The Rebellion in the Cevennes/Volume 2/Chapter VIII
CHAPTER VIII.
Edmond intended visiting the valleys under pretext of inquiring after and purchasing an estate and castle in the district, that were abandoned by the owner, and now for sale. He had become acquainted with an aged secular priest, who dwelt in a beautifully situated village of a charming valley, and his companion had under other pretences taken up his quarters in a neighbouring village. As Edmond wandered solitarily through the enchanting landscape, for the purpose of acquainting himself with its conveniences, his heart became oppressed as he struggled to know if the object, that led him hither might in itself be a good, whether it might be a justifiable one.
"Shall I," said he to himself, "bring war into these peaceful valleys, where hitherto no noise of arms has ever resounded? Here the monsters still slumber, which we are going to awaken, in order to provide victims even in these communes for their grim jaws. He quieted his perturbed feelings with the thought, that without his assistance the royalists would march hither, for the purpose of entangling and, if possible, extirpating his new brethren from this part of the country, which was almost wholly in the possession of Catholic inhabitants.
His host, the Catholic priest, was a very little grey-haired man, who, with just as old and amiable as housekeeper lived under the vines and olive trees, that shaded his dwelling so quietly and peaceably, that Edmond on his first entrance was involuntarily reminded of the fable of Philemon and Baucis. He could not divest himself of the idea, that in this habitation the earliest and dearest recollections of his childhood were hovering round him, he was confounded at himself, that his wrath, his burning, religious zeal seemed here nearly exhausted, he was almost obliged to confess that it was forgotten. He meditated and dreamed in the rustling of the trees, by the murmuring of the little waterfall, how softly his soul melted away, and his resolution, like that of Rinaldo's in the enchanted garden of Armida, lost all its strength. When he could not regain his former energy in his waking dreams, as he strolled by the side of the brook, he called it the stream of oblivion, where he now enjoyed the vernal gales and flower breathing elysium and in Lethe separating himself for ever from the world of strife and suffering.
The clergyman had also received the youth with the greatest cordiality; whenever Edmond returned from his rambles, such pleasure beamed on the countenance of the old man, that the stranger felt himself bound to his host by kindliness and emotion. The latter frequently examined him fixedly and as if he had known him already at an earlier period, and then sank into a reverie as if he could not connect his recollections.
"My dear Chevalier de Valmont," (thus Edmond had named himself) commenced the old man on the second day, as they sat at table, "the longer you are with me, the greater pleasure do I experience in your society. An extraordinary resemblance to an old friend almost compels me to treat you as a beloved brother, nay, I may say as a son. It is long since any stranger has visited me in my solitude, here I learn but little of the world, and that is why such a visit as yours is so acceptable to me." "I too am delighted with your society," replied Edmond, "and I ask myself not without sadness, wherefore it should not be granted to man to spend his days in peaceful quiet, elevated and instructed by nature, enlivened and comforted by the simplest and most delightful enjoyments."
"Perhaps this will be your fate my good sir," answered the priest with vivacity, "perhaps we may then see each other very often and confidentially, if you should only become the possessor of yonder castle, which is scarcely half a league distant from hence."
"And," said Edmond hesitatingly,—if the war should rush down here also? should this castle, this house here be consumed in flames? Where is safety in our times?" "The Lord will protect us" replied the priest, "as he has done heretofore." "And should he confer victory on the foes?" "His will be done," prayed the old man, "for his decree is wisdom, he is just and good, and with his might dwells love." "It almost appears," said Edmond surprised, "that you will not be disinclined to grant victory to the rebels; at least you express yourself so mildly, that I do not recognise in you the Catholic, as zealous for his religion as, however, he ought to be."
"Let us not misunderstand each other," replied the priest, "I only mean, that I surrender myself intirely, wholly, and unconditionally to the will of my Lord, and resign the reins to him without murmuring, or contending. But I love my religion, I am thoroughly imbued with it, and on that very account be it far from me to banish these poor deluded ones and to call down a curse upon their heads."
"You are thus a worthy servant of your religion," answered Edmond, "and deserve that the enlightening should be made manifest to you."
The venerable man looked smilingly on the youth and said: "You have now betrayed yourself young gentleman,—do not blush," continued he in the mildest tone, "fear nothing from me; you are not the less welcome to me on that account. Perhaps we shall understand, when we have learnt to know each other and perhaps not; but you shall ever remain my beloved guest, may become also my friend, although it may happen that I should blame your enthusiasm, or your fanaticism. How many worthy, noble, truly inspired, loving minds have I also known among the Huguenots and how many harsh and pitiless ones in my own church. It is now indeed a woeful time in our country, and moreover, we see as yet no end to the misery."
Edmond had recovered from his surprise and embarrassment, and said: "Is it though right, to remain thus indifferent and irresolute as you appear to me to be? Yet, perhaps, at a later period of life I shall also feel thus, for my father, to my sorrow, spoke almost as you do."
"You do not know me yet," answered the priest, "and I may well assert, without pretention, that sentence ought not to be pronounced so hastily and so readily on a man, who has had such experience of himself and of the world, who has reflected and really lived. In religious affairs particularly, my brain whirls in agony, when I see how so many place the whole tenor of a profound mystery in a book, an expression, a phrase, or even a syllable, and weigh the immensity of love in grains and scruples, that they may know the faster how surely their brother is to be damned, who in other countries and with different vessels draws out of the ocean of grace. Whoever too hastily gives a yes, or a no to the interrogations of the conscience, in such assuredly neither doubt, nor conviction is as yet awakened. That exhaustion, that mournful faintness which comes over us, when we see all parties fallen into error, all truth and inspiration mingled and disfigured by human passion, is not to be called indifference. Whom the revealed word has once enlightened can never again forget the glance of love, that has arisen in his inmost soul, he would rather forfeit his life than his conviction, he requires no proofs, no renewing to confirm him, no passion, no illusion, or miracle to ground him more firmly in himself, as little will raillery, or doubt, brilliant talent, or presumptuous philosophy, again be able to displace in his heart that directing star."
