The house in which Edward Langdale found himself on waking the next
morning was evidently one of those belonging to what they call in France
the _cultivateurs propriétaires_, and in the Marais the _cabaniers_, or
farmers possessing the freehold of the land they till. He had been
placed in a little room not larger than the abbey cell; but his bed had
been most comfortable, and he might have slept late had not the youth
whom they had found in the boat the night before, and who was a son of
the good dame of the house, come in to ask how he had rested and to
invite him to go to the farther side of the farm to shoot some ducks for
breakfast. Edward did not neglect the opportunity, thinking that he
might obtain some important information by the way; but the youth,
though perfectly and even profusely communicative, could tell him little
of any thing beyond the precincts of the _Marais_, because he knew
little. They had heard, he said, from his cousin George, the night
before, that at some hour in that night a young gentleman and lady who
had run away to get married would come to their house for shelter and
protection, which he bespoke for them particularly; and the good soldier
had added many an injunction to secrecy and discretion. He had also
asked that a boat might be sent with their neighbor Bonnet to the abbey
wharf, with directions to take off the young gentleman and lady without
saying a word.
This was the amount of young Brin's foreign intelligence,--for such to
him it was; and as soon as it was given he proceeded to describe and
eulogize his mother's farm, which he had not quitted more than two or
three times in his life, and which he seemed to think both the richest
and most beautiful spot of earth. Rich indeed it was; but to explain its
sort of riches I must have recourse to that old author whom I have
already quoted. I must premise, however, that the spot on which Edward
Langdale now found himself was just at the edge of what are called the
dried marshes, where they join on to the _marais mouillans_, which, at
the time I write of, were much more extensive than at present. The farm,
then, of La Caponnière comprised a portion of both; and, as the _marais
desséchés_ have been already described from the account of an
eye-witness, I may be permitted a word or two from the same source in
regard to the _marais mouillans_. "All these marshes," says my author,
"are not equally inundated; and, in consequence, all parts are not
equally sterile. The highest parts [of the _marais mouillans_] are under
water from the middle of October to the middle of June, and sometimes
later. The lower parts never dry; and, to make something of them, they
have been cut by innumerable canals, all communicating, and only
separated from each other by earth-banks of from twelve to fifteen feet
in width, piled up from the excavated earth of the canals. These
earth-banks are of prodigious fertility, many of them planted with
willows, ashes, poplars, and sometimes oaks; so that one is often
astonished to see so vigorous a forest springing out of the middle of
the waters."
The traveller then goes on to tell the uses these forests are put
to,--how the fagots are sent to Rochelle and the Isle de Rhé, and how
the trunks of the trees, cut into firewood and called _cosses de
marais_, are highly valued throughout the whole of the neighboring
country, and burn better than any other trees. But, as the reader will
probably never dabble in the cultivation of the marshes of Brétagne, he
shall be spared the details. My author, however, goes on to state that
the farms vary in extent from two hundred and forty to twelve hundred
acres, and that each is divided by little canals into squares of about
thirty acres, each canal being large enough to carry a small boat.
Now fancy, dear reader, what an interminable network of
water-communication these canals, each hidden from the other by trees
and shrubs, must form; how impossible for any but one born and bred in
the country to find one's way along there; how easy for any one
acquainted with their involutions to baffle the most skilful pursuer, to
lie hid from the eyes of the most clear-sighted enemy. The Minotaur did
not feel himself more safe in the depths of the Cretan labyrinth than
Edward Langdale after their morning's row; and Edward was more safe than
the Minotaur.
"Here," he thought, "we may stay till all pursuit is ended and all
suspicions forgotten, till dear Lucette has recovered strength,--and,
perhaps, till I can communicate with Mauzé or Rochelle."
All very well as a matter of probability; but where any thing is joined
together by mere tacks--as is indeed the case with the fate of every
one,--and not alone with his fate for years or months, but for a single
hour--it is much better to remember, before we make any calculation at
all, what tacks may fall out or get broken and the whole piece of
machinery tumble to atoms.
