The greatest agitation prevailed in the city of Nismes. New arrests had
taken place, suspicion had increased still more, and many noblemen, who
until then had escaped observation, were shut up in the prisons. No
condition, no inhabitant was now deemed in safety, treachery lurked in
every house. The Marshal had brought some of his ci-devant friends,
even ladies, to a strict trial.
The amiable hero was concealed in the severe judge. The Intendant had
never yet been so pleased with his opponent. The consternation was
still greater in the country, and those who dwelt in the chateau, no
longer knew how to escape the mistrust and suspicion of the rebellion,
particularly the newly converted, whose assurances were not trusted,
and whose devotedness and patriotism were no longer valued.
The physician, Vila, was also obliged to proceed to the city to answer
numerous accusations against him. Deeply afflicted as he was, he
however testified no depression or humiliation before his judges, but
was able to refute with perfect composure all that they would lay to
his charge. The Intendant as well as the Marshal were undecided,
whether they ought to impute his self-possession and security to
innocence, or to the obstinacy of a rebel.
"No, my honoured lords," said he, as he stood before them in the hall
surrounded by a great number of officers and civilians; "I have nothing
to do with these most unfortunate affairs, for it is impossible that
any one would lay to my charge as evil propense, that I recently
intended to cure the Lord Marquis without a wig, an occurrence, which
may indeed be astonishing enough, but which however does not render the
extremity necessary, that you should now immediately cause my head to
be taken off; whereby I should become an entirely useless and
slaughtered man."
"Be serious sir," replied the Intendant in the greatest anger, but with
a calm exterior: "what took you to the mountains some time since?
wherefore that disguise of which you yourself have complained?"
"Irrepressible curiosity, my noble Lord," said Vila, "as an inquisitive
doctor, I also wished to thrust my nose for once into these spiritual
monstrosities. In my youth, I knew only of four great and twelve lesser
prophets of the bible, the thousand great, and twenty thousand lesser
of our times seemed to me so little plausible, that I wished to see
some examples of them in my proximity, and to examine myself their
ascribed characters."
"And you persuaded your son and the young Edmond to accompany you
there?"
The old man paused a while, and was obliged to wipe his eyes. "Pardon,"
said he then, "man is affected, though already old, by certain
sensations, a kind of cold, which operates on the tear vessels; perhaps
you may have already experienced this. Strong snuff produces the
sensation. Yes, it was I indeed that induced the young men to this folly.
I could never have thought that the young lads would have made a serious
affair of it. They should only have reflected on themselves, collect
psychological observations, to strengthen thereby their own mature wisdom
and corroborate all noble religion; and the simpletons act like that
peasant, who is to take only twelve drops daily from a phial, and would
rather swallow down the whole bottle with cork and label. But believe me
the cholic will not delay coming, and it will require skill to empty the
body of the devilry again."
"You appear to consider the affair on the jesting side," cried the
Marshal.
"Certainly," said the old man, who could not however restrain his
tears, and was obliged to repress his sob by a strong effort; "it is
still pleasant enough, that I have not slept since the last three days,
still less have I been able to enjoy anything: that my cursed
imagination represents my unhappy son upon the scaffold, suffering the
most ingenious martyrdom, and looking upon me with the same dark eyes
that sparkled in his childhood when he ardently desired a fruit, or a
toy. I believe too that I look rather pale and sorrowful, and whatever
you may ordain, I shall bear my head heavily on my weary shoulders for
the future."
"You know then that your son as well as the young Edmond has gone over
to the rebels?" said the Intendant sharply with his icy coldness: "and
who will assure us that this did not happen by your counsel and
suggestions?"
"No man will be security for me," answered, the father with quiet
composure, "and of myself, of my many years of probity and an
assurance, by my honour, I will not even speak, for that appears to
myself absurd. No, my highly honoured lords, my counsel would never
have been able to produce so strange a metamorphosis in a vagabond, who
has hitherto only interested himself in plants and antiquities, or to
make of a catholic enthusiast a fanatic and a rebel; but if I may be
permitted to speak for a moment as a father, it rather appears to me,
that you, my most worthy judges, are the authors of it, without its
being exactly your intention it is true, and may be the cause why so
many other fanatics will run to the mountains."
"Well, this impudence," exclaimed the Marshal.