Edmond became thoughtful. "You are recalling," said he at length, "my former existence within me; I believe I comprehend you, and yet formerly I did not understand myself. You even mention the miraculous and similar things slightingly, do we not live in the age of such things? Oh! my honoured, venerable friend, could you have beheld what I have seen, could I tell you what I have myself experienced, you would then be bewildered at yourself and your own conviction, but you content yourself in peace, that you may escape the conflict, you deny the gift of prophecy, the visions, the wonderful state of these children and inspired Camisards, or censure with your church all, as deception and falsehood, if perchance you do not, as however I cannot believe of you, agree with the most infamous, and declare it the work of Satan and of hell." "Aye, no, my youug enthusiast," cried the old man, "nothing of all this; I have spoken with sensible men, and I have witnessed myself years ago similar singularities: Why should I deny these miracles, and may be, here and there mingled with lies, what should deter me from believing in them?"
"Well, nevertheless," interrupted Edmond passionately, "you will withdraw from the truth, you will uphold only your church as truly orthodox?"
"Has mine then no miracles to bring forward?" said the old man meekly: "and why should I not recognise them? But should the truth of revelation be grounded upon these alone, we were then indeed entrapped in the worst of errors. That, which habit renders necessary to us, we call nature and its laws: When I see a deviation from this, which surprises and confounds me, I speak of miracles; as if these so named laws were not likewise miracles; as if I were able to interpret, to comprehend and explain the daily phenomena; as if each flower did not blossom before me as a miracle; my origin, growth and decay, sun, moon, and stars, light, air, and water, nay, the organisation of the smallest fly were not also miracles like horror and spectre. All life surrounds me spiritually, miraculously; or, if my spirit is torn out of the peaceful element of its heavenly atmosphere; then love becomes hatred and despair, and wisdom as well as the revealed word of the Lord madness and blasphemy." Edmond was mute. "Know I then," continued the old man, "that which I call nature and its energies, the mind and its faculties? how each day it varies in different men for the most insignificant occasions! The poet, the artist knows how to speak of feelings, which to the uninitiated must appear as delirium, or miracle: energies unfold themselves, of which the former world was ignorant. many others have in the course of time declined, or have been forgotten; they appear again probably to astonish, or to give a firmer foundation to true science. Would my mind set limits to the Almighty, and know I, what God from wise, unsearchable causes will permit or execute? but no miracle can ever be elevated to a religious mystery; revelation requires not this to announce its eternal truth; the Saviour himself did not perform his miracles for that purpose, and reproaches the pharasees and people; miracle seeking testifies disbelief and irreligion, and where passion, party or sect, in the conflict of opinions, relies upon these inexplicable phenomena and wish to found conviction, or even to prove and explain for ever and ever out of what is indefinite, then is it all over long since with every sincere examination, with all true religion."
"And the resurrection of the Lord?" said Edmond. "Is not," said the former, "to be reckoned among the phenomena, commonly called miracles, if the grosser, unenlightened mind can indeed comprehend them only in this manner." "Go on," said Edmond, "to make your opinions clear to me, I am not yet too old to learn." "It happens not unfrequently," resumed the priest "that remorse aud despair either in criminals or in weak, sickly men have produced a sudden cure of old paralysis, so that the strength of the arm has been able to tear off their fetters, or to break iron posts; passion or terror exasperated that man, and gave him what in an ordinary state he did not possess. In dreams, in sickness, strange worlds are often discovered to us, and unknown feelings, scarcely foreboded, are presented to our view, and thus it may well happen, nay, I have myself experienced it, that in excited minds, inspired by enthusiasm, remorse, and passion, a state, as if between sleep and wakefulness, originates, in which, in the struggles of the organs, the spirit breaks in a short time through the bonds that confine it; it sees and hears as a spirit, distance approaches it, barriers obstruct not its view, futurity becomes the present, and in this total overthrow, the original vigour of the soul resumes its own appropriate right."
"And wherefore should not this, according to your own words," said Edmond, "be able to be pure and heavenly?"
"I will neither combat, condemn, nor ratify it," answered the clergyman; "were our nature entirely pure and refined, had we never falsified our heavenly origin, then indeed might these phenomena deserve our praise and thanksgiving to the Almighty, who again ever raises us to the rank of apostles, and denies us not the gift of prophecy. But frivolity, mortality, and evil have penetrated into us, this death obscures our life, this annihilation struggles against our spirit, as we are of heavenly origin; our outward existence is, however, as well as our spiritual operations continually exposed to this pitiful enemy, as the shadow, it follows every thought and every deed, and to combat it in thought and action, as well as in pure faith and devotion, is the task of our existence; the past must be continually put aside to make room for the coming of the Lord. But woe to us when that wonderful excitement of the mind, when these gifts of prophecy associate themselves with this nullity, this chaos, and all the dark passions! Then eternal truth, which never slumbers within us, summons falsehood, vanity, pride, wickedness, and bloodthirstiness, to enter into the shadowed gloom of our dark deformed soul, hyenas and tigers then tear themselves free from their fetters, and hapless man imagines, while the spirit of murder is roaring within him, that the Spirit of the Lord is prophesying directly from out of his mouth."
Edmond looked at him searchingly. "Often, however," pursued the old man composedly, "it is only the Immortal Spirit, that collects all its present and future energies, that it may step beyond the ordinary limits of nature, and that it merely takes with it the images of folly, and the almost innocent mask, in order to announce even in the supernatural, that which is absurd and contrary to nature."
"If you are right," said Edmond "what do you counsel those, who are thus gifted? This state must be a most critical one; but how disembarrass yourself of it?"
"By simplicity of conduct," replied the old man, "by estrangement from all passion and pride, and by pure prayer for the deliverance from this error, and from the deluding gift."
"That signifies," answered Edmond passionately and bitterly, "I ought to entreat the Lord to withdraw from me, I ought to pray to him to remain far away from me; in order to become godly, I must commence with consummate impiety. ls it thus that a priest of the Lord can exhort and counsel? but thus they are, thus they speak, these persecutors. And if they be but consistent, they must also entirely deny the miracles of their church, nay, even censure sacred Scripture as a lie."
"You have not indeed completely understood me, young man," answered the priest. "May not the ardour of love kindle so intensely, that the matter, the obscurity, the nothingness in us, may become temporally annihilated, and our speech, with the Lord’s permission working in his strength may issue forth? That this may be possible, the example of the apostles teaches us, the prophets bear witness; that many great saints whom the world venerated, may have thus spoken and worked, is certainly credible.—And thus belief may move and elevate; it may be a positive crime to mock reservation,—but what can this avail true religion, or its mysteries? How weak would it be, if these supports as I have already said, were indispensable to it! The miracle of all miracles, my young friend, is the great moment which is revealed to all sinning, hapless mortals in their limited life, when the lord himself advances to meet the penitent, the indifferent, and creates his heart anew. This metamorphosis is more wonderful, incomprehensible, and more mysterious than all the overthrows of the laws of nature, which attract the eye searching for miracles, for here out of nothing something is brought forth, out of death, suddenly like a flash of lightining, life is created."
