THE DISCOVERY OF ERROR.
We must now change the scene and time, though the spot to which we
will conduct the reader is not situated more than ten miles from that
in which the events took place recorded in the last chapter, and only
one day's interval had elapsed. Considerably more inland, it presented
none of that sandy appearance which characterises the _landes_. The
vegetation also was totally different, the rich, even rank, grass
spreading under the tall trees of the forest, and the ivy covering
those which had lost their leaves thus early in the year.
There was a little chateau belonging to an inferior noble of the
province, situated in the midst of one of those wide woods which the
French of that day took the greatest pains to maintain in a
flourishing condition, both for the sake of the fuel which they
afforded, and the cover that they gave to the objects of the chase.
The chateau itself was built, as usual, upon an eminence of
considerable elevation, overlooking the forest world around, and in
its immediate neighbourhood the wood was cleared away so as to give an
open esplanade, along which, upon the present occasion, some fifteen
hundred or two thousand men had passed the preceding day and night:
having liberated the poor pastor of Auron on the night before. Some
few tents of rude construction, some huts hastily raised, had been
their only shelter; but they murmured not; and indeed it was not from
such causes that any of those who deserted from the body of Protestant
insurgents quitted the standard of their leader. It was, that the
agents of the governing priesthood had long been busy amongst them,
and had sapped the principles and shaken the resolution of many of
those who even showed themselves willing to take arms, but who soon
fell away in the hour of need, acting more detrimentally on their own
cause than if they had absolutely opposed it, or abandoned it from the
first. Doubts of each other, and hesitation in their purposes, had
thus been spread through the Protestants; and though, of the number
assembled there, few existed who had now either inclination or
opportunity to turn back, yet they thought with gloomy apprehension
upon the defection that was daily taking place in the great body of
Huguenots throughout France; and their energies were chilled even if
their resolution was not shaken.
The day of which we now speak rose with a brighter aspect than the
preceding one, and it was scarcely more than daylight when the gates
of the castle were opened, the horses of the Count de Morseiul and his
immediate officers and attendants were brought out; and in a minute
after, he himself, booted and spurred, and bearing energetic activity
in his eye, came forth upon the esplanade, surrounded by a number of
persons, who were giving him information, or receiving his orders. The
men who were gathered in arms on the slope of the hill gazed up
towards him with that sort of expectation which is near akin to hope;
and the prompt rapidity of his gestures, the quickness with which he
was speaking, the ease with which he seemed to comprehend every body,
and the readiness and capability, if we may so call it, of his own
demeanour, was marked by all those that looked upon him, and gave
trust and confidence even to the faintest heart there.
"Where is Riquet?" the Count said, after speaking to some of the
gentlemen who had taken arms; "where is Riquet? He told me that two
persons had arrived from Paris last night, and were safe in his
chamber. Where is Riquet?"
"Riquet! Riquet!" shouted several voices, sending the sound back into
the castle; but in the mean time the Count went on speaking to those
around them in a sorrowful tone.
"So poor Monsieur de l'Estang is dead!" he said. "That is a shining
light, indeed, put out. He died yesterday evening you say--God forgive
me that I should regret him at such a moment as this, and wish that he
had been left to us. There was not a nobler or a wiser, or, what is
the same thing, a better man in France. I have known him from my
childhood, gentlemen, and you must not think me weak that I cannot
bear this loss as manly as might be," and he dashed a tear away from
his eye. "That they should torture such a venerable form as that!" he
added; "that they should stretch upon the rack him, who never pained
or tortured any one! These things are too fearful, gentlemen, almost
to be believed. The time will come when they shall be looked upon but
as a doubtful tale. Is it not six of our pastors, in Poitou alone,
that they have broken on the wheel? Out upon them, inhuman savages!
Out upon them! I say. But what was this you told me of some ladies
having been freed from the prison?--Oh, here is Riquet. Now, sirrah,
what are your tidings? Who are these personages from Paris?"
"One of them, Sir," replied Riquet, whose tone was changed in no
degree by the new situation in which he was placed, "one of them is
your Lordship's own man, or rather your Lordship's man's man, Peter.
He is the personage that I left in Paris to give the order for your
liberation that you wot of."
"Ay!" said the Count; "what made him so long in following us? He was
not detained, by any chance, was he?"
"Oh no, my Lord," replied the valet, "he was not detained, only he
thought--he thought--I do not know very well what he thought. But,
however, he stayed for two or three days, and is only just come on
hither."
"Does he bring any news?" demanded the Count.
