THE PASTOR'S PRISON.
The pillow of Clemence de Marly was wet with her tears, and sleep had
not visited her eyes, when a quick knocking was heard at her door, and
she demanded timidly who was there.
"It is I, Madam," replied the voice of the Duchess de Rouvre's maid.
"Then wait a moment, Mariette," replied Clemence, "and I will open the
door. She rose, put on a dressing gown, and by the light of the lamp
which still stood unextinguished on the table, she raised and
concealed, in a small casket, two letters which she had left open, and
which bore evident signs of having been wept over before she retired
to rest. The one was in the clear free handwriting of youth and
strength; the other was in characters, every line of which spoke the
feeble hand of age, infirmity, or sickness. When that was done, she
opened the door which was locked, and admitted the Duchess's maid, who
was followed into the room by her own attendant Maria, who usually
slept in a little chamber hard by.
"What is the matter, Mariette?" demanded the young lady. "I can
scarcely say that I have closed my eyes ere I am again disturbed."
"I am sorry, Mademoiselle, to alarm you," replied the woman; "but
Maria would positively not wake you, so I was obliged to do it, for
the Duke was sent for just as he was going to bed, and after remaining
for two hours with the King has returned, and given immediate orders
to prepare for a long journey. The Duchess sent me to let you know
that such was the case, and that the carriages would be at the door in
less than two hours."
"Do you know whither they are going," demanded Clemence, "and if I am
to accompany them?"
"I know nothing from the Duke or the Duchess, Mademoiselle," replied
the woman, "but the Duke's valet said that we were going either to
Brittany or Poitou, for my lord had brought away a packet from the
King addressed to somebody in those quarters; and you are going
certainly, Mademoiselle, for the Duchess told me to tell you so, and
the valet says that it is on account of you we are going; for that the
Chevalier came back with my lord the Duke, and when he parted with
him, said, 'Tell Clemence, she shall hear from me soon.'"
Clemence mused, but made no answer; and when in about an hour after,
she descended to the saloon of the hotel, she found every thing in the
confusion of departure, and the Duc de Rouvre standing by the table,
at which his wife was seated, waiting for the moment of setting out,
with a face wan, indeed, and somewhat anxious, but not so sorrowful or
dejected as perhaps Clemence expected to see.
"I fear, my dear Duke," she said, approaching him and leaning her two
hands affectionately upon his arm, "I fear that you, who have been to
your poor Clemence a father indeed, are destined to have even more
than a father's share of pains and anxieties with her. I am sure that
all this to-night is owing to me, or to those that are dear to me, and
that you have fallen under the King's displeasure on account of the
rash steps of him whom I cannot yet cease to love."
"Not at all, my sweet Clemence; not at all, my sweet child," said the
old nobleman, kissing her hand with that mingled air of gallant
respect and affection which he always showed towards her. "I do not
mean to say, that your fair self has nothing to do with this business
in any way, but certainly not in that way. It is about another
business altogether, Clemence, that we are ordered to retire from the
court; but not in disgrace, my dear young friend, we are by no means
in disgrace. The King is perfectly satisfied that you have had no
share in all the business of poor Albert of Morseiul; and when I told
him how bitterly and deeply grieved you were, and how struck to the
heart you seemed to have been, when you heard that the Count had fled
to join the rebels in Poitou, he told me to bid you console yourself,
saying, that he would find you another and a better husband soon."
Clemence's eyes were bent down upon the ground with an expression of
grief and pain; but she looked up in a moment, and said, "Is it
permitted me to ask you, my lord, how I am connected with this sudden
removal?"
"Nay," he said, "nay, sweet Clemence, that I must not tell you. I
scruple not to say, that I think his Majesty is acting without due
consideration; but, of course, my first duty, like that of all his
other subjects, is to obey; and he particularly wishes that nothing
should be said to you on the subject, as it might render one duty
difficult by opposing to it another. At present the whole matter is
quite simple; we have nothing to do but to set out as soon as these
villanous lackeys have got the carriages ready."