They were disturbed at this moment by several peasants, who were begging directions from their priest how to proceed respecting the approaching festival and procession. Edmond in the mean while walked about the little garden, variously excited and inclined to contemplation, for his earlier youth had been recalled to his remembrance, many of his father’s words, many of his early instructor's, his mother's admonitions were again revived within him; The clergyman returned after a short time and said: "Still I must ever lovingly admire the human mind when it preserves itself pure, and so many sentiments and customs affect, while they appear to us childish and foolish. Let no severe judge expunge these feelings from our religion, for even these sucklings will hang on their mother's breast, and while they nourish themselves, they gaze in her dark eyes, whose expression they understand more from the instinct of childhood than from knowledge. We have here in our little church a miraculous portrait of the mother of God, which is renowned and honored far and wide by the country-people of the mountain. An old shapeless figure cut in wood of small size, probably in the early age of art, when it was yet scarcely aware of its own existence. I have seen the sick, when they prayed before the altar, restored to health, for faith and the commotions of the mind are able to bring forth the strongest phenomena in our delicate nature. Now when I reflect that upon this little spot so many thousands have for centuries derived consolation and joy, I cannot look upon her without emotion. The war has rendered a festival impossible this year, which otherwise has annually been celebrated on the morrow. From several village communities, even from those which lie twelve leagues off, processions of the communities arrived; eight young girls crowned with flowers bore the portrait of the Madonna of their church, singing all those hymns, which sound so beautifully in the mountain dialect in their tunes: Thus they walked round the church and one procession after another brought many with spiritual songs into our temple, here the strange visitor must bow low before ours, who then in a chaunt thanked and praised the Lord, in the song which our young women here sing most enchantingly in alternate chorusses. Thus all the processions bring in their mother of God quite similar to the theories of the ancient Greeks, and retired again in praise and thanks. This ceremony, which to the wise may only appear puerile, has, since I have been able to observe the people here, always produced much good and salutary fruit. The common man (though what do I say, who among us that calls himself the educated,) need not such things at times. The whole village all the winter long rejoiced in the anticipation of this day, the possession of this Marie endears this spot of the mountain, and renders it invaluable to them, the pilgrimage church here dazzles to the absent from a distance as if surrounded with a glory. The wandering through unknown districts encouraged the young and old, the visitings of a foreign nature, made the accustomed home more agreeable to them. Religious sentiments, pious designs, were developed, and at a later period, in peace brought to perfection. On the road they encountered the poor and sick, who needed assistance, all the feelings of the heart were renewed and reinvigorated, for man requires a similar renewal at times, that he may not become too monotonous to himself. Shall I also remind you, that by this means their native land became to all more endeared and beloved? without mentioning, that people from far countries became acquainted, and one heard of this and that from another; affection and also marriages were contracted among the distant mountaineers, and thus the useful, the good with piety and an inclination for the wonderful, as well as the love of nature went hand in hand." "All this," said Edmond, "however much you may speak in its favour, the Huguenots call idolatry."
"It would be so too," answered the old man, "if persecution, hatred and malice, were excited by this love and festivity. It might be perilous to celebrate the festival now, especially if it should be interrupted by enthusiasts of the other party. In bygone years, however, I have seen even protestants, who were unable to look upon the puerile ceremony without shedding tears. For it is just in a similar way, when man suffers himself to yield to his most cherished sentiments as if he were at home, when in an entirely childish and artless spirit he draws near to his God, or to his representative, his mother, or the saints, (whom he believes nearer to the nameless one,) plays and sports with the dreaded, the worshipped, laying aside all solemnity and all serious pomp, then does mankind appear purest and simplest. All ages, all nations are the same, let them think and worship as they like, have never been able to do entirely without it, and what we are often compelled to hear from free-thinkers or reformers, that we have again introduced the old overthrown idolatry, is only, if rightly understood, in the spirit of love, the regeneration of the human mind, which will never permit this source of its holy thirst to be exhausted. But abuse and error attach themselves to everything human. Indeed, the most beautiful body consists merely of earth and dust; and yet beauty is more sublime than the moist clay of the fields."
Thus was Edmond compelled to hear from strange lips his former thoughts detailed. He was so affected by the presence of the old man, that he felt himself compelled to discover to him what a zealous catholic he himself had once been and had but a short time previouly turned to the Huguenot faith; he was silent, however, respecting his alliance with the Camisards, and the purpose for which he had descended into the valleys.
"It is easy to understand," answered the old man, "how lively minds in these troublous times forsake their party and seek on the opposite side, what is wanting to them; that love makes such attempts to become reconciled with itself, even though these attempts should fail. My dear, young friend, you recall to my mind by your confession, your countenance and presence my own past youth in the most lively colours, and I cannot refrain from exchanging confession for confession, confidence for confidence. I am indeed tempted to impart to you the history of my little limited life, that has almost only experienced emotions of the mind."
They seated themselves in an arbour, before which stood plantains entwined with vines, the green wooded mountains were open, and the murmuring of the brook resounded pleasingly through the solitude, while from to time to time, the bells of the village church on account of the festival on the morrow, rang out their monotonous and solemn tones.
