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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. I.



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




                                PREFACE.


A predilection for the productions of TIECK and a desire to introduce
this remarkable work of the great German Poet to a larger circle of the
reading world: were the chief inducements, on the part of the
translator, for causing it to appear in an English form. As far as
regards the manner in which the translation itself has been executed,
the writer will be allowed to affirm, that the original has been, in
every sense, as closely adhered to, as the idiom of the English
language would admit of; to say, however, whether those efforts have
been attended with any corresponding success, must be humbly left to
the judgment of the discerning critic.




                           HISTORICAL NOTICE

                                OF THE

                      "REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES."

From the German of the CONVERSATIONS LEXICON, 9th edit. Brockhaus.


As far back as the twelfth century, religions sects were formed in this
district (the Cevennes) under the names of "The Poor of Lyons," "The
Albigenses," "Waldenses," &c. Notwithstanding the crusades and
inquisitions raised against them by the popes for centuries, numerous
remnants had preserved themselves, who, when the Reformation found a
footing, obtained a signal increase, and finally, through the edict of
Nantes, were protected from further persecutions. But when Louis XIV.,
1685, revoked the edict and purposed to reconduct all his subjects by
force into the bosom of the Catholic Church, then began a series of the
most cruel persecutions against the Protestant inhabitants of the
districts bordering on the Cevennes, especially after the peace of
Ryswick, 1697. Missionaries were accompanied by dragoons in order to
support by force of arms the preachings of the monks, (hence these
conversions called _dragoonings_) and the tax collectors were directed
to require all, especially those, suspected of protestantism, to pay up
their taxes. The most savage cruelties, in which children were torn
from their parents, in order to bring them up in the Catholic faith,
men, who were gone to their houses of prayer, sent to the galleys, and
women thrown into prisons, their priests hanged, the churches
destroyed, at length produced despair. Those, who did not emigrate,
fled into the retired mountain districts.

Prophets and prophetesses arose, promising victory to the peasantry,
and esteeming him a martyr, who fell into the hands of the dragoons. A
remarkable fanaticism took possession of the Protestant people, which,
in many, even in children, shewed itself in the most fantastic trances
of a really epidemic nature. See Bruyes "Histoire du fanatisme de notre
temps" (Utrecht, 1757). The struggle began first with the murder of the
tax-gatherers; the assassination of the Abbé du Chaila, 1703, who was
at the head of those dragoonings, at length gave the signal for a
general rising. The revolted peasants were called "Camisards," either
from the provincial word Camise (shirt) in derision of their poverty,
or, because they wore a shirt in their surprises by which they might
recognise one another, or from the word "Camisade" (nightly surprise).
Their numbers and their fanaticism continued to increase, Louis's power
was rendered the less effective in putting an end to this insurrection,
as the chain of mountains presented sufficient places of refuge, and
his troops were every moment in danger of being cut off and surprised,
or of being destroyed by cold and hunger. The boldness of the Camisards
increased daily, especially as they placed at their head intrepid
leaders, among whom Cavalier[1] particularly distinguished himself. The
state of affairs became most critical, for Louis XIV., when the Spanish
war of succession required him to extend his forces on all sides, and
Marlborough and the Duke of Savoy, through promises and small succours,
fired still more the Camisards. On the other hand, Pope Clement XI.
in 1703, proclaimed a plenary summons to a crusade against them, which
was put in execution. Notwithstanding this, they almost totally
defeated the troops of the Marshal Montrevel sent against them with
20,000 men, in 1703, and the horrible cruelty of the latter only
excited still more their fanaticism. Recompensing evil with evil, they
strangled eighty-four priests in the diocese of Nismes and burned two
hundred churches, after 40,000 of their own party had been put to the
wheel, burnt, and hanged. At length, in order to give to the perilous
state of affairs another turn, Louis recalled Marshal Montrevel, 1704,
and sent Marshal Villars. One of the chiefs of the Camisards meditated
an alliance with the Duke of Savoy in Dauphiné. The whole country from
the coast to the highest crest of the mountains was more or less in
their hands and with the inhabitants of Nismes, Montpellier, Orange,
Uzes, &c., &c., they maintained communications, which secured to them
bread, arms, and other necessaries. A quantity of bells had been melted
down by them to serve for cannons, and Cavalier acquitted himself like
a skilful general. The Catholic peasantry ventured neither to cultivate
the land, nor to carry necessaries of life into the towns. Thus stood
affairs, when Villars on the 21st of April, arrived in Nismes. He too
was incapable, of subduing the insurgents by force of arms. He
therefore decided on trying the effect of milder measures, and
proclaimed a general amnesty for all, who would lay down their arms,
and set at liberty himself such prisoners as swore fealty. In fact he
disarmed in this manner several communities. On the other side he
menaced with the harshest punishment, and to give weight to it,
moveable columns were formed, which marched from a given point in every
direction, upon which again detachments were ordered to remain as a
reserve, to succour those who might make head against the enemy in the
open field. Those, who were made prisoners with arms in their hands,
were either killed on the spot, or hanged, or broken on the wheel in
Alais, Nismes, and St. Hippolyte. Villars succeeded so far, that
already on the 10th of May, Cavalier gave up the cause of the Camisards
as lost, and concluded a treaty, wherein he promised to surrender with
his party on condition that they should obtain liberty of conscience
and the right to assemble privately without the towns for the service
of God, that the prisoners should be set free, the emigrated recalled,
and the confiscated estates and privileges restored. On the 22nd the
confirmation of the treaty arrived from Paris, and at the same time
permission for Cavalier to form a regiment in the King's pay. In the
mean while, however, the affair rapidly took another turn, particularly
in consequence of the activity of Dutch emissaries, who, brought money
and weapons, and promised the support of their republic. Cavalier had
gone to Anglade to superintend the organization of his regiment, when
the wild peasantry, excited by his lieutenant and inspired by their
prophets, set out and marched into the neighbouring woods, declaring
firmly, the King should restore the edict of Nantes, without which
there was no security for them. At length, however, Villars succeeded
by his personal influence and by cutting off from them all means of
subsistence, to bring them under subjection. Many of them fled and
entered into the Piedmontese service, where they formed a regiment that
took part in the Spanish war, and later under Cavalier's command, was
destroyed at the battle of Almanza, which Berwick gave to the Count of
Stahremberg on the 25th of April, 1707. The whole insurrection,
however, was not, quelled by that subjugation. There were still
multitudes, among which one particularly distinguished itself, led on
by a certain Roland; but Villars sought only to become possessed of the
leaders. Roland, when taken prisoner, was shot by a dragoon, whereupon
the remaining leaders surrendered, and cards of security were given to
them, and their adherents by the Marshal, which secured them from every
persecution. Yet, before Villars had fully stilled the rebellion, he
was replaced by the Marshal of Berwick, who fell upon the chief leaders
of the Camisards in Montpellier, caused them to be burnt and broken on
the wheel, and the country cruelly laid waste. Driven to extremity by
this, the Camisards rose once again with more enthusiastic inspiration.
They were, however, too weak to finish this warfare successfully. Thus
they died, some with arms in their hands, some as emigrants, others
submitted in order to preserve their faith, even under the greatest
oppression, or were forcibly constrained to become Catholics. Thus
ended this insurrection with the total devastation of the province and
the annihilation, or exile of a large portion of its inhabitants. Since
then, in the South of France, merely a war of opinion, lay smouldering,
which after the restoration of the Bourbons in the year 1815, gave rise
to frightful scenes in Nismes, and at other places. Only when in March
1819, a great number of the inhabitants of the Cevennes threatened the
town of Nismes--"Thirty thousand men are ready to descend from their
mountains, with the weapons of despair, if the salvation of their
brethren demand it,"--the persecutions of the Protestants were put a
stop to. See "Histoire des Camisards," (2 vols, London, 1744) Court de
Gebelin, "Le Patriote français et impartial," (2 vols, Villefranche
1753) by the same "Histoire des troubles des Cevennes, ou de la guerre
des Camisards," (3 vols, Villefranche, 1760, new edition 1820) Schulz,
"Geschichte der Camisarden" (Weimar 1790), and Tieck's novel, "Der
Aufruhr in den Cevennen" (Berlin 1826).


[Footnote 1: Jean Cavalier, principal leader of the Camisards in the
war of the Cevennes, born 1679 in the village of Rebaute, near Anduse,
vas the son of a peasant, he lived at Geneva, and was employed in
agriculture, when the persecutions of the reformed inhabitants of the
Cevennes under Louis XIV. reached their highest pitch, and caused the
breaking out of the troubles, enflaming his enthusiasm for his faith,
and inducing him to return home. He was twenty-four years old, when he
placed himself at the head of armed multitudes, whom he knew how to
discipline with great art, and to rule over with transcendent talent,
leading them, with courage, circumspection and success against the
royal army. The confirmation of the treaty, which he, despairing of the
ultimate success of his cause, had concluded with Marshal Villars,
Louis XIV. sent to him accompanied with the commission of colonel, and
the grant of an annual pension of 1200 livres, permitting him at the
same time to raise a regiment of his own in the king's pay. Called to
Versailles by the Minister Chamillard, he saw that he was watched there
with distrust, and he fled secretly to England by way of Holland,
entering there into military service. In the Spanish war then raging,
he commanded a regiment formed of refugee Camisards in the service of
Piedmont and distinguished himself particularly in the battle of
Almanza, in New Castile, on the 25th of April, 1707, where he was
severely wounded. At a later period he became Major-general and
Governor of Jersey; and died, 1740, at Chelsea.]






                                  THE
                       REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES.




                               CHAPTER I.


"Is Edmond not yet come home?" asked his father of the servant, as he
walked up and down the great hall of his country mansion.

"No, my Lord," answered the old man, "and it were well that he
returned before evening; for a storm is gathering over the mountains,
which bodes us no good."

At this moment a little girl entered with her toys, and sat down at the
large hall table. "The storm is raging again so fearfully up in the
mountains," said she carressingly, "that I will stay near you, dear
papa, I cannot bear such weather, why should there be such noise and
thunder in the world?"

"Aye, truly," rejoined Frantz, the old domestic, "and all the misery
that has oppressed us for so many years past and to which we see no
end!"

"He only knows, who has thus afflicted us," replied the father,
sighing; "and he will accomplish his own wise purpose."

"Papa!" exclaimed the child, looking up from her play, "our good
Eustace, the charcoalburner, who used to bring me such pretty little
stones from the wood, and who lately brought the large wild bird, which
he said, was a thrush; the black good man is now become a satan too."

"What art thou chattering there about!" said her father angrily; "who
told you this?"

"Martha, my nurse," replied the child; "for he is now in rebellion
against his God and his king, until they take him prisoner and burn, or
otherwise put him to death, for he will no longer be a Christian;
Martha said so this morning, while she was dressing me, and she intends
going to the town next week to see the other satans put to death; pray,
allow her to go, dear papa? she thinks it will more particularly
confirm and strengthen her in her faith, for she too has gone a little
astray, and has almost fallen into evil ways. The evil one is very
powerful in the neighbourhood, particularly up yonder in the mountains,
he is quite at home there; we are much better down here. Papa, the figs
are becoming ripe already in the garden."

"Thou chatterer!" said her father, in a tone of displeasure, "I shall
take care that you are not so much alone with the old woman."

"It is true enough," interrupted the domestic, "Eustace is up in the
mountains with Roland, and has joined the Camisards, his wife and
children sit mourning in their desolate home; they are destitute of
food, and dread being arrested and, perhaps, condemned on his account."

"I believe," said the Lord of Beauvais, "that you have already relieved
them, my good Frantz, if not, do it now; give them what necessaries
they may require, but do it prudently, that we may not be called upon
to answer for it; for in this general affliction of want and confusion,
every thing is suspicious. A man may do as he pleases provided he
becomes not a tyrant, and places himself on a level with the
executioner."

"Like our Marshal," exclaimed the old man impetuously, "like our
Intendant; like the lords there in Nismes, who in the name of God
sacrifice their brethren. I have sent some relief to these poor people
already, and will provide them with more; it is only a drop of water in
the sea, but still in this distress it will comfort a few poor
creatures."

The servant retired, and as her father turned a mournful glance towards
the mountains, his little daughter approached him smilingly, kissed his
hand, and said: "Papa, pray let not you and Frantz became wicked and
rebels, for then brother Edmond and I would go to heaven quite alone,
and I should not like that; I can never agree with Edmond, he is so
terribly pious, you are much better, though your faith may not be of
the best kind."

"You say truly, _terribly_ pious;" said the old man, "Oh heaven, when
will it please thee to deliver us from these afflictions?"

"There comes Edmond along the garden," said the child, "it will be
better not to say anything to him about the wicked Eustace, for we
shall have noise and disputes again; he does not like such things at
all."

Edmond entered, bowed, put his gun in the corner, and laid aside his
pouch. A large dog came bounding up to the little girl, who played with
him, and held up some pieces of broken bread.

"Where have you been this morning, my son?" inquired his father.

"At the Intendant's, at the Lord of Basville's," replied Edmond without
raising his eyes. "Yonder in Alais, where he will stop for a few days
in consequence of the trial of the rebels. He commends himself to you,
but he is rather surprised that you should have refused the appointment
offered, and thinks that the Marshal would understand it still less."


"The Marshal, my son," began the father, not without emotion, "there
are many things that he cannot understand. I thank my God that I
retired to this solitude more than ten years ago, for were I still in
office, my conscience would compel me to resign it now, and that
perhaps would be still more incomprehensible to these two valiant
gentlemen. I neither envy nor admire their patriotism and God preserve
our family from the fate of rendering such services to the king.
Therefore, my dear, my beloved son, I once more give you a paternal
warning to abandon these men, it would send me to the grave to see you
act like them. What do they require of us? no open, direct service, no
assistance which becomes citizens, and which all honorable men are
ready to render: but we are required to turn spies and betray our
fellow-subjects and our countrymen, to give them up to the rack and to
the stake, and to rejoice in the inhumanity which depopulates the land,
and congratulate ourselves at having incurred the hatred of God and of
all mankind, and if we enquire into this too closely, we are looked
upon as traitors to our king and country."

"Is it ever permitted to a subject to enquire?" hastily rejoined
Edmond, "I am aware of your sentiments, my father, and I regret them;
but ought the subject to enquire into this? May I be allowed to ask
where is the submission, where are the ties that bind him to the state,
where the holiness, the sublimity, the piety, the honor by which we are
men and citizens, and upon which our virtue and existence repose; if I
am permitted to say: here I renounce my obedience to you, this you dare
not command, though you were my king; though my country, even heaven
itself should speak to me through your revered lips."

"You are right, my son," replied the old man, "and because you ask
this, you will ever be in the right; the ruler should with humble piety
and with godly fear keep within these limits, respect the conscience of
his subjects, keep inviolate the promises, the oaths which his noble
predecessors made, and which he has repeated after them, and not hurl
with his own hand the burning brand into his granaries, by raising up
extortioners, judges, and persecutors!--And woe to those, who thus
abuse the weakness of his age, his pliable conscience and their own
influence; and woe to him who is appointed to fill these offices to
slaughter good and pious men; but tenfold woe to the upright man, who
from ambition, or a mistaken sense of duty, advances and sets fire to
the stake, and extends the rack still more horribly."

"It grieves me, my father," said Edmond, suppressing his anger, "I am
overwhelmed with inexpressible anguish at being compelled to feel
myself so immeasurably distant from you in all that is dearest,
holiest, most natural and nearest to my heart! From the moment that I
was capable of thinking and feeling, our ancient and holy religion has
been to me the most sacred, the most sublime, in her alone my heart
lives, all my wishes and aspirations are brightly reflected in this
clear crystal; this which love itself has proclaimed, this which is
itself love, eternal, invisible, to us lost creatures become visible by
descending in the form of a child, as our brother and nearest
neighbour, and then suffering so painful a death for our wanderings and
in this most devoted sacrifice thinking only of us, and of all our
infirmities and corruptions in life and in death:--ought I ever to
forget this, can I disdain it; my heart which this love consumes with
gratitude; ought it to suffer this transcendent miracle of love to be
annihilated, to be trampled in the dust, and all that is most holy
reduced with scornful impiety to ruins, in order to associate it with
all that is most contemptible?"

"Who requires that, my son?" exclaimed the old man; "even Turks and
Heathens would and could not demand it, still less our brethren, who
only desire to approach in plainness and simplicity that
incomprehensible being, who, notwithstanding his immensity, so
intimately and so closely connects himself with all our hearts in love
and simplicity."

"In this portrait," said the son, "it would indeed be impossible to
recognise those, who murder our priests, set fire to our sanctuaries,
rob the peasant, and if they are victorious, which God forbid, would
extend their heresy with fire and sword over the land."

"You see it thus, my son," said the old man, "because you will see it
so; we misunderstand each other in this affair, for you resist
conviction, and certainly as long as you are governed by this feeling,
you will never possess that dispassionate clearness of mind, which
according to my judgment, is necessary to render us susceptible of
religion; and this alone is the true spirit of christianity, for which,
it is true, you struggle with enthusiasm, but you cannot live in true
devoted love."

The son rose indignantly from his seat, and walked hastily up and down
the saloon, then he seized his father's hand, looked at him earnestly,
and said: "Enthusiasm? with this word then, with this vague sound you
have satisfied yourself, and responded to my sorrowing spirit. This is
it exactly what the world desires, what the despairing one means whose
heart is dead. Is it not so, the martyrs and heroes of the christian
church were merely enthusiasts then?--and those who joyfully shed their
blood and endured martyrdom for Him, to whom they could not offer too
great a sacrifice of love and suffering, were fanatics too, because
they were deficient in understanding and composure? All these miracles
of love are merely the crude wanderings of delirious passion, which
those celestial spirits have contemplated from on high, not with
emotion and joy, but only with compassionate smiles, and those who
expired in ecstasy are immediately greeted with grave looks and
admonishing reproof! Oh, rather than discipline my throbbing heart to
such presumption and vile incredulity, I would tear it palpitating from
my breast, trample it under foot and throw it to the dogs for food."

"We will drop the subject," said the father, half angry, half moved,
while he took a large book from the mantel-piece.

"I blame not your sentiments, far be it from me to censure what is
sacred, but you do not know what it is, you have yet to learn that
greatness and truth lie only on the verge, on the transition-point of
this feeling; as we have beheld them in their ecstasy, we must draw
back with timidity and reverence; but should the lying spirit entice us
in our spiritual revellings to higher enthusiasm and visions, we sink
under mental voluptuousness, and delusive images, fearful fancies take
prisoners soul and heart, love dies within us; and you will be obliged
to go through this sad probation, my son, and God knows if the issue
does not leave you a seared, an empty heart, or perhaps a hypocrite,
for thy path through life will not be smooth and easy."

With these words, the Lord of Beauvais sat down to read, his son took
his hand and said in a gentle tone, "No, no, my father, let us go on
with this subject, which once for all occupies my whole life. Is it
possible that this reading, this reasoning of Plato can interest you at
this moment? Am I permitted to feel as you do, am I not obliged to
blindly obey, if moreover, this obedience accord with my sentiments?"

"St! st!" exclaimed the little girl playfully, and the dog ran barking
towards the door, and could only be silenced by his master's whistling
to him. "Is it not true," said Eveline, "that Hector is entirely of the
true faith, for he might be so easily set upon the Camisards?"

"Silly child!" exclaimed Edmond reddening with anger, the father shook
his head at her, but she continued: "Edmond said even now that he would
give his heart to Hector to eat, therefore I may well consider him a
very peculiar sort of dog." "Come Hector, they always do us injustice;"
thus saying, she took the dog by the collar and both went into the
garden.

"I understand you not, my father," commenced Edmond after a pause, "you
are religious, you visit the church with devotion, I must consider you
attached to it, however often a suspicion to the contrary may occur to
me, and yet can you contemplate it with composure, that destruction
threatens this our church, and does she not in the most gracious manner
fulfil all the desires and yearnings of our hearts? I feel ever
incensed, when many priests urge so strenuously the necessity of good
works, virtue and morality; Heathens can teach us that, and our very
reason exacts it from us; however much these must be respected, it is
the progressive development and formation of the miraculous that I
perceive in history which always so powerfully affect my heart. In the
distance lies the first miracle dark and indistinct; but veiled
entirely in love. The gift of prophecy was not withdrawn after the
apostles; saints and martyrs followed in the steps of the departed, and
fulfilled that which the former predicted, the mystery of love is
interminable, and can only be explained by a new mystery. That the
explanation of the holy sacrament should be sanctioned by decrees of
the church, disturbs me not, while to the worldly only it appears a
mere temporal event; for in the insignificant germ lie already
concealed the blossom and sweetness of the fruit, which become ripe
only by that which we call time. Thus it happened that at a later
period the forebodings of the soul were fulfilled, and she, who had
given birth to the Saviour was worshipped as heavenly; festivals were
celebrated in her honour. Thus the prophetic song from the mouth of one
prophet descends through all ages, and is never silent, even to
futurity. Festival follows festival, temples and images follow statues,
posterity will turn with deep emotion to the love of the present, as we
enraptured trace the past, only through this mutability, through this
re-echoing of the Eternal Word is the truth made manifest to me,
through this alone am I convinced that it went forth in former times,
by this means, that it apparently changes, as the leaf into the
blossom, the flower into the fruit, and the fruit yields again the seed
of the flower, it is a permanent, an eternal truth; through this
endless, this inexhaustible abundance, resembling an ocean of love, by
anticipating each individual sense, by quenching every desire, by
satisfying the hungry: by this only it becomes something simple,
authentic and independent, and I abhor the interpretations of those
innovators, who would treat these miraculous events as a tale, who
venture to call our mass with its symbols, lights, temples, pomp, and
music idolatry, and by thus warring against the most sacred things,
according to the feelings of my heart, they war against God himself,
and they must be rooted out and destroyed like noxious, venemous
reptiles."

"I understand you, my son, and would willingly believe you in the
right, for in fact you have only been declaring my own sentiments on
this subject. If such are your feelings and this be your faith, there
should be no further strife not only between us, but any one else. If
you feel that Christianity in its various forms, rejects no want, no
desire, that it is permitted to every mind to worship according to its
own light, but in the spirit of truth, the Eternal Being, then those
meek hearts, that shrink affrighted from this parade and song, from
this splendour of the temple and from the artificial culture of
religious mystery, will not be excluded from the community. Those, who
like the disciple John and the apostles of Jesus, visit the wilderness
of Jordan, and there in the dreariness of the mountains and in holy
solitude willingly listen to the Eternal Word, and are anxious to erect
there their church like the hut at Bethlehem, lest their fervid
imaginations might be overwhelmed with the splendour and sculptured
beauty of the statues, and thereby forget their salvation and their
God. These people here are likewise true Christians, my son, whatever
our priests may say to you about it, and the Father will not reject
them. There arose long since in our Cevennes, and in the valleys of the
Albigences, a simple faith, a peaceful retreat, far from the pomp and
ambiguity of the episcopal and popish church. It may be, that for the
good of mankind, for religion, education, and liberty, it was expedient
in those earlier ages, that the Bishop of Rome should declare himself
the head-shepherd and lay the foundation of a spiritual kingdom; but,
that the christian church in later times has declined on that account,
admits of no doubt. The bishops and priests were now no longer simple
teachers of the word and imitators of the apostles, but they became the
head-servants of their spiritual master, who in the disputes of the
times was compelled to think first of himself and of his own power,
while he assigned to religion that only which was not detrimental to
it; therefore it resulted, that when the quiet inhabitants of Alby
assembled in their wooded valleys, resolving to free themselves from
the abuses, the arbitrary dogmas, as well as from the corruptions of
the priests, they were persecuted as heretics, who sought to overturn
the papal chair, and therefore Christianity itself. Had there been
then, as there was formerly, a free independent church of bishops,
these enlightened minds would have found protection and peace, they
would have been allowed to assemble in their houses of prayer with
their priests, and serve God in what manner they thought it their duty
to do, instead of which, crusades were preached against them and their
innocent blood, which has been so inhumanly shed, still cries up to
heaven. Even if the papal hierarchy and Christianity had not been one
and the same thing, there would still have arisen in our mountains
great preachers and reformers of the church. When the papal authority
began to totter, such teachers as these spread themselves among our
mountains and Calvin's disciples found minds, which had been long
prepared to receive his doctrines. This form of faith is here as
natural and holy as yours may be in other parts, and he only could
resolve on extirpating them by persecution, who misunderstands the
beautiful and tolerating spirit of Christianity, indeed it appears to
me, that he must be entirely inimical to this religion of love. Since
Luther and Calvin, a civil war has raged through every province for
nearly a century; dearly was this cherished liberty to be paid for, of
which the popes and bishops have so unjustly robbed mankind. A light
shone in the midst of this gloom, our fourth Henry stepped forward and
extended the olive-branch of peace over all his dominions. By the edict
of Nantes liberty of conscience was ensured by a royal oath, and by the
unanimous consent of the parliament, and confirmed by all the states
and provinces: his successor renewed this oath, and our ruler, Louis
XIV, could not be recognised king, before he agreed to reign over
Evangelical as well as Roman Catholic subjects: thus was the oath which
he took for himself and his posterity ratified to us; he has reigned
many years with happiness and renown, but now in his old age,
surrounded by ambitious and superstitious minds, now that his bright
star has long set, now that his country is impoverished and exhausted;
that his armies are defeated; that enemies threaten his frontiers, and
even his very capital,--now that Germany, England, and Holland, here in
the neighbourhood, Savoy, menace us with the most dire misfortune,--now
his conscience awakes, he thinks to be able to conquer heaven and
fortune, by suffering Catholic subjects only to call him king. He sends
with inconceivable blindness--converting ministers into these
mountains; and threats, compulsion, massacre and pillage are the
exhortations employed towards this unfortunate people; now we have
witnessed these horrors in our very neighbourhood; however zealous you
may be for your party, my son, I know that your humane heart has been
agonised more than once by these proceedings. Suddenly--could he do it,
ask yourself if he might? the king revokes that edict and voluntarily
absolves himself from his oath, without at the same time consulting
that of his predecessors, of the parliament, and of all the states in
the kingdom; he himself destroys, in his religious madness, that which
binds him to the citizen, that attaches the subject to him, the sacred
palladium, the undefilable is profaned and annihilated, and the
wretched inhabitants are yielded a prey to wrath, to murder, and to the
fearful frenzy of the bloodthirsty; the peaceful weaver, the shepherd,
the honest labourer, who was but yesterday a devout Christian, a
respected citizen, a good subject, is through the revocation of the
edict, without any fault of his own, now a rebel, an outlaw, for whom
the wheel and the stake are prepared; against whom all, even the most
savage and disgraceful cruelty is permitted; his temples are closed and
demolished; his priests are exiled and murdered; he is ignorant of his
offence, he only feels his misfortune: in the deepest recesses of the
soul that spirit is aroused which remembers its eternal and
imperishable rights, and again war and murder rage; fury excites fury,
life becomes cheap, martyrdom a pleasure; and if there be evil foes,
they look with a scornful and fiendish laugh from the summits of the
mountains down on this hideous massacre, where the very last traces of
love, godly fear, and humility are covered with reeking blood. Do you
mean that it is thus I must be a Christian, in order to justify the
cruelty of my party; or to be a good subject, must I lend a hand to
these executioners of the Marshal? In this case, indeed, is our respect
for the king, as well as our worship of God infinitely different."