"None, but that the Prince de Conti is dead, very suddenly indeed, of
the smallpox, caught of his fair wife; that all Protestants are
ordered to quit Paris immediately; and that the Duke of Berwick has
made formal abjuration."
"I grieve for the Prince de Conti," said the Count, "he was
promising and soldier-like; though the other, the young Prince de la
Roche-sur-Yon, is full of still higher qualities. So, the boy Duke of
Berwick has abjured. That might be expected. No other news?"
"None, my Lord, from him," replied the man, who evidently was a little
embarrassed in speaking on the subject of his fellow-servant; and he
added immediately, "The other gentleman seems to have news; but he
will communicate it to none but yourself."
"I will speak with them both," replied the Count. "Bring them hither
immediately, Riquet."
"Why, my Lord," said the valet, "as to Peter, I do not well know
where----"
"You must know where, within three minutes," replied the Count, who,
in general interpreted pretty accurately the external signs and
symbols of what was going on in Riquet's heart. "You must know where,
within three minutes, and that where must be here, by my side. Maitre
Riquet, remember, though somewhat indulgent in the saloon or the
cabinet, I am not to be trifled with in the field. Now, gentlemen,
what were we speaking of just now? Oh, these ladies. Have you any idea
of what they were in prison for? Doubtless, for worshipping God
according to their consciences. That is the great crime now. But I did
not know that they had begun to persecute poor women;" and a shade of
deep melancholy came over his fine features, as he thought of what
might be the situation of Clemence de Marly.
"Why, it would seem, Sir," replied one of the gentlemen, "from what I
can hear, that the ladies were not there as prisoners; but were two
charitable persons of the town of Thouars, who had come to give
comfort and consolation to our poor friend, Monsieur de l'Estang."
"God's blessing will be upon them," replied the Count, "for it was a
noble and a generous deed in such times as these. But here comes
Master Riquet, with our two newly arrived friends. Good heavens, my
old acquaintance of the Bastille! Sir, I am very glad to see you free,
and should be glad to see you in this poor province of Poitou, could
we but give you any other entertainment than bullets and hard blows,
and scenes of sorrow or of strife."
"No matter, no matter, my young friend," replied the old Englishman;
"to such entertainment I am well accustomed. It has been meat and
drink to me from my youth; and though I cannot exactly say that I will
take any other part in these transactions, being bound in honour, in
some sense, not to do so, yet I will take my part in any dangers that
are going, willingly. But do not let me stop you, if you are going to
ask any questions of that fellow, who came the last five or six miles
with me; for if you don't get him out of the hands of that rascal of
yours, there will be no such thing as truth in him in five minutes."
"Come hither, Peter," cried the Count. "Maitre Riquet you have face
enough for any thing; so stand here. Now, Peter, the truth at one
word! What was it that Riquet was telling you not to tell me?"
"Why, my Lord," replied the man, glancing his eye from his master to
the valet, and the awe of the former in a moment overpowering the awe
of the latter; "why, my Lord, he was saying, that there was no need to
tell your Lordship that I never delivered the order that he gave me to
deliver at the gates of the Bastille."
The Count stood for a moment gazing on him thunderstruck. "You never
delivered the order!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you never
delivered the order he gave you for my liberation?"
"No, my Lord," replied the man, beginning to quake in every limb for
fear that he had done something wrong. "I never did deliver the order.
But I'll tell your Lordship why. I thought there was no use of
delivering it, for just as I was walking up to do so, and had made
myself look as like a courier of the court as I could, I saw you
yourself going along the Rue St. Antoine, with two boys staring up in
your face, and I thought I might only make mischief for myself or you
if I went and said any thing more about the matter. When I knew you
were free, I thought that was quite enough."
"Certainly, certainly," replied the Count; "but in the name of Heaven,
then, by whom have I been delivered?"
"Why, my Lord, that is difficult to say," replied Riquet, "but not by
that fellow who has brought me back the order as I gave it to him; and
now--as very likely your Lordship would wish to know--I told him not
to tell you, simply because it would tease you to no purpose, and take
away from me the honour of having set your Lordship free, without
doing you any good."
"You are certainly impudent enough for your profession," replied the
Count, "and in this instance as foolish as knavish. The endeavour and
the risk were still the same, and it is for that I owe you thanks, not
for the success or want of success."
"Ah, Sir," replied Riquet, "if all masters were so noble and generous,
we poor valets should not get spoilt so early. But how you have been
liberated, Heaven only knows."
"That's a mistake," replied the old English officer; "every body at
the court of France knows. The King was in a liberating mood one week;
and he himself gave an order for the Count's liberation one day, and
for mine two days afterwards. I heard of it when I went to present
myself before the King, and the whole court was ringing with what they
called your ingratitude, Count; for by that time it was known on what
errand you had set off hither."