"I come from the Netherlands," commenced the priest; "born of Huguenot parents, whom I lost at a very early period. My guardians, worldly-minded men, troubled themselves more about the preservation of my small fortune than of giving me a sound education, and therefore it happened that I was consigned to a tutor, with whom they, as well as myself, were very well pleased. He was a man of extensive information, who had also travelled much, and had resided a considerable time in London. As he was descended from a good family, and possessed himself some, tact, he became acquainted with and acquired each day the confidence of many beaux esprits and of the courtiers here, and although his morals had not suffered as much as one might well have been led to fear, his religious principles at least, which may never have been very strong, were by this intercourse entirely stifled and destroyed. Knowledge, understanding were the most important to him, however he devoted himself with religious worship to poetry, as well as to the history of the ancient Greeks. No one could be more eloquent than he, when he enlarged upon these subjects. That these sentiments, as I was of a very lively disposition, should influence me, was very natural; my tutor seemed to me the most gifted of mortals, and his decisions were my oracles. Though I may still honour his memory, I must nevertheless censure as a weakness in what then certainly appeared to me his greatest forte, namely, his unwearied mockery of Christianity and of every religion; all others rather than the various sects of the Christian Church, found a release from his satires; the present, as well as the past, the history of the development, its mysteries, all was a subject of his derision, and the apostles, even the Saviour himself, were not spared by him, how much less Luther, or Calvin, and Zwingli, or even those so named mystics, who desire to form in themselves a peculiar spirit to recognise God. My mind had soon become so intimately connected with his, that I could not endure that there should be any religion for me on the earth, that any pious sentiments should ever arise in my heart. I had indeed my heroes of the former world, the Grecian antiquity, the high-minded Romans, in whose patriotism I glowed in dreams, the boundless fields of poetry with its gardens of wit and humour; and out of Sophocles and Eschylus, those dreamers of a world of spirits not understood, these seemed to me the most sublime objects that could ever have the power to shake my soul. In a short time I was honestly and truly ashamed of being a Christian, when I thought of the variegated world of fiction, of the ambiguous Grecian mythology, of those feasts and spectacles, lofty statues, and noble temples: Where then were the deliverer on the ignominious cross, and his impoverished disciples? how this faith of poverty and misfortune dwindled into nothing compared with those sacrifices and public parade, and the jubilee of the Pindaric hymns? neither did I reckon myself among the community, and the dullest day of my young life, was that on which I was received into the church of our sect with the customary ceremonies. Each word seemed nonsense to me, all solemnity degradation, in anger only I responded to the questions, and while still in the church, I swore never again to visit it: A contradictory and foolish oath, which, however, I long observed. At a later period, when I entered into the world, I remarked that all, who were called strong-minded, were either privately or publicly of my belief. All did not openly mock; the weak disapproved of this outrage, but only from the feeling of not making weak men err, or become unhappy, who though had nothing better themselves, or were not able to produce any thing but the old, miserable tale, that, without a connexion, one often contradicts the other. Many forcibly denied altogether the history of the Saviour, with others still worse, he was merely an unfortunate rebel, and to the best, a moral man, but who indeed, according to their views must be far inferior to Socrates, whose life was clearer, and whose doctrines seemed more comprehensible. Several of these free-thinkers, to whom the catholic church was a stumbling block, and who, that they might not be considered as antichristians, turned all the strength of their mind, under pretext of protecting the protestant freedom, to tear to atoms and to disfigure their catholic brethren, the history of the church, spiritual and temporal ordinances, in the most barbarous manner: thus behind this rampart, they imagined under false names, to be able to annihilate Christianity itself, for this it was which was hateful to them, not this, or that party. All this was very evident to me, and I lent my aid as much as my limitted power would permit. I arrived at the age of maturity, and my opinions only became still more deeply rooted. I travelled, I saw the world, but only on the side, which confirmed my prejudices. If I met with pious enlightened Christians, they appeared to me only as strange disordered spirits, worthy of remark perhaps, of pity assuredly. In a German town I took out of sheer insolence the book of a German mystic from the library to my own dwelling, that I might for want of better amusement, divert myself in the spirit of derision with the madness of the absurd and the foolish. Unconsciously, I had brought the fire-brand into my house, which soon set in flames all this edifice of pride and worldly impiety. I turned over the leaves, read and laughed, read again and found the puerility at least poetical. The book left me no rest, I felt as it were attracted to it, it tortured me, and to my shame I was soon forced to confess to myself, that it contained connexion, strength, and spirit, that it instructed me, and that gardens, flowers, and trees of love bloomed, where I had only seen a waste desert. The presentiment seized me, that another God might rule the universe than he, whom in my enthusiastic views of nature, or in my poetical inspirations, I had been willing to discover, or to acknowledge in the vortex of frivolity.
"My mind much affected, after some weeks of anxiety and meditation, longed ardently to read the Holy Scriptures. None of my numerous acquaintances, even such as were book collectors, or who possessed extensive libraries, had this book in their households. I felt ashamed, that I too had never required it. From that time this treasure became my faithful companion on my travels. I read in solitary and consecrated moments, and experieneed what every thirsty one feels, who is susceptible of humiliation, in whom the utter sense of helplessness is not entirely extinct, which, indeed, is so indispensably necessary before the spiritual word can take root in the uncultivated heart. Faith! this so often disputed, attacked and variously explained word. Oh! who has experienced it, in whom it has arisen with its strength, he will not dispute it. I could not withdraw myself from the revelation, the faith, so triumphantly did the words, the images, the language of the gospel glittering in the splendour of arms pierce through my soul, and all my energies became the prisoners of eternal love, and were now happy and blessed in the service, in the sweet slavery. My former rebellion against the Lord appeared to me mean and despicable, and my contempt turned from its course, no longer understood the folly of its early wisdom. Many indeed imagine, that faith, humility, and unbounded trust in the Lord, are nothing else than killing our energies, nay the faculty of thinking, and consequently withdraw in anger or in trembling from that work of regeneration, which, nevertheless speaks sometimes from afar indirectly to their insensible hearts. Unhappy men! This so much dreaded faith would first elevate their capacities to energies and kindle new lights and flames in their spirits. Without him, the revealed Christ, no sense in profound thought, no spirit in history, no consolation in nature and no peculiarity in our existence. Art, love, humour, who possesses him, they are then free play-fellows. How joyous, sweet, yea intoxicating and full of merriment, cheerful, and smiling does Christianity appear through all the genuine works of modern art, how blessed and pleasing are they, when in the greatness and fulness of the old world, yet like a spirit of gentle melancholy that passes away as the cloud, momentarily over the beautiful landscape in the brilliancy of spring." The old man paused, and Edmond said: "Oh! how willingly I listen to you, and remember all the sentiments and vicissitudes of my stormy youth."