Edmond had listened to this long harangue of his father, without
testifying any signs of impatience; at length said he, sighing deeply:
"We are standing then on two opposite shores, a wide stream between
us; I understand your meaning so little, that I even shrink with
fear from it, for according to that, our holy religion may vanish in
the empty folly of every fool, who has the arrogance to set himself up
for a teacher, and just enough ability to mislead the ignorant,
novelty-hunting populace; thus then might indeed the sacred edifice of
the state with its, by heaven itself, consecrated representative sink
into the dust, if every malcontent is permitted to dispute with him
those rights by which the king is king, and if lie finds an opportunity
to rob him of them. Then come chaos and anarchy bringing in their train
the hellish fiends of murder, vengeance, fire, and sword, in order to
destroy and slay the friends of the throne, the nobles and the priests.
Oh! my father, to this only then their doctrine tends. Can my king be
no more to me my visible god on earth, to whom I blindly and
unreservedly submitted my whole heart with all its impulses, can I no
longer believe, that to him alone belongs all responsibility? In this
case I can neither act, nor think. Must my church, for which
innumerable miracles, and thousands of the sublimest spirits speak and
confirm it, yield to contemptible communities of yesterday, out of
whatever corner they creep, who seek with gross deception and delirious
ravings to cover and decorate their pitiful wretchedness;--no, I would
just as soon fly to the unenlightened heathens of the North Pole, and
attach myself to their absurd faith."

"Miracles!" exclaimed the old Lord, "and what then do you call miracles?
the dull eye cannot discern them, just because they are too great and
too mighty. That these poor people, who were perfectly content if they
only had their hardly-earned dry bread, and who in the recesses of
their mountains revered every commander as a deity;--that these should
venture to defy the Intendant, the Marshal with his armies, and even
the king himself;--that these poor, common men were enabled to
sacrifice their wives, their children, and their lives, and die martyrs
for their doctrine: Is this then no miracle? A miserable band without
education, without arms, without having ever seen service, led by young
men, who scarcely know what a sword is, should defeat regular troops
and experienced commanders in more than one battle; and, sometimes too,
one against four: Is that no miracle? How, if these rebels, for such
they are in reality, should desire to found the truth of their doctrine
upon this, what have you to oppose against them?"

"Rather mention too," said Edmond, with bitterness, "their prophets,
their ecstasies, their absurd convulsive contortions, which the young
learn from the old and deceive and grossly lie with the name of God on
their lips."

"My son," said his father, sighing, while he gazed with emotion on the
dark eyes of his son. "In all unrestrained passions man is transformed
into an inexplicable but fearful miracle, then becomes realised and
identified with him, what the wildest fancy itself cannot imagine more
irrational. Let every man beware of this state, still less let him seek
it, as you do, Edmond; your fire will consume you. Go not yonder so
often to the lady of Castelnau: this will nourish your enthusiasm and
destroy you." Edmond quitted the hall abruptly without saying a word.
The old man looked after him, sighed and said to himself, "Ardent love
and bigotry encouraged by an enthusiastic woman what may they not
effect in our times in this poor youth; who knows the misery that is
still before me!"

"For God's sake, my Lord," exclaimed old Frantz, rushing in, "what is
the matter with our son; there he is running up the vineyard without a
hat, and the storm is fast gathering. Oh, if you had but not scolded
him! He will never indeed give up the lady!"

"How do you know," asked the father, "that the conversation related to
her?"

"He ran by me," replied Frantz, "and looked at me with that very
peculiar, fierce expression, which he only has, if any one speaks of
the Lady Christine; then only he stamps his feet; he has thrown down
the apple-tree there, and kicked back his own Hector that was running
after him, which he never does at any other time; some harm will yet
befall our Edmond."

"May God watch over him," said his father; at that moment a flash of
lightning darted from the dark stormy clouds, and cast a singular light
round the vineyards, so violent a clap of thunder immediately
succeeded, that the whole of the great building rocked and creaked.
Hector crouched down by Frantz, and the little Eveline ran into the
hall with her fair locks fluttering behind her, immediately after her
entrance, the rain began to descend in torrents, the herds were seen
everywhere hastily crowding together; the shepherds hallooed to their
flocks, the dogs barked, and in the intervals of the roaring of the
tempest the rustling of the trees was heard; the streams dashed loudly
down the hills and the rain pelted heavily on the roof of the house.
Martha began to chaunt aloud from the upper story; soon after the
trampling of horses and hasty footsteps were heard. The door opened and
three men entered, the foremost of them, who had alighted from his
horse, turned to the proprietor of the house with these words:
"Necessity requires no bidding! the proverb, my Lord Counsellor of
Parliament is quite right, for otherwise I had not ventured to renew a
former acquaintance so unceremoniously: I am the vicar of St. Sulpice,
there beyond St. Hippolite, and take the liberty to beg the shelter of
your roof for a short time in this remote place, against the violence
of the storm."

"You are welcome, my friend," said the Counsellor of Parliament, "as
well as the other gentlemen; you shall have a fire to warm and dry
yourselves, and you will do well to remain here this evening, for the
storm will certainly last until night, as is usually the case in this
neighbourhood."

Frantz and another domestic had already lighted a fire in the large
chimney, and the strangers approached the friendly flames in order to
dry their garments, while the vicar begged the servant to take care of
his nag.

The other two strangers had made their request and testified their
respect for the Counsellor of Parliament only by a silent bow, during
which the little fair girl took advantage of the momentary confusion,
to approach the guests and examine them with curiosity. One of these
appeared to be a huntsman, for he wore a green dress and carried a
couteau-de-chasse and a rifle, the latter, which was loaded, he very
carefully placed on the mantel-piece. During these various proceedings,
Eveline had already in her way formed an acquaintance with the third
stranger, who seemed to be her favorite, for she gave him her
handkerchief to wipe the rain from his face, and offered him some
fruit, which he smilingly declined, and after looking at him for some
time, she said, "Where have you left your hat?" "The storm without has
carried it off from me," said the young stranger, "and blew it far, far
away, so that I could not catch it again."

"It must have been drole enough," said Eveline, laughing, "you after
the hat, the storm after you, and the rain after the storm, you could
not overtake your hat, but the rain and storm overtook you."

The Lord of Beauvais drew near, and said, "You entertain this stranger
already?" "Does he not look good and kind;" exclaimed the child, "just
like the schoolmaster in the village, who teaches me to read, but who
is obliged to limp already with his young, thin legs."

"Behave politely, my child," said the Counsellor kindly, and he put
aside her fair locks from her forehead. He examined his guest while he
was paying the usual compliments. The young stranger appeared to be
about sixteen, or seventeen years of age, he was something below the
middle height, his figure was delicately formed, but as the child had
said, the expression of his countenance was amiability itself. A slight
tinge of red coloured his thin cheeks; his eyes were of the lightest
blue, and had acquired by a mark on the right eye-lid, a very peculiar
expression; short, fair hair lay thick and smooth, over his dazzlingly
pure white forehead: his voice had something effeminate in it from its
high pitch, and from his whole bearing and bashfulness of manner, one
might have easily taken him for a maiden in disguise.

"I came over to day from Pont-du-gard, and intended to proceed to
Montpellier, when this storm overtook me fortunately just in front of
your door, my Lord Counsellor," said the vicar approaching again. "I
must confess, I should not have thought, that there could be such a
building as this aqueduct, if my own eyes had not convinced me of it. I
doubt that the Coloseum at Rome, or the stupendous church of St. Peter
could have produced so great an impression on my mind, as these
majestic, vaulted arches, and these pillars one over the other, which
so boldly and so easily unite two distant mountains."

"Whoever has not yet seen this work of antiquity," said the Counsellor,
"may well consider every report of it exaggerated, and, perhaps,
reverend sir, you will not believe either, that it encreases in
grandeur the oftener one looks at it; the eye cannot familiarize itself
with its magnificence, although its first sight is so highly
satisfactory, and in this contemplation of the sublime, the most
pleasing emotions take possession of us. Thus must it ever be with all
that is truly great," "Those heathenish Romans," said the priest, "have
done much in this respect, they must ever be our teachers; but on my
way here, before the commencement of the storm, I heard a great deal of
firing."

"The Camisards and the royal troops are at it again," said the
huntsman. "But to day, it is said, that the Huguenots have entirely
lost the game." "How so?" demanded the Counsellor.

"I heard on the other side of the water,--thank God, that I am on
this!--that they had taken prisoner Catinat and Cavalier, and therefore
it is probably all over with the war. What a pity, say I, if they
massacre Cavalier, as they have so many others."

"Why a pity?" exclaimed the priest hastily, "what else then does the
rebel deserve? perhaps you are also a follower of the new doctrine?"
"No, reverend sir," said the huntsman, "I was one of the every first
that was converted by these gentlemen dragoons. They came in the name
of the king, and--of him whose bread I eat, whose song I sing--they
were not particularly gentle; thirty in the village were massacred:
'Dog,' said they, 'the pure faith, or die!' why so harsh? said I, I am
not at all prejudiced against the creed, only you might have enforced
it with a little more gentleness. When I saw the execrable man[oe]uvre,
my resolution was quickly formed, and I am now in the service of a
right zealous catholic master, the Intendant of Basville. I only mean
that it is a pity for Cavalier for he is a good fellow, and has already
puzzled many a brave officer."

"That is very true," said the priest a little softened, "he is the only
one among the rebels, who understands how to conduct the affair;
fearless as a lion, generous, ever self-possessed, knowing how to
occupy the best positions, and humane to his prisoners, he is born to
be a hero and a leader, and still more to be admired, for from a
swineherd he rose to greatness. It is through him that I have lost my
vicarage and that I am now making a tour here in Camargue, Nismes, and
Montpellier in order to obtain another appointment."

"How is that sir?" enquired the Counsellor, "mind your own business! as
the saying is, but we do not always follow this wise maxim," replied
the former, "for hot blood and passion, but to often master our reason.
You know that some time since a sort of crusade was preached against
the Camisards in the Cevennes; the young men in Nismes and in the
surrounding country have enlisted as volunteers and lie in wait for the
rebels wherever they can; the hermit of the Cevennes, an old captain,
has taken the field with a troop of rash, desperate fellows and fights
like a Samson; but it is reported that he is very impartial, for, when
an opportunity offers, he treats friends and foes alike, and has
already plundered many an old Catholic, or stretched him in the
trenches. Now, if such things occur, when all the energies are excited
in the mélée, it is not so much to be wondered at, though they may
happen a little too frequently; verily he has more deliberately counted
over his rosary than he can now the number of murders he commits. It is
curious enough, that a hermit, who had intended to renounce the world
so entirely, should embark again in such adventures; his old military
ardour is probably aroused within him. I too, retired in my solitary
village in the mountains, when I heard of these proceedings was fired,
or inspired with them, and formed the resolution of also rendering my
poor services to God and the king, my parishoners would not hear of it:
by Jove! they have no heroism in them, they have an antipathy to wounds
and death, or they have secret dealings with the Camisards, as I have
always suspected that satan's brood of it, for much as I have loudly
and zealously harangued them in the pulpit, they almost invariably
slept during my sermon: that they were thus insensible to my loud
exhortations, is alone a proof, that they must have been possessed by
the devil. In pursuance of my design, I assembled some people together,
two Spanish deserters, three Savoyards, five fellows who had escaped
from prison, and two prodigiously bold tinkers. It was at the time,
when Cavalier had so incomprehensively taken the town of Sauve in the
middle of the mountains and laid it under contribution. We marched
directly against them, passing St. Hipolite, for I received intelligence
that this rebel commander had abandoned his corps with a small troop.
We met him just as we issued from a narrow defile in the mountains, I
called to him to surrender; he resisted, bang! I shot a fellow dead,
who was standing by him, I fell upon them with sword and gun and broke
their ranks--sir, it was an epoch in my life, it was as if three
regiments were in my body--shots were fired, I looked back,---there lay
my whole army cut down behind me by a few villains--my courage failed,
I rode off as fast as my horse would carry me, it was the same
hungarian horse, my good sir, now, in your stable,--I am saved.

"Cavalier, as I understand, was a reasonable man, but the knave, who is
called after the late Marshal Catinat, stirred up the others; they
march into my village, persuade my penitents to join them, set fire to
my house and even to my dear dilapidated church, and have sworn to hew
me into ten thousand pieces, if I ever shew myself there again. Now as
I have suffered all this for the sake of my country, it is but just
that reparation should be made to me for the loss I have sustained, and
I am shortly to receive a better living with a good Catholic Christian
community herein the neighbourhood of Nismes. Thus was my chivalrous
expedition terminated; but I have sworn, that wherever I see but one,
or more of these murderous dogs--were there a hundred, to make them
feel my vengeance."

The Counsellor turned with indignation from the priest and his
countenance brightened as Edmond, in a different dress, entered the
hall. "This is witch's weather," said he, and kissed his father's hand,
which the latter held out to him kindly. He then mingled with the
company and soon entered into conversation with the loquacious priest.

"As I was saying," recommenced the latter in his clamorous manner,
"these numskulls have something quite peculiar and incomprehensible in
them. Even the children, urchins of three years old, pretend to exhort
and preach atonement, they can speak as familiarly of every sin, as if
they had long ago gone through the whole catalogue of them, this is a
well known fact; moreover, it frequently happens, that these devil's
nurslings even prophecy, and most of them speak in good and distinct
French about what probably they have never heard in their lives--this
may be explained by all who like explanations, some say, that they are
in a fit, others that they are possessed with the devil, those of their
own party take it for inspiration. Above there in Alais, some hundreds
of them assemble, great and small, old and young, prophecying among one
another, that the walls of their prison might be broken down. The
medical college of Montpellier has transferred itself thither, each
doctor has taken with him his hat and cloak; I believe they have also
carried with them the antique mantle of Rabelais, in order to be quite
perfect in their art. I hear they have now observed, discoursed,
disputed, calculated, speculated, deduced, and what is the result? that
we are as wise as before. These learned gentlemen declare, that it
cannot be taken for divine inspiration because it is opposed to the
king and the clergy; and still less can they be possessed by the devil,
in as much as they speak and sing only spiritual things and do not as
yet know the ways of that gentleman, neither, say they, could it
proceed from fits, or any other bodily infirmity, but it was to them
something quite unheard of and new; it may well be termed new, and,
therefore, must appropriately be called fanaticism and the people
denominated fanatics." "There may be many things," interrupted the
huntsman hastily, "that are inexplicable; with your reverence's
permission, my opinion is, that they are all bewitched; for, if you
have no objection, that is the easiest explanation of the matter;
therefore, there is no such great injustice in burning them--always
excepting Mr. Cavalier, for whom I should be very sorry--and the reason
which might tolerate such proceedings is, that they may not by degrees
infect the whole community, for it is very evident that the evil is
spreading daily and is communicated from one to the other. Witchcraft
is just as much something corporeal as well as spiritual, something
visible as well as invisible, and not only men, but also houses,
mountains and rivers may be enchanted; I have experienced this myself
in the course of my life."

"And how?" enquired the Counsellor. "Do you not know the wide-spreading
ash, which stands in the field between the castle of Castelnau and
the town of Alais? at no great distance from that is the large, old
olive-tree, which, they say, is three, or four hundred years old, but
it is so far certain, that both the trees, particularly the ash, may be
seen at the distance of many miles from the plain as well as from the
mountains."

"I know both these trees very well," said Edmond.

"Now," continued the huntsman, "under the ash it is not safe. While I
was yet a boy in the service of the father of the present lady of
Castelnau, who almost always resided at Alais, for the castle was
thought to be too lonely for her, I went out as I often did, to shoot
hares: It was towards evening and a storm like that of to-day overtook
me, I sought shelter under the great ash to escape getting wet through,
but scarcely had I leaned against the trunk, gracious sir, than I was
seized with indescribable agitation and fear, my heart began to beat, a
tremor came over me, I was terrified--I was compelled to quit my
shelter--I was wet through--I returned, and again the same sensations
under the tree; it was not permitted to me to remain there, I was
obliged to go into the open space while the rain was falling as if
heaven and earth would come together. The next morning it was bright
midday and summer weather, said I to myself, dolt! wert thou frightened
because it was dark, perhaps thou wert terrified at the claps of
thunder; wilt thou become a noble huntsman if thou hast such little
heart,--so I went half laughing under the tree, I fancied myself
sleeping under its shade,--but no such thing! I was seized with greater
terror and agitation than ever, my teeth chattered and an icy coldness
chilled me, I fled from the spot.--I mentioned the circumstance to an
old forester: 'Fool!' said he, 'have not the huntsmen told you that the
tree permits no one to stand under it?' It is an old story. He could
not tell me the reason of this, but warned me not to play any tricks
with it. However, I did not follow his advice, but returned to it with
a young lad. To him it was productive of evil, for he became sick unto
death with the fright; since that time, I avoid the tree and so does
every one who knows it. It must have been bewitched some time or
other."

"Heaven only knows, what may be the meaning of all this," began the
priest, "we live at least in times when events occur, which formerly
would have been deemed impossible. Now there is something
incomprehensible in these prophecying children. It was said, some years
ago, that here, and there, in the Cevennes, in Dauphiné, and in the
neighbouring Beauvarais that such things were practised, and people
travelled to hear and see them. At present whole villages are full of
them, they are to be seen in the market-places, in the public houses
and like the diseases, incidental to childhood formerly, it seems that
all children must undergo the gift of prophecy. Government has thus
sharply reprimanded them, by making the parents responsible, thrown
those into prison and sending the fathers to the galleys, for it was
conjectured that from these alone proceeded the delusion. A peasant,
one of my parishoners, came to me, saying 'for God's sake sir, help me!
my little girl, six years old, began yesterday to prophecy, I am a dead
man if the thing becomes known; my wife and I are certainly of the true
faith as you can testify, but now they will arrest us as rebels, as
they have done to so many others.'

"Only use the whip," said I, "let the girl hunger and she will soon
forget to prophecy. 'All that has been tried, reverend sir,' groaned
the old man, 'and more than my conscience will justify; the child is
ill from my ill-treatment, for as soon as she begins to prophecy, or to
sing psalms, which she has never heard from me, I have chastised her
severely; I have not given her a morsel of bread for three days, yet
she does not give up, but goes on still worse. Come, I pray, to my
house and see yourself; if she is possessed by a devil, you can
conjure, is it any thing else, you can exhort.' I had never seen such
prophecying creatures, I went therefore out of curiosity with the old
man. As we entered the house, the child was sitting at a spinning
wheel, she was pale and thin, and seemed half silly, she complained of
hunger and pain. I can see nothing in the child, said I, 'oh, if she
was always reasonable like that,' exclaimed the peasant. Presently the
worm was seized with a sobbing in the throat: 'there we have the gift,'
said the old man, 'the disorder is breaking out now--exorcise, reverend
sir!' as the little creature was thus struggling, her body dilated, she
fell on the ground, her bosom throbbed and heaved, and suddenly we
heard as it were quite a strange tone, which did not belong to the
child. 'I tell thee, my child, if thy parents repent and follow the
spirit, all will be right and good, and thou shalt partake of liberty
and of my word.' I was terrified, especially as the devil spoke as pure
French as the child of persons of rank; I sprinkled her with holy
water, I vehemently conjured that the devil, if it was one, might come
out of her; all in vain, the little thing cried out, 'I tell you, the
idolaters shall not prevail against you, and this evil one shall find
the reward of his misdeeds,' thereby meaning myself: the unfortunate
child, because I was so zealous in my calling; then followed
exhortation and singing, and pure fear of God and admonition to
repentance. I could scarcely do it better myself: she then arose and
seemed just as miserable and foolish as before. I cannot help you, said
I to my penitent, you see that the word of God and holy water have no
effect on her; hunger and chastisement just as little, nor has your
persuasion, nor the fear of rendering you unhappy had any weight with
her, leave it to herself. In short, the child ate and drank again, and
became more zealous than ever in preaching repentance; so that at
length the father was converted, or, at least, he ran to the mountains
to the Camisards, and said: 'if he were to be punished, or executed, he
should at least know wherefore.' Thus you see, I lost many penitents
the preceding year, for when they have drawn suspicion on themselves,
they prefer becoming rebels to avoid suffering anxiety, ill-treatment,
and even death without a cause, as one may say. The case of the
shepherd from my adjoining village is still more singular. He was a
wild, reckless fellow, and as strong in the right faith as need be
wished; he had already delivered more than one Camisard and suspected
person up to the executioner. He came running to me one morning at a
very early hour, crying out, 'Help, help, reverend sir!' 'what is the
matter now,' said I, 'have the Camisards set fire to your house, as
they have always threatened to do, on account of your zeal?' 'Ah, much
worse, much worse,' cried the knave, wringing his brown, bony hands.
'Speak out shepherd,' said I, 'Do you know,' he began, 'my son, the
tall Michael,--who does not know the lanky looby--he is known to almost
all the mountaineers, it is indeed the cross of your house, that the
idiot is so useless: he will neither work, nor mind the herds; he is so
stupid, that he is scarcely considered a member of the church, yet he
often enough disturbs the congregation; he is only fit to carry
burdens, and prefers living with the dogs, which he frequents as if
they were his equals: Is he departed this transitory life? rejoice, for
you have one burden less.' 'It is not that indeed,' exclaimed the old
man, incensed, 'Oh, I should not grieve for that: But think, who in the
world would have supposed that the long broom-stick would have become a
prophet?' 'How?' cried I, my mouth and eyes wide open with amazement;
'so, a blockhead, who is good for nothing else in the world, may become
one of their prophets?' I went therefore with the old man, but the
affair turned out still more strangely. As we entered the house, the
thin, bony man was just in the act of prophecying, speaking in a pure
dialect about the deliverance of France, of liberty, of faith, of better
times, encouraging them to fight. I tried to pray, and to exorcise, but
the father seized his great shepherd's stick, brandished it over him,
so that he would have killed him, had I not stopped his arm. We then
listened for a short time, and what ensued? suddenly something gurgled
in the old man's throat, he groaned, turned up his eyes, fell against
the wall and then on the ground, and after a few mighty heavings of the
breast, he too began; he sang psalms, exhorted to repentance,
prophecied the fall of Babel; nothing could equal it: as the old one
sang, the young one twittered; I thought I was bewitched, my priestly
vestments fell from my hands, I could only listen to those two
possessed ones, who were howling out pure piety, and texts from the
Bible, and as I gazed at the astounding wonder with agitation and fear,
I felt a shock through all my limbs, and sir, as true as heaven is
above us, a desire arose within me to be seized with similar fits, and
to take a part in this unhappy affair. I rushed out into the open,
blessed air of heaven. I thought on all dignitaries, of my bishop, of
the great church and organ of Montpellier, of the letter which I
possessed from the murdered Abbot of Chably, of our illustrious Marshal
of Montrevel, of his dress-uniform, and of such things,--and God be
praised, the trembling left my body, and I am now a reasonable man and
a christian priest again. Ever since that time, I look upon the whole
affair with terror. Be it witchcraft, that they are possessed with
devils, bodily and infectious diseases, or the unknown, new fanaticism
of the learned doctors, I have at least discovered that mankind is
easily entrapped, and that the Spaniard is right with his proverb: 'No
man can say of this water I will not drink.' The two shepherd knaves
have now also run into the wilds after Cavalier, and have become great
heroes of the faith."

The old Counsellor had gone out frequently during these details to give
orders to the domestics, who had in the mean while laid the table and
prepared the evening repast. "My unknown friends," said the old
gentleman affably, "with whose company chance and the bad weather have
so unexpectedly honoured me, and who are to me,--with the exception of
the reverend priest,--total strangers, let us all sociably and without
ceremony take our places at this table, eat and drink, and afterwards
enjoy a refreshing sleep under my roof." Edmond looked up, and could
scarcely believe at first that his father was in earnest; the priest
cast an expressive glance at the huntsman and one of still deeper
meaning at the young man, and smiled as if to hint, that he at all
events should withdraw from this distinguished circle, among which he
himself only had any claim to remain; but the little Eveline hung on
the young man's arm and drew him by her side to the table where he
immediately sat down with her the first without waiting for farther
bidding. "Quite right," said the Counsellor, "No ceremony if you wish
to please me! here are no invited guests, we meet together as if we
were on board a ship or in a wood. I must render you all this
hospitality without distinction." Edmond blushing, placed himself at
the head of the table by his father, the priest seated himself opposite
to him, by the side of the latter sat the huntsman, who left a large
space between himself and his neighbour, and then came Eveline and her
playfellow as he almost appeared. "Quite patriarchal," said the priest,
"those men there, my worthy sir, will not forget to publish throughout
the country, your philanthropy and contempt of prejudices."

