THE BATTLE AND THE RETREAT.
We must now return to the small shepherds cottage in the _landes_;
and, passing over the intervening day which had been occupied in the
burial of the good pastor, we must take up the story of Clemence de
Marly on the morning of which we have just been speaking. At an early
hour on that day Armand Herval came into the cottage, where the people
were setting before her the simple meal of ewe milk and black bread,
which was all that they could afford to give; and, standing by her
side with somewhat of a wild air, he asked her if she were ready to
go. She had seen him several times on the preceding day, and his
behaviour had always been so respectful, his grief for the death of
Claude de l'Estang so sincere, and the emotions which he displayed at
the burial of the body in the sand so deep and unaffected, that
Clemence had conceived no slight confidence in a man, whom she might
have shrunk from with terror, had she known that in him she beheld the
same plunderer, who, under the name of Brown Keroual, had held her for
some time a prisoner in the forest near Auron.
"To go where, Sir?" she demanded, with some degree of agitation. "I
knew not that I was about to go any where."
"Oh, yes!" replied the man, in the same wild way. "We should have gone
yesterday, and I shall be broke for insubordination. You do not know
how stern he is when he thinks fit, and how no prayers or intreaties
can move him."
"Whom do you speak of, Sir?" demanded Clemence. "I do not know whom
you mean."
"Why, the General to be sure," replied the man, "the
Commander-in-Chief,--your husband--the Count de Morseiul."
The blood rushed up into the cheek of Clemence de Marly. "You are
mistaken," she said; "he is not my husband."
"Then he soon will be," replied the man with a laugh; "though the
grave is a cold bridal bed.--I know that, lady!--I know that full
well; for when I held her to my heart on the day of our nuptials, the
cheek that used to feel so warm when I kissed it, was as cold as
stone; and when you come to kiss his cheek, or brow, too, after they
have shot him, you will find it like ice--cold--cold--with a coldness
that creeps to your very soul, and all the heat that used to be in
your heart goes into your brain, and there you feel it burning like a
coal."
Clemence shuddered, both at the evident insanity of the person who was
talking to her, and at the images which his words called up before her
eyes. He was about to go on, but a tall, dark, powerful man came in
from the cottage door where he had been previously standing, and laid
hold of Herval's arm, saying, "Come, Keroual, come. You are only
frightening the lady; and, indeed, you ought to be upon the march.
What will my Lord say? The fit is upon him now, Madam," he continued,
addressing Clemence, "but it will soon go away again. They drove him
mad, by shooting a poor girl he was in love with at the preaching on
the moor, which you may remember. I am not sure, but I think you were
there too. If I could get him to play a little upon the musette at the
door, the fit would soon leave him. He used to be so fond of it, and
play it so well.--Poor fellow, he is terribly mad! See how he is
looking at us without speaking.--Come Keroual, come; here is the
musette at the door;" and he led him away by the arm.
"Ay," said the old shepherd as they went out, "one is not much less
mad than the other. There, they ought both to have gone to have joined
the Count last night. But the burying of poor Monsieur de l'Estang
seemed to set them both off; and now there are all the men drawn out
and ready to march, and they will sit and play the musette there, Lord
knows how long!"
"But what did they mean by asking if I were ready?" said Clemence. "Do
they intend to take me with them?"
"Why yes, Madam," replied the old man; "I suppose so. The litter was
ready for you last night, and as the army is going to retreat I hear,
it would not be safe for you to stay here, as the Catholics are coming
up in great force under the Chevalier d'Evran."
Clemence started and turned round, while the colour again rushed
violently into her cheeks; and then she covered her eyes with her
hands, as if to think more rapidly by shutting out all external
objects. She was roused, however, almost immediately, by the sound of
the musette, and saying, "I will go! I am quite ready to go!" she
advanced to the door of the cottage.
It was a strange and extraordinary sight that presented itself. Herval
and Paul Virlay, dressed in a sort of anomalous military costume, and
armed with manifold weapons, were sitting together on the stone bench
at the cottage door, the one playing beautifully upon the instrument
of his native province, and the other listening, apparently well
satisfied; while several groups of men of every complexion and
expression, were standing round, gazing upon the two, and attending to
the music. The air that Herval or Keroual was playing was one of the
ordinary psalm tunes in use amongst the Protestants, and he gave it
vast expression; so that pleasure in the music and religious
enthusiasm seemed entirely to withdraw the attention of the men from
the madness of the act at that moment. Paul Virlay, however, was mad
in that kind, if mad at all, which is anxious and cunning in
concealing itself; and the moment he saw Clemence, he started up with
somewhat of shame in his look, saying,--
"He is better now, Madam; he is better now. Come, Herval," he
continued, touching his arm, "let us go."
