"CONSORTING WITH HERETICS."
It was midnight when all rode into Alais, and the iron shoes of the
horses clattering on the cobble-stones of the street woke from their
beds the few who were asleep.
There were, indeed, not many who slept that night at this hour, since
all knew that the fanatics, as they were invariably termed by those of
the vicinity who were not of the Protestant religion, had descended
from the mountains upon Montvert and had slain the abbé. Also all knew
that, two hours before sunset, the dreaded Baville had gone forth
escorted by de Peyre and his cavalry as well as by the _milice_ of the
province--gone forth to inflict a terrible vengeance on the murderers.
Had they done so? they asked each other feverishly now as the dragoons
rode in, the rattle of hoofs and scabbards and bridle chains deadening
the whispers they addressed to each other. Had they done so?
Perhaps it was not strange that here, in this little town nestling in
its rich valleys, the slopes of whose hills were covered with
cornfields and vineyards and chestnut woods, the beauty of which was
so extreme that in the language of the Cévenoles it was termed the
_Hort Dieu_, or, in purer French, _Le Jardin de Dieu_, all should have
whispered their imaginings, since it was in Alais particularly that
religious opinion was much divided, the Reformed faith numbering
nearly as many adherents as the Romish. Whispered their imaginings
because each feared the hostile ears to which their uttered thoughts
and ideas might penetrate, none knowing as yet which side was to
prevail in the great struggle. For if Baville had destroyed the
Camisards, retribution would be swift and strong on all who were
Huguenots; if, on the contrary, he had failed, those of the older
faith might expect to find themselves victims of an awful retaliation
before another night had come.
At first none could discover aught. The dragoons with their leaders
and the two men--one old, the other young, who seemed like
prisoners--swept onward to the Hôtel de Ville. Soon the streets became
quiet again and all within the houses sought their beds, though,
perhaps, with not much hope of obtaining any rest.
If, however, they did so hope, they were doomed to disappointment.
For scarce had the clatter of the men led by de Peyre died on their
ears, scarce had the horses' hoofs ceased to ring down the streets,
than another hubbub arose. More trampling of cavalry and the ringing
of iron shoes upon the cobble-paved road was heard, more jangling of
accoutrements and more shouts and calls; also the blare of trumpets
and the deep, heavy roll of artillery over the stony streets. Whereon
many who had but just laid down upon their beds sprang up again and,
huddling on their garments, ran to their windows and doors, the
Protestants asking if this were some fresh force arriving to add to
their persecutions, the Catholics wondering if the fanatics had
descended from the mountains again and were besieging the town? Yet
soon the latter were assured that such could not be the case, while,
to counterbalance the other's feeling of safety, the Protestants
trembled more and more, not knowing what fresh horrors were preparing
for them, for all saw at a glance these were no mountaineers clad in
their white sheepskins, nor Camisards, but, instead, regular troops
well equipped and armed and uniformed. Also all knew that the
_attroupés_ had no artillery or horses. With different feelings, each
watched, therefore, this new arrival of soldiers and saw go by the
fierce dragoons of Joyeuse, the fusileers of Montluçon, the regiments
of Saultz and Bearne, and one of light-horse from the far north--the
chevaux-légers of Bapaume; saw, too, the artillery organized by
St.-Hilaire, now dead.
"God help us!" the Protestants said, trembling behind their blinds,
"God help us! was this needed too?" while one old man, crouching
behind the fountain in the market place, whispered to another, "Those
great guns! those great guns! See! Are they to blow our houses down
above our heads?"
"Tush!" exclaimed a tall man standing by their side, a fellow bronzed
and black from the winds of many wintry storms as well as from the
scorching rays of the southern sun. "Tush! they are for the children
of God, up there," and he turned a dark gleaming eye toward the dusky
summits above the little town, over which by now there was stealing a
cold gray that told of the coming of the summer morning. "Fear not for
yourself, or them up there. Baville's roads are not yet made and never
will be. Let us see that artillery mount into the Cévennes," and he
laughed scornfully, some might have deemed cruelly.