At this moment the veil of clouds in the horizon burst asunder, the sun
in its descent suddenly threw a purple glow over the lowering sky, a
red fire spread itself over the mountain-vineyards, tree and bush, and
vinetendril sparkled in the fiery ray, beyond the woods shone
brilliantly, and as the eye glanced upwards, the summits of the distant
Cevennes were seen glowing in the rosy light; on the left, the
waterfall rushed like blood from the steep rock, and the whole hall,
the table, and the guests, all was as if bathed in blood, so that the
lights just then burned darkly and the fire in the chimney emitted a
blue flame. The rain had ceased, a holy silence reigned throughout all
nature, not a leaf rustled, the red brook only flowed splashingly
along, and the glowing waterfall murmured its melody. The old
Counsellor's eyes were cast upwards as if in fervent prayer, and a tear
glistened in his full eye; the fair young man laid down his knife and
fork and folded his hands; the huntsman glanced timidly from under his
heavy eyebrows; the priest tried to assume a sanctified look; the child
playfully clapped her hands, and Edmond was lost in silent reflection.

Just as quickly as it was withdrawn, the curtain fell again over the
horizon and extinguished its light, upon which the Counsellor said,
"was not this like an emblem of our country and of our misfortunes? as
necessity unites us all and brings us together, and as the misery that
oppresses us, if I may so express myself, becomes as it were sanctified
and endeared to us? all our countrymen pass through this baptism of
blood, may heaven have pity on us." Edmond cast an expressive look on
his father and then glanced furtively at the huntsman and the young
stranger, as if to intimate, that such thoughts should not have been
expressed in their presence; the old man smiled kindly on his son, but
did not even try to conceal his feelings.--

"Papa," cried Eveline, "it was as if the sky wished to play at hide and
seek with us, just as little Dorothea with her plump, rosy cheeks
smiles upon me and then, whisk! creeps under the cloth again."

"It was like a bleeding world crying for succour," exclaimed the
fair-haired young man. Edmond cast a sidelong glance at him, and said,
"It is perhaps the extinction of the nefarious revolt!"

"May be so," replied the youth, and raised his blue, child-like eyes to
Edmond, "but I think that everything rests in the hands of the Supreme
Being."

"Most assuredly," said Edmond sharply, "and the evil would have ceased
long since if so much disaffection, secret abettance, and malicious joy
at the misfortunes of the king had not reigned among the common
people."

"Every reasonable person must own however," said the young man with a
melancholy smile, "that the evil did not originate with the people;
they were quiet, and although others may suffer, their miseries are
beyond expression."

The priest left off eating with astonishment, that the little unseemly
man should have the last word with the master of the house opposite to
him; he rolled his eyes up and down as if seeking for some astounding
words of reproof; the little girl pressed the hands of her new friend
for engaging in dispute with Edmond, and the latter as his father
already began to testify his uneasiness at his son's violence, turned
away with an expression of profound contempt, saying, "I know not with
whom I speak, but I think I have some knowledge of you; are you not the
son of the late Huguenot sexton of Besere close by?"

"No, gracious sir," answered the young man perfectly unembarrassed, "I
have not the honour of being known to you; I am now come to this
neighbourhood for the first time, to make some purchases, my name is
Montan, or simply William, as I am called by the neighbours and by my
father, who is owner of the mill in the deep valley beyond Saumière."

"Therefore a praiseworthy miller's lad!" said the priest. "It was not
sung to you in your cradle that you should ever sit at table in such
company as this." "No, indeed," said the miller with emotion; "when I
stood before the house, I thought not to find a reception as from the
venerable patriarchs we read of in the Holy Scriptures, I did not
expect to be introduced to a nobleman, who, to my mind and imagination,
presents the most sublime picture of Abraham and Jacob." He wiped his
eyes, and as they were about to rise from table, he lifted his glass,
and said, "pray allow me first, honoured sirs, to empty this glass in
token of my most heartfelt gratitude, and to the unalloyed happiness of
our respected host, and the endless prosperity of his noble house." He
drank, and the old Lord bowed not without emotion, while Edmond and the
priest looked at each other long and enquiringly. The huntsman scraped
and smiled, and the priest in his astonishment forgot to drink.

They rose from table, and Eveline seated herself again by the side of
her favorite in a corner of the room, and said to him, "That is the
right way, he is too haughty if one allows him to go on."

Her father approached them, "my child, it is now quite time for you to
retire to bed." "Indeed papa," answered she kissing his hand, "I should
like to remain longer here, but there must be order, as you always say;
I am obedient and will be your comfort, shall I not? it would indeed be
very wicked, and I should vex you, if I turned a prophet like so many
other children in this country." "God bless you, my love," said the old
man resting his hand upon her head; "go to bed, and you, my friend, sit
down here and rest yourself some time longer," said he, pressing the
young miller's hand; when Eveline perceived her father's kindness
towards him, she quickly returned, and throwing herself on the neck of
the young man, kissed him repeatedly, then drawing back a little, she
curtsied gracefully, and in a lady-like manner, and waving her hand,
said: "Au revoir," and followed the domestic who consigned her to her
maid.

"As you are from Saumière," said the priest, turning to the miller,
"You are surely acquainted with the hermit, who is now the leader of a
troop against the Camisards?" "Oh, I know him very well," replied the
youth, "his cell is in a rocky valley, which is separated from our mill
only by a stony fence; we often visited him on holidays, when the
valley was passable on our side; he is a tall, athletic man, with a
grizly beard and large, grey eyes; he seemed peaceable and quiet until
the war made him a soldier again. Unheard of cruelties are asserted to
have been committed by him; he is said not to know what compassion is,
and must take pleasure in murder; but now his trade is over." "Is he
dead?" enquired the Counsellor. "No, not exactly that," continued the
young man, "but I heard a report on the Vidourla, that he was totally
defeated yesterday by Cavalier, and that, if he consults his own
advantage, he will creep into a cell, for the common people will not
surely trust to him again, when they perceive that he does not
understand his business."

"He has been a captain, however," said the huntsman.

"The combat against the rebels," said the priest, "is a difficult
affair, for _that_ courage and the ordinary discipline of a soldier do
not suffice; our Marshal Montrevel would perhaps prefer fighting
against Eugene and Marlborough than with these rag-o-muffins."

More wood was now piled on the fire. The father sat down, while Edmond
paced up and down the hall in visible inquietude, the priest drew his
chair towards the Counsellor, and said: "You are suffering from the
gout in your left foot, my lord."

"Why do you conclude so?" asked the old gentleman, "the leg does not
appear to me swoln, although you have guessed rightly."

"The swelling," continued the priest, "is certainly almost
imperceptible; but you often step lighter and more gently with this
foot, probably without being conscious of it, perhaps this joint is a
little contracted in proportion to the right, and therefore has not the
strength of the latter."

"That is very critically observed," said the Counsellor.

"My honoured sir," continued the priest, "it is incredible how
consistent and reasonable nature is in all her productions. To analyse
her in her minutest parts is instructive, however ridiculous it may
appear to the unpractised. More than a century ago, the Neapolitan, De
la Porte, wrote an excellent book on physiognomy comparing the human
and the brutal together; in the earlier ages people tried to read on
the countenance the virtues, vices, and qualities of the disposition:
Believe me, if I could devote my leisure hours to this subject, I am
confident I should carry it so far as to be able to discover from a
shoe, or a boot, that had been worn for a time, many faults or
peculiarities of its possessor."

"Really?" said the old Lord smiling, "They betray themselves by the
garments, when closely examined; the hasty, or irresolute gait, the
shuffling of the feet, the gliding step of ladies, are certainly very
expressive; a certain nonchalant manner of walking, a haughty tread of
the heel, an affected, frivolous sliding on tip toe, the indecisive
tottering footstep, by which the shoe loses its shape, excepting the
qualities which however demonstrate themselves by the high, or low
instep, or by the flatness of the foot. But now for the legs; if these
were exhibited in their natural state, it would be scarcely possible to
mistake the rank, profession, and way of life; then there are tailor's
and baker's legs, which it is impossible not to recognise, foot and
cavalry soldier's legs, weaver's and joiner's legs, and so on."

"These are very interesting observations," said the Counsellor, "would
you, for instance, venture to declare the former manner of life of my
Frantz by his legs?"

"By my legs?" exclaimed the old servant, who was still busied in
clearing away. "Here they are, reverend sir."

"Stoop a little--now go yonder--come back again--stand perfectly
upright--my Lord Counsellor, I could swear that your Frantz has been in
his youth, nay at a later period of life, a mariner."'

The servant looked at the priest astounded, and the Lord of Beauvais
said: "You have hit it, my reverend friend; but from what do you draw
your conclusion?"

"No mariner," said the priest "ever loses entirely the straggling and
somewhat stooping gait which he has acquired on shipboard, he sinks his
loins in walking, and a slight limp remains for the rest of his life."

When the other servant approached, the priest immediately cried out,
"Give yourself no further trouble, one can see at the distance of a
gun-shot, that the good man has been a tailor in his youth, and that he
certainly pursues the same occupation now, for the bent shins clearly
demonstrate it." "You follow the chase," turning to the huntsman who
was standing; "it must be so, although I should rather have taken you
for a soldier, and from the eye, for a smuggler; by the bye, what is
the matter with your right knee? it certainly is not from attending
mass, from whence then does this slight protuberance proceed? perhaps
you have acquired the strange habit of falling on your right knee when
you shoot?"

"Reverend sir," exclaimed the huntsman, "you must be a bit of a wizard
yourself, for you have hit the mark. From my youth upwards I have never
been able to shoot but in a kneeling position; should a hare run by
under my nose, I cannot hit it standing, I must first throw myself
down; but I have always been much ridiculed by my companions for it."

"For the rest," resumed the priest, "you have mountain-legs, and you
must have been born in the Cevennes, or the Pyrenees, your eye too is
characteristic of the mountaineer who is far-sighted."

"Just so," said the huntsman, "I come from Lozère, the wildest part of
the mountains."

"Well, my young friend," said the connoisseur in legs, turning to the
young lad,--"You pretend to be a miller and want miller's legs, how
does that happen? observe, that from carrying sacks, the miller's back
is early bent and becomes broad and round, but the principal weight
presses upon the calves of the legs, the sinews of the hams become
disproportionately strong; but with you these are precisely the weakest
parts, the ancles too are not large enough: here, _summa summarum_
fails the miller's character, for my science cannot deceive."

"In this I cannot assist you, sir," said the young man petulantly, "for
I am what I am, and will remain so."

"For my part," quickly rejoined the critic, "I desire not to press too
closely on your miller's honour, you may probably be a spoilt,
effeminate mother's darling, who would not suffer you to be too heavily
laden, your hair and whole countenance have a mealy character, your
voice too sounds like the wheat-bell and the mill-hopper, but when I
look at your knees, they seem to me to be those of a baker, which are
turned in from shoving the bread into the oven and taking it out again;
during this process he is obliged to keep in a stooping position and
rests upon his knees; but I discover the strangest contradiction in
your thighs, for they are those of a horseman and of one who rides
much, your eye too betrays a martial spirit, it darts here and there
and is never quiet as a miller's ought to be, who is attentive to his
business; in short, you are to me in your legs and in your whole person
a very puzzling youth."

The young man reddened with resentment and the Counsellor endeavoured
to turn the entire affair into merriment and laughter,--when the whole
party was suddenly alarmed by a violent knocking at the front door of
the house, that aroused even Edmond from his reverie. "For God's sake
let me in," roared a voice loudly from without, "open to me in the name
of heaven!"

At a sign from the Counsellor, who quickly recovered from his surprise,
the servants rushed forward, the company looked at one another in
silence, the bolts were withdrawn, and the tread of heavy footsteps was
heard approaching the hall; the doors were thrown open, and lighted by
the servants, a tall, powerfully-built figure with grey hair and
moustaches of the same hue entered, he held in his hand a massive
staff, that without exaggeration might be termed a club; a long, broad
sword trailed clanging after him, and four pistols were stuck, in a
black leather girdle. On his entrance he approached the host, and said
in a deep, sonorous voice, "Pardon me, my lord, the alarm I must have
caused you, I was benighted, pursued and in danger, therefore I
ventured, certainly rather unceremoniously, to claim the shelter of
your house."

"Oh heavens, it is the terrible hermit!" exclaimed the miller in a
hoarse voice, "I am he, indeed," replied the gigantic figure, "but why
terrible, my young simpleton? I may surely be permitted to show my face
every where, presumptuous fellow; and I have shown it before other
physiognomies than yours.--Your pardon! Sir Baron, if I give way to my
displeasure at the presumption of this hireling. Yes, reverend sir, I
am he, who under the name of the hermit is not unknown in this part of
the country; in this character I wished to do homage to my God, but an
envious fate thwarts me. To-day my troop has been entirely dispersed,
and I have only saved my own life through the greatest exertions, for I
was pursued even in the darkness of the night; my enemies cannot be far
off, my life is forfeited, if you refuse me your protection."

"All I possess," said the Counsellor, "is at your service, my house, my
servants and myself will protect you as far as we are able,
independently of the claims of humanity; my duty to my king and country
demand this."

"You are an honourable man," replied the giant, "such as I had every
reason to expect."--At his invitation, he sat down by the side of the
master of the house to partake of the wine and refreshments, which the
servants placed before him. "I hope," said he, "that the storm and
sudden fall of night have prevented them from tracing my route, but
every moment of this day has been a perilous one to me. Yonder, on the
right at Nages, the body of Camisards has been totally defeated; as I
passed the Vidourla to give the rout to my enemies, I met a flying
detachment of them, who, instead of showing any fear, assembled
together, and fell upon me like so many devils; their number was not
great, but it seemed as if they were aided by magic, a panic seized my
people; they crowded together, they reached the Vidourla, the furious
foes behind them. At that moment the storm burst forth, the waters
rushed down from the mountains and swelled the rapid mountain-stream to
a fearful height, it overflowed its banks, and I saw the dead, the
wounded, and the living ingulphed in the waters; I swang myself upon a
tree, and from that to a barren rock; more than a hundred muskets were
levelled at me, my double-barrelled gun aided me as much as possible,
but my sword was useless, the storm threatened to hurl me down, I tried
to ascend in spite of the wind and the rushing waters, the rock, from
incessant washing, had become slippery as ice, but at length I
succeeded in gaining a footing in the midst of the rolling floods, I
crept up higher, my steps illumined by the dazzling lightning, and the
flashing from the enemy's guns, while the balls wizzed round me: Thus I
arrived at a vineyard: I was compelled to scale the wall, on the other
side I found two daring fellows, who had climbed over there before me,
they fell beneath my sword, I entered a wood, and soon found myself
standing upon a level rock, but without track or foot-path, neither
road nor bridge was to be seen, precipices yawned below me; must I go
back, or down! I slid down, the darkness prevented me from
distinguishing anything; after repeated falls, I felt some shrubs under
me, a huge shepherd's dog of the most ferocious species attempted to
drag me down, there was no herdsman to be seen, or within call, I was
compelled to wrestle with the fierce animal; night had now entirely
closed in, I thought I heard the sound of bells, I groped my way
towards the place from whence the sounds proceeded; soon afterwards I
heard men's voices; are they friends or foes? while I was advancing
with cocked pistols and drawn sword,--'Who's there?' suddenly grated
upon my ears; I discovered they were the Camisards; as I gave no
answer, they fired, and by the flashing I perceived distinctly ten of
my foes standing at the opening of a ravine; no choice was left me, I
advanced, the first fell, shot by my pistol, a second was cut down by
my sword, the obscurity of the ravine favoured me, nothing remained but
to fly, as quick as age and exhaustion would permit, they shouted and
fired after me; at length I perceived I had attained a high road, the
flashing from the fire-aims discovered to me a porch, something
appeared in the distance like barns and buildings, I ran in that
direction, and at last I reached the door of your house."

"Sir captain," said the Counsellor, "repose is necessary to your old
age after this exertion and fatigue, lie down, and the safety, which my
house is capable of affording, I again assure you, shall be faithfully
granted to you."

"May heaven reward you," said the captain; "I look upon this untoward
adventure as a hint of fate, warning me to lay down my arms, I shall do
so, and return to a cell, or a cloister. Had Cavalier been with the
troop, I should not have escaped him, for he possesses the utmost
presence of mind, he is the boldest and indeed the most soldierly among
the rebels."

"It is said that he is taken prisoner," observed the huntsman.

"The war is over then," exclaimed the hermit, "for, without him, they
can undertake nothing; this powerful man is alone the soul of their
venturous enterprise. The others understand well enough how to kill and
to die, but not how to conduct the war. I wish he had died; for should
he be taken prisoner, his fate will be one worthy of commiseration."

During this discourse, the priest, who had until then considered
himself of so much importance, now felt lost and dwindled to nothing by
the side of the so far greater adventurer. He would willingly have
testified his veneration for him by an embrace, or, at least, by a
grasping of the hand, but he dared not venture to approach one, whose
wrath was so easily excited by any degree of familiarity. The tall man
paced up and down the hall, examining all present with a scrutinising
look: "Two servants, perhaps, moreover a valet and a huntsman," he
muttered to himself, but loud enough to be heard, "will not indeed be
capable of offering much resistance, the house is by no means fortified
in case of an attack, then the young lord here, a sort of sportsman,
the black one also in case of necessity to engage the enemy, but that
chicken-hearted one, (looking penetratingly at the young miller) that
downy-faced fellow is quite useless. May God forbid, we should be put
to so severe a test." He now, as well as the others, paid their parting
compliments to the Counsellor, as they were retiring for the night;
they were lighted to their apartments by the domestics, and Edmond
alone remained in the hall with his father. The rain had ceased, but
the night was dark and the sky was covered with lowering clouds. The
father and son walked up and down for some time in silence; at length
the Counsellor said: "will you not retire to rest my son?" "I am still
too much agitated and did you not hear, that our last guest feared we
should perhaps have to receive another unexpected visit?"--Silence
ensued, but Edmond after a pause recommenced: "Forgive me, my father,
if I confess, that I have not understood you to-day, that I have not
recognised in you the same person as formerly. That you received these
people and sheltered them from the storm, was natural enough, but how
it could be conformable to your disposition, (or what shall I call it)
to suffer them to eat at your table without distinction, I cannot
explain to myself. Often already have our people entertained menials;
and what countenance shall I assume when this squinting huntsman shall
wait upon me again at the table of the Lord of Basville, I know not;
and what will the Intendant and the Marshal, who certainly must hear of
it, think, or say? How shall I explain it to myself, that you received
that miller's boy not only with kindness and condescension, but yet
with hearty familiarity? who is even too low to be your menial, that
you allow my sister, who is always too forward to play and romp with
him?"

"My son," said the old man with some emotion, "it seems indeed, that,
the older I become, the less capable do I feel of justifying myself to
you: I might say, accustom yourself to my ways, as I must through
affection bear with yours, though I misunderstand them so often. You
must certainly excuse me, as you did not explain yourself before, our
conversation to-day had made so deep an impression on me, indeed, such
as I have not experienced for a long time. In my emotion I forgot to
attend to the usual etiquette of life, and as I could not avoid
entertaining the priest at our own table, I added the two other poor
fellows, but as to that miller, who has more particularly drawn upon
himself your hatred and contempt, his child-like countenance and frank,
open manners, in my opinion, did more honour to my table, than your
Marshal Montrevel could ever do. Accident, the weather brought us
together; the times are also so changed that we do not yet know, but we
ourselves may be compelled to sue for refuge among the most miserable.
But as you so despise that youth, I still less comprehend that you
should honour him so highly as to argue with him, nay, to seek yourself
for a dispute; for the future interfere not with my ways."

They sat down and as Edmond was silent, the Counsellor said, after a
pause: "What do you think then of this priest and his manners? such as
these, you see, are appointed to direct and instruct the people, the
unfortunate people! these became combatants and murderers like this
colossus. That my house is compelled to shelter such, that is it indeed
which humbles me. All champions for a good cause may not be
individually good," said Edmond.

"Retire to rest now, my son," said the Counsellor kindly, "I shall sit
up some time longer, I am too disturbed to be able to sleep, I shall
read yet a little while, rest will then ensue with cooler blood."
Edmond embraced his father, and then retired to his chamber. The old
man gazed sorrowfully after him, and thought upon his son's future
destiny; he sunk into a deep and melancholy reverie, no where did hope,
or comfort seem to await him. He took up his book in order to calm the
perturbation of his spirit, he tried to collect himself; he reflected
upon the wonderful disposition of the mind, to divert itself by that
which is most profound, in order to escape from its own appropriate
feelings, and to be itself again in the inward sanctuary of the spirit.
Thus without reading Plato, which he had laid open before him, he
became more and more absorbed in a contemplative investigation on the
double nature of the soul and of the mind, that reflects on itself and
comprehends its nature and property, which, in thought, at the same
time, views, and proving it, ponders upon this thought, being at once
actor and spectator, and being only at this moment truly conscious of
itself. He did not know how long he might have indulged in these
reflections; when raising his eyes, he was surprised to see his son by
his side. "You are still here, Edmond?" said he wondering. "No, my
father," whispered the son, "I have reposed quite two hours, but just
now when I awoke, I heard under the window a whispering and a movement
as of many men, I approached, but could distinguish nothing, however,
it seemed to me, as if people were gathering round our house, I have
loaded in haste all our fire-arms, and quietly awakened the domestics.
The strangers are still asleep, but they must now assist in our
defence."

"If it be so, and that you have not been mistaken," said the father,
"promise me only not to be too eager; let us be quiet and collected,
for thereby one may be often enabled to prevent the worst, but I well
know, by experience, that from the love of danger and fiery courage,
which as easily defeat their object as cowardice, misfortune and
destruction may be drawn down upon us. We must not venture alone, you
must not forget your little sister. Now do I wish, that I had been a
soldier, that I might meet this invasion with serenity, should it come
to this, but we shall do what honour demands of us; but more than the
danger itself do I fear your hastiness." In the mean while a murmur and
the approach of footsteps were heard nearer; several voices were
distinguished, a noise proceeded from the road and garden, so that it
appeared, that they were taking possession of all the outlets.
Immediately afterwards a knocking was heard at the door. The servants
drew near, but at a mute signal from their master they remained
tranquil; immediately the tumult became louder and several voices
raised an unintelligible cry, Edmond grew warm, his father looked at
him significantly; but soon, however, the name of the hermit resounded
clearly and distinctly from out of the confused murmur. "They demand
him," cried Edmond; "They are the Camisards!" The cry was repeated,
they knocked louder, they became even noisy, the screams of women and
the cries of children were now also heard; the Counsellor caused all
the weapons to be brought forward, he was hastily distributing them to
the servants, when trembling and ghastly pale the tall figure of the
hermit, half dressed, tottered in, followed by the priest, bewildered
and terrified; both seized the hand of their host, and while they were
firing without, the knocking at the door and demands for the hermit
became more violent. "Oh, heaven! compassion!" exclaimed the latter,
"thou hast heard my oath, that I would in future refrain from blood,
but it is too late, I am a victim to their vengeance!" With these words
the tremendous figure fell senseless to the ground in utter despair!
the child rushed into the hall with her maid; terrified and crying
aloud she threw herself into her father's arms; the latter tried to
comfort her, but one could see in his pale countenance, that he himself
entertained but little hope. "I will protect you as long as I can,"
cried he, "but the multitude appears too great to allow of my defending
the house." Fire! fire! cried a hundred voices from without at the same
time, and lighted fire brands were seen through the windows! at that
moment the door was shaken, by large trees, which were thrown against
it like battering rams. "Oh heavens!" cried the priest, while his teeth
chattered, "had I but the tenth part of my former courage,--but I am
not at all prepared for this, I have slept a little already, which has
completely relaxed my spirit." He took off his hat, "how impolite I
am!" sighed he, but it was almost laughable, even in that moment, that
under this he still wore his night-cap, without being aware of it, and
in wandering about in every corner of the hall, he carried his hat in
his hand. The huntsman now stole in, took his loaded gun from the
shelf, and placed himself quietly by the chimney; "whither are you
going" exclaimed Edmond, "out with the rifle, you must all defend
yourselves!" "Impossible," stammered the man, "give up the old villain,
otherwise the whole house is lost, I know the Camisards." "Scoundrel!"
thundered the young man--"where is the miller? Still in bed? all of
you, you miserable varlets, shall defend this place with me, nay, even
that weak, effeminate boy shall make common cause with us."

"The hermit was praying on the ground, all were shouting confusedly
in the hall, but no word was heard distinctly; all was confounded
with the storm, which every moment became more violent without. The
window-frames were demolished, the door cracked and appeared to give
way, when, with an apparent air of indifference, the young miller
entered, carelessly tying his neckerchief and said: 'Let me out by the
back-door, I will speak to the enraged multitude,--quick, give me the
key!' These last words were uttered in a tone of command. The old Lord
looked at him, took the key from the wall, and opened the door to him
himself, the youth went round to the other side of the house. Edmond
posted himself with a loaded gun opposite the door, in order to fire
among the assailants, in case they succeeded in forcing an entrance.
Suddenly a tremendous shout was raised, which seemed like acclamations
of joy and was reiterated by the crowds surrounding the house. Then all
was still; and after a while a deep voice exclaimed: 'He must come out
the assassin, on this spot he shall be torn to pieces!' 'Merciful God,'
cried the hermit from the ground, where he still lay, 'that is the
terrible Catinat, who knows no compassion!'--after a few words
exchanged among them, the high and almost hoarse voice of the youth was
heard. 'Silence all,' cried he vehemently: nothing more could be
distinguished, for a confused murmur arose. The child glancing from
under her dishevelled fair long tresses, said: 'Observe, my little
David will yet save that great Goliath there.' The crowds without drew
themselves up and marched away, the youth returned again by the
garden-door, much heated and nearly breathless; he approached, the
hermit still lying prostrate, fixed his eyes upon him, then caught him
by the breast and said, 'rise up, God has again spared you to-day, you
are safe, return to the town or to your own house:' He then turned to
the huntsman, whispered something in his ear, whereupon the latter
suddenly fell terrified upon his knees and exclaimed, 'Mercy!' 'Be
silent!' said the young miller hastily. The priest looked as if he
could have embraced the knees of the wonderful youth, who now turned to
the master of the house, and said, in gentle tones: 'my honoured host,
I consider myself fortunate in having been able to protect you; there
were certainly a few Camisards, but the crowd was principally composed
of a number of drunken millers-men from my part of the country, who had
met with some other rough, intoxicated fellows. It was lucky, that I
was known to some of them, in consequence of which, the small number of
Camisards also suffered themselves to be pacified. It seems that they
assembled more for pleasure than for any wicked purpose. Receive my
thanks for your noble hospitality, worthy and honoured man.' He bowed,
the old Lord seemed as if he wished to embrace him, but the opportunity
was lost in irresolution and the stranger was already at the door.