The Count clasped his hands together, and looked down upon the ground.
"I fear," he said in a low voice, "that I have been sadly misled."
"Not by me, my Lord, upon my honour!" cried Riquet, with an earnest
look. "I did my best to serve you, and to deliver you; and I fully
thought that by my means it had been done. The man can tell you that
he had the order from me: he can produce it now--"
"I blame you not, Riquet," said his master, "I blame you not! you
acted for the best; but most unhappily has this chanced, to bring
discredit on a name which never yet was stained. It is now too late to
think of it, however. My part is chosen, and there is no retracting."
"When on my visit to the court," said the old English officer, "in
order to return thanks for my liberation, and to demand certain acts
of justice, I heard you blamed, I replied, my good Sir, that we in
England held that private affections must never interfere with public
duties; and that doubtless you felt the part you had chosen to be a
public duty. They seemed not to relish the doctrine there--nor you
fully to feel its force, I think."
"My dear Sir," said the Count, "I have not time to discuss nicely all
the collateral points which affect that question. All I will say is,
that in following such a broad rule, there is much need to be upon our
guard against one of man's greatest enemies--his own deceitful heart;
and to make sure that, in choosing the seeming part of public duty, to
be not as much influenced by private affections--amongst which I class
vanity, pride, anger, revenge--as in adopting the opposite course."
"That is true, too; that is true, too," replied the other. "Man puts
me in mind of an ape I once saw, whose greatest delight was to tickle
himself; but if any one else tried to do it, he would bite to the
bone. But I see you are about to march--and some of your people have
got their troops already in motion. If you will allow me half an
hour's conversation as we ride along, I shall be glad. I will get my
horse, and mount in a minute."
"The horse that brought you here must be tired," replied the Count;
"my people have several fresh ones. Riquet, see that a horse be
saddled quickly for--this gentleman. A strange piece of ignorance,
Sir," he continued, "but I am still unacquainted with your name."
"Oh, Thomas Cecil, my good Count," replied the old officer, "Sir
Thomas Cecil; but I will go get the horse, and be with you in a
moment."
The Count bowed his head, and while the Englishman was away, proceeded
to conclude all his arrangements for the march. In something like
regular order, but still with evident symptoms of no long training in
the severe rules of military discipline, the Count's little force
began to march, and a great part thereof was winding down the hill
when the old Englishman returned.
"That is a fine troop," he said, "just now getting into motion. If you
had many such as that, you might do something."
"They are a hundred of my own Protestant tenantry and citizens,"
replied the Count. "They have all served under me long in the late
war, and were disbanded after the Truce of twenty years was signed.
There is not a braver or steadier handful in Europe; and since I have
been placed as I am, I make it a point to lead them at the head in any
offensive operations on our part, and to follow with them in the rear
in the event of retreat, which you see is the case now. You will let
them precede us a little, and then we can converse at leisure."
Thus saying, he mounted his horse, and after seeing the little body,
which he called his legion, take its way down the hill, he followed
accompanied by Sir Thomas, with a small party of attendants fifty
yards behind them.
"And now, my good Sir," said the young nobleman, "you will not think
me of scanty courtesy if I say that it may be necessary to tell me in
what I can serve you; or, in fact, to speak more plainly, if I ask the
object of your coming to my quarters, at once, as I am informed that
the intendant of the province, with what troops he can bring together
from Berry and Rouergue, forming altogether a very superior force to
our own, is marching to attack us. If he can do so in our retreat, of
course he will be glad to avail himself of the opportunity, especially
as I have been led away from the part of the country which it is most
easy to defend with such troops as ours, in order to prevent an act of
brutal persecution which they were going to perpetrate on one of the
best of men. Thus our time for conversation may be short."
"Why, you have not let him surprise you, I hope?" exclaimed the old
officer.
"Not exactly that," replied the Count; "but we are come into a part of
the country where the people are principally Catholic, and we find a
difficulty in getting information. I am also obliged to make a
considerable movement to the left of my real line of retreat, in order
to prevent one of our most gallant fellows, and his band of nearly
three hundred men, from being cut off. He is, it is true, both brave
and skilful, and quite capable of taking care of himself; but I am
sorry to say grief and excitement have had an effect upon his brain,
and he is occasionally quite insane, so that, without seeming to
interfere with him too much, I am obliged, for the sake of those who
are with him, to give more attention to his proceedings than might
otherwise have been necessary."