Shrinking away from his great form, half in fear, half with dawning
intelligence, the old man said: "You speak thus, as though you were of
the persecuted--yet--yet--you wear the garments of--of--the valleys,
the clothes of townsmen."
But the swarthy stranger only muttered:
"Peace, old man, and be silent. Has not the quarry worn the garb of
the hunter before now?" Then he moved away and was lost in the crowd
which had gathered afresh.
Ahead of all--of artillery, dragoons, chevaux-légers--there rode one
who, but for the richness of his apparel his scarlet coat glistening
with stars and traversed by a great ribbon, his hat laced and cockaded
with galloon until none of the felt was visible, his gold-hilted and
long quilloned sword, might, judging from his fierce looks, himself
have been a refugee of the mountain plateaux and deserts above. A man
with a great face in which were set fierce rolling eyes, a man from
whose heavily moustached mouth there issued oaths whenever he opened
it.
This was Julien, one of Louis' field marshals, who, because of his
having left the Protestant faith to embrace that of the king, was
spoken of in all the lands where the Protestants sheltered themselves
as "Julien the Apostate." Also he was spoken of by them with hatred
and loathing since once no better soldier of Protestantism had ever
existed or, under William of Orange, had done better service. But
William, the great champion of Protestantism, was dead now, and
Julien, whose love for wealth was unquenchable, had learned that Roman
Catholicism was the most paying game. Thus it was that he came this
night into his own part of the country, since he was of old family in
the town of Orange itself, to lay waste and to slaughter all who held
the faith which he himself had once held. He was a true pervert!
With an oath he turned to the aide-de-camp who rode behind him and
asked where this accursed Baville was, bidding him ride forward at
once and see what preparations had been made for the reception of his
forces. Bade him also ask if every Protestant house had been put under
orders to accommodate them.
"For," he said to himself, "they must pay for their contumacy _fasse
Dieu!_ We should have good feeding here. The vagabonds are rich in all
good things in this town. We must have our share."
* * * * * * *
The next day dawned bright and fair with still no speck in the blue
sky toward which the great mountains lifted their heads, and with the
bright sun over all--over vineyards full of their ripening grapes,
over meadows in which the cattle stood under the shadows of the
chestnut trees that dotted them at intervals--lighting up, too, the
cool dark woods that clothed the slopes. Also it peered into old and
dusty houses, shining in on the ancient furniture and vessels that
generation after generation had prized and polished regularly and been
proud of.
It shone, too, into another spot--the principal chamber of the Hôtel
de Ville, where on this bright July morning were assembled all the
representatives of law and order in the province, Baville at their
head.
He was seated now in the presidential chair of this apartment, which
served as the debating room for all things connected with the
municipal affairs of the town; on either side of him sat his
colleagues, the field marshal being on his left hand, the bishop of
the diocese, which was a newly created one, on his right. Also the
mayor was there and de Peyre, several Catholic priests, and half a
dozen monks of various orders who had followed in Julien's train, they
being sent down by the De Maintenon because of their gifts of
preaching. For, true to her colours, the unproclaimed queen pretended
on all occasions that the cruelties which were practised in the south
were repugnant to her, and that it was by listening to the word of God
alone, as expounded by eminent churchmen chosen by herself, that she
trusted to witness the conversion of the heretics. Yet, if all written
records on the subject are true, it was she who had first spurred on
Louvois to give the order to "_saccagez les hérétiques_," and had,
after his death, persuaded Chamillart, Bossuet, and Le Dieudonné
himself to continue the Holy Crusade in the same manner.