"Farewell David!" exclaimed the child. He looked back once more with a
serious and enquiring expression, raised his hand and eyes as if
invoking a blessing, and then quitted the hall.

Those who remained behind, looked at one another as if they had
witnessed the performance of a miracle. The first light of morning
already dawned, and the dense multitude was seen retreating over the
mountains, Edmond was standing in deep thought, and the old Lord, after
having unlocked his gun, gave it to the servant, to carry away. The
hermit drew near abashed, as if he felt considerably diminished in size
since the day before. "I leave your house, my Lord," said he, in a
voice scarcely audible, and with a heart greatly depressed; "I had
almost drawn upon your honoured head the malediction attending my own
errors, but the Lord has averted it." He took the road to Nismes; the
huntsman had already slipped away.

"My Lord Counsellor of Parliament," cried the priest, "you have not
seen us to-day in the most favourable light, now that all has passed
off happily; I am a man again; courage revives once more within me, I
could now show you that I am no coward, if a few of these villains
would but return. Receive my thanks, honoured sir, and you too my
young--but what do I see?" Now, for the first time, he perceived
that he was politely taking leave with his hat in his hand, and his
night-cap still on his head;--abashed he pulled it off, and thrust it
into his pocket?--"This is the worst of all," said he, his whole face
reddening; "One may thus see to what a sensible man may be reduced in
these troublous times." He again made a hasty bow and retreated.

"Who was this youth?" asked the old Lord. "Probably one of those
infamous rebels," replied Edmond in great wrath; "I had rendered
perhaps a service to God and the king, if I had sent this ball after
him!" "Father," said the child, "believe me, he was the angel Gabriel,
and brother Edmond will yet be converted, and love him as I do." "Go to
bed again, my little one," said her father, "you require rest, poor
child!"

"That was no good night," said Eveline, "so now good morning, father!
it grows so beautifully bright!" she retired with the female
attendants, and Edmond and his father alone remained behind in the
saloon. They were both silent for a long time, at length Edmond took
his gun, and said, "what do you think of all this, and especially of
this mysterious fellow, who can demean himself so innocently, and with
so much _naïveté_?"

"I must not express my thoughts," answered his father, "perhaps they
would sound too romantic. You will leave us again, my son? and probably
will not come back to dinner?"

"You know," replied Edmond, "my passion for hunting and the delight I
take in mountains and forests; nature elevates us above our suffering;
she strengthens our feelings; she inspires and gives us that noble
vigour, which becomes but too often enervated in society, and in every
day life. This will be a glorious day after the storm; I will forget
all that I have experienced here."

"Let us but bring to nature a pious and purified spirit," said his
father, "and she becomes to us the holiest of temples, psalms and songs
of praise will then re-echo our holy inspirations; but her gloomy rocks
and waterfalls, her desolate solitude with black masses of clouds
brooding above, her wild echo can also excite still more the uneasy,
agitated mind, and arouse more powerfully the turbulent spirit, for she
answers only as she is questioned."

"I will therefore speak to her in my way," replied Edmond, half
petulantly, "woods and mountains will perhaps understand me better than
men." He bowed and went through the garden, and descended the vineyards
already glittering, with the first rays of morning.

"He is going there again to Alais," said his father sighing, "and his
wild enthusiasm for nature gives place to a well-lighted saloon,
card-playing, witticisms, and frivolous conversations. Woe to me that I
must thus recognise in him the characteristics of my youth, disfigured
and exaggerated!"




                              CHAPTER II.


The candles were already lighted, when Edmond stood before a large
house, undecided if he should enter or not; "she has company again, the
same as ever," said he to himself; "and how shall I in my dusty
shooting-dress present myself among well-dressed ladies? However, she
is kind and indulgent, I am at a distance from home, the strangers too
are already accustomed to this in me." He ascended and laid down his
gun and pouch in the anti-chamber, the servant ushered him in, and he
found only a small circle, the young lady's two old aunts and a few
younger ladies of the town of Nismes, established at two card tables
and entertained, as usual, by an old Captain. They were relating to one
another the defeat of the Camisards on the preceding day, and how they
had assembled again, and how their leaders had escaped.

"Where is the Lady Christine?" asked Edmond of the Lady de Courtenai.

"My niece," replied the lady, "is within there, indisposed as she says:
her capricious fits have returned again, and no one can make anything
of her; perhaps you may be able to enliven her, or perhaps she is sad,
because the Marshal is not yet come."

Edward passed into the adjoining room, the door of which stood open, it
was lighted up, and there, on a sofa with tearfraught eyes sat the Lady
Christine; her lute lay negligently on her arm, as if she would have
played, but she was so deeply plunged in thought, that she started up
terrified, when Edmond greeted her and inquired after her health.
"Lady, dearest," he exclaimed, "what is the matter with you? I have
never yet seen you thus!"

"Not thus?" said Christine, looking wildly, and with a smile of
bitterness, "and why not, it is thus indeed I should ever be! Only you
do not know, nor understand me; you will not understand me!"

Edmond drew back bewildered; "how shall I interpret these words?"

"As you will, or rather as you can."

"Explain yourself," said the young man; "you have been weeping, you
appear ill."

"All this is of great importance, is it not?" said she with a
passionate movement.

"How have I offended you?" asked Edmond with sympathy, "it almost
appears as if I had: are you mortified by me? I do not know myself
guilty in anything; what is it then in the name of all the saints?"

"That you are a man!" said Christine, while her pale cheeks glowed with
the deepest crimson.

"Well! really," said Edmond, "this transgression is so new, that I know
not how to answer. Is this the amiable Christine of Castelnau, who thus
greets her friend, who"--

"Amiable!" cried she passionately--"what do you call thus, ye friends?
the bad, the wretched, the worthless of this world, with which we cover
our naked misery as with torn purple rags from the worn out, faded
wardrobes of former times, when there were yet clothes, and ornament
and men?--or has the world been always thus miserable?"--she threw the
lute from her as if it terrified her. "This is also one of the
deplorable customs, that we should warble and play, and make grimaces,
though our hearts were to break, in case a particle of heart throb yet
within us."

"You are ill," exclaimed Edmond, "so ill, that I shall run immediately
to our friend Vila;" "Stop," said Christine, and while they were still
disputing, an equipage quickly rattled up; all arose in the first room,
it was the Marshal of Montrevel, who in his dress-uniform stepped
lightly and gracefully out of the carriage and bounded up the stairs,
and while the folding doors were thrown open, and the ladies and
gentlemen in the room formed a respectful line, he greeted them all
with the most polite condescension, "Good evening ladies," said he
kindly, "I rejoice to see you all well; Captain, Mr. Counsellor, your
servant; ah, my young friend," turning to Edmond, "you are here very
often; but where is our amiable hostess?"

"She too is not far," said Christine, coming forward.

"And well?" asked the Marshal; "certainly this charming serenity, this
grace, these divine talents, how could it be otherwise?--I hope ladies
that you will not disturb yourselves; let us all sit down and play, or
converse as best it may seem."

He laid aside his sword and plumed hat, and with obliging promptitude
placed an armchair near the fire-place for the lady Christine; he took
a footstool and sat on it at her feet, Edmond leaned over the back of
her chair and the rest of the company resumed their play. "At your
feet, loveliest of women," began the Marshal, "must I find again the
peace and tranquillity, which deserted me to-day: yes, this day is one
of the most unfortunate of my life!" "Have the Camisards penetrated
into Nismes?" asked Christine.

"They will never do that," replied the Marshal smiling, "means have
been taken to prevent it; these miserable men will soon have sung their
last song. Yesterday they were as good as annihilated, and we should
have given them the rout here near Nages, if treachery and wickedness
had not, as usual, rendered our best efforts abortive."

"Certainly," said Edmond, "if the people were unanimous in their
exertions to extirpate them, the best part would have been achieved."

"Young man," rejoined the Marshal, "I will annihilate them even without
the assistance of the people, for these associations composed of
citizens, and peasants to oppose them, are more injurious than useful,
these men understand neither service nor war, they rather call forth
the vigour and insolence of the rebels, the soldier alone can put them
down. How unfortunate has it turned out with the good hermit of
Saumière! he is said to have been completely defeated, and at last
drowned."

Edmond related what he knew of the affair, and the Marshal said
smilingly; "I can easily imagine the anxiety of the old boy; but to
continue: an old Camisard, a squinting, bald-headed man passed over to
us, he was well acquainted with all the secret passes of the mountains;
I think his name is Favart; he promised to deliver into our hands the
leader Cavalier, and his principal troop, together with the infamous
Catinat; we find the matter as he has announced it; the Lord of
Basville had through kindness for the wretched man, taken him into his
service as gamekeeper; and whether it is, that he has not been able to
conquer his old attachment to the rebels, or that he himself did not
know all precisely: the rebel leaders with a numerous troop have
escaped us again, and Cavalier has, as I have just learned from a
courier, defeated a considerable body of our people in the mountains
not far from St. Hypolite."

"I know Favart," said Christine, "he was in our service for a long
while; a wild but otherwise good man; I am only surprised that he could
have again abandoned his sect. But is this the misfortune that you
bewail so much, Marshal?" "No, beauteous lady," said the Lord of
Montrevel, "such things which are mere trifles to a real soldier cannot
disconcert me, I should blush for myself, if the common accidents of
the field or of life could ruffle my temper."

"Your beloved then is become faithless? console yourself, there still
remain enough for you," said the young lady drily.

"Ah, sly one!" said the Marshal, holding up his finger threateningly;
"yes, enchantress, if you feel and return my flame, if you only believe
in it, then would I consider this gloomy day as the happiest of my
life, and to me all the rest of womankind on earth would be as
nothing." He declined all the refreshments presented to him by the
servants: "This is a fast day for me," he continued, "and I have not
yet been permitted to dine to-day."

"You are too severe," said Christine, "too orthodox, too devout;
moreover, I do not recollect that this is a fast day."

"It is not that," said the general solemnly; "for, at times, one may
break this fast without any great qualms of conscience; but there are
things which are not really connected with the church or her
ordinances, but which lie in nature, and on that account are more
deeply engraven on our hearts; things which many philosophers, as well
as ecclesiastics censure as prejudice and superstition, and which
nevertheless have, through the implicit faith of millions, been
transmitted to us from the remotest times, and from that very
circumstance possess, yes, I may so express myself, a revered, a holy
authority. These signs and tokens of a dark futurity, the immediate
voice, as it were, of fate, speaks so much the more thrillingly to us
as they appear to the dull eye only ridiculous or, at least,
insignificant, and as every man has his protecting genius, so has he
also all the signs, which are peculiarly suited to him, and which are
of the highest importance, if he attends to them and knows how to apply
to himself their signification."

"Excellent!" exclaimed the Lady, "now I listen to you willingly, for if
the hero is at the same time a philosopher, I like him all the better
for it."

"Most bewitching of your sex!" said Montrevel while he attempted to
kiss her hand, which she hastily snatched from his lips. "Being then of
this belief," said the Marshal, "you may judge of my horror as I sat
to-day at table,--the Lord of Basville to whom, on account of his
station, this attention is due, sat near me, my aide-de-camp and a few
officers,--dinner is announced, the plates are changed,--but, my sight
becomes again obscured when I think of it."--

"For heaven's sake," said Edmond, "what is it? assuredly some dreadful
wickedness of the rebels, fire-brands and murder, or poison."--"No,
young man," continued the Marshal, somewhat tranquillized, "against
such things I am secure,--my Fleury, the luckless man, my valet, who in
other respects is cleverness and dexterity itself, this man at a sign
from me (for he only waits upon me and therefore the affair is the more
incomprehensible) was handing the salt, and while I was taking it, he
entirely upset the saltcellar before me; a mist came over my eyes, I
was compelled to go to bed, having discharged my valet, and come here
to find consolation and tranquillity."

Edmond, who turned away with the greater shame and vexation, the more
he had been excited by the narrative; could not sustain the fiery
regards of the Marshal, who, in seeking to arouse sympathy, fixed his
eyes steadfastly upon him and Christine. The latter very
unceremoniously burst into a loud and hearty fit of laughter, while she
looked at Edmond almost maliciously.

"Well, really! madam," began the Marshal, "this treatment is the more
unexpected, as I am unaccustomed to it from you; if such things can
make you merry, you think too slightly of the happiness, or unhappiness
of your friend."

"Not so indeed," said Christine, "besides I am not particularly merry,
I think the tale very edifying and dare be sworn, that the woman and
children, whom early this morning you so serenely caused to be shot,
also upset the saltcellar in their hut yesterday evening, but you are
now free from all these accidents, is it not so Marshal?"

"Is it permitted to ask," said Edmond modestly, "what the affair is?"

"Early this morning," said the Marshal more composedly, "I was compelled
to sacrifice a few of these unhappy people to the law, for they would
have sent provisions to the rebels in the mountains."

"The investigation was somewhat precipitate," said Christine, "not much
regard was paid to the denial of the persons arrested; it is true there
was some probability, for the mother had a son among the rebels, who
may have often enough suffered hunger. She was a woman of forty years
of age with two children, one twelve and the other eight years old.
They were led through this street."

"But not the children?" said Edmond turning pale.

The Marshal shrugged up his shoulders and answered lightly, "we must
enforce with severity our self-appointed laws, in order to terrify;
they could not themselves shew why they were on the by-road; for that
they still would have gathered fruit is incredible."

"This mother," interrupted the lady, "with her younger children were
seeking for some beans, they were found in the fields by a party of
soldiers, terror prevented them from replying quickly to their
questions,--and this noble marshal, this gay, gallant, amiable man,
this _bel esprit_, who writes verses, beats his enemies and makes
netting, this tender-hearted man who sheds tears if I suffer from
headache, this hateful monster caused mother and children to be shot,
while he blows a feather from his uniform with infinite grace!"

"Lady!" screamed the Marshal starting up, Edmond stepped back, the
footstool was upset and the whole company rose from their card-tables
at this sudden uproar.

"Is it not true," said Christine passionately while she stood in the
middle of the room, "that such conduct is great, heroic and noble? have
our enlightened times come, that we should experience such things? oh,
monster! dare you mention the words friendship and love? have you the
arrogance to wish to pass for estimable and benevolent? yes, you are
also a contemptible creature like your despicable associates, yet you
must have felt, seen, or in your dreams at least experienced what a
dark destiny poverty, sorrow, necessity, and holy compassion is, these
destitute parents, these hungry children; the mother, who with scanty
and meagre food entered her hut, how their eyes sought hers
imploringly; how her glance of consolation shone in the eyes of her
children; how the small supply spread a heaven of tranquil abundance
and mutual love! Had you but the eye of an imprisoned swallow; had you
only understood your dog when he begs some crumbs from you: you would
have trampled your cross of honour under foot rather than have done
that deed. Man only can sink so low; the beast which tears itself is
gentle and innocent; a spark of ancient heaven shines still brighter in
its savage state than in our more degenerate nature. There are tales
for children in which a timid girl is made to kiss a scaly dragon in
order to disenchant him; but I could caress the tiger, extend my hand
and offer my lips to the hideous hyena, rather than polute myself by
being friendly towards you, for I should fear from a woman to be
transformed into a dragon. And yet,--as they passed here, exchanging
farewell glances, these children, who yet knew nothing of life, and
were slaughtered at this tender age--it was indeed as if the last
judgment with all its terrors burst upon my heart; behold, I could have
kissed the dust from your and your executioner's shoes in the public
streets, only to have saved them! I flew to you, I found you not. Yes,
most assuredly, all that was felt in those bitter moments by these
wretched creatures is now changed for them into peace and blessedness;
yes, they have forgotten this life and you, if we do not madly pray to
a tyrant instead of to the God of goodness."

"You are mad yourself, miserable woman," exclaimed the Marshal
vehemently, "to forget yourself thus--by heaven! you should be shut up
in a madhouse. But, by my honour, you shall never see me again."

"Never! never!" cried Christine, with flashing eyes, "Oh, already this
is happiness and gain! no, great hero, never, or if you should feel a
desire to come, a large vessel filled with salt shall be upset at your
feet, as people strew salt over the places where the cursed have
dwelt."

The Marshal trembled so violently with rage, that he was not able to
gird on his sword; he took it under his arm and left the house without
uttering a single word. The captain had already slipped away, when the
conversation took this unexpected turn; the aunts curtesied, mutually
embarrassed, and retired also, as their niece paid no attention to
them; the latter made a sign to the servants to withdraw, and released
and exhausted, she fell prostrate on the ground, while tears burst from
her eyes so unrestrainedly, as if she would thus weeping pass away and
expire.

Edmond, much embarrassed, drew near, she saw him not, he spoke a few
words, but she heard him not. "Dearest," he exclaimed at length, "you
kill me, you kill yourself! these powerful shocks will destroy your
constitution." "And were it not as well?" said she in a feeble voice,
without restraining her tears, "look on me, here on the ground, weep
with me; all good men should now perish." "Rise, lady," said Edmond,
while he assisted her, "if I must not believe that your reason has
deserted you."

"It has certainly suffered," said she somewhat tranquillised, while she
stood by him, and continued, "otherwise would I have seen and endured
these things as others do: it is even so, I have had a glance of the
sorrows of the world and of the enormity of mankind and can never more
jest and smile with them as formerly, I am awakened from the mock
existence and therefore you consider me mad; but you, Edmond, you,
among so many, should have known me better!"

"I am yet as in a dream," said Edmond, "how could you thus give way to
your grief, how so rudely wound the feelings of the Marshal, even
though you were in the right? I no longer recognise you, although I am
acquainted with you for more than a year. You were never thus."

"Always Edmond," sobbed she, "never otherwise, only that my grief has
burst out too violently. Why do you not understand me? Is your heart
incased in some hard metal that no feeling can penetrate it? Do not
believe that, on that account, I have neglected my mass or vesper to
implore the God of mercy to enlighten these wretches and to succour
these poor persecuted creatures, and that he may also strengthen
myself? Mark me, Edmond, although I do not belong to the community of
Huguenots, but if all these murderers were extirpated in a second by
one tremendous blow, our church should institute a festival of
thanksgiving that this stigma was removed from her, and her holy banner
would be no more dishonoured."

"I understand you now," said Edmond.--They had stepped into the
antechamber, "by heaven, I shall soon give up all society and rather
hold communion with stones than with men." He took his gun indignantly
from the wall, "How wild, Edmond, how obstinate," said she softly, "is
it then not permitted that men should understand, in love at least,
their confused Babilonean language? disembodied spirits only love--and
you say indeed that I have a place in your heart!"

"Love!" exclaimed Edmond, "accursed word! execrable equivocation and
madness of mankind! this old misunderstanding, love, this detestable
riddle of the sphynx, that no one has unriddled and for which thousands
have bled--damnation!" He gnashed his teeth and dashed his gun on the
ground, so that it went off and the shot passed through the ceiling.
The women and servants of the Lady Christine hastened towards her; he
looked at her, she was not injured and smiled at him sorrowfully as he
rushed out of the door and to his parting salute only answered by a
strange shake of the head, so that her dark tresses were loosened and
shaded her face. She pressed them to her weeping eyes and went silently
to the garden and out into the fresh night air.




                              CHAPTER III.


The Lord of Beauvais was walking up and down in his garden conversing
on various subjects with his friend; as often as they passed the little
open summer house, Eveline called out to them and directed their
attention to the building, which she was trying to imitate with cards.
The Counsellor of Parliament was violently struggling with his
feelings, and his friend was trying in vain to tranquillise him.

"I have never yet seen you so obstinate," said the latter, at length,
almost impatiently; "what is it then at last, Edmond is a young man
like many others, let him exhaust his ardour, at a later period he will
afford you satisfaction, for do we not recognise in him strength,
character, and a noble heart, and these must certainly produce
something good hereafter."

"It is only towards you that I am so communicative," answered the
father, "I control my impatience in the presence of others and
especially before my son, but much as I must love him, I cannot
participate in your hopes. Were he only hasty and inconsiderate, all
might be well for I have been so too, I would even look favourably upon
his extravagant, overstrained religious zeal and all connected with it;
for early in life my own heart singularly experienced these feelings;
if with all this deep-rooted self will, this violent excess in every
thing, he would only add an inclination to activity, if he would but
instruct himself, if he would occupy himself in any way. I feel too
well that he presents but a disfigured resemblance of a part of my own
youth, but inwardly he is most unlike me, and in some measure
inimically opposed to me; thus unhappily is the neglected education of
his childhood avenged. You know well my old friend how much and almost
how culpably he was beloved by my deceased wife, how extravagantly she
admired every idea, impulse and peculiarity of the child, and that Abbé
his tutor also, who only excited his imagination and nourished it with
legends and miracles; his youthful mind was thus dazzled and rendered
incapable of discerning truth and reality, it accustomed him to indulge
freely in all the emotions of his heart and to consider them unerring
and most exalted. Imperceptibly a contempt for all, who did not
coincide with him, crept into his mind, he looked upon them as cold and
perverse, and in his zealous hatred, he believed himself infinitely
superior to them. I was too weak, too irresolute to remedy the evil
while it was yet time, I flattered myself, that it would not take root
so easily, and when at last my suffering wife, whose feelings I ever
feared to distress, died in giving birth to my youngest child, it was
too late."

"All that may be true," rejoined his friend, "but not so bad however as
you consider it, stupidity and madness are alone incurable; a vein of
good runs through all really excitable natures, and the life of these
irritable and violent men is spent in continual struggles between good
and evil, so that the best part may be extracted and shine forth
glorified."

"You speak," said the Counsellor, "like a physician and chemist, you
deny that the soul can appropriate to itself immutable perversities
which afterwards constitute its life."

"So long as a man is young," rejoined the former, "I despair of nothing
and still less of your son, for he has never given himself up to
dissipation. This only and bad company ruin a man entirely, and the
exhaustion is not confined to the body, it also causes vacuity of mind,
it closes up every avenue to the heart, so that, finally, neither
reason nor understanding, nor any feeling for morality or honour
remains. Those are such as are incurable. You reproach yourself for the
indulgent education you have given him, it is not in that alone,
however, my old friend, that you have neglected it; you complain of
your son's want of activity, but you have yourself excluded him from
every means of exercising it. When he had grown up, he was destined to
follow your profession; he had, however, an antipathy to become a
lawyer, and then declared he would rather be shorn and become a monk. I
cannot censure him for this, forgive me, if I am too frank. He desired
to go to sea, you were inflexibly opposed to it: then he wished to try
his fortune in the army, our efforts to win your approbation to this
were equally ineffectual. I pity the young man; it is terrible for a
hair-brained fellow to be irrecoverably destined to sit behind a table,
poring over acts and processes. If you have been too indulgent
formerly, you are now a great deal too severe towards him."

"You do me wrong, infatuated man," exclaimed the Counsellor vehemently;
"it was not exacting too much to require of him to pursue my profession,
in which I have been so useful myself, it is an honourable and
benevolent one to mankind and corresponds with the noble freedom of our
sentiments; sufficient time remained to stroll about, to read, to make
verses and to indulge his passion for the chase. I was then convinced
that naval and military service were only chosen by him, that he might
escape from my paternal eye. I could not persuade myself that he chose
them as his profession with foresight and reasonable will. It grieved
me to lose him entirely; only too often ill-advised youths seek these
pretexts to sink into a busy idleness: for what is the soldier in
peace? At that time we had no war. I agree with you in what you say
about the dissipated life of our young men; but, perhaps, you will
laugh, when I assert that this passion for hunting is equally
insupportable to me. As soon as I perceived this rising within him, I
considered him as almost lost, for all young people, that I have ever
yet seen, entirely devoted to this occupation, are idlers, who cannot
again settle to any business; this seeming occupation with its
exertions and sacrifices teaches them to despise time, they dream away
their lives until the hour, that calls them up again to follow the hare
and the woodcock. And besides the penchant he has to rove about the
mountains, he frequently does not return for three or four days
together, he then walks about the house without rest or quiet, opens a
dozen books, begins a letter, or a stanza, scolds the servants and then
rushes out again; and thus passes day after day, and week after week."

The doctor looked at him, smiled, and then, after a pause, said: "Let
him alone, he will soon become tame, I have no fears on that account,
and why do you make yourself uneasy, my good friend? you are quite rich
enough; and even if he earns nothing, if he only learns to take care of
his fortune, to enjoy with moderation his income and to do good to
others, for it often occurs that useful occupations are perilous
undertakings. I understand perfectly all that you represent to me, and
am only surprised that you do not understand it yourself. Give him the
lady of Castelnau, and both will become reasonable, you will be a
grandfather and obtain another toy to amuse you."

"Never!" exclaimed the Counsellor of Parliament with the utmost
vehemence, "shall that take place as long as I live; it is she, who
bewilders him, who torments him, and yet nourishes all his prejudices.
Never speak to me of that again."

