that several horsemen have fled, he
fears they might make a circuit and fall upon him in the rear, we must
therefore still occupy these heights."

Edmond had not the courage to ask what had taken place in the village
below, but Bertrand began of his own accord. "Now, for once, the hard
hearts have been compelled to taste our vengeance, we have at length
washed our hands in their blood. They will fear us, brother; the
trembling of those that have escaped to-day will teach the others to
tremble too. Like destroying angels, Ravanel and Catinat cut their way
through them, where these stand, not one of the enemy expects mercy. I
have now though been enabled to celebrate a great festival, such a
jubilee as I have ever wished for. But many of our brethren, and our
best lie there below. The despairing peasants have armed themselves
almost in greater numbers than the soldiers. Ah! poor François, the
child has been torn by the beasts, Anton, and the flute player,
Stephen, have had their beads smashed, one of the villains threw my
brother, when the poor fellow was already wounded, into the fire, even
the wretched clerk was massacred by our Everard, whereupon I pitched
the rogue head over heels directly into a deep well."

"And the aged priest?" asked Edmond, scarcely audible,

"Him," said one of the troop, "I saw for a long while standing with his
prayer-book in the midst of the tumult on the common; right and left
men and women were slain by his side, so that I thought, now, now this
one or that must strike him. But it was as if they did not see him at
all. I afterwards lost sight of him; surely he must be lying there
among the dead bodies. Do you know anything of him, brother
Christophe?"

A wild looking man, spotted with blood, diminutive and black, his whole
face almost overgrown with bristly hair, said grinning: "The old
grey-headed knave is certainly a sorcerer, for when I had already
killed several of the idolaters, and that he still continued to stand
quietly there, and I was vexed that none of my comrades had ever aimed
at him, in my fury I advanced to hew him down; already I raised my arm,
then the spectre looked quite quietly at me, and his old thin lips
smiled at it, almost as if he would have wept, but I tell you, from his
large blue eyes such a spell shot through my eyes into my heart, that
terrified I let foil my arm and was unable to do any thing to the
rascal. A long time after, wishing to rest myself a little, I perceived
him still in his black garments like a dark cloud between the
combatants, wandering through flame and smoke and over the slain,
perfectly collected and as if no one could do him harm. I think he is
gone into the burning church and will probably be burned there."

Edmond awoke from his dreams to life again at this fearful recital.
"Thus, does the guest requite," said he to himself, "the hopeful son of
the friend, of thy youth. Is not that called love for love? Now I am no
longer indebted to thee for thy hospitable reception."

"Hollo! hollo!" shouted Christophe wildly. "Our brethren yonder are
bringing the sacrificing priest of Baal. So much the better, he shall
be slain here before the eyes of the all seeing God."

Edmond cast a withering glance on the wretch, then looked down and
recognised already close beneath him the pastor bound, whom Favart, the
swarthy Eustace and other Camisards were dragging up. "Here we bring
the knave dear brethren," exclaimed Favart, just as they gained a firm
footing on the level rock, and dragged up the old man with cords.

When the exhausted priest was drawn up, he cast such a look of
lassitude, pity, and resignation to the will of heaven on the youth,
that the hair of the latter stood on end with terror. "God greet you
with your booty!" roared he to Favart and Eustace, "but woe to him
among you, who approaches the old man even by a look, for such a one
will I tear with my teeth." Favart and Eustace stepped back, turning
pale, and Edmond loosened himself the cords of the venerable man, then
pressed him in his arms, laid his grey head upon his throbbing breast,
and a convulsive sobbing prevented all utterance and restrained his
tears. "Why," said the aged man, "should I alone remain of all the
rest? the poor shepherd, whose flock they have slaughtered?" "What is
that?" vociferated Christophe, stammering with rage; "will they rob us
of our property that we have purchased with our blood? we have left
gold and silver to be consumed in the burning churches, but the life of
the idolater is our booty. And who will take it from us? A coward, who
without drawing a sword, here safe in the distance, has contemplated
our life endangering labour. Away with that! Apostates are we ourselves
if we bear the like from an idolater, who has not yet abandoned his
former wickedness."