"What I had before rejected," continued the priest, "now became the most urgent want of my soul, for I felt, how much a christian congregation, in unison together, must strengthen and elevate the individual. I visited the church therefore and wished to join in the worship of my sect. But whether it was that my mind was too much agitated, or that I had perhaps fallen on the wrong one, it appeared to me that every where the church overreached itself by preaching. All preferred their own explanations, and their close reasoning philosophy to the word of the Lord, they were all ashamed of Christ and denied him in artfully spun phrases, they misinterpreted him, merely that they might bring him nearer to their own weak necessities, as if he and his disciples must be subservient to their enlightened times, as servants and sextons of the church. I knew well, that every believing auditor and layman must be a priest himself to be able by his own power to transform the worthless into the good, but all my vital energies sank in the midst of that which surrounded me; the shrill singing stunned me, and the whole left a void and almost brought me back again to the state of a despairing infidel. It was certainly unreasonable on my part to require that all should partake of the intoxication of my newly planted vineyard. I was now compelled to feel, that fanaticism, and stepping beyond the limits was yet worse than remaining cold and apathetic below the mark. I continued my travels, and quarrelled on the way with my companion, already an old acquaintance, who neither could, or would not share in all my feelings. Thus we arrived at Nismes; there my destiny ordained, that I should long remain, in order that my whole life fully aroused should be determined and resolved. My companion, a certain Lacoste, introduced me to a house, where new feelings awaited me, to torture as much as to bless me."
"Lacoste!" exclaimed Edmond, "should he, perhaps—but proceed my venerable friend, I may be mistaken."
"My former friend," pursued the priest, "was tall and robust, a handsome man in every sense of the word, feeling and kind, but frivolous, and as far from every religion, as I had been a short time previously. This friend introduced me to the family of a worthy magistrate, which soon, as the good man and his excellent wife received me so hospitably, became my daily abode. They had a son, an aimable youth whose enthusiasm quickly procured him my confidence, for, just as much as Lacoste disputed all religious principles, young Beauvais warmly cherished them, voluntary lived in and for religion: he was the most zealous defender of his Catholic party, that I have ever been acquainted with."
"Heavens!" exclaimed Edmond, "you are then, venerable man, the Edmond Watelet, of whom I have so often heard the Counsellor of Parliament speak, as the favourite friend of his youth?"
A long pause ensued.—"It is indeed so," said the aged priest wiping away his tears, "the young enthusiastic Beauvais must now be an old man; I too though am become old! Aye, truly, there is a period which our heart refuses to believe, it is that alone which exalts the life of each one of us to a strange fiction, to a wonderful tale. He is still living then? ah, my dear Chevalier, you are yourself very like him. That is the spell, which so inseparably bound me to you."
Edmond talked of his father, but notwithstanding his deep emotion, he felt it was impossible to discover to him at that moment, that he was his son. After a time during which the old man recovered from his agitation, he continued more calmly: "That which most contributed to convert the paternal dwelling of my young friend into an enchanted garden for me, was the society of the young and beautiful women, who assembled there. He himself was affianced to a lovely girl, and he ardently anticipated his union with her. His Lucy's sentiments corresponded exactly with his own, and all that drew them nearer to each other was more or less imbibed into their existence and grew with the inspired hymn. The elder Beauvais only smiled at the high-strained feeling of the young people, for though he was himself pious, he rather feared that overreaching, and this religious ecstasy appeared to him as such. I now visited the temple in high spirits with my enthusiastic friend. The solemnity of God’s service, the stillness, the enchanting singing, the dread-inspiring presentiment which hovered over every mystery that here tried to present itself visibly to the necessituous, languishing senses, transported my heart. Already accustomed to look upon every thing as a riddle, as a concealed mystery of love, the celebration of the Mass appeared to me as elevated and divine, as revelation and work of art, as type and fulfilment at the same time, and each word spoken, or sung as it fell on my ear in the full force of its signification, drove back a bolt from my heart. Art and nature changed before my eyes, the element of water became glorified, in the fire, in the light of the church tapers as well as that of the house, I perceived and recognised the whole tenor of the secret of nature. The nights became too short to enable us to impart to each other all that arose in our minds. A young abbé, a mild, miracle-believing enthusiast was often the third in our consultations in the open air or within doors, and his learning, his knowledge in old legends and histories of the church gave to all our spiritual movements body and presence, yes, my friend, this rosy period of my youth was like the wedding festival of my soul, and griefs not to be named were already preparing in the midst of this enjoyment, in order to teach me how weak, how frail man is and remains."
"And this abbé," exclaimed Edmond, who had scarcely heard the last words, was he not named Aubigny?"
"Exactly so," replied the pastor with much astonishment, "it seems indeed that you know all the companions of my youth."
"Through the Counsellor of Parliament," answered Edmond, "who also likes to recall to his memory the season of his youth. But I pray you to continue your narrative. I fear that that Lacoste did not wish to be the fourth in your alliance."
"The unfortunate man," said the priest, "who had already become so confidential with us, withdrew from us day by day, although he still continued to visit frequently the paternal dwelling. Notwithstanding that we had agreed to deal mildly with him, his derision of us excited our anger, and his coldness refused all our conciliatory endeavours. It was not predestined, that our days should flow along in peaceful, undisturbed cheerfulness.
"Among the young girls that visited my friend's house, the next in loveliness to his bride, was one Euphemie the most delicate and beautiful apparition that my eyes had ever beheld. She dazzled less than Lucy, but she was still more refined more etherial. Her mind was also already abstracted from this world, her wishes were directed to the cloister, the life of a nun seemed to her most desirable. Fortunately this inclination coincided with the views of her parents, who as it so often happens, wished the whole of the fortune to devolve on the son, so that he might be able to occupy a more important station in the world. In order to complete my reformation, the knowledge of love was only wanting to my deeply affected mind. Euphemie and I drew near to each other, we became as quickly familiarised as if our being had for many years been only waiting for this acquaintance. We were as brother and sister, before we had yet been able to wonder at the rapidity of this mutual confidence. We soon felt that we could not do without each other, she could tell me all her thoughts and feelings more easily and confidingly than she could impart them to her parents, even more than she ventured to do to her female friends. My heart floated in the sweetest repose; at the sound of her voice, at the glance of her mild eye, when I heard her footstep, when she walked in the garden, nay even when I only thought of her, my mind was as if plunged in bliss. Even thus the spirits of the pure soar glorified towards their sacred destiny, estranged from all passion and inquietude, from all violent incitements. And yet I knew not that I loved: I had never permitted this word to enter into my mind.
"We conversed on her future cloistered life, on the saints and their miracles, and Euphemie had in me the most believing pupil. She lent an equally attentive ear to my enthusiasm and days and weeks passed away in a pleasing dream. That Italy, whither indeed I was journeying, was in the world, I had totally forgotten.