"You do the girl injustice," said the doctor, "strange she is, indeed,
but good, and out of the two excentricities a tolerable understanding
would arise." At this moment the garden-gate was closed violently,
Edmond entered, and the conversation ended. They saluted one another,
and seated themselves in the summerhouse with the little girl.
"Brother," cried Eveline, "it is all your fault, that my beautiful
house is knocked down. He causes nothing but misfortune." Edmond was in
a kindly mood, and said: "build it up again, my sister, and you will
have so much the more to do."--"Yes," answered she, "if I were allowed
to be as idle as you, it would matter very little, but I have yet to
sew to-day, and then to write and cipher, but you have nothing to care
for, and that is why you give so much trouble to people."

"What have I done besides upsetting your splendid card-house?" asked
Edmond.

"Look papa," cried the child, "he has already forgotten that he shot
dead his lady love; Oh, he will kill us all soon, and when he has done
that, he will be satisfied."

Edmond frowned; the father reprimanded the child's rudeness and the
doctor gave a different turn to the conversation. "Now, dear Edmond,"
said he, addressing the young man, "what do you say to the news, that
the Camisards, in spite of their late defeat, still hold out against
the king's troops, that they are masters of the plain, that an English
fleet will land in Getta, that a battle is said to have been lost in
Germany, and that, if only the half of all this be true, we are
thinking how we shall make friends with the rebels, that they may not
put an end to us."

"Do not jest," said Edmond, "our country has never yet been in such
danger, so long however as such gentle proceedings are used towards
these rebels, we are really standing on a precipice, if the foreign foe
should succeed in landing even a small army and ally itself with them."

"Do you call their treatment mild?" asked the Counsellor.

"I do not speak," continued the son, "of the executions, the
ill-treatment and all these cruelties against individuals, they are
severe enough; that even women and children are not spared is enough to
inspire all mankind with horror. I mean the dreadful manner in which
the war is carried on, so that already a royal army has been destroyed
without being able to arrive at the root of the evil itself. Their
warfare consists in skirmishes, in the mountains where the strange
soldier is almost always more easily entrapped; the rebels are
succoured by the mountaineers, who provide them with troops and
provisions, by the war these rude men learn to make war, and although
they cannot succeed in repeating these attacks in full force, and from
all points, at the same time, with military skill and discipline, yet
it is evident that the evil will rage still longer and perhaps they may
finally conquer."

"You appear to have changed your mind about your Marshal," said the
Lord of Beauvais.

"My Marshal?" resumed the son, "he is the King's-marshal, and under
this title he serves as a representative of his majesty to us all,
although the better part of the people desire that it should not be
so."

"Would to heaven," said the doctor, "that he only belonged to one of
us; I at least would make a vigourous attack upon him with pills and
rhubarb, so that he would soon make room for us; he is the only man
against whom I have ever before felt a grudge. Has he not in the space
of eight months sentenced to death more men than all the doctors in the
province would have been able to do. All those yonder in the mountains,
Cavalier and Roland included, he considers merely as his future
patients, and like an ignorant empiric he invariably prescribes one and
the same remedy for the most opposite constitutions. Yesterday, he
again caused twelve prophets to be hanged, who all affirmed, with their
latest breath, that a term would be soon put to his power. What is your
opinion, Ned, about this gift of prophecy, of these ecstasies and
convulsions?"

"It will not be believed in foreign lands," said the latter, "that such
things are practised, that many reasonable men speak of them as of a
mystery, and that our calender dates 1703."

"Let it date!" said Vila, "it seems then, my child, that you understand
the affair, inform me a little on the subject, for I do not understand
it at all, or, at least, I cannot express in appropriate words that
which has from time to time passed through my mind."

"What is there to understand in it?" said the young man impetuously,
"the grossest and most absurd deception that has ever ventured to
present itself to the mind."

"Not though in the sense in which you take it," said the doctor, "I
have observed many in the prisons, they are very unlike one another and
merit truly a serious consideration. I have never yet been in any of
their assemblies in the open air; or in barns; but I am resolved to
assist at their service yonder there at St. Hilaire, and if you give me
a kind word Ned, you shall have permission to accompany me. I have
brought some peasants clothing in my carriage, so that no one may
recognise us."

"I will accompany you, my good sir," said Edmond, "to make you ashamed
of having considered these people of any kind of importance. We shall
then be able to be more of one mind concerning this ridiculous
deception."

"You shall not go my son," said the father, "what can this curiosity
avail? I do not understand you, my friend; are not these unfortunate
men miserable enough? must idle curiosity and petulant caprice also
make a mockery of them? and what, if the oppressed should be betrayed,
or arrested, as it has already so frequently happened, and all
massacred without distinction, who then will have been the dupe to have
slyly insinuated himself among them? or should they recognise or
entertain suspicions of you?

"Does not the old patron himself talk already like a Camisard?" said
the doctor, laughing, "in short, do you not verily believe that the
prophets would recognise and denounce us as godless people to the
multitude? but tranquillise yourself, my cautious friend, a troop of
the rebels is here in the neighbourhood, on that account the soldiers
dare not trust themselves in the mountains, knowing that they have
these good friends in their rear. I wish, for once, however, to be in
the right, and you Edmond shall learn something; these are indeed a
very singular sort of schools, and information is fetched with
difficulty and in small quantities from over the mountains and rocks;
all men cannot be wholesale dealers like you. In reality, however, it
is my son who has persuaded me to this, and made me promise to bring
you, Edmond, too."

"Your son?" exclaimed Edmond, with great vivacity, "the friend of my
childhood, is he here again?"

"And you mention this to us now for the first time?" said the Lord of
Beauvais.

"You learn it now quite time enough," replied the doctor in his
phlegmatical humour; "yes, indeed, the vagabond is returned after many
years, he has had some experience, the hair-brained fellow. He has
studied in foreign universities, has seen Holland, England, and
Scotland, has wandered among the various tribes of India and now he is
at length returned suddenly and to my great satisfaction just as mad
and wild as ever, but well informed. He has heard wonders related of
our prophets in this country. He has seen many plants and animals of
this species in Asia, and seems as if fallen from the clouds, that, as
he turned his back upon them, a much more extraordinary plant should
have shot up in his own country close on the threshold of his native
home, than any he had observed in tropical climates, nor has he left me
a moments peace, until I promised to set out with him accompanied by
you too. 'But why did he not come here immediately with you?' cried
Edmond.

"His mother, his cousins, his acquaintances," answered Vila, "The whole
town of St. Hypolite would not let him go so quickly, he is obliged to
narrate until his throat is dry, he now waits to embrace you in the
little inn in the wood, and will then set out with you on your
chivalrous expedition.--Now my old friend, make no objections, grant
this pleasure to the young people."

"Well, be mad then," said the Counsellor of Parliament, "but there is
something in my breast that disapproves of this step. May heaven guide
you my son!"--They took leave, the carriage drew up, they ascended into
it in order to get over the first few miles.

Scarcely had they departed, when the servant entered hastily from the
garden. "A brilliant equipage is advancing on the road from Nismes, I
think a visit is intended for you, my Lord."

The Counsellor of Parliament hurried into the hall. "How," exclaimed he
astonished, "it is the Intendant himself, the Lord of Basville."--The
carriage stopped and a tall grave looking man, advanced in years,
descended and approached the master of the house with solemn steps.
They saluted each other and after a short pause the intendant began:
"You are doubtlessly surprised, my Lord Counsellor, to see me here, but
a matter of importance has led me to you, it appeared to me more
courteous to visit you myself than to request your presence at Nismes,
where, perhaps our conversation would not have been permitted to go on
so uninterruptedly and familiarly." The Counsellor, astonished at this
prelude to the conference, begged that he would immediately disclose
what had procured him the honour of a visit.

"You are slandered sir," said the Intendant, as he looked at him
fixedly; "I am not so fortunate as to be one of your friends, yet I
assert boldly and safely that they are abominable calumnies which are
brought against you, but which, when all the circumstances are joined
together, might obtain a semblance of veracity with some credulous
people." "Who dares attack my name?" said the Counsellor of Parliament.

"Many, very many," said the Intendant in a forcible tone, "and among
these are men of importance and respectability. I told you several
months ago, that you would repent refusing your son so resolutely and
inexorably permission to organise also a troop of volunteers to fight
against the rebels and to hunt them out of their hiding-places."

"I do not yet repent of it in the least, my Lord Intendant," replied
the Counsellor. "Permit me to differ with you on this subject."

"Had we," continued the Intendant, "obtained the assistance of citizens,
peasants, and principally of the nobles of the land, upon which we
ought to have been permitted to reckon with certainty, our king would
not have been compelled to send an army and a Marshal, who have
produced the war they should have quelled, for it was the peasantry
themselves who annihilated the villains; and like many other worthy
men, you have not offered your assistance, you preferred living in
disunion with your son, who is a spirited young man, and an enthusiast
in the right cause. This might be taken by all for paternal love and
fatherly authority, which certainly are never to be suppressed, but
permit me," continued he in a more rapid tone, as he perceived the
Counsellor's impatience--"this, joined to the opinions to which you
have more than once given utterance in the presence of strangers,
furnished matter for various conversations in the country; and what
took place some days ago, misleads even those who honour you; and this
is what I came here to charge you with."

"I see, with emotion, that I am esteemed, speak out," said the Lord of
Beauvais.

"You have," pursued the Intendant with the utmost coolness, "given
refuge to rebels; you have received fugitive Camisards; these villains
have shouted a vivat to you here in front of your house; you have
permitted this rabble to eat at your table; you have yourself opposed
violent resistance, when attempts were made to take them prisoners; and
your son's affianced bride has insulted the Marshal in public company."

"My lord!" exclaimed the old man entirely beside himself; however, he
said composedly, "the web of these lies is too gross not to be
immediately recognized as falsehood. She, whom you designate as my
son's bride, will never be such with my consent, I know her not, and
cannot love her; my house was open to some unfortunate travellers, and
one of this party whom I protected, and who announced himself by the
name of the Hermit, had nearly drawn destruction upon myself and
family."

He then related to him the occurrences of that evening, precisely as he
had experienced them and concluded thus: "You now perceive, my Lord
Intendant, how falsely people have judged me in this."

"I believe you," said the grave-looking man, "but you have forgotten the
saying that walls have ears, it is known how you have spoken sometimes
of the Marshal and of his love-intrigues, which he certainly takes too
little trouble to conceal, in which injurious expressions you have gone
so far as to call him hangman. My severity and inflexibility, for
which I am responsible to my God and to my conscience, you call
blood-thirstiness. You cannot deny that you have sheltered suspected
persons with hospitality, that until now you did not live at variance
with your son; that you have refused to allow him to serve his country
although he is of age; if the Lady of Castelnau insults our Marshal in
the presence of your son, while he keeps silence, one must believe that
he has an understanding with her on that subject, and if this should be
the case, suspicion further concludes, that you must be quite
reconciled and of one mind; therefore, say the malicious, that you must
render assistance every way to the rebels privately as well as openly,
and that we shall be more reproached for neglect, if we suffer it, than
praised for our forbearance; and this admits of no doubt."

"I desire examination, the strictest examination," exclaimed the
Counsellor of Parliament. "You know," said the Intendant rising, "that
in this perilous confusion there is no time for it; umbrage and
suspicion serve as proofs, the most trifling circumstances, if they
cannot be refuted, condemn; the martial-law, which the king has caused
to be proclaimed to us, must unfortunately take this cursory method,
for the welfare of the country and the preservation of millions demand
it."

"Then I am condemned without being judged? judged without having been
heard? they commence with the punishment and will be at leisure
afterwards to enquire into the case," said the Counsellor of Parliament
with bitterness.

"Do not be angry, my worthy sir," said the Lord of Basville. "There is
no question of all this yet, the proofs of it must be much more
positive; but you cannot yourself deny, that one may be allowed to look
upon you with suspicion, when so much is alleged, against you."

"And what then is required of me?" said the Counsellor.

"Nothing, unreasonable," replied the man of gravity, "nothing, to which
you can in justice offer any opposition. Yesterday I published a new
manifesto of his Majesty, wherein, nobles and citizens are summoned,
urgently, entreatingly, and commandingly, to stand up unanimously for
their country and religion. Three hundred young men have presented
themselves; let your son be free as his years demand, permit him thus
to testify his attachment to his king, for it is scarcely six weeks
since, when in my apartment, in presence of the Lord Marshal, he
complained with tears in his eyes, that your excessive parental
affection lays a heavy restraint upon him, and prevents him from
showing his zeal. You prevent him now again by your fatherly authority;
now, certainly, these indications joined to your indifference would
with myself weigh heavier in the scale. Your answer, my Lord Counsellor
of Parliament!" "My son," said the father with constrained displeasure,
"is free; he may serve the king according to his wish if he sets his
happiness upon it."

The Intendant bowed in silence, refused all refreshment and the
afflicted father followed the carriage with tearful eyes, as it rolled
away.--"Is it then, come to this?" exclaimed he, "you have now Edmond,
what you wished, I could not say no. You will now spare the roe and the
deer, and keep your balls for the chace after your brethren!--Oh what
folly to have allowed him to go with that thoughtless old man, under
these circumstances; if these blood-thirsty men knew that!--Aye, we
think to steer the bark of life with foresight and wisdom, and should
the tempest have but a moment's intermission, at the first calm we let
go our oars and dreaming we are wrecked on a rock."

Eveline entered from the garden, the old man embraced her tenderly and
sighed: "Soon, perhaps, thou wilt be my only child!"

"Have they taken Edmond away from you?" asked the child.

"They have indeed, my dear little one," replied the father.

"They will soon restore him to you again," said Eveline coaxingly, "we
can make better use of him, for others do not know at all what to do
with him."

All this moment firing was heard in the distance, and the old man
concealed himself with his child in the most retired room of the house.

He was soon recalled to the saloon, and was not a little surprised to
see his friend, the doctor, standing before him, and in reality clothed
in the dress of a peasant, so that at first he did not recognize him.
"Be not uneasy," said he, "nothing unfortunate has happened to us, but
something very ridiculous to me; only think, scarcely had I disguised
myself in this merry-andrew fashion, and advanced afoot towards the
mountains, than a servant, whether luckily, or unluckily, stepped up to
me, recognized me again and requested my attendance at the Marquis of
Valmont's, who is suddenly taken dangerously ill, the carriage was
waiting ready, I threw myself into it, made them drive as fast as the
horses could run, and here, just before your door, it occurs to me for
the first time, that in the dark and hurry, I left all my unfortunate
wardrobe at the inn in the wood, sword, wig, and every thing. Assist me
quickly with some of your clothes, or I shall not be able to attend the
Marquis."

"And the two foolish youths," said the Counsellor, "they are now alone,
without your counsel and prudence. Why did I suffer myself to be
infected with your frivolity?"

"Make no objections, my good friend," exclaimed the former, "all
these are trifles compared to my misery!--He quickly tore off his
clothes;--Bring! give!"

The domestic who was summoned thither assisted him, "My clothes are too
long, and perhaps too narrow for you," said the Counsellor. "Never
mind," cried the eager doctor, I shall perhaps the more easily impose
on the invalid; the black coat, the neckcloth, the waistcoat descends
to the knee, no harm in that; now for the wig!

"You know, extraordinary man," said the Lord of Beauvais, "that I have
given up that ornament here in this retirement more than ten years
ago.--There is not one in the house."

"No wig!" exclaimed Vila, and with horror let fall the black coat,
through one of the sleeves of which he had thrust his arm.--"Not a
single wig! man! now I begin to believe that you have renounced all
faith, what is to be done?"

The Counsellor and the servant endeavoured to quiet the provoked
friend, but he scarcely even heard their words. "A doctor to go to his
patient without a wig!" repeated he angrily, "it would cause an uproar
in the whole province, it would be reported in Paris, a scandalous
article would be inserted in the 'Mercure de France,' ah the infidel!
it would be even better to have no bread, no catechism in the house
than to want the necessary headgear, and the Marquis will not suffer
himself to be cured by me in this bald-headed condition, and his fever
will have still less respect for me."

But all his complaints were fruitless, he was forced to depart in this
strange costume, and could not in the least understand the Counsellor's
indifference to his embarrassment, "I should have expected more
friendship from the old heathen," muttered he to himself, "and all that
the Camisards have done, is nothing in comparison to my going without
sword and chapeau bas, dressed in black with ruffles and all the
appurtenances; but to advance to the bed of so distinguished a patient,
without a wig is nothing less than if I had lived among canibals." Thus
did he try by exaggerations to console himself for his plight.




                              CHAPTER VI.


A large company was invited at the Marshal's at Nismes. The Intendant,
the Lord of Basville, sat by the side of the Lord of Montrevel, many
officers and respectable inhabitants of the town surrounded the table,
and at the head the beautiful Lady of Andreux added lustre to the
assembly, who with her husband was present to do honour to this
banquet. Some of her female relatives, distinguished ladies of Nismes,
sat between the gentlemen, and all seemed as merry as if they were not
pondering on the common oppression of the country. The Intendant of the
province alone preserved his serious demeanour and joined not in the
repeated laughter of the others; he was deeply engaged in earnest
conversation with Colonel Julien, who also seemed to be totally
regardless of the lively mood of the company. An important advantage
had been obtained the day before over the rebels, and all were
flattering themselves, that in a short time they would see these
unhappy insurrections brought to an end. The Marshal was in higher
spirits than people had been used to see him for a long time; his
sallies were laughed at and the homage which he conspicuously addressed
to the Lady of Andreux, was gratefully received by her and returned
with pointed elegance.

"Colonel Julien related to the Intendant the wonderful manner in which
he had effected his escape from the recesses of the mountains of the
Cevennes, three months previously. He was in command of a small
expedition and thought to have entirely defeated the rebels in a hot
encounter, when he perceived himself on all sides suddenly surrounded
towards evening. 'Around us,' said he, 'were steep, barren mountains,
while we were preparing for a retreat, all the heights were suddenly
occupied by multitudes of people, before and behind us were swarms of
dark figures, we could not long remain doubtful of our position; for
suddenly large stones rolled down on our troop, which in their heavy
descent crushed our people murderously. Here there was no rallying to
be thought of, therefore we retreated almost flying towards a mill near
a mountain stream. I was convinced I should find this pass also
occupied, and gave myself up for lost. The rocks crushed my soldiers
right and left, resistance being impossible. Now sprung from the other
side, like chamois, more than a hundred down from the steep heights,
and in this disorder, where we could not hold our footing, a bloody
fight ensued; I had been already wounded three times, and my fighting
men were rapidly decreasing, darkness came on, when, in a moment, while
the Camisards burst into their howling hymns, a panic seized the rest
of my troop, and they all rushed towards the opening of the valley. The
victorious band pursued them from the other side, new foes beset them.
Bleeding, I leaned solitarily against a rock and saw through the
twilight my company hewn down, the former could not perceive me,
however, firmly they had sworn my death. I dragged myself sideways
towards the little bridge that leads to the mill on the other side,
certain of meeting death; but I found it undefended. A fault that I
should not have expected from the rebels, for they were headed by
Cavalier, as I heard in the midst of the cries and hubbub. All this
misfortune, however, happened to me only in consequence of false
informers, who brought me lying accounts; men, that I had long known,
and whose fidelity seemed to me to have been tried; but they merely
played this part, the better to deceive me, for they belonged to the
Camisards.'

"The worst of this is," said the Intendant, "that we dare trust no one,
not a single one. The most sincere, the most zealous patriots in
appearance, betray us. We are reproached for severity and harshness,
but I fear we are yet too mild and compassionate, for these faithless
rebels deserve no quarter; they can only be subdued by continued,
inexorable severity."

"They should be wholly extirpated," interrupted the Marshal, who in the
middle of his own lively conversation had only listened to the last
words.

Julien looked gravely at the Intendant, while he sighed: "You really
believe then that these unfortunate men are no longer deserving of
human consideration." "Hardly so indeed," said the Lord of Basville,
"for through their own cruelty and disgraceful conduct of every kind,
they have rendered themselves unworthy of any sympathy. But go on
Colonel: how were you saved in this pressing position?"

"With scarcely strength sufficient to advance a single step, I dragged
myself across the river, through the copse and over a meadow towards
the mill, for no choice was left me. It was now become quite dark, and
yet I would have willingly avoided this mill, for the people there were
more than merely suspicious. Two of the sons had gone over to the
rebels some time before, and it had been my intention after my victory
to take all these people from their houses along with me, and to have
them interrogated in prison. A dog announced my arrival; this was the
last thing I was conscious of, for I fell fainting before the door of
the house. When I recovered from my insensibility, I found myself
undressed upon a bed, my wounds bound up, and many strange faces
gathered round me, which, by the glimmering light of a lamp caused me a
most disagreeable impression. An old man with white hair, who seemed to
have the most authority, was the only one in whom I could have any
confidence; the more horrible among them, were some women, particularly
an elderly one, whom I took for the old man's wife. 'Your wounds are
not mortal,' said the old miller, 'you will soon recover, be tranquil
on this point.'--May I in reality have no cause for uneasiness?
rejoined I. Am I with loyal subjects of the king?--'By heaven, we are
such!' exclaimed the aged man with tears in his eyes, 'we have already
made many sacrifices to him, and we will protect you, although you seem
to know us well, nor are you either unknown to us. My two sons have
both suffered martyrdom--but the king commanded it should be so, and
God permitted it, we dispute no more with him.' Hereupon the women,
particularly the old ones, set up a terrific howling; some young
fellows gazed at me with cruel, sanguinary looks; I was prepared for
all. 'Peace,' cried the old man, 'this man has not come under my roof
as a foe, but as one requiring assistance, who injures a hair of his
head, will have to answer for it to me!--We found you lifeless at our
door, we recognized you on the spot,' continued he turning to me; 'we
need only to have left you without assistance, and _we_ did not murder
you; but I have staunched the blood, you may return to-morrow to the
town, and I will take care that you shall be conveyed with all speed to
the nearest village in an easy manner, for when our companions arrive
in a mass, as it may happen to-morrow, I might not be able to protect
you any longer.' And so it happened. During the night some rebels, who
were seeking after me, were sent away even in the twilight of morning;
I was placed comfortably in a small vehicle and conveyed to the opening
of the valley from whence I could be carried in safety to the town."

"We may well be astonished at this false virtue," said the Intendant,
"but we must refuse it our consideration, for that will not be
necessary, if these unfortunate men remain faithful to the king and
obey his mandates."

The company was still sitting at desert and sipping choice wines, when,
suddenly, a great uproar was raised in the house, several men's
footsteps were heard hastening up the steps, the doors burst open and
in rushed the clergyman of St. Sulpice, pale, and trembling, followed
by a few citizens, and among these a young man who seemed quite beside
himself, "What is the matter?" demanded the Marshal in an authoritative
tone, and the Intendant arose and addressed himself to the young
citizen. "Now Clement," said he, "recollect yourself, what has happened
to you?" "Is not this the leader of the city militia at Nismes?" asked
the Marshal with contempt.

"Even so," replied the Lord of Basville, "he led the troop of
volunteers." "He seems to have lost the power of speech in his
expedition," said the Lord of Montrevel, laughing.

"They are behind us--they will be here directly," stammered out young
Clement.

"Who?" enquired the Marshal, who had resumed his seat.

"Cavalier and the Camisards!" cried the young man.

"Not so bad, not quite so bad as that," rejoined the priest, who seemed
more composed. "But our troop is totally defeated and the rebels have
been all along in our rear, and they have the insolence to appear on
the plain of Nismes, as if they were going to threaten the town
itself."

"Thus it is," said the Marshal cuttingly, "when citizens meddle with
affairs to which they are not equal; give the young man a glass of wine
to revive him." Casting at the same time a side glance at the
Intendant, "Sit down reverend priest," he continued, "you appear more
composed, give us a little more circumstantial account."

"According to the order of the gracious Lord Marshal," said the priest,
bowing profoundly, "We set fire yesterday to the village, which had
furnished provisions to the rebels, when they had quartered themselves
there; we then set out five hundred men strong, and three hundred
soldiers marched at the same time, with a hundred dragoons on the other
side of the river. The wretched, burned out creatures ran howling into
the wood and we pursued our way whilst we saw about a hundred rebels
flying before us. Behind the wood we joined the royal troops and
surrounded the vineyards on three sides near Nages. Some Camisards
showed themselves sideways, who, however, after a few shots
disappeared, We now advanced on the right, the soldiers on the left, in
between the mountains; we fell among the brambles, and--as if fire was
vomited forth from all sides, balls flew in among us without our being
able to see any one, we hesitate, we halt. Now the villains in the
mountains spring to their feet yelling and psalm-singing bellow down
upon us, together with hissing balls; we defend ourselves and put our
hopes in the royal troops, but the superiority is too great, our people
fall, we are compelled to retreat. Difficult enough it was to retire
from the mountains, the greater part of our men remain lying there:
arriving on the plain, there we beheld the military also beaten and
taking flight."

"Defeated!" screamed the Marshal.

"They are most likely following us," replied the priest.

"The volunteers," said the Intendant, "have apparently not been
properly supported, as it has often happened already, and how shall the
citizen bear up if the soldier takes flight?"

The Marshal, his face crimsoned, would have retorted angrily, when some
officers, covered in dust and bewildered, entered hastily. "The rebels,
Lord Marshal," said a young captain, "are seen before the gates of
Nismes; Cavalier has played us a fine trick this time; our informers
enticed us among the vineyards, the volunteers did not unite with us as
had been agreed upon and we are entirely routed. Cavalier knows how to
dispose of his men like an old soldier.

"Lord Marshal," exclaimed a veteran colonel entering the room, "the foe
is without! and the fearful Catinat has, through retribution, as he
calls it, reduced three catholic villages to ashes, and with his own
hands set fire to the churches."

Some prisoners were brought in, among whom there was a child of twelve
years of age. "What means this lad?" exclaimed the Marshal.

"He is a brother of Cavalier," replied the old colonel, "we had already
made this dangerous leader prisoner, we had taken possession of a
bridge and he could not rejoin his people, when this brat, this boy
here, rallied the rebels, harangued them, brandished his sword in his
outstretched hand, fell upon us, retook the bridge, made his brother
free, but became himself our prisoner."