He would have rushed upon the holy man but Edmond intercepted him with
the swiftness of lightning, and threw him with such giant strength upon
the rock that all his limbs rattled, and he remained lying apparently
senseless. Old Favart beheld this with anger, and Eustace, the
charcoal-burner, became wrathful. Bertrand stepped wildly forward, and
a group of clamorous Camisards pressed round Edmond and the priest.
"Who art thou?" exclaimed Favart, "that thou darest play the master
here? Wilt thou act the nobleman here?"--He seized the priest, and
Eustace also laid a hand upon him. Though as Edmond stepped up to them,
Eustace, from old accustomed obedience, let go his hold, and Favart was
torn back by the powerful youth. "Lord, Edmond, Beauvais!" cried the
man, "our king!" They struggled with each other, and Edmond hurled him
down the mountain. "Our brother's neck is broken!" cried they all
wildly together, and rushed upon Edmond with drawn weapons, who in this
moment had been lost, if Abraham Mazel with a fresh troop had not
arrived: Clary, Castanet, Marion, and Vila were among these. Through
respect for Mazel they were quiet, and Edmond was enabled to lay the
affair before the friends. "We would not be cruel towards the
defenceless," said Mazel. Clary remembered Roland's express command to
spare the priest; the eloquent Marion exhorted and persuaded the
grumblers, and it was determined that the priest, while the guides
should clothe themselves in the uniforms of the slaughtered, should be
conducted to Florac, that he might there claim the protection of his
superior. Edmond offered to take this service upon himself, and Eustace
and several of the brethren would accompany him on this expedition.

Conversation and dispute were interrupted, while this scattered and cut
off band advanced, whose union with the defeated soldiers Cavalier
wished to prevent. The few cavalry went to meet them, the infantry
placed themselves in order, and a sanguinary combat began anew on the
height. Mazel led them on, and the bravery of the rebels made the
military, who were already discouraged, give way. Edmond and his
followers were with the young captain and his light horse, who were
exposed at a distance in an obstinate combat. The horse of the young
man was already killed, but he fought intrepidly and indefatigably,
however little he could promise him>self a fortunate issue. Edmond
advanced, and cried out, "Surrender young man; you behave gallantly, it
would grieve me were you killed here uselessly. I promise you
protection and good treatment until you are exchanged for some of ours
taken prisoners."

"Miserable rebel!" exclaimed the captain, "dost thou think, that I would
receive pardon from such a villain as thou? I know thee, Beauvais,
perjurer, apostate; the executioner at Nismes awaits thee already.
Look down into that valley, incendiary, and still speak of good
treatment!"---He looked searchingly at the youth, glanced down on his
sword and fired his pistol at Edmond, it missed, and Edmond at the same
moment shot a ball through his breast, so that he fell dead. The
remainder were killed in the mêlée, the sergeant, who was still mounted
fled precipitately from the height down the rock, Mazel and his
followers were already far distant pursuing the enemy.

Edmond descended with those who would accompany him. In a vineyard they
enjoyed the repose and frugal fare which could be quickly prepared for
them. The old man was revived by a few drops of wine. "Beauvais, art
thou my son?" began he, as he saw himself alone with Edmond.--"I am
called," said the latter, "after your baptismal name, Edmond; as a
testimony how my father has ever loved you."

"Ah, thou dear friend of my youth," said the old man with a deep sigh,
"why must I become acquainted with thy son under such circumstances? In
this way then have the dreams of thy love, our religious inspirations
been embodied? Thus are our fanatic presentiments fulfilled? To these
murders and burnings, to these horrible cruelties must we awaken and
call our whole youth folly and illusion? Ah! verily poor Louison, thy
love to thy protectress has been badly recompensed. You were right
unfortunate Caspar, that you did not know in what moment and in what
sufferings your happiness would terminate. Now you lie together in a
bloody embrace. Why cannot I say to myself, no, this is but a dream!
Awake thou miserable old man, and find thy commune, thy children, the
former tranquil repose, the sweet peace, and thy beloved church again!
Woe! woe! to ye, ye poor, ye innocent! and threefold woe upon the
wretches who brought this horror into these distant valleys."--He
covered his head, and wept bitterly.