Edward Langdale could shoot a duck; and, though the birding-piece which
the young farmer trusted to his hands was a single barrelled gun of
rather primitive construction, and the shot merely bits of lead cut
small, not a bird got away from him,--more to the admiration than the
liking of his companion, who had fancied that he could display some
skill in the eyes of one whom he believed to be city bred.
However, the boat was plentifully loaded before they returned; and the
young farmer guided it back by a different course from the _marais
mouillans_ to the firm land near the house, pointing out to Edward, with
an air of pride and satisfaction, six or seven woolly beasts upon a
tongue of the _terrier_, and telling him they were sheep.
At their return to the house they found the whole household up, with the
exception of Lucette; but the result of their sport was very much
commended, and one of the hearty breakfasts of the country was prepared.
The living, indeed, seemed profuse, and, what though the cooking was for
the land somewhat coarse, yet it was French, and therefore better than
it would have been anywhere else in the same circumstances. There were
ducks, and good bacon, and eggs, and fine fowls, and a ragout, and
plenty of galette. Alas! there was no coffee, no chocolate,--nay, no
tea; but there was excellent white wine of Logé, and there was as good
red wine of Fay Moreau; for the age of hot stops had not yet arrived,
and Noah's discovery blessed the land within ten leagues of them.
Lucette joined them before they sat down; and, for some reason, she
blushed more at her boy's dress when there were women round her than she
had done before; but her cheek soon became pale, and Edward thought,
with some alarm, she did not look well. She assured him, however, that
she merely suffered from fatigue.
The meal was not concluded when several of the peasantry from the
neighboring country came to La Caponnière in their boats, bearing with
them tidings of the fire of the preceding night, and of various other
serious accidents which had occurred during the great storm. Numberless
trees had been struck and two men killed by the lightning; but the facts
of most interest--at least to Edward and Lucette--were those connected
with the destruction of the abbey. One of the visitors had come that
morning from Moreilles, and of course was the oracle of the occasion.
Two-thirds of the great tower had fallen, he said, crushing the
dormitory and the southern cloisters. The whole church was seriously
injured, the Lady chapel being the only part preserved; and, although
the monks themselves with one exception had escaped unhurt, it was
generally rumored, the good man said, that some five or six
persons--either guests, or people who came to assist--had been crushed
under the part of the tower which first fell. Who they were the peasant
could not tell; but the mention of the sad fact set both Lucette and
Edward upon the track of imagination. It was then for the first time
that Edward perceived that Pierrot la Grange had not been at the
breakfast-table. On inquiring for him, Master Ned was answered by good
Madame Brin's son that his servant had gone with the man who had rowed
them the night before, to inquire about the fire,--a very imprudent act
as it seemed to Edward; and yet he had a good deal of confidence in
Pierrot's tact,--which was not ill placed. About twelve, his long figure
appeared in the kitchen; and now the whole details were given. They were
interesting to the good Cabanier family, for the principal new fact was
that Monsieur George Brin, their relative, was safe and well, and had
set out for the lines under Mauzé. The other soldiers, he said, had
perished, with the exception of one, who still lived, terribly mangled.
He was so drunk when he left the parlor, Pierrot said, that he could not
get to the assigned sleeping-place, but fell upon the stairs, where he
still lay when the tower was struck. Thus, though sadly beaten by
detached stones, he had escaped crushing by the great mass of masonry.
Lucette felt very sorry for the poor soldiers; for hers was a very
kindly and tender heart. Edward gave them a passing "Poor fellows!" and
at his heart wished he had not made them so drunk. But still, as a man's
mind is always a more business sort of article than a woman's, he argued
from the premises that all chances of further pursuit and detention were
at an end; and thus, though the troopers were to be pitied, their
removal from this scene of care was no misfortune to him.