"Satan's brood!" growled the Marshal, "away with them all to prison,
and we, gentlemen, to our posts!" all hastened out, the guests had
already retired without taking leave: the boy looked boldly and
smilingly round the saloon, and carelessly followed his guard; no one
remained behind but Colonel Julien and the Intendant, who took their
hats and sticks to go to their respective houses. "This cannot
continue," said the Lord of Basville, "the king sacrifices his army
fruitlessly and the rebellion becomes more obstinate and stronger."

"Things will change," said the Colonel, "I have the surest intelligence
from Paris;--but you testify too openly your contempt of him; he also
knows what you report concerning him at court."

"Can I do otherwise," said the Intendant, "if I am a faithful servant
to the king? you have witnessed all, and must acknowledge in your
heart, that but for this Marshal, this rebellion would never have
become a war; he nourishes it, he is rejoicing at the idea of becoming
important through it, he squanders all his time with women and is brave
as a soldier only through pityful vanity, and he piques himself in
gaining the affections of silly women."

"If we now obtain a better general," said Julien, "it is to be hoped,
that this system of overreached severity and cruelty would be given up
and trial made of gentle means."

"No good subject of the king can counsel that," said the Intendant
taking a hasty leave of the Colonel.

The streets were in an uproar and every one was hastening to make
resistance against the rebels, who appeared more dangerous than ever.




                              CHAPTER VII.


Some days had elapsed and the Counsellor of Parliament had not seen his
son. Franz, the old domestic, had in the mean while set out on a
journey, and Joseph, as well as the female servants had not ventured to
disturb Edmond. The father was deeply concerned, for his son had never
before so pointedly avoided him. His grief lay principally in the
feeling, that he could not simply take the shortest and most natural
way, with all a father's authority, to force an entrance into his room,
which was always locked, and to question him about his condition. He
learned from Joseph, that his son always locked himself in, that he was
heard to sigh, nay, to weep, and that at night he would steal out to
wander about on the mountains, and then would as secretly return in the
morning, and avoid every body, in order to go and shut himself up again
as before. He seemed also to observe a rigid fast, for he took no food
and sent away every thing that was offered to him. "I no longer
understand him," said the old man to himself, as he was left once more
alone; "his high-wrought feelings destroy him, and I, his father, must
see him go to ruin without being able to do anything to save him. At
length the dark spirits are roused, that I have so long heard in their
slumbers; they have now assuredly taken possession of his soul."

It was late, and the night was still and dark; he dismissed the
servants, in order to be able to converse uninterruptedly with his son,
for it appeared to him an indispensable duty to make himself acquainted
with his condition, the uncertainty of which weighed more painfully on
his heart than the conviction of an actual misfortune would have done.
He took therefore the master-key, in order to ascend the great
staircase, when he heard the door of his son's room opened; he stood
still, and a ghastly pale figure in a dusky green coarse doublet,
descended towards him, his gun was slung over his shoulder, his hair in
wild disorder, his eyes dim, "Oh heaven!" exclaimed the father, "I
think I see a spirit, and it is you my son!"--He tottered, and
trembling was compelled to sit down on the stairs. "Is it you in
reality?"--"It is myself," answered Edmond in a hollow voice. "How?"
said the old man, "thus, in this figure? thus ill? in this dress? you
look though as like a Camisard, as if you were one of them."--"It is so
too," answered the son, "I am now going up into the mountains to them."

The father started up violently, he seized his son powerfully in his
arms, and thus carried him with supernatural strength into the saloon;
he placed him in an armchair, took the candle, looked at him
scrutinizingly and examined his whole figure, seized him by the breast
and cried out vehemently: "Wouldst thou act thus to me, unnatural
son?"--

"Yes," answered Edmond coldly, "I cannot do otherwise, I must!--leave
me! I thought, however, for once that I should win your approbation."

"As a rebel?" cried the Counsellor of Parliament in a vehement voice,
"as a murderer? that I must see die under martyrdom at the gallows? to
outrage my grey hair? one whom the father must deliver up into the
hands of the executioner?"

The son looked at him fixedly, but coldly and collectedly; the father
was deeply affected at it, but, at this ghastly look, had lost the
strength which supernatural terror had lent him for a moment, and
weeping aloud, he fell upon his son, who threw his arms round him,
embraced him, and by his caresses sought to console the afflicted old
man, "Oh, my son!" began the father, after a long pause, often
interrupted by sobs, "for many years I have not experienced these
tokens of affection in you, and now in this terrible moment, in which
my whole life vanishes as in a dream, in which you have so violently
torn my heart!--I cannot recover myself, I cannot question you, and
what shall I experience if my entreaties, my love, if nothing will
break your stubborn, enigmatical will? Oh, God of love! is there, in
all the feelings thou hast created, one more fervid than that of a
father to a child? and do we know the tremendous affliction we implore,
when we entreat heaven for children?"

They remained long clasped in each other's arms, at length Edmond said:
"Let me depart with your blessing, my father."

"That I cannot give to your dreadful designs," replied the Counsellor;
"It is so fearful, that I must still look upon you and myself as two
spectres."

Both were silent for a long time. At last the father said: "I will not
entreat of you to go to rest, for I greatly fear that you will not obey
me, it is fruitless also that I should seek for repose in sleep, for
slumber would flee from my shaken brain; what I may learn to-morrow, I
may as well hear to-day; if I can conceive, if I can comprehend that
which is incomprehensible, perhaps, it would terrify me less, perhaps,
I shall yield to grief and sorrow, and necessity, as to the storm,
or the earthquake; but from this spectral terror, from this almost
mask-like enigma, which threatens to drive me mad, deliver me at least
from this by speech and narration."

"Can it be expressed, my father?" began Edmond, "will you comprehend
what I myself cannot understand with my common knowledge? We should not
indeed comprehend, if this hall round us were suddenly turned into
Hesperian gardens, but we should enjoy the fruit, we should live and
exist in the miracle, even though by that means we should forget that
yet some other knowledge were wanting."

"Has that delirium also taken possession of you," cried the old man,
"in its peculiar way and wrapped you in the folds of its dark
vestments? now I would have sworn that you were free from that! and yet
I should have done wrong, for all fanaticism is but the twinborn of the
apparently most improbable and inimical."

"You speak what your mind prompts," said the son, "and I understand you
perfectly, but you do not understand me."

"Well, Edmond, you may be right, only speak, relate to me, perhaps I
may be able to approach nearer to your soul."

"How much I hated these Huguenots," began Edmond, "how much I abhorred
their war against the king, their fanaticism and prophets, that I
despised the gross deception of those people, I need not tell you, for
my irritated feelings made you unhappy and it seems that I am destined
to cause your misery, I may place myself now as then on whatever side I
like.--"

He stopped for a short time and then returned; "with these sentiments I
dressed myself in the peasant's clothes, which were so hateful to me,
our friend quitted me, as you know, and I went with his son up into the
mountains. Florentine jested about our expedition, I was much vexed at
and ashamed of my purpose. When we advanced farther into the mountains,
some figures glided before us on the solitary footpath, we followed the
direction they took, and arrived with them in about half an hour at a
lonely barn. They knocked; it was opened to us. I cannot describe the
feeling with which I entered into this rustic assembly. It was a
loathing of mind and body. Some were kneeling, others were standing
praying, I approached the latter and tried to imitate them. Everything
went on quietly, all eyes were bent on the ground, a few old women only
muttered their psalms between their teeth. All at once a boy about
eight years old fell down as if in convulsions. My repugnance was at
its highest pitch, for now I saw before me the deformed spectacle, the
relation of which had for many years previously excited my liveliest
indignation. The child's breast heaved, he leaped up, and threw himself
down again, and I thought to have distinctly perceived the voluntary
exertion. All the faithful, hoping and comforted, turned upon him their
eyes. Never in my life had I more self-possession, never was I so
rock-firm in my conviction; my thoughts became more and more irritated,
I only wished myself back again, in order to give free vent to my hatred.
Suddenly the child exclaimed in a hoarse voice: 'verily I bless ye,
ye shall be blessed!'--Now in the stream which flowed incessantly,
came innumerable prayers and exhortations as well as passages from the
holy scriptures and their explanation, all in reference to existing
circumstances. I was still more astounded, when the boy cried out:
'Beware my brethren; for two traitors have made their way into the
assembly, who intend you evil.' I looked up, young Vila turned pale, he
was standing at the door, and slipped out, when it was opened to new
comers. 'One is escaped,' groaned the child as he still lay with his
eyes and senses closed, 'but the second mocker is still present, he
knows not that I, the Lord, have led him hither, that he may become one
of mine.' I was terrified, my inmost soul was moved and emotions rose
in my heart, which I had never experienced before. They began to sing
psalms, and however discordant they may have sounded, they made no
unpleasant impression on me, my mind followed the glorious words? the
misfortune of these desolate creatures, their contrition before the
Lord, the fearful haughtiness of their adversaries, vibrated and
shrieked heartrendingly in this unharmonious lamentation; it appeared
to me absurd that until now harmony had been necessary to me when I
wished to raise my heart in prayer. Does not the universal lament of
creation strike on his ear? Do not praise and thanksgivings with tears
and cries of sorrow rise equally to his throne? To this feeling were
added many more, and weak, poor and unintelligible did the whole course
of my past life appear to me. Do these statues, lights and temples then
make any difference, said I to myself, with all this pomp of riches and
splendour? will the Lord who walked bound as a slave among us, and
suffered himself to be illtreated, will he not be mocked through it? Do
not these wretched beings represent him anew before our eyes? can I not
in each one of these persecuted ones greet himself? feed, clothe, and
protect him?--Then I felt as if all the sorrow and strife, which these
mountains have endured for years were piercing in countless multitudes
through my own wounded breast. Another boy now fell down and cried, 'go
out into the wood, Elias, Marion, and some of the faithful are
approaching, they have strayed; induce them to come with psalms, for
to-day, you have no persecution to fear.' Some went out from the
assembly, and sang with loud voices, and soon afterwards returned with
a great number of enthusiasts, among whom a tall man advanced, who was
respectfully saluted by all. 'Triumph!' said the child aloud, still
prostrate on the ground, 'the disbeliever is overcome, he will enter
into the kingdom of the Lord.' Then I felt the blow of a great hammer
suddenly against my breast. I struggled with this feeling, and
conquered it. The humble divine worship of this poor pitiable
congregation was continued with psalms, and calmly uttered inspired
discourses. Marion spoke the word of life, which penetrated through all
my faculties; in what dreadful error I had been wandering untill then!
All contingencies vanished, it was granted to me to look upon the Lord,
and the strength of his miracles in their simple glory, and to behold
his meek and lowly form. If until then my soul had been only
overshadowed by pomp, legends, false emotions and artificial
elevations; as splendid hanging of silk and gold only confine the pure
rays of celestial light, and give but a false brilliancy to its glory.
My heart was contrite and as a wound of sorrow and emotion; my spirit
was like that of a child. The Most High stood by my side, and stretched
out his bleeding hand to me, which had been now again pierced by us
miserable wretches. The glance from his tearful eyes went to my soul,
then I was filled with wrathful melancholy and joyful sorrow, and in
this emotion, I was smitten again when the assembly dispersed. What is
nature? this question I had often asked myself when I rambled with
enthusiasm through wooded mountains and verdant valleys magically
lighted and covered with the breath of morning, embalmed by the fresh
zephyrs, and filled with all the lovely presentiments which inspire us
with such pleasing dreams. Oh, my father! now I understand the deep
wailings in the woods and in the mountains, in the gurgling stream, the
word of the Eternal himself and his almighty compassion on us unhappy,
lost creatures, was murmured to me from every wave and from every
bough. With a million of tongues the countless foliage reproached my
negligent tardiness. My eye pierced through the past and future, my
thoughts were adoration, my feelings holy devotion.

"I plunged into the thickest woods and gave a free course to my flowing
tears, I now received the third summons and I no longer resisted it. In
the solitude of night, my whole being was absorbed in prayer and
thanksgiving, wonderously the strongest words poured forth without the
slightest exertion, as tears flow without design, as wave follows wave
down the stream, as the wind puts in motion the numberless foliage of
the forest, thus led by a higher and invisible spirit, my speech was
changed into prophecy. A new being arose within me, I no longer
recognised that of yesterday. In the mirror of my inmost soul another
eye, different from my own, met mine, nevertheless this was really
myself. Now resting, now walking, I found myself in the twilight of
morning in the district of Sauve among the recesses of the mountains.
You know, my father, the lofty situation of the dreary landscape there,
no tree, no shrub, scarcely a solitary blade of grass upon the barren,
white chalky waste, and as far as the eye extends, trunks of trees,
heaps of lime stones in all shapes, like men, animals and horses,
dazzling and fatiguing the sight, spread about, and at intervals
rolling stones, and a little lower down, the small, gloomy, solitary
town. Here I threw myself down again and gazed upon the waste ruin
around, and upon the dark blue sky above me, strange how my spirit
wandered there! I cannot explain by any human language, how
instantaneously my heart was impressed with every feeling of belief,
with every noble thought, how creation, nature, and the strangest
mystery, man with his wonderful energies and his common dependance on
the elements, how vain, how contradictory and ridiculous all this
appeared to me now. I could not collect myself, I was compelled
incessantly to follow this train of thought and to find relief in loud
laughter. Then there was no God, no spirit, nothing but puerility,
madness, and deformity, in all that creeps, swims, and flies,
especially in this ball that thinks, reflects, and weeps, and
underneath devours and masticates. Oh, let me be silent and not again
discover the maddening images that took possession of my mind,
annihilation, dead, cold non-existence appeared to me alone desirable
and noble. I was utterly undone, and painful was my return to life, but
I at length found it with the help of the compassionate one." The
father seized his son's hand, "Mark my child," said he mildly, "as soon
as all these wonderous sensations shall in wild controversy have
traversed your soul, you will assuredly be yourself again and return to
us entirely. Your lacerated heart will resume its tranquility and
repose after these commotions, and then will your understanding and
free will abandon your fearful purpose."

"Never! my father," exclaimed the youth with sudden vehemence, "this
was my temptation in the wilderness, which the All Merciful shortened
to a few hours, and then opened his paternal arms to me again. It might
have lasted for weeks and months, had he not been willing to shew
compassion to my weakness. You believe me not, you doubt, but what will
you say if I give you the most undeniable proofs, that this my
enlightening is no false, or artificial one, if you will even be
compelled to own to me, that I not only know myself by this, but also
all that is unconnected with me."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded the old man bewildered, "I do not
understand you, my son."

"When I resumed my human feelings and had refreshed myself, I wandered
again to the green wood that extends towards Florac, there, where the
rocks assume a grand character as far as the mountains of Lozere. The
place pleased me and I passed the night in the open air.

"What did you do on this second night of my absence? where did Franz
remain? do you think that I do not know all?" The father looked at him
with fear.

"What do you know?" asked he stammering. "When I again turned my
thoughts on the Saviour," said the son, "and endeavoured to account for
my bewilderment, in order to assist my researches, I felt compelled to
think on you, on my sister and on our house, thus will it assuredly be
after death, the soul will still cast lingering looks after its
cherished old nature and be unable for a length of time to comprehend
its new thoughts and strange existence. Suddenly, when my ardent desire
was accomplished; I saw you; all was still in the house, you went with
Franz more quietly than usual and with great caution into the library,
the window shutters and doors were closed, there was only one taper
burning. With the help of Franz you removed the folios, and at the same
time drew back the first bolt of the by chest, the pressure of a spring
you opened the pannel, which slid back into the wall and threw light
into the little enclosed recess. I saw several small chests standing
there, jewels of costly value were in them, that I never knew of and
which you never mentioned to me, but Franz seemed to know all. You
opened the cases, arranged them and added some others to them. Franz
wept and said: 'So now my wish will be at length accomplished of living
at Geneva in future and openly acknowledging the faith that I have been
compelled to deny here.' This also was new and unexpected to me. Then
you embraced the old servant heartily, kissed him on the mouth and said
with emotion: 'You are now no longer my servant, but my friend, my most
confidential friend, for to you I confide my entire welfare, my
property, and my children. God protect you on your way there and back,
give these letters into the right hands at the same time with this
little treasure; steal as you can over the frontiers, then we are safe,
and return directly with favourable answers.' That very night, he
accomplished fifteen leagues."

The old man trembled violently; he examined his son doubtingly, his
face was pale. "Where have you seen all this?" demanded he at length.
"Yonder in the mountains of Lozere, fourteen leagues from here." There
was a pause. "I must believe you," said the father. "Be it a miracle,
delirium, an undiscovered strength of nature; I see, but I understand
it not. All is in reality as you have said, but your manner is terrible
to me. Do you not then believe, that as you have fallen, in so
unusually strange a manner, into this disposition, conviction, and
miraculous gift, there may be also means, which heaven, if you in faith
and humility call upon God will open to reconduct you into the ordinary
walk of mankind, far from these fearful rocks upon which you must
inevitably founder."

"You understand me not, I tell you once more," cried the youth,
"although I quite understand your meaning. You do not trust the token
that I have given you. Yet," added, he smiling, "you are not quite so
hardened just now, better thoughts steal over your soul, though also
from the region of unbelief."

"And what is it?" asked the father, "you will otherwise make me believe
that you are able to penetrate into all the hidden depths of the
heart."

"You were thinking just now," said Edmond:--

"Let him take his course, the evil must now have reached its height,
perhaps God wills that he should find at length by this more than
wonderful means, his salvation, and that he may learn later to cool by
reason and true christian humility, the fanaticism, that now transform
him into a lunatic. Thus do you think of me, thus do you deny the
spirit." "My son," said the old man with uplifted looks, "is it a good
spirit that prompts you? is it not perhaps the wild wandering of nature
herself in you that transports you beyond her own limits?"

The son cast again that terrifying look on his father, which rendered
him mute.

"You are free," said the old man, "affection alone, not force should
retain you. Go then and follow the dictates of your own heart. My
prayers shall accompany you, and, may be, they will have the power to
mitigate, or ward off the worst."

"Surely you are not opposed to my taking to my poor brethren my small
fortune," said Edmond perfectly tranquillised, "they are more in need
of it than we."

"Take also this purse from me," said the father, "I desire not to know
to what purpose you destine it, but the unfortunate men yonder are in
want of it."

"Franz is coming!" exclaimed Edmond; "Where?" enquired the
Counsellor:--"He is still far behind the mountains, I see him only with
my inward eyes. The over-cautious old man! he has hidden the letter in
his boot, there he is leaning against an old tree, and is pulling it
out. I could read the letter to you if I liked, but I perceive that it
contains good news for you, let that suffice. Permit me now to go,
before the old man returns to oppress my heart anew with his
lamentations, or to excite my anger."

Father and son long held each other closely embraced; the old Lord
seemed overpowered with grief and tears; Edmond gently disengaged
himself from his paternal arms, returned once more and kissed his
father. With hasty steps he traversed the garden and ascended the
vineyard; there he stood still once more, and from thence waved a
handkerchief downwards in salutation, while Franz issued from the wood
ou the opposite side and held up the letters exultingly in the
distance.




                             CHAPTER VIII.


The mountains and the country around were by this time filled with new
tidings that contained representations of the most horrible cruelties,
said to have been practised by the Camisards. Even their best friends
and such as willingly lent them their aid, became displeased, and many
of the rebels themselves ventured not to extenuate the barbarity, which
these had permitted themselves to exercise against catholic priests,
landholders, nay even towards secret protestants. It appeared as if the
weakest party desired, in defying despair to outdo the harshness of
their foes; but this alienated many hearts from them and withheld the
help that otherwise would have been openly lent to them.

A serene summer morning shed its light over the mountains, when Edmond
with hasty steps took his way towards the secret wilds, where there was
neither track nor footpath, and which was only known to him from
representation. He felt as if his wonderful gift of inward sight was
conducting him in the direct way, for he discovered the most secret
directing signs by which the rebels alone could find a clue to the
hiding-places, without straying among the windings of the rocks, or
being stopped by the appearance of unexpected precipices. He left the
fortress of St. Hyppolite on one side and came in a short time after
having climbed steep mountains, into another rocky district, to which
only small stony paths led, and which far around was torn asunder by
spacious crevices and caverns. Here did the Camisards keep their
severely wounded that had been able to escape from the fight; if this
was impossible, they shot them themselves, in order to deliver them
from the cruel ingenuity of the executioner. In these caves, Roland
also concealed his provision of arms and ammunition, if he should have
a superfluity of them, and also a supply of food and wine, likewise
medicines, and that which was necessary for the care of the sick.
Government had already offered a large reward for the discovery of this
important place of refuge, but until now in vain, for only the most
trustworthy among the rebels were acquainted with this district, who
naturally would not betray it and they took care, that only those among
the country-people, whose integrity could be depended upon, should be
admitted. As Edmond went along the narrow way which lay on the right
under a steep mountain, whilst on the left, at the distance of a few
paces, yawned a giddy abyss; he was just reflecting how easily and
safely this pass might be defended, when he suddenly heard a large
figure with a hairy face and wild, savage expression, call out,
requesting to speak with him. Edmond was going to explain to him for
what purpose he had come there, when the hairy figure without replying
took up his gun and was in the act of firing at him, a cracked voice
from behind a projection of the rock, cried out: "For God's sake stop,
brother Mazel!" at the same moment two naked brown arms fell on the
breast of the armed man and dashed the gun on the ground. "He is no
spy, he cannot be such!" exclaimed the half-naked man, "it is the young
Lord of Beauvais."

As Edmond looked round he saw Eustace, the charcoal-burner whom he knew
very well, standing before him.

"How came you to this secret place?" said the invalid, who was taken
care of here.

Edmond now saw several strange faces which gathered round to examine
him with looks of curiosity. The young man experienced a singular
sensation on beholding these ragged, wretched looking figures, and on
finding himself compelled to tell them wherefore he was come, and that
he intended to live among them as a brother, and to fight for their
abused rights. Eustace clapped his hands in the greatest amazement, and
cried out: "I should have sooner expected the day of judgment! you
cannot conceive bow haughty and indignant this noble gentleman was,
when I once attempted to speak and jest with his little lady sister!
Yes, Abraham, that is a sign from God, to strengthen us in our good
cause. If such a gentleman to whom nothing is wanting, to whom God has
plentifully given whatever human wealth can procure, brought up and
learned in their religion, if he should come over to us, and be willing
to undergo the severity of the weather, storms, hunger, nakedness, and
for the sake of God, perhaps, a disgraceful death: what are we then to
do, whom they have plundered, ill used, whose children they have
slaughtered, whose priests they have murdered; indeed these are signs
which precede judgment?" In the same moment he began to scream out a
psalm; but Mazel said: "Cease now, good brother, for we do not at all
know yet, if brother Roland will accept him, he must first be brought
before him; we have lately been several times too much deceived and the
thing may be only a snare this time also, but Roland and Cavalier know
directly what they are about, no one can deceive these."

Edmond looked at him with the utmost contempt and exclaimed: "Conduct
me to the wood, to Lord Roland!"--

"Brother Roland, if you please," replied the stout Mazel, "among us
there are no Lords; God is our Lord.--Stephen! Favart!" Cried he, in a
commanding tone, and out of the cliffs sprang forward a fair-haired
young man, and behind him stole forth another, whom Edmond immediately
recognised for the old huntsman, that he had met about twelve days
before at his father's house. "Conduct the young man to brother
Roland," said Mazel to both of them, and Edmond accompanied them in
silence, still deeper into the solitude of the mountains. Favart
glanced sideways at the new comrade, while they walked on together, at
length he said: "Lately, but for that young lad, things would have
turned out badly enough."

"Who was he?" asked Edmond.

"I do not know," replied the huntsman, "I should like very much to
know who he is; he knew me, although I did not know him. I had
abandoned the brethren for sixteen months, now I am again returned to
them, principally because the young lad said in my ear that I was an
apostate and a traitor to God; now, I know too, how the Lord of
Basville, the Intendant thinks, and all the other godless men. They are
blood-thirsty men."

Young Stephen drew out a little flute and blew upon it a spiritual
song, which sounded pleasingly far through the mountains. "Leave off
that godless blowing," said Favart. "Why godless?" asked Edmond. "It is
only a worldly little pipe," said the squinting huntsman, "all these
things proceed from the wicked enemy, to ensnare our souls and hearts
through sensual pleasure; in simplicity we should think on the Lord and
our lips alone should laud and praise him, but not artificially and
seducingly, for it is not seemly to make jubelee in our sorrow."

"You are too severe," said Stephen, "the birds in the woods praise the
Lord and artificially too, in their way."

"They have no reason, no soul," said Favart, "they are poor beasts,
even if it were the nightingale herself; it is still no praise to the
Lord, they do but call their mates, or brood in their nests, their
godliness is all a lie."

"As you will," said Stephen, at the same time replacing his flute. They
came to a number of trees hewn down, and placed so as to form a sort of
fence, from out of which a voice exclaimed: "Who goes there?" "Zion!"
replied the two guides; and some large birch-trees were pushed
backwards, and made way on the narrow path. They passed through. "Where
is Roland?" demanded they of the sentinels. "Up there," replied the
latter, "under the great Apostle chesnut tree."

"We shall soon be there," said Stephen. They already heard a noise in
the distance, talking, singing, and also clattering of iron; and now,
when they had reached the summit of the wooded mountain plain, Edmond
perceived many men in various groups, all brown and burnt by the sun,
the greatest part of them in ragged doublets; some appeared to be
praying, a few were reading, others were reposing on the grass, several
were whetting their jagged swords or cleaning their guns, others were
mending their vestments; many sang psalms. A tall wild-looking man
advanced towards them, he walked up and down agitatedly with his hands
behind his back, huge whiskers descended on either side of his face,
his hair was tightly drawn up to the top of his head; "Good day
brethren," cried he, in a discordant voice, which Edmond immediately
recognised for the same he had heard in the distance on the eventful
night. "The hero Catinat!" exclaimed Favart, shaking the gigantic man
heartily by the hand, "how fares it with you?" "I am accused brother,"
said the former, "and Roland will hold no intercourse with me until all
his officers, Cavalier and the rest, have spoken respecting me."