The twilight was extending itself. The pastor wished to visit once more
the ruins of his church, and they descended the mountain. Edmond and
the priest went alone among the fallen walls. All was destroyed
together, the alter only still remained and the statue of the virgin
was blackened, though tolerably preserved. The old man took it down and
buried it at some distance. "Wherefore?" asked Edmond. "Will not the
multitude," said the aged man, "cry out a miracle again, when they find
this statue the only thing still nearly preserved in this heap of
ashes? Who knows what horrible blood-thirstiness may be enflamed by
this accident, what monstrous, insatiable vengeance attached to this
wooden symbol in the name of God, in order to satisfy under pretext of
eternal love, the horrible feeling, which never should be awakened in
the breast of man. No, what may be an innocent amusement in times of
peace and happiness, and serve as an exalting, edifying, pious
institution, often becomes a banner for the human mind if once wild
rebellion has swayed, it followed exultingly by all the horrors of
hell. I should consider myself a murderer, if I did not bury this
protectress to-day, as our neighbours will inter the poor unprotected
to-morrow. Should the Eternal Decree will it otherwise, he will easily
render my trouble unnecessary."

As they again issued from the ruins, they were met by the tall figure
of Lacoste. "Edmond," cried he, "you and your compeers carry on a
damnable trade. I have kept myself concealed the whole day, that I
might not look upon the enormity. The ceremony of your worship is too
severe. Your God is indulgent, for otherwise he would shew himself
somewhat more rigorous in it. I thought I had already experienced every
thing and understood every body; but in my present high school I still
learn many new things."

How astounded were Lacoste and the priest as each found again a friend
of his youth in the other. "You are then that pious, sighing, youth,"
exclaimed Lacoste in amazement, who in the eyes of his Euphemie would
see and find the whole Empyraeum? We now wander afar over the flowers
of your religious elysium. But tread firmly, for these eyes and noses
no longer feel our heels, these faces are only the discarded masks,
which still lie about from yesterday's gala. Yes, these masqueraders
have destroyed much clothing, that can never be mended again, they have
been reduced to tatters at once by extravagant insolence. Aye! aye!
Edmond, your reverend cordelier, his hair is become white since then,
like the yellow flowers of the meadow, which the first blast uproots.
Where is Euphemie? Where Lucy, where our tears and sighs of those days?
You have become a little old man in an instant: and, is it not true,
that those youthful feelings appeal to you even now sometimes, but like
dumb children, with their countenances? Now perform a little bit of a
miracle with your superabundant love, and awaken these dead again which
lie here in our way. But the question is, whether they would thank you
for it, since they have once made a step to the other side, though
rather in a neck-breaking manner; for if examined closely, that so
called life is a cursedly tedious and base affair, and if one is to
expect jokes like these every day, such as have been practised on these
fellows here, then really one must be damnably sunk in bad habits, not
to put an end to this miserable existence by a single gash on the
throat. But thus indeed are we all.