Thus saying, the Duke turned away, evidently wishing to avoid further
inquiries, and in about half an hour after Clemence was rolling away
from Versailles with the Duke and Duchess de Rouvre, followed by a
long train of carriages and attendants.
It is needless to trace a melancholy journey in the darkest and
gloomiest weather of the month of November; but it was evident that
the Duc de Rouvre was in haste, travelling early and late, and it also
appeared, from his conversation as they went, that, though he was
charged with no special mission from the King, he proposed only
pausing for a short time in Poitou, and then bending his steps to some
of his other estates. Indeed, he suffered it to be understood that, in
all probability, for many months he should take but little repose,
frequently changing his place of abode, and travelling from one city
to another. Although the health of Madame de Rouvre was by no means
vigorous, and though far and rapid travelling never, at any time, had
agreed with her, she made no objection, but seemed contented and happy
with the arrangement, and even suggested that a journey to Italy might
be beneficial to them all.
Clemence wondered but was silent; and at length, late on the afternoon
of the sixth day after their departure, they arrived at the small town
of Thouars, over which was brooding the dark grey fogs of a November
evening. Not many miles remained to travel from Thouars to Ruffigny;
and the Duke, who was of course well known in that part of the
country, received visits of congratulation on his arrival from the
principal officers and inhabitants of the town. At these visits,
however, Clemence was not present. She sent down an excuse for not
appearing during the evening; and when the Duke sent up to say he
wished to see her for a moment, she was not to be found, nor had she,
indeed, returned at the end of an hour.
Where was Clemence de Marly? it may be asked. She was in the dark and
gloomy abode, often of crime and often of innocence, but ever of
anguish and of sorrow. She was in the prison of the old chateau of
Thouars. Not, indeed, as one of those unfortunate beings, the
involuntary inmates of the place, but as one coming upon the sad and
solemn errand of visiting a dear and well-beloved friend for the last
time. The office of governor of the prison, as it was seldom if ever
used for the confinement of state offenders, had been suffered to fall
into the hands of the mayor of the place, who delegated his charge to
an old lieutenant, who again entrusted it to two subordinate gaolers,
antique and rusty in their office as the keys they carried. It was
with one of these that Clemence was speaking eagerly in the small dark
passage that led into the interior of the building. She was habited in
the ordinary grey cloak in which we have seen her twice before, and
had with her still, on this occasion also, the faithful servant who
had then attended her.
"Come, come, pretty mistress," said the man, thrusting himself
steadfastly in the way, "I tell you it is as much as my head is worth.
He is condemned to be broken on the wheel to-morrow, and I dare admit
nobody to him."
"Look at these," said Clemence, pouring some gold pieces from her
purse into her open hand. "I offer you these if you will allow me to
speak with him for an hour, and if you refuse I shall certainly insist
upon seeing the lieutenant of the governor himself. You know what
manner of man he is, and whether he will reject what I shall offer
him; so he will get the money, and you will not, and I shall see the
prisoner notwithstanding."
The man's resolution was evidently shaken to the foundation. He was an
old man and fond of gold. The sight was pleasant to him, and, putting
forth his hand, he lifted one piece between his finger and thumb,
turned it over, and dropped it back again upon the others. The sound
completed what the touch had begun.
"Well," he said at length, "I do not see why he should get it and I
not. He is asleep, too, now in the arm-chair; so it were a pity to
wake him. You want to be with the old man an hour, do you, young
woman? Well, you must both go in then; and I must go away and be
absent with the keys, for fear the lieutenant should wake and go to
see the prisoner."
"Do you mean to lock us in with him, then?" exclaimed the maid, in
some terror.
"Fear not, Maria!" said her mistress. "You, who have ever given me
encouragement and support, must not fear now. There is God even here."