"Where is Roland?" enquired Edmond, hastily. "It is he yonder, who sits
with his bared neck under the chesnut tree," said Catinat.

Edmond perceived a man of slight figure and middle age, leaning against
the trunk of the tree, who was looking quietly on the ground and
smoking a short clay tobacco pipe; he had taken off a red silk
neckerchief which lay by his side, and had loosened his waistcoat, so
that his whole breast was laid bare, his head was uncovered, his face
was only shaded by large whiskers. He calmly raised his light brown
eyes, as the three presented themselves before him, and Stephen
explained in a few words Edmond's request. "Indeed!" said Roland, still
continuing to smoke and quickly turning his searching glance from
Edmond; "have a little patience, until I give you my answer, we do
nothing without higher counsel, and I have not been thus blessed. Are
any of our prophets here?" asked he in a loud voice, looking round the
circle.

"No, brother Roland," resounded from all sides; "Be patient, some of
them will shortly be here, for I do not know you, but nothing can be
concealed from them."

Edmond felt hurt, his heart was ready to overflow; he related in a few
words his wonderful transformation and how the spirit had led him into
the mountains; "Yes, I myself, unworthy as I may be," concluded he,
with deep emotion, his narration, "I have been blessed with this
wonderful gift of fore-knowledge."

"Indeed!" said Roland in a drawling tone, while he rather winked than
looked at the youth with his half closed eyes, in which was reflected
either his contempt, or perhaps his envy, the latter was what Edmond
conceived it to indicate. He raised his foot, and knocked the ashes out
of the top of his tobacco pipe; "Go and walk up and down for a short
time, I have some reflections to make; as soon as one of our prophets
arrives, you shall obtain your answer."

Edmond turned away much annoyed, and cast his eyes over the
interminable mountains; to the immense chain of the Cevennes are joined
the blue summits of the Pyrenees, and on the other side were to be seen
craggy cliffs and masses of rocks, which give so striking a feature to
the right bank of the Rhone. What was Edmond's surprise, when among the
fraternity he recognized two noblemen, whom he had formerly met many
times at Nismes, and who had sunk into universal contempt on account of
their frivolity and bad conduct. Cesar and Mark Anthony were merely
what is usually termed in ordinary life boon companions; they had been
finally compelled, in consequence of their debts to make their escape,
and had, apparently, from absolute necessity alone, sought the society
of these religious mountaineers. However much they tried to imitate the
looks and demeanour of the rest, there still lay concealed even in the
very manner that they greeted Edmond, something of that reckless
insolence and licentious freedom, which all well-principled young men
had excluded from their society many years before.

When Edmond had taken a survey of the surrounding country and of his
future companions, Roland again called out in a loud voice, as he stood
up:

"Is no prophet yet arrived?" "Yes," said Favart, "here is brother
Duplant." At the same moment a pale, haggard little man stepped up, who
trembled in every joint as from cold and whose prominent eyes added to
his appearance of illness. "What do you wish brother?" asked he of the
leader in an almost whining tone.

"Come forward brother," said Roland in a full, sonorous voice; "here is
a new brother, who presents, himself to us from out of the valley, a
rich distinguished man and a catholic; what does the spirit say to you
about it?"

Duplant opened his light-blue eyes still wider, gazed on Edmond with a
feeble, death-like look, then gathered himself up, shook his head
violently, fell down, and while his breast and the lower part of his
body heaved convulsively, a deep, and to him, unusual voice proceeded
from him, resounding loudly: "I tell thee brother, this is a choice
instrument, he will serve the Lord faithfully; his father in his heart
is in our mountains, rejoice all that he is come among us. Amen!"

Roland immediately embraced the youth, then extended his hand to him;
"In the name of God then!" said he solemnly, "My vocation must be
true," answered Edmond, "for you have given a reception such as might
well have frightened back an ordinary enthusiast."

"We cannot do otherwise brother," said Roland, "we are too often put to
the test by spies in various forms; therefore, the Lord, decides among
us, He, who cannot be deceived."

"It is good for me to be among you and to look upon the faces of all
these, honoured men: but where is Cavalier, the hero, whose name
resounds throughout the whole country? my soul burns to know him and to
fold him in my arms."

"Yonder he comes with his troop in wonderful array."

A multitude of Camisards, clad in pillaged uniforms, marched up the
mountain shouting with joy, at their head rode their commander, mounted
on a little horse, one feather in his large hat, a richly embroidered
uniform hung wide and loosely on his little thin body. He sprang from
his horse, and while Edmond was making his way up to him, impressed
with the almost ludicrous appearance of the unbecoming attire, the so
justly renowned Cavalier advanced towards him, and Edmond, in terror
and in deep confusion, stepped back, for the young hero was no other
than that miller-lad, whom he had a short time before in his father's
house treated with so much contempt, nay even with cutting bitterness.




                              CHAPTER IX.


The young commander first cast a lengthened look of astonishment on
Edmond, then approached nearer and kindly offered him his hand. "You
are one of us," exclaimed he, "the Lord had so ordained, accept the
assurance of my brotherly love."--

Edmond seized the hand of the young man, held it long between his own,
and then said with great emotion: "What have I not to thank you for at
a time, when I neither knew, nor loved you; you it was who saved our
house, myself, my sister and my beloved father! The veil has fallen
from my eyes, and I shall now honour and love you, and all these heroes
of the faith, as brothers."

A circle had been formed and Roland now stepped with solemn demeanour
into the middle of it. "We are assembled," commenced he, greatly
affected, "in order to pass judgment upon a friend, who is to me one of
the dearest among the most valiant of the fraternity, and in the work
of the Lord a distinguished zealot. Here stands Catinat, the man at
whose name all our foes tremble. You are all here present, Cavalier,
thou Ravanel, Castanet, Duplant, and Salomon, Clary, Abraham Mazel is
also arrived here. I have often spoken on this point already, my dear
friends, and wished to make known to you my opinion, and my sentiments,
that in this war, in which we are fighting for the Lord, we should
refrain from shedding blood as much as possible. No, my beloved
friends, we will not therein follow the example of our adversaries,
that we may excel them in their emulation for murder, incendiarism and
all their works of darkness. Let the enemy, who comes armed against us,
be given up to the sword, the villain, who betrays us and belies the
Lord, let him fall a sacrifice to his own malice, but the harmless
labourer, the helpless priest, the defenceless woman, the child under
age, let them be spared, what have they done to us? what can they
accomplish against us? we have certainly always struggled to put our
enemies to shame and to convince them by Christian charity, that our
course is a just one; but here, Catinat has again acted in opposition
to my express command, in his expedition he has set fire to three
churches with his own hands, he has massacred two priests, his troop
according to his orders has reduced villages to ashes, and women and
children have been murdered and burned in the most terrible manner.
Their lamentations, the cries of the orphans, the wailings of the
parents rise up to heaven, and arouse and call upon the enduring
goodness of the Lord to thrust and to fling us in his wrath far away
from him, like useless vessels. If we ourselves act in this manner,
wherefore should we complain, when the enemies open wide the jaws of
cruelty and show less compassion than the wolf in the wilderness, or
the beast of prey of the mountains, then, with justice, their stakes
blaze threateningly to meet us! why are we angered, when their
barbarous executioners, with greedy looks, grin up towards our
mountains, and in malicious joy whet their instruments of death? then
fight brute against brute, and devil against Belzebub! By what then
shall the good cause be recognised? I will also remind you, my beloved
brethren, that these deeds alienate the best people in the country from
us; not only the Catholic, but such as are in their hearts our
brothers, will desert us, as well as those newly converted ones, who
would willingly help us. Have you then forgotten, how pious men of
foreign lands, priests and leaders of armies, have warned us not to
stain our hands with innocent blood, and our holy cause with firebrands
and cruelty? all pious minds in distant lands who turn looks of love
upon us will be mistaken, and will surely think, that innate cruelty
and savage nature must be alleged for these proceedings, and not our
conscience and the cause of the Lord that we fight for. It is
misfortune enough, that we should be compelled to stand in arms against
our lawful king, who wanted to rob us of our God; let this misfortune
suffice, let us do no more than our conscience demands. Finally, I will
remind you, that by your unanimous consent I am your leader since the
glorious death of my uncle, my command must be held inviolable, and
therefore, he whom I send out and who wilfully and maliciously
transgresses my orders, must be considered a rebel to me, yourselves,
and your holy undertaking. You know, that a like fault would be
punished with death yonder among the royal party; far be it from me to
wish to punish so severely a brother and hero of the faith on account
of his disobedience to me, a weak and miserable instrument of the Lord,
but I propose depriving him of his command, because none should command
who cannot also obey. Now take counsel among yourselves, my valiant and
enlightened friends, whether you will confirm my sentence? once more I
repeat my fear, that by these transgressions of individuals, our great
cause will go to ruin."

Roland retired from the circle and all were silent. "We will hear what
Catinat says for himself," said the broad, stout Mazel, and Ravanel, a
little swarthy man with dark looks and wild appearance advanced towards
the gigantic man and cried: "speak brother, you know how I love you, I
am yours, unto death, and do not believe that you can ever be in the
wrong, for in your fist is the sword of the Lord!"

Catinat shook him by the hand, then raised his eyes and glanced with a
calm and penetrating look round the circle, and said: "My valiant
brethren, my fault is evident and undeniable, it consists in
transgression against subordination, and as I have been as good a
soldier as brother Roland, I know well that nothing can be said to
extenuate it. If you speak in accordance with the letter of the law, I
am then condemned, and I will lay down my command as obediently as I
accepted it from Roland. But I again ask you here openly, as I have
already expressed my opinion privately on this point, can we, the
immediate instruments of the Most High, penetrated with his spirit,
measure commands and quietly follow them? shall we, are we permitted to
pursue this war as with men like ourselves, and may we obstinately
withdraw the holy zeal, when the spirit descends upon us, and rules the
sword in our hand, and hurls the burning brand into the idolatrous
temples? Where then is truth, confidence, and faith, if I am not
allowed to do what the Lord himself designs to exact from me. No my
friends, my inspired brethren! let other self-sufficient, self-willed
men then, who fight without heaven be your soldiers, I can never be
such. Roland and Cavalier pardon the prisoners we make, send them back
comforted, refresh and succour their wounded, and hope by their
well-meaning kindness to arouse the hearts of the villains, that they
may feel humane and brotherly towards us. But no such thing! they mock
at this our weakness and call it folly, nay, they publicly term it
cowardice and say, that we dare not act otherwise, for we are only
rebels and outlaws. Assuredly we are a reproach to men, and when they
catch, or wound us, they show us less compassion than they would
testify to a dog, even if it had torn their dearest child to pieces. Is
it then necessary to remind you of the barbarities they have practised
upon our brethren, who have struggled and died for the faith? I will
only recall to your recollection the holy father Brusson, who
gloriously won the crown of martyrdom at Montpellier, the pious man,
who preached the gospel to us poor abandoned flocks in the wilderness,
and then took leave of us, drew no sword, lighted no torch, lived and
died in the spirit of peace, and who only came once more to take a last
farewell of the old mountains, and of the brethren, whom the faith had
collected around him as his own children, with the gospel in his
pocket, and with the bread of tears he wished to return to the strange
land, which had become to him as his native country; and when they
caught him, of what avail was his quiet, peaceable spirit to him? Under
martyrdom, at which the imagination shudders, he was forced to resign
his soul into the hands of the Creator. Need I remind you of the noble
spirit of Seguier, how heroically he died and only scorned the cruel
ingenuity of the executioner? But how then do you forget the wholly
innocent people, who often assembled in the fields to worship God in
secret and were put down by the faithful, as they call themselves, or,
as it often happened, massacred, women and children not excepted? And
you no longer remember, how parents who were suspected had their
children torn from them to be brought up as Catholics, how the mothers
never saw them more and how those under age, who then remained faithful
to the Gospel, were ill-used, suffered martyrdom, or were doomed to
languish in a dungeon? All then has escaped your recollection, what
those priests of the pulpit and the altar have uttered against us, and
the ban and the curse, and that we are no men and unworthy of
commiseration, when we were still constrained to attend their mass? and
is it even permitted that gentleness, virtue, consideration, humanity
and pity, should be observed towards these bloodhounds? No, verily, we
are ruined if we do not pay them in their own coin, return evil for
evil, blood for blood, death for death, rage and fury for their
inflexibility and severity. As they have been mild and compassionate
towards us, let us respond to it; let the Christianity that they
preach, fall burning down upon their own heads, let us dive into their
hearts and entrails, to see where they have concealed pity and the
feelings of humanity. Wherever our name resounds, they must turn pale,
and when we set all against all, we shall then be able to know whether
we lose, or win, we shall extirpate them, or they us; and if we cease
to exist, so may the wasted wilderness, the depopulated land, the
ruined palaces, and burnt-down temples and horror and desolation,
announce to the after-world what we have suffered and done. What are a
priest, country or king in comparison to my faith, in comparison to the
fire that kindles through all my veins and burns in every fibre? Do you
think you are permitted to reason and be men of the ordinary world?
This is precisely what makes our adversaries strong and prepares so
many defeats for us, because we still turn our looks back upon the
world and its wisdom. Here stand our prophets, arrest then the spirit,
exorcise it when it rushes through your souls like a hurricane, like a
flash of lightening and burst forth from their consecrated mouths the
words of the Eternal on the wings of the spirit. You know that this
miraculous gift is denied to me, to Roland and to many, as in our
Duplant, Cavalier, or Salomon, when all recollection vanishes and every
ordinary human feeling becomes extinct, in the same manner does it
happen to me, when we at length fight in the tumult, or pass by
triumphantly the churches of our foes: from every dumb brick their
scorn grins at me, from every beam the blood of our martyrs so
arrogantly shed cries out to me; then, when the malignant followers of
their priests sneak up to me with feigned supplications, then indeed,
something roars within me for revenge, like a lion if he has once
tasted blood, the sword and dagger pierce through their breasts as they
kneel before me, my whole heart bounds, when the laughing flames rise
up triumphantly through the edifice, when in the blaze the beams are
consumed and fall down and bury women and children in the red glow.
This then is no human fancy that gladdened me, but the true spirit of
the Almighty that impels me onward, and the bishop, the king himself,
even our prophets may advance threateningly and imploringly towards me
in vain in these highly consecrated moments, nay should an angel
descend from heaven and call out to me to desist, I would not listen to
it. Thus I am brethren, and I neither can nor will be otherwise, this I
swear here, by the Eternal God!"

With these last words, he lifted his ponderous sword towards heaven,
and then struck it so forcibly against the rocky ground, that it
clattered loudly, Ravanel exclaimed as if possessed: "An Elias! an
Elias!" and threw himself upon the breast of the ferocious man; the
rest were silent, and Roland again came forward with a calm
countenance, and as if embarrassed. "What is your decision my
brethren?" demanded he with a deep sigh.

"The decision is difficult," said Constant, a robust, fair young man.
"Let our prophets decide." The deadly pale Duplant immediately came
forward, gave a hollow sigh and fell down; on the other side appeared
Salomon, a diminutive man, he folded his hands, knelt and threw himself
upon the rock. Duplant cried with that peculiarly deep voice: "I tell
you the Hero Catinat has only fulfilled my orders!"--scarcely however
had he uttered these words, than Salomon already groaned forth; "Follow
my servant Roland, for he is my chosen instrument, you know that the
blood of the innocent is an abomination to me."

The circle now drew closer together, and in the greatest excitement the
pale and swarthy faces were looking over one another's heads, and
between the shoulders of the foremost. Every eye was glowing, and
Ravanel exclaimed: "To me also was given the gift of prophecy, listen
to me, brethren, for perhaps the Spirit may now come over me." "Stop!"
screamed out Abraham Mazel, "I am one of the oldest here, I have a
right to speak before any of you, through me I can boast that this holy
war arose, but here, I think prophecy cannot avail." He had with these
words taken fast hold of the little thing, Ravanel, by the shoulders,
but the latter darted like lightening out of his grasp, threw himself
down by the side of Duplant, who still lay in ecstasy, and cried: "this
is our greatest prophet, for thou hast only two degrees, and him must
we follow."

"Is not Salomon," said Roland earnestly, "as almighty as he? Here the
word of the Lord contradicts itself: how shall we interpret it?"

"Not certainly," interrupted Edmond, who could no longer restrain
himself, "As wild passion demands, where doubt exists, mildness and
compassion are the designs of the Lord." He had not yet finished these
words, when he felt the stroke of a sword between his neck and
shoulders, which the wrathful Ravanel aimed at him. The youth tottered
backwards and Cavalier received him in his arms. "How?" exclaimed
several voices, "one brother against another?" many swords were bared,
a wild shout flew over the mountains and all was confusion. "The spirit
moves me: he is a traitor!" said Ravanel. "stop! peace!" cried Roland's
powerful voice in the midst, "brother Duplant has just now prophesied
that he means us fairly, and that he is inspired with the faith!"

Ravanel turned surlily away and spoke to Duplant, who had in the mean
while awakened.

A tall, slight man, whose clear brown eyes sparkled brightly, had in
the interim been busied with Edmond: he had quickly torn off his
clothes, examined and bound up the wound, which did not appear to be
dangerous, and had supported him nearly fainting from loss of blood,
between his knees. Cavalier with his kindly, childlike eyes was bending
over him, and the youth fancied that he was again in his father's
house, and that the strange guest was come to seek a reconciliation
with him. "You are my angel," said he in a feeble voice, "you are
indeed Gabriel, as my sister there has just said: take then also
Christine as well as my father under your protection, pious boy, we
shall all see one another cheerfully and happily again, but shine less
brightly." Then he lost all consciousness.

"He is dying! brother Clary!" exclaimed Cavalier. "No," replied he, who
had bound up his wound, "he will soon revive again; yet Ravanel does
him injustice, for I know by my spirit that this youth is religious,
and will follow our cause with zeal; but the wrathful fire of these
fierce heroes will ruin us all."

Roland in the meanwhile was going through the assembled groups with
commanding grace, seeking to appease these excited minds. All were
standing in order, as his glance had commanded; Ravanel alone,
conscious of guilt had retired. Cavalier now stepped in among them, and
in his own amiable manner, said, "Brethren, the tie that binds the
whole world, the source of all miracles, the strength of the weak, the
immediate presence of our most holy father, is love, love alone. I am
apprehensive, that we, the oppressed, whose unity is so necessary, may
in this manner be divided, should we forget that we are brethren? Does
not something more exalted than an oath bind us to a holy work? Ravanel
has without doubt grossly sinned against our new brother, but the pious
youth will forgive the enthusiast and Roland and Catinat as brethren
must also shake hands. Forgive the impetuous man, brother Roland, and
pardon him ye remaining friends, who censure his conduct; on his side,
he will promise you to regulate his mind, to restrain himself, and,
except in cases of the greatest emergency, to refrain from giving way
to the impulse of his feelings. When you are once more united, I have
something to report to you that is well worth consideration."

Catinat went slowly up to Roland; the latter wiped a tear from his eye,
extended his arms, embraced him and cried: "Welcome to me my brother!
thou wouldst dwell entirely in my soul, if thou couldst mix a few drops
of the mind's tranquility with thy burning zeal." Catinat promised to
restrain himself and peace was again restored.

"My friends," commenced Cavalier anew, "As I a short time since
descended into the plains and valley of Nage, it appeared to me
singularly enigmatical, that in so many places I met with coldness,
disapprobation, and a strange backwardness in the best and most
faithful. Unheard of and wilful barbarities were spoken of, said to
have been practised by our party. I enquired who were the leaders, but
they could not name them to me. Our most devoted friends told me,
however, that this was not the right manner, or the way to fight
through our, besides this, perilous cause. I shuddered when forced to
listen to these accounts. Our enemies have hardly acted towards us with
so much cruelty. I could not avoid shedding tears at the barbarous
manner in which the Marchioness of Miramon has been murdered. You all
know that she was a secret friend to our cause, and that we have
enjoyed many succours from her kindness. This lady frequently
travelled, often met with our people who were all acquainted with her,
and who besides never wilfully injured the peaceable and defenceless
inhabitants, but let them pass freely. Now she intended to quit Usez,
in order to visit her husband at St. Ambroise. She was advised to take
with her an escort, or at least armed servants, but confiding in our
friendship, she refused both. She had already nearly reached the place
of destination, when her carriage was surrounded by dark-looking men;
she and her maids were bound, and neither entreaties, nor tears, nor
the costly jewels that she carried with her, nor promise of much gold
could save these hapless beings from the most disgraceful death. I
contradicted all the exasperated people, that no troop of our party
could have done this, but only a few believed me. Fortunately I have
discovered who these wretches are, who also call themselves Camisards
and dishonour our cause; it is a band of highwaymen and incendiaries
who have come from Provence. Advance friend Degran, and relate to the
brethren how you came up with the villains, and how you escaped from
them."

A ragged, half-starved looking man with a long beard came forward, whom
some recognised and others examined with surprise. What a change a
period of a few weeks had effected in him! He began in a feeble voice:
"It may now be about a month ago, that I was sent by brother Cavalier
with three of my comrades against Montpellier to watch the enemy, to
purchase ammunition and to summon the attendance of some young men in
the mountains. In order to avoid observation, we set out in the evening
twilight, and just as a storm overtook us in the wood, we were suddenly
surrounded by a number of black-looking men, and commanded to offer no
resistance, the attempt too would have been vain among such a
multitude, the tallest of them advanced towards us and said: 'I see
then before me, some of the brave and valiant Camisards! You are
welcome!' We could not make out who they were, they had not the
appearance of the militia of the country, and were even more fearful
than the madcaps, whom the fierce hermit formerly headed. After we had
examined one another closer, he, who seemed to be the leader said:
'What a miserable perilous life such brave fellows lead, and none to
acknowledge their value; and the sacrifice they make. You are forbidden
to plunder, what do you gain by all your exertions? as we are told, you
are not allowed under penalty of death to plunder even the demolished
churches, and carry off the gold and silver vessels; no, you suffer all
to melt in the flames. We think differently, we are not, it is true,
your companions in faith, but you must make common cause with us.
Behold our party consists of fifty, all united together by solemn
oaths, you can never escape from us again, if you will not join us, you
must die, you know the country and the inhabitants, name to us then the
rich catholics, that we may direct our visits thither, and you shall
have a fair portion of the booty which falls to us.'--What could we do?
we were compelled to conduct them about, as they kept strict watch over
us. I cannot bear to think on the horrors we were forced to witness;
but one, more frightful than the rest, was committed against one of my
comrades, who attempted to escape from them, for our consciences
tortured us day and night. The horrible ill-treatment which had
preceded the murder of our brother, bound us still more firmly to these
highwaymen. The country was soon filled with rumours respecting these
black Camisards, as they were called. Under this mask they were,
however, by no means scrupulous about plundering merely their brothers
in the faith, but they also attacked the houses of the newly converted,
and whose families were known as zealous reformers. One evening when
they surrounded a country house and had dispatched me to inspect the
place more closely, we were surprised and compelled to make a hasty
retreat, and I availed myself of the opportunity to escape into a
garden, and from thence into the wood. They have now however a long
list of wealthy people, whom they intend to rob and murder; the Lord of
Beauvais stands at the head of it, and as his house is rather retired,
it is almost impossible for them not to succeed."

"Enough, my friend," cried Cavalier, "now Catinat will you accompany me
in order to catch these assassins? This time, I will take only fifty
men with me, and shall return shortly to receive your orders, brother
Roland."