In these conversations they passed the night. The venerable pastor
replied but little. Neither did his exhaustion permit him, which was so
great, that he was often compelled to rest. As the hours passed the
more agitated he became and the more he wished to end quickly his days
in the ruins of his beloved commune, for he did not know why he should
still wish to live. Edmond talked to him filially and affectionately,
as a son, and the old man heartily forgave all the evil that the youth
had drawn upon him, "If I could, only see thy father once more before
my death!" exclaimed he much affected, or--grief did not permit him to
say more, but Edmond guessed what he meant. After they had reposed
several times, with the early dawn they reached a village, which lay
pleasantly among some green trees. They determined on breakfasting
here, in order to be able to continue their way to Florac, Edmond felt
as if his whole life and being would dissolve in dream and mist. As
they arrived before a small house, in the upper story of which some men
appeared, but who quickly drew back at the sight of the regimentals,
Edmond said to himself, "I am on the point of becoming mad, for I now
see the figures of my mind; it was indeed as if I perceived my father
and Christine, and Eveline; and only because I here escort the two
friends of his youth." They were going to inquire for the inn of an old
man, who was gathering herbs in a small garden, when the wife came out
of the house and begged of them to accompany her, since she herself had
business at the inn, and that it was not so easy to find it, because it
lay in another street, and in an out of the way place, where there was
but very little business carried on, and had no communication with any
high road.

With this information, the chatterer accompanied them to the neat
little inn of the place. The people had only just risen, and were
terrified when they saw the soldiers, for since the attack on the not
far distant district, the whole country was filled with terror. Wine,
bread, and warm drink also revived the weary travellers, and Eustace
and Bertrand with some others kept watch, that they might not be
unexpectedly surprised. "Who lives in the upper story of your house?"
inquired Edmond of the old woman.

"Ah! good heavens!" responded she, "they are poor unfortunate people,
whose property the wicked rebels have burnt. A peasant, a poor cousin
of mine, has now fled to me with his daughter and his sister's son, and
who knows whether the flambeau of wrath, with which the Lord of Hosts
in his anger will light us home, is not already on its way to our
little cottage. For where is safety, or security now a days as
formerly? Verily, all is affliction and warfare, and the strangest
fatality drives men here and there, as has happened only in old
marvelous stories, and the troubles only increase, and suspicion
becomes greater. Where one only sees a soldier, one might creep into a
mole's hole, even though one should be of the very best and exact
faith."

"Is your trumpeter not come back yet?"

"He must have clean disappeared," answered the old woman; "but my
foolish husband grieves about the knave, and thinks that some
misfortune must have happened to him in the mountains, because the long
bellows was already old and broken down, and is sometimes troubled with
a bad cough. As if it mattered much about such vagabonds, when so many
respectable people bite the grass, who have more connexion and
authority than the adventurer, who wants to play Moonseignor here."

"Aye, truly," said the landlord, "but how goes it though with the
Catholics, particularly with the poor clergy, as well as with the old,
venerable lord there, who has now fled likewise? Some of them are said
to have already arrived at Florac yesterday. The convents too suffer. A
wayfarer arrived here in the night, who brought intelligence of an
attack on a castle, where several holy women had been on a visit, who
may belong to Nismes or Montpellier. Crosses and misery are in the
whole land. And whence has the misfortune come? Each party lays the
blame on the other."

They set forward again, and those who were placed to keep watch
rejoined the troop. A fiery red had spread itself over the whole
heavens, as far as the eye could reach, when they emerged from the
valley, the sky was illumined with the most singular and varied burning
lights. From a wood, situated on an eminence on the left, rushed an
aged female attendant, and cried, "Oh, God be praised, that I see royal
troops! Help, my good mistress!" she ran back, and led an old nun, who
appeared fainting. They approached, they revived her with wine. When
the priest heard her family name called, he exclaimed, "Euphemie!" and
dropped down before her. It was she, she had escaped with difficulty
with her attendant from the burning castle, where she had passed the
night in the greatest anguish. The old man told her his name. "Hast
thou then at times thought of our youth?" asked he in a trembling
voice, "Can one forget life?" replied the dying Euphemie, with closing
eyes. "And thou, Edmond?"----"I lived for thee, I die with thee," spoke
the aged man, and both expired exhausted by the too strong emotion
caused by finding each other again so wonderfully, while the rays of
morning shone like a glory on their sanctified features.

Carts which came from Florac, and whose owners heard from Edmond the
brief account, conveyed the bodies to the town, that they might be
interred in consecrated ground.




                        END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.



              PRINTED BY J. TEUTEN, BOND STREET, CHELSEA.












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