"Beauvais took possession of a country house, that lay in the most beautiful part of the country. I followed the family and my adored Euphemie also accompanied her friends, for the mother, as well as the son's future bride respected the wonderful girl. What singular conversations and outpourings of the heart! the earth and all that surrounded us, to which we must indeed have applied names, vanished from us, and our spirits as if in the innocence of Paradise lulled themselves, void of every want, but penetrated with the most innate, the most holy love. We understood each other without words, and as all that was earthly had fled, no feelings of jealousy, suspicion, or distrust arose in our souls.
"The legends, many of which express a heavenly spirit of resignation to the mysterious will of the Most High, a renunciation, nay almost an annihilation of self in fervent love of Christ, a profound mortal compassion in the endearing adoration, our inebrieted enthusiasm was awakened and nourished especially by those feelings. Many of these tales are repulsive and contrary to every sentiment, these we discussed with subtle and ingenious commentaries in order to garnish them with a milder spirit. But the most beautiful that this species of tradition has preserved to us, is that, which, however, at the same time is the most misconceived by the unawakened soul of and which is found absurd and repulsive by the worldly minded. The life and history of the old hermits, there may be also much of later invention, to the mind which is once moved by spiritual things, they present a touching miracle. What shall I say of the meditations of St. Francis, of his ardent love and of the visions which arose and were present to this man in the perfect humility, the compassion, and fervour of his unfettered heart? He only who has once known the splendour of the world, the insolent strength appertaining to it, can rightly comprehend this temper of mind. We also often read the Gospel, and then a trembling, such as has been frequently observed in many enthusiasts, came over my whole body, especially when in solitude, for timidity and shame restrained me in society from exposing my deep emotions to observation. In this frame of mind, I left Euphemie one morning, some chapters of the Holy Scriptures had just been read. I threw myself down in the most retired spot in the garden, in order to give a free course to my tears. The whole world awakened feelings of pity within me, I experienced such an overflow of love in my oppressed heart, that it almost burst, in the excess of its own enjoyment; I read over again the passages in Luke, how Christ met the poor widow and the dead body of her son, and compassionately aroused the youth from death. There are no words that can describe the state of my mind. The elder Beauvais with a suite of servants was just returning from the chase. He might well be astonished at finding me in this condition, but he passed me with a mute salutation. I arose, and now as with a tremendous power it took possession of me. Verily, said I to myself, as thee no man has ever yet loved; it is the spirit of God, of the Father himself that stirs within thee to gladden to love, to sympathise with all; in these, these exalted moments I felt impressed with the eternal truth, that I myself, I was the son, the God from God,—and what should prevent me from moving these trees, these stones with the word of life, that they might change into other forms, and attest my might, shall I beckon to the angels that hover round me, visibly to appear to do my service?—Yes! let it be attempted, ventured—Then trembling and fear came over me, I was stunned and in despair; in contrite humility I cast myself down before my Creator, I felt myself undone, now that I perceived my devilish arrogance which had risen out of pure humility and love; I had experienced the most fearful apostacy from God, just at the moment when with all my faculties I felt myself nearer to him.
"This moment in which my spirit became dizzy on the verge of insanity and frenzy, has since then ever seemed to me the most terrible one in my life. I now understood myself and human nature, and also the danger of enthusiastic raptures of love. I had then indeed myself trodden the bridge over which all enthusiasts have passed, the narrow path (ever shining brightly, though hell lies beneath it) between virtue and vice, between wisdom and presumption, which leads from love and kindliness to hatred and murder, and I had now learned what an unholy spirit had moved the Anabaptists, and Adamites, and perhaps now glows and wages in many a heart among the rebels. Oh! my son, man is a most frail and pitiable being, the more is lent to him, the more has he to answer for, the brighter the spirit of love glows within him, the darker burns his reprobation;, his gifts granted to him from heaven, may become his dire enemies, there is no one either that stands so fast, but that he may also fall. My legends had already taught me that, but I was doomed to feel it first in this fatal downfall."
"Therefore still hell and devil?" cried Edmond after a long pause. "However mildly you spoke and sentenced at first, the priestly condemnation follows in the end. Oh thou unfortunate Cavalier and Marion! and ye unhappy children, on whose lisping tongues Satan himself laid the name of the Lord, and the awaking to repentance."
"What then shall we call that?" said the old man mildly, "which works directly against God? We require not certainly that fearful figure, which perversity has imagined, in order to represent him personally; we need not indeed ascribe to him those tremendous attributes, which the miracle-seeking has invented, fabulously enough, but so much the worse for us, the weaker, the more powerless he in himself is: how feeble are we then to permit ourselves to be so ignominously overcome by this shadow, this delusion, this inefficiency, this nothingness? How our priests may censure these suggestions and represent them as devilish I know not, but it suffices for me, that I have experienced in myself, that such a feeling of all our energies may exist in us in divine love, which then does not proceed from God, but from his despicable adversary, and of which we must beware, because we, the image of God, through our own demerits are, as it were, only shadows of shadows."
The old man arose, and walked several times up and down the garden, to subdue the emotion, which these recollections had excited. Edmond remained behind in deep thought, and compared the narrative of the pastor with his own experience. Should he now view them in an other light, or wish them effaced from the career of his life? He would have been more satisfied, could he have heartily embittered his feelings against the old man, towards whom, however, inclination as well as the intercourse of soul in which he had spent his youth with his own parent attracted him. The pastor came back smiling, and seated himself again by the side of the subtle investigator. "It cannot be otherwise in life," recommenced he, "each sentiment, each society, each dispositien and friendship has its history, all ascends, attains the highest summit and falls again. Thus had the most delightful concord in our singular intimacy already vanished, before we had been able to perceives a change. The impetuous Lacoste had conceived a violent passion for Lucy, and the gentle, pious creature felt very unhappy on that account, although she at same time became reserved towards young Beauvais. At first the latter was embarrassed at this, then vexed and irritated against Lacoste, to whom until now he had been greatly attached, whilst he thought that a secret inclination for this impetuous man had thus visibly estranged his bride from him. In this mutual constraint, the two friends avoided each other, they were however compelled to meet in company: An explicit communication and reciprocal understanding seemed impossible, so that the rancour took even deeper root, especially with Lacoste, who, after some time, made but little effort to restrain from publicly betraying his aversion to Beauvais. But the state of my own feelings was such, that I was soon disqualified from observing others around me. Euphemie’s brother, the pride of his family, fell into an illness, which had all the appearance of consumption, and now the parents thought of marrying their daughter to a man of distinction, that through her their name and large fortune might be perpetuated in the world. When Euphemie first spoke to me on this subject, she was wholly unembarrassed; her voice was as firm and steady as if she were speaking of a friend. I felt as if she were relating to me a silly improbable tale; so pure, exalted, and unattainable had my fancy painted her. I could almost just as easily have persuaded myself that a scheme of marriage was projecting with the evening star. But at night, on my solitary couch, the aspect of affairs took another form: Again was I doomed to learn, and how painfully! to know myself and the world. Is she to belong to the world? I asked myself, wherefore then not first to me? To me, to whom she already belongs, as my soul dwells in hers!