"Be quick, then, and come along," said the gaoler, "but first give me
the money." Clemence poured it into his hand; and when he had got it,
he paused, hesitating as if he were tempted by the spirit of evil to
keep the gold and refuse her admission. But if such were the case, a
moment's reflection showed him that to attempt it would be ruinous;
and he, therefore, led the way along the passage in which they were,
putting his finger upon his lips to enjoin silence, as they passed by
a part of the prison which seemed to be inhabited by those who had
some means of obtaining luxuries. At length, however, he lowered a
lantern which he carried, and pointed to two or three steps which led
into another passage, narrower, damper, and colder than the former. At
the distance of about fifty feet from the steps this corridor was
crossed by another; and turning to the right over a rough uneven
flooring of earth, with the faint light of the lantern gleaming here
and there on the damp green glistening mould of the walls, he walked
on till he reached the end, and then opened a low heavy door.
All within was dark, and, as the man drew back to let his female
companions pass, the attendant, Maria, laid her hand upon the lantern,
saying, "Give us a light, at least!"
"Ah! well, you may have it," grumbled forth the gaoler; and Clemence,
who though resolute to her purpose, still felt the natural fears of
her sex and her situation, turned to him, saying, "I give you three
more of those pieces when you open the door again for me."
"Oh, I'll do that--I'll do that!" replied the man, quickened by the
gold; and while Maria took the lantern and passed the door, Clemence
gazed down the step or two that led into the dungeon, and then with a
pale cheek and wrung heart followed. The door closed behind them; the
harsh bolt of the lock grated as the man turned the key; and, the
power of retreat being at an end, the beautiful girl threw back the
hood of the cloak, and gazed on before her into the obscure vault,
which the feeble light of the lantern had scarcely deprived of any
part of its darkness. The only thing that she could perceive, at
first, was a large heavy pillar in the midst, supporting the pointed
vault of the dungeon, with the faint outline of a low wooden bed, with
the head thereof resting against the column.
No one spoke; and nothing but a faint moan broke the awful silence. It
required the pause of a moment or two ere Clemence could overcome the
feelings of her own heart sufficiently to take the lantern and
advance; opening a part of the dim horn as she did so, in order to
give greater light. A step or two farther forward brought her to the
side of the bed; and the light of the lantern now showed her
distinctly the venerable form of Claude de l'Estang stretched out upon
the straw with which the pallet was filled. A heavy chain was round
his middle, and the farther end thereof was fastened to a stanchion in
the column.
The minister was dressed in a loose grey prison gown, and, although he
saw the approach of some one in the abode of misery in which he was
placed, he moved not at all, but remained with his arm bent under his
head, his eyes turned slightly towards the door, his lower lip
dropping as if with debility or pain, and his whole attitude
displaying the utter lassitude and apathy of exhaustion and despair.
When Clemence was within a foot or two of his side, however, he slowly
raised his eyes towards her; and in a moment, when he beheld her face,
a bright gleam came over his faded countenance, awakening in it all
those peculiar signs and marks of strong intellect and intense feeling
which the moment before had seemed extinct and gone. It was like the
lightning flashing over some noble ruin in the midst of the deep
darkness of the night.
"Is it you, my sweet child?" he cried, in a faint voice that was
scarcely audible even in the midst of the still silence. "Is it you
that have come to visit me in this abode of wretchedness and agony?
This is indeed a blessing and a comfort; a blessing to see that there
are some faithful even to the last, a comfort and a joy to find that
she on whose truth and steadfastness I had fixed such hopes, has not
deceived me;--and yet," he exclaimed, while Clemence gazed upon him
with the tears rolling rapidly over her cheeks, and the sobs
struggling hard for utterance, "and yet, why, oh why have you come
here? why have you risked so much, my child, to soothe the few short
hours that to-morrow's noon shall see at an end?"
"Oh, dear friend," said Clemence, kneeling down beside the pallet,
"could I do otherwise, when I was in this very town, than strive to
see you, my guide, my instructor, my teacher in right, my warner of
the path that I ought to shun? Could I do otherwise, when I thought
that there was none to soothe, that there was none to console you,
that in the darkness and the agony of these awful hours there was not
one voice to speak comfort, or to say one word of sympathy?"