Now, all this shows, or may be supposed to show, that Master Ned was not
of a very sensitive or sentimental disposition. In truth, dear reader,
it only shows that he had mingled a good deal more with the world than
most lads of his age, and that time and storms had hardened the outer
shell. There was much that was soft within,--not about the head, but at
the heart. That very night proved it; for Lucette, after having been
somewhat languid all day, was suddenly seized about seven o'clock with a
violent fit of shivering, and Edward had to behold the marsh-fever in
all its horrors. Good old Madame Brin took upon herself to be physician:
indeed, there was no other within thirty miles, except the barber at
Fontenay le Comte; and he could not be got at. The eldest daughter was
to be head nurse; but Lucette had another and a good one. She had nursed
Edward through a severe illness, and he was resolved to nurse her in
return. Happily, they were good, simple people there, and had no false
notions of proprieties and decorums, so that Edward had his own way; and
it was very sweet to poor Lucette to take her tisanes of _écorce de
chêne_ and thyme-flowers from his hand, and to gaze into his eyes as he
bent over her and drink in a better medicine from his looks than any up
to that time discovered,--or since, to say the truth.
Then, again, the household was a cheerful household. Though they lived
in the midst of swamps and ponds and canals, like a family of frogs,
there was nothing cold or chilly about them. Madame Brin had had the
fever twice herself, she said: all her children had had it. She would
soon get the dear little girl well; and a shake or two they thought
nothing of in their country. Her poor dead husband had had hundreds of
them, and died, drowned, at sixty and upward. The eldest girl and the
young one, too, were also all kind cheerfulness; and Edward, who was
certainly the most melancholy and apprehensive of the party, took care
to hide that such was the case whenever he was in Lucette's room. When
he was unwillingly away, his thoughts were very heavy; for, though it
must be confessed they rested principally on his fair young companion,
yet they would often turn to other subjects of care. Leave her amongst
perfect strangers he could not,--he would not; but when he considered
that he had lost valuable letters, much money, much time still more
valuable, and asked himself whether he should still find Lord Montagu at
the place of rendezvous, where he should find him, what secrets might
not have been revealed to the enemy by his losses, how much he himself
might be compromised and his passage through France endangered by the
discoveries which probably had been made, there appeared a very
tolerable bundle of cares for one young pair of shoulders to carry.
Nevertheless, good nursing, and that skill which is given by experience,
did their usual services to poor Lucette. The fits of fever were
retarded, lessened, ceased; and at the end of a fortnight she could sit
at the door in the sunshine and look out. Often would she now gaze up at
Edward; and at length she summoned courage to ask, in English, "Is it
not time we should go forward?"
It did require a great effort of courage to put that question, for, what
between weakness and some other sensations, Lucette had got into a frame
of mind which would have made it even pleasant for her to remain there
in the Marais all her life,--if Edward Langdale had remained with her.
There is always a good effect produced by looking difficulties and
unpleasant things of all sorts in the face. We either discover some mode
of getting rid of them, or else we learn to endure them. Very soon
Edward and Lucette talked composedly over their future plans; and both
agreed, with a sigh, that to proceed upon their journey as soon as she
had recovered sufficient strength was unavoidable. They might both,
perchance, have dreamed, and their dreams might have been somewhat wild;
but with calm thought the sense of serious reality returned, and they
felt that they must soon proceed together to part very soon.
"And when shall we meet again, Edward?" said Lucette, in a low voice.
Edward laid his hand upon hers, saying, sadly, "God only knows, Lucette.
But I know and am sure we shall meet again. Till then, let us never part
in heart. We cannot forget each other after all that has passed; and,
oh, let the memory be as dear to you as it is to me, so that, when we do
meet, it may be with the same feelings we now experience."
Lucette bent down her eyes, and there was a tear in them; but that tear
seemed to Edward Langdale a promise.
This was the only word of love that passed between them; but there were
other matters pressing for consideration. Neither of them knew the
country round. Pierrot was as ignorant as themselves; and it was
necessary to take Madame Brin not only into consultation but in some
degree into their confidence. She was naturally a woman of strong sense;
but she was wonderfully ignorant of the world beyond the Marais.