"The concealed ardour, which until now had slumbered in the sweetest intoxication, burst through its bud and blossomed, and shone forth like a rare flower, which unfolded a thousand purple leaves. I felt now thoroughly, for the first time, that what until then I had considered merely earthly, was of heavenly origin. I deemed, myself called upon in my pure love to renew as a real sacrament, the sublime symbol of marriage, in such holy perfection as it is seldom, perhaps never, found on earth. Euphemie was terrified at my plans, my ardent persuasions, and my enterprising spirit. The more her hesitation, her timidity increased my passion, the more did I appear to her a strange being, whom until then she had not known at all. She was to be awakened from her peaceful repose, thus my love desired it, but she was shocked at the thought of grieving her parents in any way, to oppose them was with her an unnatural sin, and all that I urged about elopement, force, and death, only confused her delicate mind, as in the roaring of the waterfall no speech can be heard. My high wrought passion grew almost to frenzy; that she did not love me, that I was hateful to her, that already she turned her affections on her bridegroom, whom I jealously cursed, menacing to kill both him and myself: to all these frantic expressions she listened with a suffering and endearing patience. Thus then was this heaven destroyed for me, and black demons grinned on me from the same places, where before my intoxicated ear had heard the flapping of angel’s wings, from whence formerly a sweet smile from a radiant countenance bloomed on me like roses sparkling with dew in the rosy light of morning.
"Verily my soul becomes young again, when I think on those days. Oh! he grows not old, who lives only in the solitude of his recollections, as I do. With poor Lacoste things went on still worse than with myself. He wasted away, and wished for death. Often did he call upon it with fearful words. There was something heart-rending in his look. My friend Beauvais had also become pale, his youth was evaporating. Oh! there is nothing so terrible as to be compelled to doubt the worth of the beloved object; that gives more pain than despised affection. And in these pangs the hapless man was now perishing. Lucy was a puzzle to me also, when I was able to direct a look at her, she as well as Euphemie were constrained and timid, sought, and at the same time avoided solitude, longed to pour out the overflowings of the heart to each other or their beloved, yet could not find the time, or perhaps, could not exert sufficient courage. All the same men, who, but a short time previously sounded in concord together like heavenly tones, now screamed in yelling discord against one another; the apparent sanctity had changed into human folly, and each understood the other as little as himself. The elder Beauvais seemed to guess a little the horrible confusion, for he frequently looked at us all with dark and penetrating glances.
At length this twisted knot disentangled itself again. Euphemie's brother began to recover, the former projects were brought forward again, and my overwhelming passion was compelled to give place by degrees to a calm resignation. This only was the case, for I was determined to make good my supposed rights, until I perceived that the delicate Euphemie must perish in this storm. Lucy at length declared herself for Beauvais, and it was discovered, that his too intimate intercourse with Lacoste was alone the cause of her reserve towards him. The fear had risen within her, that he himself might be inclined to the free-thinking opinions of his rival. So great was her love to her church, that she had resolved, rather to sacrifice her dear betrothed than to live in the proximity of persuasions, which she considered as utterly profane. And it is true, the more zealous we were to recognise truth and divinity in one form only, the more did Lacoste seize every opportunity to express his incredulity. Indeed, however miserable he felt within himself, he sought by a certain vanity to avail himself of every occasion to prove his strength of mind in mockery, and in violent bursts of passion, his wretchedness had given such a bitter turn to his feelings, that sometimes he stood amongst us like an inspired prophet of Atheism, used such singular similies and figurative expressions, in a language so touching and elevated, that the pious maidens turned away from him with inward terror.
We had all ceased to weep, we were reconciled and of peaceable, quiet hearts, when Lacoste entered in the midst of our pathetic emotion and religious conversation. Beauvais made known to him what he had learned from Lucy, and that he (Lacoste) must quit our society in order that he might not disturb the happiness of the lovers and their approaching marriage, perhaps even render it impossible. This blow fell unexpectedly on the unfortunate Lacoste; his whole emaciated, care-worn frame trembled violently as if in convulsions, he was unable for a long time to find words, and when at last they flowed from his colourless lips, he tried to persuade us, that such a sentence of banishment from former friends was at least too hard, that he was not able to subdue his passion so quickly, or entirely to get rid of his persuasions, but that he combated both, and would strive against them with still greater energy in our company. But Beauvais was on this day armed with manly courage and resolution, his intercourse hitherto with Lucy had made him too unhappy; he insisted on the immediate departure of the peace-destroyer; the Abbé Aubigny sided with him, the gentle Euphemie was anxious, and Lucy herself the most decided; I also joined in this chorus, and we all unanimously declared, as with one voice, that the godless one should no longer linger near us; it was our duty, the love of Christ itself required of us to banish him, because through his intercourse with us, our religion would be sullied, perhaps even endangered. When Lacoste perceived we were firm in our religious zeal, he left off prayers and humiliations, and a tremendous fury overcame the mortified man, his eyes flashed fire, and he cursed himself and us with the bitterest execrations—that we might never find happiness, that misery might pursue us, that Beauvais might reap nothing but grief and sorrow from this marriage, and that he might live to see calamity, distress, and crime on his dearest children."