"My child, you are mistaken," replied the old man, striving to raise
himself upon his arm, and sinking back again with a low groan. "There
has been one to comfort, there has been one to support me. He, to whom
I go, has never abandoned me: neither in the midst of insult and
degradation; no, nor in the moment of agony and torture, nor in those
long and weary hours that have passed since they bore these ancient
limbs from the rack on which they had bound them, and cast them down
here to endure the time in darkness, in pain, and in utter
helplessness, till at noon to-morrow the work will be accomplished on
the bloody wheel, and the prisoner in this ruined clay will receive a
joyful summons to fly far to his Redeemer's throne."
The tears rained down from the eyes of Clemence de Marly like the
drops of a summer shower; but she dared not trust herself to speak:
and after pausing to take breath, which came evidently with
difficulty, the old man went on, "But still I say, Clemence, still I
say, why have you come hither? You know not the danger, you know not
the peril in which you are."
"What!" cried Clemence, "should I fear danger, should I fear peril in
such a case as this? Let them do to me what they will, let them do to
me what God permits them to do. To have knelt here beside you, to have
spoken one word of comfort to you, to have wiped the drops from that
venerable brow in this awful moment, would be a sufficient recompense
to Clemence de Marly for all that she could suffer."
"God forbid," cried the pastor, "that they should make you suffer as
they can. You know not what it is, my child--you know not what it is!
If it were possible that an immortal spirit, armed with God's truth,
should consent unto a lie, that torture might well produce so awful a
falling off! But you recall me, my child, to what I was saying. I have
not been alone, I have not been uncomforted even here. The word of God
has been with me in my heart, the Spirit of God has sustained my
spirit, the sufferings of my Saviour have drowned my sufferings, the
hope of immortality has made me bear the utmost pains of earth. When
they had taken away the printed words from before mine eyes, when they
had shut out the light of heaven, so that I could not have seen, even
if the holy book had been left, they thought they had deprived me of
my solace. But they forgot that every word thereof was in my heart;
that it was written there, with the bright memories of my early days;
that it was traced there with the calm recollections of my manhood;
that it was printed there with sufferings and with tears; that it was
graven there with smiles and joys; that with every act of my life, and
thought of my past being, those words of the revealed will of God were
mingled, and never could be separated; and it came back to me even
here, and blessed me in the dungeon; it came back to me before the
tribunal of my enemies, and gave me a mouth and wisdom; it came back
to me on the torturing rack, and gave me strength to endure without a
groan; it came back to me even as I was lying mangled here, and made
the wheel of to-morrow seem a blessed resting-place."
"Alas, alas!" cried Clemence, "when I see you here; when I see you
thus suffering; when I see you thus the sport of cruelty and
persecution, I feel that I have judged too harshly of poor Albert, in
regard to his taking arms against the oppressors; I feel that perhaps,
like him, I should have thus acted, even though I called the charge of
ingratitude upon my head."
"And is he free, then? is he free?" demanded the pastor, eagerly.
"He is free," replied Clemence, "and, as we hear, in arms against the
King."
"Oh, entreat him to lay them down," exclaimed the pastor; "beseech him
not to attempt it Tell him that ruin and death can be the only
consequences: tell him that the Protestant church is at an end in
France: tell him that flight to lands where the pure faith is known
and loved is the only hope: tell him that resistance is destruction to
him, and to all others. Tell him so, my child, tell him so from me:
tell him so--but, hark!" he continued, "what awful sound is that?" for
even while he was speaking, and apparently close to the spot where the
dungeon was situated, a sharp explosion took place, followed by a
multitude of heavy blows given with the most extraordinary rapidity.
No voices were distinguished for some minutes; and the blows continued
without a moment's cessation, thundering one upon the other with a
vehemence and force which seemed to shake the whole building.
"It is surely," said Clemence, "somebody attacking the prison door.
Perhaps, oh Heaven! perhaps it is some one trying to deliver you."
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the old man; "Heaven forbid that they
should madly rush to such an attempt for the purpose of saving, for a
few short hours, this wretched frame from that death which will be a
relief. Hark, do you not hear cries and shouts?"