"This is a mad scheme," she said,--taking for granted all that she had
heard from her cousin George, and never imagining that a corporal in the
king's army could have been deceived. "You are both very young to run
away and be married. Why, this boy can hardly be nineteen, and you, my
child, cannot be more than fifteen; but, now you have been away so long
together, it is the best thing for you. We can send for the minister
to-morrow, and he can be here on Friday. But if you be Papists you will
find the matter more difficult; for----"
Edward cut her short by informing her of the fact that they were both
Huguenots, and at the same time attempting to undeceive her as to the
purposes with which they left Rochelle. He told her briefly the
principal events of the last month, and besought her to aid them in
reaching at least Niort, where the number of Protestants still remaining
insured them the means of ascertaining where the principal Huguenot
leaders were to be found.
All this sudden intelligence threw the good lady into a deep fit of
thought. "So you do not want to be married?" she said, in some
bewilderment.
"Not immediately," answered Edward, with a smile he could not repress.
"But I tell you, my dear lady, I do wish to be married to Lucette as
soon as ever she wishes to be married to me." Lucette looked at him
almost reproachfully; but he went on to say, "Her relations have of
course to be consulted first; and, as I undertook to escort her safely
to them, I must do so before I can even pretend to her hand."
"Well, then," said the mistress of La Caponnière, after several minutes'
thought, "there is no way for you but to go boldly to Nantes. They will
never suspect you there. 'Those who are nearest to the cardinal are
safer from him than those who are far off,' they say. His arms are so
long that they do not easily reach what is close by. You can then easily
go round to Niort, and thence where you like; but go to Nantes first; go
to Nantes first. It is the safest place."
This suggestion required long and much consideration; but at length it
was adopted, though the minor arrangements afterward devised removed a
great many of the objections which at first presented themselves. Edward
was to be transformed into a young farmer of the Marais, and Lucette to
appear as his sister, while Pierrot assumed the garb of one of the
peasants. It took two days to procure the long-waisted, square-cut coat,
and wide breeches for Master Ned, and a similar but coarser dress for
Pierrot; for tailors were not plenty in the Marais, and clothing-shops
were none,--so that the wardrobes of neighbors were to be ransacked.
Lucette was more easily supplied with the manifold petticoats and the
white cap to cover her immense luxuriance of hair. Changes of apparel,
provisions of many kinds, and good wine, were stored in a boat; and,
after about three weeks' residence in that wild and strange but not
uninteresting district, with two stout boatmen for their guides, Lucette
and her companions took their departure from La Caponnière, and entered
upon a tract perhaps even more desolate and intricate than that which
they quitted. By Tallemont, by La Motte Achard, and by Logé, they
proceeded on the _country-road_, as it was called, toward Nantes, and at
the end of the third day they began to approach a city the glory of
which certainly has departed, but the interest of which--a melancholy
interest--remains.
Before I close the chapter, however,--a chapter devoted to quiet if not
dull subjects,--I may as well say a few words--a very few--upon the
actual state of France, and the changes which had taken place within the
last five weeks, which were not without their significance.
Every day had seen La Rochelle more and more closely hemmed in by the
royal forces. Slowly, quietly, but steadily, troops had poured into the
Sevres and the Aunis, and the ports in the neighborhood of the
threatened city had become crowded with small armed vessels. Invested by
land, the citizens of Rochelle might have felt alarm if their fine port
had been also subjected to blockade; but their own powerful fleets, and
the certain aid of England, made them contemn the small though numerous
ships of the enemy, and they never comprehended, till too late, that the
gigantic mind of their enemy was then planning a vast undertaking
destined to deprive them of all the advantages of their position. Their
egregious confidence was perhaps further increased by a knowledge that
the court of France, and, indeed, the whole country, was fermenting with
plots against the man whom they had most to dread; and it is not at all
impossible that they were more or less aware that the most formidable
conspiracy which had ever threatened the power of Richelieu was upon the
very eve of explosion.