Whether it was because Baville meant upon this occasion that there
should be no doubt in Julien's mind as to who was the absolute chief
here and representative of the king, the field marshal having already
on their meeting overnight uttered some very decided opinions upon
what steps should at once be taken in Languedoc for the stamping out
of heresy, or whether it was from his determination to make an
altogether splendid figure among the ecclesiastics and handsomely
apparelled officers, he himself presented a dazzling appearance on the
occasion. His costume was now entirely of white satin, the gold lilies
being stamped upon it at various intervals and in squares; his hat,
which he wore upon his head as the king's Intendant, was also white
and fringed with gold; his sword was gold-handled and sheathed. Also
his satin gloves were tasselled with gold thread, while, above all, he
wore the _justaucorps à brevet_, or nobles' close coat. Upon his
face--a handsome one, showing no traces of the fierce determination of
his character--there sat this morning an easy look such as he might
have worn had he been assisting at the _fiançailles_ of some grand
siegneur of Languedoc, instead of at a council of war, bloodshed, and
extermination. He had long since learned that not only the face, but
also the whole deportment of a diplomatist should be a mask and not a
glass in which men could read.
"Here," he said, taking up a paper as he spoke, and glancing his eye
around upon all who sat near him, "is a report of what has been done
of late by these _attroupés_ from the hills, dating from their first
murmurings. It is best I recite them. You," and he looked at Julien,
"will then know against what you have to contend."
"_Splendeur de Dieu!_" the great swashbuckler exclaimed, using one of
his most magnificent oaths, "let me but get at them and will make them
sing something else than their accursed Calvinistic canticles, I
warrant you. Read, your Excellency, read."
The fringed glove of his Excellency flattened out the paper, the
gloved finger was placed upon a line, and Baville began.
"Three months ago Adolphe Canivet was hung upon the bridge at Florac.
His crime was, that he, a heretic, has blasphemed the king, also
Madame De Maintenon." Baville raised his hat as he mentioned these
august personages. Then, having replaced it, he continued: "Four
nights afterward, Canivet's body was removed from the lamp; the next
morning in its place was found the body of a dog, hung by the neck.
Around that dog's neck was a label, and on it written, 'Thus will the
dog Baville hang.' You laugh, monseigneur," the Intendant said,
glancing at Julien and looking, for him, a little ruffled. "You
forget, perhaps, that the 'dog Baville' represents the king here."
"I forget nothing," said Julien, "neither do I laugh. Go on. Later, I
promise you, I will even remember the dog."
"From that time the so-called Protestants braved us in every way,"
Baville continued. "In spite of all our care, they have left the
country in great numbers, some getting across to Savoy, some escaping
by the sea, many fleeing into the mountains. Also they refuse to enter
the churches to hear Mass, preferring to hold meetings in the
mountains and woods."
At this the bishop groaned, but Baville, pretending not to hear him,
went on:
"Many have descended from the mountains at night and demanded alms and
ammunition, having none themselves, from those who possessed them. The
prior of St. Gervais had his house broken into and several musketoons
taken, they having been left in his charge by some of De Broglie's
soldiers."
"_Malédiction!_" exclaimed Julien, "why left they their arms with a
priest?"
"They were scaling the mountains to find the outcasts," Baville
answered. "Being good soldiers," and he looked severely at the other
as he spoke, "they depended on their swords and pistols."
"Humph!" muttered the marshal, "a soldier who parts with his weapons
is a fool. He who leaves them with a priest is a double fool."
"Treachery, too, is rife," the Intendant continued, still with his
finger on the paper. "Some of these heretics who have refused
conversion, yet were willing to swear fidelity to the king, were put
on guard on the town walls here in Alais. Also at Nîmes and Anduse. In
the morning their muskets were empty. They had not been fired,
consequently the charges had been drawn. Needless to suggest where
those charges went."
"Also," put in the bishop, "many murders have been committed. Du
Chaila and the curé of Frugéres within the last two days. What next?
What next?"
"Du Chaila," exclaimed Baville, "was my right hand. He feared naught,
punished with justice, though with severity; would have assisted me to
stamp out these rebels, I do believe, had he lived. Now he has been
brutally murdered. Both he and the curé must be avenged." After which
he proceeded to tell the whole story of the abbé's murder; from the
beginning as it had been told to him; at the end, as he himself knew
it. And he told them, too, how he had brought back with him to Alais
the only person left in the village of Montvert when he reached it
with de Peyre and the marquis.