The Count paused, and the old officer replied, in a thoughtful tone,
"I am in great hopes, from what I hear, that you will find more mild
measures adopted towards you than you anticipate. Are you aware of who
it is that has been sent down to command the troops in this district,
in place of the former rash and cruel man?"
"No," replied the Count, "but, from what I have heard during these
last four days, I have been led to believe that a man of far greater
skill and science is at the head of the King's troops. All their
combinations have been so much more masterly, that I have found it
necessary to be extremely cautious, whereas a fortnight ago I could
march from one side of the country to the other without any risk."
"The officer," replied Sir Thomas Cecil, "was raised to the rank of
major-general for the purpose, and is, I understand, an old friend of
yours, the Chevalier d'Evran."
The Count suddenly pulled up his horse, and gazed, for a moment, in
the old man's face. "Then," said he, "the Protestant cause is
ruined.--It is not solely on account of Louis d'Evran's skill," he
added, "that I say so: though if ever any one was made for a great
commander he is that man; but he is mild and moderate, conciliating
and good-humoured; and I have remarked that a little sort of fondness
for mystery which he affects,--concealing all things that he intends
in a sort of dark cloud, till it flashes forth like lightning,--has a
very powerful effect upon all minds that are not of the first order.
The only bond that has kept the Protestants together has been sharp
and bitter persecution lately endured. If any one equally gentle and
firm, powerful and yet conciliating, appears against us, I shall not
have five hundred men left in two days."
"And perhaps, Count," said the old man, "not very sorry for it?"
The Count turned his eyes upon him, and looked steadily in his face
for a moment. "That, I think," he said, "is hardly a fair question, my
good friend. I believe you, Sir, from all I have seen of you, to be an
upright and honourable man, and I have looked upon you as a sincere
Protestant, and one suffering, in some degree, from your attachment to
that faith. I take it for granted, then, that nothing which I have
said to you this day is to be repeated."
"Nothing, upon my honour," replied Sir Thomas Cecil, frankly. "You are
quite right in your estimation of me, I assure you. If I ask any
question, it is for my own satisfaction, and because, Sir, I take an
interest in you. Nothing that passes your lips shall be repeated by
me without your permission; though I tell you fairly, and at once,
that I am going very soon to the head quarters of the Chevalier
d'Evran, to fulfil a mission to him, which will be unsuccessful I
know, but which must still be fulfilled. Will you trust me so far as
this, Count? Will you let me know whether you really wish this state
of insurrection to go on; or would not rather, if mild--I will not
call them equitable--terms could be obtained for the Protestants of
this district, that peace should be restored and a hopeless struggle
ended? I do not say hopeless," he continued, "at all to disparage you
efforts; but----"
"My dear Sir," replied the Count, "act as bluntly by me as you did in
the Bastille, call the struggle hopeless if you will. There are not
ten men in my little force who do not know it to be hopeless, and
those ten are fools. The only choice left, Sir, to the Protestants of
this district when I arrived here was between timid despair and
courageous despair; to die by the slow fire of persecution without
resistance, or to die with swords in our hands in a good cause. We
chose the latter, which afforded, indeed, the only hope of wringing
toleration from our enemies by a vigorous effort. But I am as well
aware as you are that we have no power sufficient to resist the power
of the crown; that in the mountains, woods, and fastnesses of this
district and of Brittany, upon which I am now retreating, I might,
perhaps, frustrate the pursuit of the royal forces, for months, nay,
for years; living, for weeks, as a chief of banditti, and only
appearing for a single day, from time to time, as the general of an
army. Day by day my followers would decrease; for the scissars of
inconvenience often shear down the forces of an insurgent leader more
fatally than the sharp sword of war. Then, a thousand to one, no means
that I could take would prevent all my people from committing evil
acts. I, and a just and holy cause, would acquire a bad name, and the
whole would end by the worst of my people betraying me to death upon
the scaffold. All this, Sir, was considered before I drew the sword;
but you must remember that I had not the slightest idea whatsoever
that the King had shown any disposition to treat me personally with
any thing but bitter severity.--To return to your former question,
then, and to answer it candidly and straight-forwardly, but merely
remember between you and I, I should not grieve on such reasonable
terms being granted to the generality of Protestants as would enable
them to live peacefully, adhering to their own religion, though it be
in private; to see my men reduced, as I have said, to five hundred,
ay, or to one hundred: provided those gallant men, who, with firm
determination, adhere to the faith of their fathers, and are resolved
neither to conceal that faith nor submit to its oppression, have the
means of seeking liberty of conscience in another land. As for
myself," he continued, with a deep sigh, "my mind is at present in
such a state that I should little care, if once I saw this settled, to
go to-morrow and lay my head at the foot of the King's throne. Abjure
my religion I never will; live in a land where it is persecuted I
never will; but life has lately become a load to me, and it were as
well for all, under such circumstances, that it were terminated. This
latter part of what I have said, Sir, you may tell the Chevalier
d'Evran: namely that, on the Government granting such terms to the
Protestants of this district as will insure the two objects I have
mentioned, the Count of Morseiul is willing to surrender himself to
the pleasure of the King; though, till such terms are granted, and my
people so secured, nothing shall induce me to sheath the sword:--and
yet I acknowledge that I am bitterly grieved and mortified that this
error has taken place in regard to the order for my liberation, and
that thus an imputation of ingratitude has been brought upon me which
I do not deserve."