Herval, however, continued till he had played the tune once over
again, and then laying down the musette, he looked in Virlay's face
for a moment without speaking; but at length replied,--
"Very well, Paul, let us go. I am better now. Madam, I beg your
pardon; I am afraid we have hurried you."
Even as he spoke a messenger came up at full speed, his horse in a
lather of foam, and eagerness and excitement in his countenance.
"In the name of Heaven, Keroual, what are you about?" he cried. "Here
is the Count and Monsieur du Bar engaged with the whole force of the
enemy within two miles of you. In Heaven's name put your men in array,
and march as fast as possible, or you will be cut off, and they
defeated."
The look of intelligence and clear sense came back into Herval's
countenance in a moment.
"Good God! I have been very foolish," he said, putting his hand to his
head. "Quick, my men: each to his post: Sound the conch there. But the
lady," he continued, turning to the man who had ridden up; "what can
we do with the lady?"
"Oh, she must be taken with you, by all means," replied the man. "We
can send her on from the cross road into the front. They will sweep
all this country, depend upon it; and they are not men to spare a
lady."
Clemence turned somewhat pale as the man spoke; and though, in fact,
her fate was utterly in the hands of those who surrounded her, she
turned an inquiring look upon Maria, who stood near, as if asking what
she should do.
"Oh, go, lady! go!" cried the attendant, in a language which the men
did not understand, but which Clemence seemed to speak fluently; and
after a few more words she retired into the cottage, to wait for the
litter, while the band of Brown Keroual, some on horseback and some on
foot, began to file off towards the scene of action. In a few minutes
after the litter appeared; but by this time two mules had been
procured for it, and, with a man who knew the country well for their
driver, Clemence and Maria set off with the last troop of the
Huguenots, which was brought up by Herval himself. He was now all
intelligence and activity; and no one to see him could have conceived
that it was the same man, whose mind but a few minutes before seemed
totally lost. He urged on their march as fast as possible, pressing
the party of foot which was attached to his mounted band; and in a few
minutes after a sharp fire of musketry met the ear of Clemence as she
was borne forward. This continued for a little time, as they passed
round the edge of a low wood which flanked the hills on one side, and
seemed the connecting link between the _landes_ and the cultivated
country. About five minutes after, however, louder and more rending
sounds were heard; and it was evident that cannon were now employed on
both sides. The voices of several people shouting, too, were heard,
and a horse without a rider came rushing by, and startled the mules
that bore the litter.
Clemence de Marly could but raise her prayers to God for his blessing
on the right cause. It was not fear that she felt, for fear is
personal. It was awe. It was the impressive consciousness of being in
the midst of mighty scenes, which sometimes in her moments of wild
enthusiasm she had wished to see, but which she now felt to be no
matter for sport or curiosity.
Another instant she was out upon the side of the hill beyond the wood;
and the whole scene laid open before her. That scene was very awful,
notwithstanding the confusion which prevented her from comprehending
clearly what was going on. A large body of troops was evidently
marching up the valley to the attack of the heights. A windmill
surrounded by some low stone walls, not a hundred yards to the left of
the spot where she was placed, appeared at the moment she first saw it
one blaze of fire, from the discharge of musketry and cannon, which
seemed to be directed, as far as she could judge, against the flank of
a body of cavalry coming up a road in the valley. On the slope of the
hill, however, to the right, a considerable body of infantry was
making its way up to the attack of the farther angle of the wood,
round which she herself had just passed; and, from amongst the trees
and brushwood, nearly stripped of their leaves as they were, she could
see poured forth almost an incessant torrent of smoke and flame upon
the assailing party, seeming almost at every other step to make them
waver, as if ready to turn back.
The object, however, which engaged her principal attention was a small
body of horsemen, apparently rallying, and reposing for a moment,
under shelter of the fire from the hill. Why she knew not,--for the
features of none of those composing that party were at all
discernible,--but her heart beat anxiously, as if she felt that there
was some beloved being there.
The next instant that small body of men was again put in motion, and
galloping down like lightning, might be seen, though half hidden by
the clouds of dust, to hurl itself violently against the head of the
advancing column, like an avalanche against some mighty rock. Almost
at the same moment, however, an officer rode furiously up to Herval,
and gave him some directions in a quick and eager voice. Herval merely
nodded his head; then turned to the driver of the mules, and told him
to make as much haste as he could towards Mortagne, along the high
road.
"Remain with the head of the column," he said; "and, above all things,
keep your beasts to the work, for you must neither embarrass the
march, nor let the lady be left behind."