"At present," he went on, "I know not what to do with them. One is
Buscarlet, who was the Protestant curé, but who has been suspended
from his heretical worship for some years and has lived upon some
small means he has, supplemented by gifts from those of his crew who
are well to do. He is of the best among them, at least openly.
Preaches submission openly to law and the Government; what he may do
in secret I know not. But, unlike so many of his brethren, he has
never fled. The other is a stranger to these parts and a gentleman. A
proprietor in the north. Speaks too, I think, truthfully. If it
pleases you they can be examined."
"It would be best," the bishop said.
Baville made a sign to the _greffier_ of the court who advanced toward
him; then, after giving the man his instructions, he turned to the
bishop and said: "Monsiegneur, they have been sent for. In a moment
they will be before you. They are close at hand."
They were so close at hand that they entered the court almost at once,
escorted by the _greffier_, the pastor walking by the side of Martin
and both returning the salutation of Baville, who, true to the outward
bearing to which he had trained himself, bowed with civility. In his
heart he had long since determined that Buscarlet was one of the most
dangerous of the Protestant ministers with whom he would have to deal,
for the simple reason that it was impossible to find any flaw in his
conduct which would justify him in transporting him to the galleys or
New France; and therefore, until that flaw was discovered, until the
opening was given him, he did not betray his determination by outward
rudeness.
As for the stranger who was before him, he scarcely knew what his
course of action should be. The story he told of himself might be
true, in which case he had no possible authority for molesting him,
while, even though it were false, he would have great difficulty in
proving it to be so.
Also, as happens frequently to those of the most astute minds, he had
forgotten to put one leading question to this stranger: To ask him if
he--who had been the lodger of this pestilential heretic, and who, by
a strange chain of circumstances, was the only other witness of the
abbé's murder who had remained behind in Montvert--was himself a
heretic.
Had forgotten it; though now it seemed to Martin, as he stood there
looking round the room filled with men all bitterly hostile to the
Protestant faith, that the question could no longer remain unasked.
Would that bishop, sitting there calm and impassive, also omit to ask
it? That field marshal omit it too, whose apostasy and fierce
vindictive hatred of those he had deserted was known and talked of
wherever half a dozen of the Reformed faith gathered together to
discuss their persecutions and their persecutors? Also those priests
and those six hooded monks who had followed in the soldiers' train?
Scarcely could he deem it possible!
Well, he was prepared with his answer. No denial would issue from his
lips, no lie be told. Therefore he took the place to which the
Intendant motioned him, and, sitting, down by Buscarlet's side,
prepared calmly to await whatever might happen.
Had he been able to see behind him he would have observed that which,
even though it had carried him no consternation, must have astonished
him; for on the face of one of those cowled monks, the man even
throwing back the hood from off his forehead to stare more intently at
him as he endeavoured to catch a second glance of Martin's features,
he would have noticed a look of profound astonishment--the look of one
who sees another in the last place of all where he would have expected
so to see him, and who, while thus seeing, can scarcely force himself
to believe his own eyes.
"Monsieur Buscarlet," said Baville, quietly and with no accent either
of impoliteness or reproof in his tones, "what happened at Montvert
the other night amid some who were once your flock must be clearly
told to all assembled here. From you I must demand an account, as I
have the right to do. Later I shall ask this gentleman, Monsieur
Martin, if he agrees with that account."
As he said the words "Monsieur Martin" the _cordelier_ started. Then
over his shaven face--a face unrelieved by either eyebrows or
eyelashes, so that those who looked at him might doubt if indeed his
cheeks were ever touched by razor and if their lack of hair was not
due to a defect in Nature--there came that look of new-born
recognition which all have seen spring into the countenances of
others.
"Martin!" he uttered, "Martin! Ay, that was the name. The name he was
called by. It is he. What does he here? He of the house of de
Rochebazon, and consorting with heretics!"