The old officer held out his hand to him, and shook that of the Count
heartily, adding with a somewhat profane oath, which characterises the
English nation, "Sir, you deserve your reputation!"
He went on a minute or two afterwards to say, "I have been accustomed,
in some degree, to such transactions; and I will report your words and
nothing more: but, by your leave, I think you had better alter the
latter part, and stipulate that you shall be allowed yourself to
emigrate with a certain number of your followers. Louvois is extremely
anxious to keep from the King's ears the extent of this insurrection,
having always persuaded him that there would be none. He will,
therefore, be extremely glad to have it put down without more noise on
easy terms, and doubtless he has given the Chevalier d'Evran
instructions to that effect."
"No, no," replied the Count; "I must endeavour, Sir, to wipe away the
stain that has been cast upon me. Do you propose to go to the
Chevalier's head quarters at once?"
"Not exactly," replied the old Englishman. "I am first going to
Thouars, having some business with the Duc de Rouvre."
"Good God!" exclaimed the Count; "is the Duc du Rouvre at Thouars?"
and a confused image of the truth, that Clemence de Marly had been one
of the two persons found in the prison with Claude de l'Estang, now
flashed on his mind. Ere the old man could reply, however, two of the
persons who were following, and who seemed to have ridden some way
to the left of the direct road, rode up as fast as they could come,
and informed the Count de Morseiul, that what seemed a large body of
men, was marching up towards their flank by a path which ran up the
hollow-way between them and the opposite hills.
The little force of the Count had by this time emerged from the woods,
and was marching along the side of the hill, that gradually sank away
into those _landes_, across which Armand Herval had, as we have seen,
led Clemence de Marly. Up the valley, on the left, lay a deep ravine,
bringing the cross road from Thouars into the road in which the
Huguenots were, so that the flank of the Count's force was exposed to
the approach of the enemy on that side, though it had somewhat the
advantage of the ground. No other line, however, had been open for
him, the country on the other side leading into tracts much more
exposed to attack; and, in fact, on that morning no choice had been
left but either to run the risk of what now appeared to have happened,
or to leave Herval and his men to their fate, they not having joined
the main force on the preceding day as they had been directed to do.
The Count instantly turned his horse's head galloped to the spot from
whence the men had seen the head of the enemy's column, paused for a
single instant, in order, if possible, to ascertain their force, and
then riding back, commanded the small troop, which he called his
legion, to face about. While, by his orders, they traversed a piece
of broken ground to the left, so as to approach a spot where the
hollow-way debouched upon the open country, he sent five or six of his
attendants with rapid orders to the different noblemen who were under
his command, in regard to assuming a position upon the hill.
"Tell Monsieur du Bar," he said to one of the men, "to march on as
quickly as possible till he reaches the windmill, to garnish that
little wood on the slope with musketeers, to plant the two pieces of
cannon by the mill so as to bear upon the road, to strengthen himself
by the mill and the walls round it, and to hold that spot firm to the
very last. Jean, bid the Marquis send off a man instantly to Herval,
that he may join us with his Chauve-souris, and in the mean time ask
him to keep the line of the hill from the left of Monsieur du Bar to
the cottage on the slope, so that the enemy may not turn our flank. If
I remember right, there are two farm roads there, so that all
movements will be easy from right to left, or from front to rear. As
soon as Herval comes up, let the Marquis throw him forward, with his
marksmen, to cover my movements, and then commence the general retreat
by detachments from each flank, holding firm by the mill and the wood
to the last; for they dare not advance while those are in our hands. I
can detain them here for a quarter of an hour, but not longer.--Sir
Thomas Cecil," he added, "take my advice, and ride off for Thouars
with all speed. This will be a place for plenty of bullets, but no
glory."
Thus saying, he galloped down to his troop; and in a moment after the
old English officer, who stood with the utmost sang-froid to witness
the fight, saw him charge into the hollow-way at the head of his men.