Clemence listened, and she distinctly heard many voices apparently
elevated, but at a distance, while the sound of the blows continued
thundering upon what was evidently the door of the prison, and a low
murmur, as if of persons speaking round, joined with the space to make
the farther cries indistinct. A pause succeeded for a moment or two;
but then came the sound of galloping horse, and then a sharp discharge
of musketry, instantly followed by the loud report of fire-arms from a
spot immediately adjacent to the building. Clemence clasped her hands
in terror, while her attendant Maria, filled with the dangerous
situation in which they were placed, ran and pushed the door of the
dungeon, idly endeavouring to force it open.
In the mean while, for two or three minutes nothing was heard but
shouts and cries, with two or three musket shots; then came a volley,
then another, then two or three more shots, then the charging of horse
mingled with cries, and shouts, and screams, while still the
thundering blows continued, and at length a loud and tremendous crash
was heard shaking the whole building. A momentary pause succeeded, the
blows were no longer heard, and the next sound was the rush of many
feet. A moment of doubt and apprehension, of anxiety, nay of terror,
followed. Clemence was joyful at the thought of the pastor's
deliverance; but what, she asked herself, was to be her own fate, even
if the purpose of those who approached was the good man's liberation.
Another volley from without broke in upon the other sounds; but in an
instant after the rushing of the feet approached the door where they
were, and manifold voices were heard speaking.
"It is locked," cried one; "where can the villain be with the keys?"
"Get back," cried another loud voice; "give me but a fair stroke at
it."
A blow like thunder followed; and, seeming to fall upon the locks and
bolts of the door, dashed them at once to pieces, driving a part of
the wood-work into the dungeon itself. Two more blows cast the whole
mass wrenched from its hinges to the ground. A multitude of people
rushed in, some of them bearing lights, all armed to the teeth, some
bloody, some begrimed with smoke and gunpowder; fierce excitement
flashing from every eye, and eager energy upon every face.
"He is here, he is here," they shouted to the others without. "Make
way, make way, let us bring him out."
"But who are these women?" cried another voice.
"Friends, friends, dear friends, come to comfort me," cried the
pastor.
"Blessings on the tongue that so often has taught us," cried other
voices, while several ran forward and kissed his hands with tears;
"blessings on the heart that has guided and directed us."
"Stand back, my friends, stand back," cried a gigantic man, with an
immense sledge-hammer in his hand, "let me break the chain;" and at a
single blow he dashed the strong links to atoms.
"Now bring them all along!" he cried, "now bring them all along! Take
up the good man on the bed, and carry him out."
"Bring them all along! bring them all along!" cried a thousand voices,
and without being listened to in any thing that she had to say,
Clemence, clinging as closely as she could to her attendant, was
hurried out along the narrow passages of the prison, which were now
flashing with manifold lights, into the dark little square which was
found filled with people. Multitudes of lights were in all the windows
round, and, covering the prison, a strong band of men were drawn up
facing the opposite street. A number of persons on horseback were in
front of the band, and, by the lights which were flashing from the
torches in the street, one commanding figure appeared to the eyes of
Clemence at the very moment she was brought forth from the doors of
the prison, stretching out his hand towards the men behind him, and
shouting, in a voice that she could never forget, though now that
voice was raised into tones of loud command, such as she had never
heard it use. "Hold! hold! the man that fires a shot dies! Not one
unnecessary shot, not one unnecessary blow!"
Clemence strove to turn that way, and to fly towards the hotel where
Monsieur de Rouvre lodged; but she was borne away by the stream, which
seemed to be now retreating from the town. At the same moment an armed
man laid gently hold of her cloak, seeing her efforts to free herself,
and said,--
"This way, lady, this way. It is madness for you to think to go back
now. You are with friends. You are with one who will protect you with
his life, for your kindness to the murdered and the lost."
She turned round to gaze upon him, not recollecting his voice; and his
face, in the indistinct light, seemed to her like a face remembered in
a dream, connected with the awful scene of the preaching on the moor,
and the dark piece of water, and the dying girl killed by the shot of
the dragoons. Ere she could ask any questions, however, the stream of
people hurried her on, and in a few minutes she was out of Thouars,
and in the midst of the open country round.