The Rebellion in the Cevennes/Volume 1/Chapter II
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 malicionsly.
"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 passionetely 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 creaturesis 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.