He made a sign, quickly mounted a little horse, and those, who were
already acquainted with his will, followed him accompanied by Catinat.
The man, who had escaped from the robbers, was also of the party in
order to trace the villains. Edmond in the mean while had been removed.
He lay in a hut formed of plaited branches upon a couch of moss,
Abraham Mazel had followed to take care of him. The other leaders had
also retired deeper into the wood with their troops. Roland, now nearly
alone, walked up and down on the mountain plain, gave out orders,
appointed new posts, and dispatched a troop under Valmal to procure
provisions. Soon afterwards, Roland received intelligence through the
centinels of the outposts, that they perceived in the direction of
Rouergue a great number of men that, from their appearance, might be
taken for the country militia. "These," said Roland, "will not be so
unwise as to attack us in this strong place." A messenger came to
announce that the approaching people had raised a great cry, and were
not marching but advancing without order, and in tumultuous crowds. The
noise was now heard ascending nearer from the rear of the mountain.
"They are peasants," exclaimed Roland, as he came down from the
eminence which he had ascended. "What can they want? Wherefore this
commotion?" the procession drew near; men, women, even children and old
men in the midst of them, all fluried, most of them in tears, each one
would speak first, each presenting a hand to the commander. Those who
were the most exhausted, laid themselves down on the ground, the
younger men placed themselves in order, some had old fowling pieces,
others sides, many were armed with short or long swords, several
carried hatchets and axes. The fighting men amounted at least to two
hundred in number, and when the tumult at length subsided, and Roland
again asked from whence they came and what they required, one of the
oldest among the armed men stepped forward and said, "Roland, you must
know me and my father yonder, as well as many here from the commune of
Melière, we, who have often lent you our help, all in secret attached
to you, and who have daily put up our prayers for you to heaven. You
also know our persecutors; why need I name them to you. But our
calamity is still new to you, and truly one must live in our days to
deem it possible. It is now some months ago, that the Intendant and the
Marshal caused whole communities to be carried off from the middle of
the Cevennes, as well as from Mialet; women, children, and fathers were
thrown into their prisons, merely because they were suspected by them.
Out of one-and-twenty parishes, three hundred young men were seized
from the district of Nismes alone, besides whole families and are shut
up in the dungeons and fortresses of the level country and of the
mountains. The inhuman Intendant trusts no one, and how can the
subject be tranquil and faithful to the king, when the tyrant in his
cold-blooded intrigues only meditates how to make the people wretched?
The terrible man has been heard to say with his own lips, that the best
and the safest method would be to extirpate from the face of the earth
all who are converted, as well as the rebels. The Marshal himself, it
is said, is shocked at these ideas, God and the king have not so far
forgotten us ever to permit such infamy. But since the day before
yesterday----Yes, weep, mourn, ye unfortunate, banished, houseless
people!" And as in chorus there arose a sobbing and lamentation, but
the speaker continued thus, "Early the day before yesterday, as we were
going forth to our field labours, we heard the beating of drums, we
took it for the usual marching of the royal troops through the country,
but they soon drew near, we ascended the mountain and saw that the
extensive mountain district, valley, and ravine, as far as the eye
could reach, were surrounded. They did not leave us long in suspense,
we were summoned to the square of our large village. Thence they
published to our magistrates and to us, that in Nismes a decree had
been pronounced to entirely depopulate our district, and many others,
two-and-thirty parishes, including more than eighty villages and farms,
to send the inhabitants to the open country, to other provinces, to
islands, and to pull down and set fire to all the houses, stables, and
farms without exception. Four regiments are encamped in the district to
accomplish this devilish work. All uttered screams and lamentations,
but they were disregarded, like ill-fated cattle, destined for
slaughter, the wretched creatures suffered themselves, to be driven
forth; and from the neighbouring mountain we already beheld the houses
demolished; the axes resounded, the cattle lowed, and the mountains
groaningly repeated the melancholy echo. As it proceeded too slowly for
the monsters, we soon saw flames too flaring up; like greedy jaws, like
thirsty tongues, did the fire lick up our beloved old dwellings and
swallowed them in flames. The trees before the houses were consumed
with them. Yes, Roland, the district, the dear villages, the hospitable
houses, which so often and so amicably received you and yours, these
are in a brief space reduced to a desert, and in future I shall not be
able perhaps to find a trace of where I lived with my parents, where I
sat with them before the door, and played in the spring, where I became
acquainted with my wife, where she bore me her first son. The stork
will never again familiarly and confidingly take up his lodging on the
roof of my barn, no swallow will again announce to me there the warmth
of spring, and twitter with her young before my window. Oh! and my own
children. Man indeed has no childhood, when he is deprived of his
country. The poor women! how well known to us, how dear was each bush
and running brook. Now we know, for the first time, how we loved our
old cottages and the seats inherited from our great grandfathers. All
that we there in devotion, thought, and prayed, all the delightful
Easter and Whitsuntide festivals, the pleasing solitude of the long
winter evenings, and the exemplary conversations of the old men, all,
all is vanished in this hideous fire."

"No more! no more!" shrieked the women, and the children wept aloud.

"All this," continued the speaker, "happened to us, dear Roland, on
your account alone, for they know well, the persecutors! that we have
in our hearts been with you, so many of your bravest men are from among
us. They extirpate us, especially because our valleys and mountains
border on the district of Vivares, and through our country Catinat and
Cavalier attempted to penetrate. Friend, brother! here we are now, and
assuredly many more active men from other districts will run to you,
for they will not suffer what will be required of them. Come, lead us
on, thrust us into the thicket of the fight, when thousands stand close
in front of their cannons, and with swords, sicles, hatchets, and
cudgels we will fall upon them, nay without weapons, with these hands,
with these teeth we will tear them to pieces! Life and pleasure now
consist only in death and destruction; if they only feel how we hate
and abhor them, if but one and then another, and a third be made to
acknowledge to us, struggling in agonising death, and with closing
eyes, that this happens to them for their evil doings." All the men
pressed forward brandishing their weapons and gnashing their teeth. A
smothered cry of rage suddenly burst from every lip. "Controul
yourselves my friends," said Roland, "As well as you can; you,
Bertrand, with your horrifying account have filled my soul with sorrow,
for your woe concerns us altogether and your loss admits of no
restitution. Repose and refresh yourselves here with all that I can
offer you; then follow my counsel, and let the old men, women, and
children return peaceably, for here there is neither shelter nor help
for them. God will ordain, that all shall turn for the best, that the
proprietors find their own again and that your cottages shall rise once
more from their ruins. Only do not despair, bear your calamity with
pain and sorrow, but do not despair, for that belies God, opposes
itself to him, nay, mocks his inscrutable decrees, and in its hellish
dictates, would even annihilate him. Do not give yourselves up to this
feeling, which is unworthy of men. We have all indeed been long since
innured to misery by the hand of the Lord. Shew now that you are
obedient, well conducted children, who though he may look upon you with
a severe and reproving countenance, will not mistake the father."

All shewed themselves more quiet and the younger men exclaimed, "Give
us weapons! weapons! Roland!" "Those that I have left," replied the
latter, "you shall have; such as cannot obtain any, must wait for the
first combat, and take them from the enemy, for it has been arranged
thus from the beginning. The troops must bring us arms up into the
mountains, and a gun which oneself has wrested from a strange foe is
quite a different arm to what one buys. Pooh! who would give money for
iron and arms, as long as the Marshal will still so kindly give himself
the trouble to send out his people in heat and rain, that they may
laboriously enough provide us very conveniently with arms, which he
himself with his Intendant and his baton will have reason to fear. Thus
thinks a true Camisard. Clothing also shall they deliver up to you,
shoes and boots, but you must learn to be courteous and assist them, my
countrymen, a little to undress. With a hundred such valets, Cavalier
was here a short time since; they were all most gallantly equipped
without being indebted a single denier to draper, or tailor."

Bertrand, who was resting upon his fowling piece, and whose tears still
trickled down his cheeks, and over his weapon, could not avoid laughing
aloud, and the younger lads joined him. "Yes," cried young François,
"we will peel them like red and yellow apples, only serve us up a dish
of them soon."

"Shake them bravely out of their uniforms, the season for nut shaking
is near."

"I will shake them out," cried François "so that they shall fall
rattling at my feet and each one shall shew himself so hollow and
worm-eaten, that I would not seek for his kernel!"--The mother rose
from the ground and embraced her young son, who had just entered into
manhood. "I, and several of us," said another lad, "have already served
many a time under you, Roland; but then we returned afterwards to our
village."

"This is the best method to carry on the war," replied Roland, "for we
thus sometimes save provisions, and our troops remain fresh and ready
for battle. I know you well Adam, and also that little shoemaker Anton
yonder."

Anton came forward; "Yes, dear brother, I am so glad that he shoes,
which I made for you hold out still."--He fell down and wished to
embrace his knees, but Roland raised him up. "Look Roland; I love and
honour you so much, that I should like to be your footstool upon which
your tired legs might repose. I formerly fought bravely, but now, it
shall go on quite differently. It shall be stab on stab, and my awl and
thong shall be drawn through their hearts and entrails, so that the
soul shall pipe like an imprisoned rat."

All appeared seated at the frugal meal more comforted and quiet; at
least the distorted and despairing faces with which they had at first
appeared before the commander, were no longer to be seen.




                               CHAPTER X.


Edmond had again returned to consciousness, and on opening his eyes, he
saw Mazel by his couch and the swarthy Eustace, who although wounded
himself, had stayed to serve him and was kneeling by his bed. He could
not for a long time recall to his recollection how he had come there,
and the fierce looking men, with the view from the hut over the
mountains and woods, threw him into a strange reverie. However, he was
soon enabled to connect one idea with another, and to reassemble all
his faculties. His imagination was still busied with Cavalier, he
fancied he could follow and see him, now, as a shadow, then, brighter
again, yet it seemed as if his feverish state presented him figuring to
himself, in real colours and contour, the portrait of his friends and
the place in which he was. Eustace kissed his hands and bathed them
with tears. "Oh, my dear young master!" cried he then sobbing, "that
you should now come among us, and have been obliged to experience
anything so bad from our wildest prophet! yes, brother Ravanel, is the
worst, should I have said in my stupidity, the most godless: may heaven
forgive me my sins. No, all of us and himself too must often pray, that
the Lord may moderate his ardent zeal, for he is almost always in
anger, and only too frequently as if raving. Are you better now,
gracious sir?" Edmond pressed his hand and said, "I feel that the wound
is not of much consequence, it was the loss of blood alone made me
faint; but brother Eustace, as I am now a brother to you all, leave off
that empty mode of the men of the world, and call me thou, as it is
customary among you."

"As thou wilt!" exclaimed the former greatly affected: "but I am as if
in heaven, that thou brother, that thou, who wast so proud shouldst
thus converse with me. They always deny miracles, and yet this is truly
one."

"Leave him to repose, brother Eustace," said Mazel, "do not excite and
tease him any more in order that he may be soon restored." "Relate to
me," said Edmond, "brother Abraham, that my imagination may be directed
to a fixed point, which otherwise in its diseased state is wandering
lost and bewildered. Do I remember rightly, that thou saidst to-day in
that extraordinary dispute, which my soul cannot even yet understand,
thou hadst given rise to the present war. Or was it not so? tell me
something about it, for although I have grown up in this neighbourhood,
I know but little connected with these affairs."

Mazel replied: "It is true brother Edmond, it is also not true, as one
may consider the matter, and thus it is perhaps with most things in the
world. I was a lad of about twenty years of age, when, suddenly they
abolished our reformed religion, it went to the hearts of all
throughout the whole country. I was then only a forest-ranger in the
service of the Lord of Mende, on the banks of the Rhone. About this
time they began to emigrate from the country. Nobles, merchants,
peasants, and citizens went away (for that was yet permitted) towards
Switzerland, Holland, England and Germany, where they were well
received, for the poorer ones were industrious mechanics, had knowledge
of manufactures, and carried many arts and advantages to other lands. I
had no inclination to go with them. Gracious heaven! home is sweet,
where man is born, air and water seem good to him, where my language is
understood, there is my heart. Added to this, I loved a maiden; and
besides, they intended to make me a royal ranger. The thing pleased me,
and with love, domestic joy and happiness in my native land; I bound up
the mouth of conscience so close, that like a dancing bear, it could
not bite around it. The extensive emigration, the fortune that they
carried away with them, caused a great sensation, this they had never
suspected and probably thought all were quiet cattle like myself, and
just as willing to let themselves be bound to the manger. Now under
pain of being sent to the gallies, every body was prohibited to quit
the country; Ah! that gave a shock, and completely so, when they did it
in reality, and, as an example, several old noblemen were chained to
the oar. The anguish was great in the land. All were forced to attend
mass; the dragoons were sent out; the people tortured; the children
shut up. The most enthusiastic went out together into the woods and
caverns, and prayed there and preached to one another. Whomsoever they
found thus employed, was without further ceremony broken alive on the
wheel; hanging was a favour. Our Intendant thought to crush the affair
with prompt violence, and appalling horror, that old and young needed
only to be quickly reminded of their religion. People often think in
reality, because they are themselves convinced of the matter, and that
it is only carelessness in others: they wish to recall them to
themselves, and often in the midst of their barbarity, they do not mean
so badly towards them."

"Thou art right Mazel," interrupted Edmond, "I myself was of this
belief a short time ago." "But now," continued the old man in his
relation, "all our souls acquired an entirely different colour, they
were clad in new vestments, for we had not thought of it thus, and we
came to our recollection, but in a very different manner. Were I in the
wood and my dog only whined, it seemed precisely to me as if it were my
conscience. Yes, I was struck, I sought for, but could not find the
hidden jewel. My wife then consoled me once more, and thought that all
would certainly come round again.--Now it was strange enough, that a
pious society had already long since arisen in Dauphiné. An aged man
lived there upon a high mountain in the middle of a wood. He had a
glass-manufactory in that solitude. Now we have all experienced that
mountain and valley, the air that one breathes there, the murmurings,
the singular voices, the cry and the echo, make a man bolder, fresher,
and also more imaginative; he no longer fears his brethren in the
cities, he prizes not so highly the stone-houses and the smooth
streets, and all the singing of bells. The man Du Serre had visions and
revelations. He did not, however, go about preaching. He, as well as
myself, was wanting in that gift, but he was endowed with that of
foresight. Can one learn that from another? we must believe it, and our
times confirm it. But how? there lies the riddle! Should it be called
an art? by no means! The enemies call it imposture, that is impious.
Well, this glass-manufacturer kept fifteen young men in his house, and
his wife as many young girls, they almost all experienced the
enlightening, and the greater part of them the gift of preaching. Thus
then did they go out into the world. The fame of beautiful Isabelle was
soon spread abroad. She seduced every-body to apostacy, as the others
termed it. Still more efficaciously did a youth, named Gabriel Astier,
teach and convert. A part of Dauphiné and our neighbourhood of Vivarès
soon became one flame of religion. The children then already began to
prophecy. But the poor creatures, without weapons of defence in their
too zealous faith, were surprised by the soldiers, and the greatest
number massacred. Our Basville and his son-in-law, the Marshal Broglio,
bore the fame of having massacred them all. Gabriel also, who had
become a soldier in Montpellier, was recognized and executed, and the
lovely Isabelle from fear, in the dungeon of Grenoble, retracted from
her faith, and thus all had the appearance of tranquillity. Sparks of
the faith, however, and of the force of miracles had been scattered and
lost in the Cevennes. For the spirit possesses the property of fire,
which, out of a little spark, by which a small beetle cannot warm
itself, grows, in a few hours, into a brand that lays woods in ashes,
and mocks all human efforts to extinguish it. What may not lie in one
single word? Oh thou mournful sound, like the twittering of the
swallow, thou appearest to die away in the wilderness, the spirit
conducts thee through the world, and puts thee on a coat of mail that
armies grow out of the ground, and horses and riders, and thousands
sent by kings with the thunder of artillery, were not able to make the
little world as quiet and small as it lay formerly in the solitary
cottage. Praised be the Lord!"

He prayed inwardly, and then continued: "In the meantime, people became
older and wiser but certainly more obstinate, I already began to think
no more of my former faith, nor had the new one either much effect on
my heart. I was an ass between two hayricks, and ate of neither.

"A man of the name of Beoussan, a man of God, lived first at Nismes,
and afterwards at Toulouse. He was a reformer and a lawyer, who always,
and when the people were poor, gratuitously took up the cause of his
companions of the faith: His was a spirit full of gentleness and
goodness. He went into foreign countries, became a priest in
Switzerland, preached there and in Holland, and edified thousands. Him
did the spirit and his native land lead back into our country and then
the Lord conducted me to him in the wilderness. My wife was dead at
that time, and lonely and childless, as I then was, my whole heart that
had lain so long untilled, was again enabled to bear genuine fruit. It
was, as if I began from that time to imbibe again a portion of heavenly
comfort in my cottage. Thus things went on. I was no longer in
ignorance, but I was not yet happy. This would not last, hail-showers
sometimes destroyed my seed, and when I often lay in wait with the best
dispositions, and with an open and acute mind, loaded and ready to
shoot, there came no game, no animal sprang up in the wilderness of my
heart. Ah, we totter on thus pitiably for years, and time passes as a
dream and intoxication. I glanced round me, I had become old. How!
thought I, when the Lord looks down, he will see furrows on thy old
skin and thou art still neither hot, nor cold. Than came the late Mr.
Beoussan, the holy master, among us. An impulse of the spirit, as he
said, led him to us. He was well and comfortable at home, but, pious
bird of the forest! he wished to visit once more his beloved mountains,
dells, the clear brooks, and to pour so thrillingly, fully, and
affectionately into our hearts the tones of the sweet nightingale, that
burst from his breast, that he must die from the effort.--Amen!--"

He stopped again, and Edmond said: "I often saw this pious Beoussan at
Nismes, before he was executed. It is not yet five years since he
sealed his doctrine with an ignominious death."

"Then," pursued Abraham Mazel, "All the former restrictions were
renewed with greater severity. We could not speak, scarcely think
without being betrayed. A year had now elapsed, when an assembly of
religious people in Alais was surprised by Basville, they were all
dragged to prison, and all, without further enquiries, were sentenced
to martyrdom. This took place in October. I had also been present, and
only escaped through a miracle. I had already seen some of the
prophecying children here and there, without profit, my heart became
rather colder at the sight, because the little worms did not please me
in that state. Now, after my day's work was finished, I sat in
solitude, tired and exhausted from riding, and looked round at the
green meadows, the sky and the mountains. I tried, in my inmost soul,
to unravel the mystery, why all should be thus and not otherwise, how
God and man, virtue and sin, in and through one another, and how in
this entwined knot, now and then the rays of eternity shine down into
this temporal world, and how, in one short moment, we feel and
experience within us the whole unfathomable eternity, and many thousand
thoughts and feelings, of which the smallest in the tittle of time, is
allowed no place. Also why we were so miserable, and what was the end
of the Lord in this. Behold, my friend, there descended a vast stream
of thoughts from heaven, (I saw, but knew not one word, one letter of
it) and alighted as with large eagle's wings upon my brain and roared
and murmured there, and the marrow of my back became cold as ice, and
my inmost soul was congealed and frozen, and my teeth chattered with
fear. How the breath lost itself in my breast, and now it was, as if
little cooing doves were flying through the immeasureable space of my
soul. A gentle heat came over me and my heart sprung open as the rose
out of its bud on a spring morning, and the Lord was within me. Then I
fell down and my prayer was prophecy. Oh, how could I have thought that
his presence was so sweet, who, with his glory, almost broke down the
wall of the narrow dwelling. Thanks be to him for ever and ever, Amen!"

"His wonders are immeasureable and unspeakable," said Edmond.

"Many," said Abraham in continuation, "whose faith was suspected,
were imprisoned throughout the whole country. They were most
severely treated by the Abbé Chaila who resided in the Château Pont
Mont-de-Verd. Parents, husbands and betrothed mourned for those that
had been carried off. It would have been sinful to place my light under
a bushel. I summoned together a little community of zealous souls in
the forest, there they witnessed my inspiration, and their courage was
raised. It was in the middle of summer, and I prophesied to them that
they should release the prisoners. The following night we assembled
together, and Pervier, a young man, whose bride was languishing in the
prisons, undertook the command. They advanced in front of the dwelling;
the Abbé's servants fired from the windows and killed three of our
friends. We now ceased to sing psalms, and stormed the castle with
trees and firebrands. The gates gave way, we entered, and encountered
the Abbé in his chamber. He suffered his dungeon to be opened, we then
assured him that he should receive no injury. The prisoners came forth;
weeping, joy, sobbing, and singing filled the house. Then they shewed
their wounds, the marks of the torture, dimmed eyes and sunken cheeks.
A shout for murder resounded around. But Pervier and I appeased the
maddened people by word and deed. The Abbé heard the noise, was
terrified at our movements, and to save himself, he sprang from a high
window into the road, and lay dashed to pieces on the ground. His
attendants and many of us ran up to him. 'The Lord has judged him for
his cruelties,' exclaimed several voices; they lay down by his side to
look into his dying eyes. Many, in spite of their emotion, could not
conceal their malicious joy, and thus in reality, our first act was the
beginning of the war, a story, which, in order to defame us, they have
entirely altered."

"It is believed," said Edmond, "that you criminally and wantonly
murdered him."

"Had it depended upon the will of one that was among us," continued
Mazel, "that, and much more would have happened. A stout, fierce man
was of our party, who very unwillingly submitted to the commands of the
moderate Pervier; you know him by his fame, Esprit Seguier. In him
already burned the fire, which now shines forth in Catinat and Ravanel,
and even then many were of opinion, that this was the true religion,
and that the zeal of Elias and not the gentleness of St. John should
save us. We all retired quietly, cheerfully, and happily. Not one of us
had been discovered. Then Seguier assembled a troop as fierce as
himself, and while the soldiers were seeking for us, returned to
Pont-de-Verd, burnt the castle, slaughtered all the priests that he
found there, and cut down all whom they encountered. But misfortune
overtook them. They were defeated; when they sought for the leader, he
himself issued from a cottage, and declared his name. 'Wretch!'
exclaimed the commander, what treatment dost thou deserve for thy
deeds?' 'That which I would give thee, wert thou my prisoner,' replied
the enthusiast, 'and verily, such as thy friends would not rejoice
over.' He remained firm to the last. He was burnt alive. A proclamation
was then issued, offering pardon to all that knew anything of the
affair of the Abbé, as well as to such as had been, up to that period,
Huguenots in secret. Innocent beings! poor deluded ones! they presented
themselves, and were all hanged before their doors, even those, who had
never been at Pont-de-Verd. Their anger was now no longer to be
restrained, the young men rebelled, I led them to Pervier, arms were
sought for, those who had none, took hatchet and sicle; a regiment
advanced to oppose us on the left of Karnaulè. As soon as we began to
sing, the troops became intimidated; we rushed upon them, their balls
were of no effect, we hewed them down, five only escaped, to tell the
news of their defeat. Broglio himself then advanced upon us, but he was
driven back! A christian festival of thanksgiving was held in the
forest, and the Lord prophesied out of me to the edification of all
warriors. In our next combat Pervier was wounded, and appointed La
Porte our leader; but he did not feel that he was ordained to suffer
martyrdom, and soon went with his young wife to Geneva. Then the bold
La Porte fought the fearful battle before La Salle, of which thou must
have heard. He soon afterwards died gloriously of his wounds, for they
all opened afresh, when he was nearly cured, he sang psalms at divine
service, with so much ardour, that twenty wounded arteries bled at
once, and thus his soul, in red streams, and while he was still
singing, hastened up to heaven. To him succeeded his nephew, our
brother Roland, in command."

The latter advanced at that moment and affectionately enquired after
Edmond's health, and then charged Mazel to place sentinels round about,
for that Lord Flotard was coming and had private matters to discuss
with him, which no one was permitted to hear. Abraham retired, and
immediately from the opposite wood issued a richly dressed man, towards
whom Roland politely advanced, and both then hastened to a distance,
where they walked up and down on the skirt of the wood engaged in
earnest conversation.

"Canst thou hear what they say?" asked Edmond of the aged Eustace.

"No, brother," replied the latter, "how is that possible, since they
are so far from us, that I can scarcely distinguish them?"

But Edmond, when he turned his thoughts on Roland, could, to his great
surprise, understand all clearly and distinctly, so that not one word
of the conversation escaped him.

"I thank you sir," said Roland, "these sums come just in right time,
and will help to supply the unfortunate soldiers with those necessaries
that they have been so long compelled to forego." "And you remain
obstinate," demanded the former, "and will not accept anything for
yourself and the other leaders?"

"Do not mention that," said Roland, "you ought to know us at last. We
have not undertaken this holy war for robbery and gain: we are all
willing to remain poor. But the succours, where do they tarry? we do
what we can with short means, but a great calamity may annihilate us at
once, and then all assistance from without will come too late, even
now, a small one would be very acceptable. But already I forbode the
future, they will let us languish and perish, and then lament that they
did not lend us assistance sooner. It is ever thus, when one trusts to
foreign aid."

"Therefore a sum: could--in all cases"--observed the stranger.

"No," cried Roland with great vehemence; "Oh sir, do you think then
that I anticipate a happy result? I will live and die in this struggle,
end as it may. When I had the courage to take up the sword, I at the
same time threw away the scabbard too. I have devoted myself to ruin.
My name may be stained, the better part of mankind shall feel that I
was not debased, that, notwithstanding all, I was a good subject."

"A good subject?" said the stranger inquiringly, "I understand the
strangeness of these words. You think that I, a rebel, an outlaw, who
even accepts sums of money from foreign lands, may be purchased at a
cheap rate by the enemies of my king, and that I should maliciously
rejoice at every calamity that befell my sovereign. But it is not thus,
no Frenchman sinks so low. Let the king give us liberty of conscience,
and lame, starved, and bleeding at every pore, we will still fight for
him against England and Germany. And never would I, and my friends lend
our aid to bring our country under a foreign yoke; even should he
persist to act thus cruelly towards us: do not calculate upon that. But
I will fight for my cause in an honourable manner, as long as breath is
in me. Weak as we may be, we occupy a whole army, and with it lend
efficient succour to foreign countries. Do you not think, that with
these sentiments, I may call myself a good subject, though certain of
my ultimate ruin, by acting thus, I spare my king and country? I fall
in the fight here, or imprisonment, ignominy and martyrdom await me, no
spark of commiseration lights me on. I do not kindle the fiery zeal and
wrath of my people, in order, to break blindly into the land, to hazard
all on a dangerous game, by which the infuriated often win, I rather
restrain them. For myself I do nothing, for my party and my religion
everything. Could I but avoid involving these unfortunate men in my
ruin! But the king and fate have ordained it so."

"I am further to enquire," said Flotard anew, "whether experienced
officers should not be brought into the mountains as leaders?"

"I oppose that," said Roland gravely, "not on my own account. I know
not how we carry on the war, but still this little mountain-spot
occupies a great number of disciplined troops. We have done more than
we ever dared to think of, even in our dreams. And all those poor
enthusiastic men, who never enquire how numerous the foe may be, rush
with songs of praise upon the bayonet, and into the flames of the
stake; they would follow no foreign leader, who did not share with them
the same faith, and the same distress, for as I have already said, it
is not their wish to be rioters and rebels, and thus follow a foreign
standard, though with greater safety. They fight and conquer only under
their own known country-people, who pray and sing with them, whose
origin they know, and whose prophecies impel them to rush fearlessly
into the most palpable danger."

"They laugh at those prophets in foreign countries," said Flotard,
"What is your opinion of them?" "I know not what to say to it,"
answered Roland; I frequently see the miracle before my eyes, that
these men know things which no one can learn by natural means; but
again it often strikes me, that blind passion alone speaks out of them,
and that they voluntarily excite themselves to this state. The prophets
sometimes contradict one another. They direct our proceedings, and it
occurs occasionally that my regulations deviate from their wishes, but
I have sometimes had reason to repent of this.--Come now to the
magazines, and we shall consider what may be most necessary to us.

Roland called out, and accompanied by a few followers, they both
penetrated into the darkness of the forest.




                        END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.




               PRINTED BY J. TEUTEN, BOND STREET, CHELSEA.