Edmond sighed deeply. "Thus," continued the priest, "did the wretched man leave us, and rushed like a madman out of the house; but a short time only was requisite to recall us to our senses, and to penetrate us with a burning shame. In the most devout temper of mind, in feelings of the purest love, as we fancied, we had been cruel towards a fellow brother, towards a friend, who deserved forbearance and compassion, although he might have strayed into the path of error. Beauvais was the first to recollect himself, and was angry with himself and all of us; he rebuked us as inquisitors, who condemn in cold blood to the stake all those that differ in opinion with them. A messenger was quickly dispatched to his residence in town, but he had already in his fury departed thence, no one knew whither. He had smashed to pieces everything in the house there, and with his gigantic strength had so ill-used a young waiter, who had attempted to appease him, that the unfortunate lad had been given up to the surgeons as dead. He had so cut his head with tables and chairs that he threw at the defenceless boy and crushed both his legs, that it was doubtful whether he would recover. If we had first been ashamed, we would now have concealed ourselves in the caverns of the earth, when we learned that this young lad, bred up in the most ordinary manner, and without any information, as soon as he had recovered his senses, during excruciating tortures from the dressing of his wounds, had prayed to God for the man, who had injured him, that he would forgive and succour the unhappy man, who must have been inexpressibly, infinitely wretched to have been prompted in his sorrow to fall upon an innocent person. Who is the true Christian? we asked ourselves, who the professor of the religion of love? Ah! we were so zealous, we thought we had learned so much, that we were able to teach the profoundest doctrine, we looked down daily with contemptuous pity on those who were less enlightened, who were not susceptible of our sublime emotions,—but now we were forced to confess to ourselves, that we were yet standing on the other side of the commencement; it was just, that we as miserable scholars, should be compelled to go for instruction to a young and ignorant waiter at an inn.
"I will conclude. Before my friend had yet celebrated his marriage, my Euphemie took the veil. On the same day, we had thus arranged it, I caused myself to be received into the bosom of her church. At first I intended to become a monk, but as I had delayed, I suffered myself to be consecrated a priest at a distance, and was transferred to this solitary part of the mountains. Since then, I have never heard of my friends, of Euphemie; I even wished to avoid ever seeing them again, that I might not renew the pains of deep, vital wounds. And yet it is but weakness, to turn away from the path of sorrow."—It had become dark, and the two friends repaired to the lighted room, to partake of the little evening meal. The young peasants who had been there before, reentered, and led with them a young and beautiful girl. The latter shewed the pastor the flowers and the ornaments, with which they intended on the morrow to adorn the image of the mother of God. "Now, at last," said the young and happy Caspar, "is the time come, reverend sir, that I can lead home my Louison, my bride. You know very well how she desired to spend to-morrow's festival still as a virgin, in order that she might be able to carry our Mary, and sing too. It has been sorrow enough to me, to be compelled to defer my happiness for so long a time; but for once she has persisted in her pious obstinacy. Well, truly it is precious to have such a christian wife, such a holy treasure. All is well, that everything has been so prosperous as yet; for who can tell what evil may come between, when man places his fate on such trials as these, and binds himself to hours and days. However everything is already arranged for the wedding, and all danger and fear is surmounted." "How thou talkest," said the blushing Louison, from whose eyes laughed her approaching happiness, and the fulfilment of all her wishes. "I have been friendly to thee for two years past, but must I on that account love the mother of God less? Ah! the history as it has come down to us, is too affecting, and therefore we must be thankful towards her. Look you, my strange young gentleman, before the village stood here, there was nothing far around but field and forest. No vine, no olive-tree was to be found here. Then went a poor wood-cutter, who had come from a distance into the wild forest to cut down a tree for his trade. And as he applied his hatched to it, he heard a sigh, and as he listened, a singing. A light appeared in the gloomy forest, and above in the tree, in the oak trunk, there sat as if in a hollow the mother of God, and commanded him to build a church on that very spot. The man made known the miracle, the wood was cleared, and behind the altar of our church stands still the same old oak trunk, in which the holy virgin already dwelt from time immemorial as a testimony and a remembrance. Thus was our good church founded, thus has the village risen, and men have drawn near the beloved spot, for our Mary would not thus dwell in solitude any longer. Look Caspar, thus but for our gracious mother, there would be no house, no man here, and our dear parent's house, and I, and thou would not be in the world, and upon this spot of earth, and for all this must we be thankful to her."
"All well and good," said Caspar, "but just because she is so amiable, she would certainly have granted us with all her heart, our happiness a long while ago. God and the saints are not like us men, who are so ambitious on one little point, that we neglect true honour." "Is it not true, Caspar," said Louison, laughing, "if thy new jacket with shining buttons had not been ready, thou wouldst willingly have deferred the wedding?" Thus laughing and jesting they withdrew again to go and seek the clerk with whom they wished to consult how best they might attach the flowers and garlands to the altar. The old man felt happy that his penitents loved to approach him with this child-like confidence, and respected him just as much as a father, while at the same time they fearlessly associated with him in play and merriment. Edmond was grave and melancholy; when it was time to separate to sleep, he abruptly asked the priest, as he grasped his hand: "Well, reverend sir, did you then afterwards in your station find that happiness of which you dreamed in your youth?"
"Happiness," said the old man, "what is it men call thus? and of what avail would their dreams be then, if it were to be met with in reality. I soon saw in the beginning, with bitter sorrow, that I was too enthusiastic, that my companions in the same calling, my superiors, did not partake of my burning zeal; disapproved of it indeed, or declared it heresy and false enthusiasm. They were too much occupied about their community, the ensuring of their condition, their infuence in the world, and the binding of souls, to have kindled ardour within them, or to have sought that faith in emotions, which was so necessary to my life. Well, somewhat late, I undertook to examine the teachers of my now abandoned church, and discovered that they were not altogether so inimical to Christianity as I had fancied. I thought that I perceived more and more distinctly that many roads lead to the Lord, and that he, as he himself has promised, has prepared many dwellings in his house. What the innovators, who have split asunder the church, desire, many of the apostles and earlier teachers have already wished. I hope, this disunion will just preserve the eternity of the Word. I also perceived, that to form a spiritual state, to represent a great community, a great deal by far of that enthusiasm of solitude must he checked, if it were only to preserve the constitution pure, the strength which alone renders possible that innate spirit of love for the present as well as for the future, and prepares for it an asylum. It was granted to my desire to live here in a small commune, retired from the whole world, almost like a hermit and thus to suffice for myself. I honour the body of our church, and am not angry with it, because it has no spirit; I forgive it the letter, if sometimes it appears to annihilate the spirit, because I trust in the wisdom and love of the Almighty, who thus accomplishes all to his ends."
Thus they separated. Edmond could not sleep. How agitatingly did all this old man’s words work upon him, whom he had so unexpectedly met of whom his father had so often spoken to him in his childhood. He felt troubled, and prayed fervently, that at length this rebellion, which he had been sent forth to excite, might not rage in this valley over the venerable head of this peaceful hermit. But he indeed knew best how impossible this was, how inevitable must be the dreadful event. In short slumbers, fearful dreams tormented him, and with the dawn of morning, he hastened over the mountain to Lacoste to send him off to Roland and Cavalier.