The man obeyed at once; but before he had left the brow of the hill,
Clemence saw the band of Keroual begin to descend towards the small
body of cavaliers we have mentioned, while a company of musketeers, at
a very few yards distance from her, began to file off as if for
retreat. All the confusion of such a scene succeeded, the jostling,
the rushing, the quarrels, the reproaches, the invectives, which take
place upon the retreat of an irregular force. But several bodies of
better disciplined men taking their way along the road close to
Clemence, preserved some order and gave her some protection; and as
they passed rapidly onward, the sounds of strife and contention, the
shouts and vociferations of the various commanders, the rattle of the
small arms and the roar of the artillery, gradually diminished; and
while Clemence hoped in her heart that the battle was over, she looked
round for some one coming up from the rear to inquire for the fate of
him for whom her heart had beat principally during that morning.
For about half an hour, however, nobody came, the retreat assumed the
appearance of an orderly march, and all was going on tranquilly, when
a horseman came up at a quick pace, and pulled in his charger beside
the litter. Clemence looked towards him. It was not the face that she
expected to see, but, on the contrary, that of a tall, thin, hale old
man, perfectly a stranger to her. He pulled off his hat with military
courtesy, and bowed low.
"I beg your pardon, Madam," he said, "but I have just been informed of
your name, quality, and situation, and also with the circumstances of
your being brought from Thouare hither. I come to say," he added,
lowering his voice and bending down, "that I am just going to visit an
old friend, the Duke de Rouvre, who, I understand, is your guardian.
Now, I do not know whether you are here of your own good will, or
whether there be any degree of force in the matter. Should you,
however, be disposed to send any message to the Duke, I am ready to
take it."
"I give you many thanks, Sir," replied Clemence, "but, of course, I
can send no long message now, nor detailed explanation of my
situation. Assure him only, and the Duchess, who has been a mother to
me, of my deep love, and gratitude, and respect."
"But shall I tell them," said the old man, "that you are here with
your consent, or without your consent?"
"You may tell them," replied Clemence, "that I was brought here indeed
without my consent, though being here I must now remain voluntarily.
My fate is decided."
"Do you mean to say, Madam?" demanded the old gentleman, bluffly,
"that I am to tell them you are married? That is the only way in
general that a woman's fate can be decided which I know of."
"No, Sir," replied Clemence, colouring, "there is in this country a
different decision of one's fate. I am a Protestant! It must no
longer, and it can no longer be concealed."
A bright and noble smile came upon the old man's countenance. "I beg
your pardon, Madam," he said. "I have spoken somewhat rudely, perhaps;
but I will deliver your message, and at some future time may ask your
pardon, if you will permit me, for having called the colour into a
lady's cheek, a thing that I am not fond of doing, though it be
beautiful to see."
Thus saying, and bowing low, he was about to turn his horse and canter
back again, when an eager look that lighted up Clemence's features,
made him pause even before she spoke, and ride on a little further
beside her.
"You came from the rear, Sir, I think," she said, in a low and
faltering voice. "May I ask how has gone the day?--Is the Count de
Morseiul safe?"
The old man smiled again sweetly upon her. "Madam," he said, "did not
sad experience often show us that it were not so, I should think, from
the fate of the Count of Morseiul this day, that a gallant and all
daring heart is a buckler which neither steel nor lead can penetrate.
I myself have sat and watched him, while in six successive charges he
attacked and drove back an immensely superior force of the enemy's
cavalry, charging and retreating every time under the most tremendous
and well sustained fire of the light infantry on their flanks that
ever I saw. Scarcely a man of his whole troop has escaped without
wounds, and but too many are killed. The Count himself, however, is
perfectly unhurt. I saw him five minutes ago bringing up the rear, and
as by that time the enemy were showing no disposition to pursue
vigorously, he may be considered as safe, having effected his retreat
from a very difficult situation in the most masterly manner. Is there
any one else, Madam, of whom I can give you information?"
"I fear not," replied the lady. "There is, indeed, one that I would
fain ask for; but as you have been with the Count de Morseiul,
probably you do not know him. I mean the Chevalier d'Evran."
"What, both the commanders!" exclaimed the old gentleman, with a smile
which again called the colour into Clemence's cheek. "But I beg your
pardon, Madam," he added; "I have a better right to tell tales than to
make comments. In this instance I cannot give you such accurate
information as I did in the other, for I do not know the person of the
Chevalier d'Evran. But as far as this little perspective glass could
show me, the gentleman who has been commanding the royal forces, and
whom I was informed was the Chevalier d'Evran, is still commanding
them, and apparently unhurt. I discovered him by his philomot scarf,
and sword knot, after losing sight of him for a time. But he was still
upon horseback, commanding in the midst of his staff, and has the
credit of having won the day, though the immense superiority of his
forces rendered any other result out of the question, even if he had
not acted as well and skilfully as he has done. I will now once more
beg pardon for intruding upon you, and trust that fair fortune and
prosperity may attend you."
Thus saying, he turned and cantered away; and on looking round to her
maid, Clemence perceived that Maria had drawn the hood of her grey
cloak over her head.