"Suffer the unhappy man to speak," interrupted the Intendant, "he is
doting in his sorrow, and it is not unreasonable to hear all that he
may bring forward for his defence." "I only say," continued Vila,
"that, with the very best intentions to put down this rebellion, you
add strength to it, for it is precisely the peculiarity and perversity
of the human mind, (and in this I only say what has been of very old
standing) that prohibitions and obstructions irritate and place the
punishable case in a seductive, enchanting light. That, which at first
appeared indifferent and often unimportant, now presents itself with a
kind of glory, danger entices; if only a few victims deriding it, have
fallen, passions master the heart, and the same, who a short time
previously preserved his faith in silent doubt, feels now in each
emotion of caprice, and of anger, the immediate voice of his persecuted
God. He now refutes his adversary with murder and massacre, as if he
would correct the erroneous reading of his mind in his mangled body.
The true believer cannot naturally bear such a turning over the leaf,
he waits with stump and stalk to root out of the breast the perverted
and corrupted text. On both sides the commentators excite one another,
each becomes fiercer and more violent, reconciliation is no longer to
be thought of, instruction profits not, and whoever wishes to step in
coolly and moderately between them is a horror to both parties. You see
indeed all the pills, that you, my honoured Lord Marshal cause to be
turned and moulded and which the thousand surgeons press Upon the
perverted, have not purged them of the evil, nor even ameliorated it.
What does it profit then that the busy men so diligently assist with
their bayonets, nor do these lances, nor the incisions of the gentlemen
dragoons improve the blood. Also your imprisonments and executions in
the public places have no success. What can your reasoning, your cold,
calm persuasions effect, that the whole country, frankly speaking,
stands like a great, disbanded madhouse, where the lunatics with their
dogmas rage against one another, and like dogs, set on to fight, gnash
with their teeth. I think the air is infectuous, and renders insane,
and thus it has happened to young Edmond and my poor son. Whom the devil
rides, cannot certainly affirm that he possesses an abundance of free
will to go and come; but what could have bribed me to lay the stirrup
on the shoulders of my only son, in order that the black raven father
of all lies might be able to mount him more comfortably? only reflect
on that yourselves, generous men."
"I but half understand you," said the Marshal.
"I pardon much in consideration of your grief," replied the Intendant.
"But why as not the Lord of Beauvais appeared at our trial?"
recommenced the general; "wherefore is he fled? Does not that action
bespeak him criminal? and do you know anything of him and of his
retreat? can you impart to us some information of his proceedings? do
you keep him concealed? confess the whole truth."
"Your excellency," said the doctor, "the old sinner has assuredly
escaped because he is indeed suspected, even by me, and certainly could
not appear here with safety and decency."
"Proceed," said the Lord of Basville, "you are approaching nearer the
point to my satisfaction."
"You know it as well as I do," replied Vila, "the scandal is notorious
throughout the whole country. He would have been forced to come here
baldheaded to speak and answer. I will even consent that one may
dispense with ruffles, lay down his sword, embroidery on the garments,
or the cravat may also without herisy be esteemed as superfluous; but
if you consider, that for more than ten years, he lived there yonder in
his desert without a wig like a Theban hermit, you cannot then possibly
have any confidence in the orthodoxy of his sentiments. How should his
head remain sound, when he gives himself up, thus naked to all
weathers, all society, all sorts of phrases, wit, and nonsense. It is
indeed like a fortress, where they have broken down the walls and
redoubt. There, in war, all the rabble ride in without obstruction."
"You are childish," said the Lord of Basville, "but where does the Lady
of Castelnau remain, you must know that she has disappeared. In all
these circumstances we see, say what you will, a concerted plot."
"Ah poor Christine!" sighed Vila plaintively; "I now know for the first
time, how much I have loved the noble girl. She is no longer indeed in
her house, but the Lord Marshal will best be able to give intelligence
of her retreat."
"I?" demanded the latter.
"All the world says, at least," continued the doctor, "that you have
caused her to be incarcerated, and that is not entirely without
probability, as the imprudent girl, some time ago, wholly lost sight of
the esteem she owes you."
"It were derogatory to my dignity," said the Marshal, "to revenge
inpertinences by means of my office.
"Where one cannot inspire love," said the doctor, "which one may
reasonably expect, then terror and the due punishment of the object
must suffice." "I give you my word of honour, I know nothing of the
little fool!" said the Marshal blushing.
"It is very possible," answered Vila, "that you do not know exactly in
which dungeon she languishes, since within the last few years we have
considerably increased these establishments."
"Sir!" exclaimed the Marshal,--"I think, my Lord Intendant, we may
dismiss this dotard, for it is in vain to hope to hear a word of sense
from him. You may thank the Lord Marquis and his zealous intercession,
or rather his caprice, not to suffer himself to be cured by any one
else, that your insolence, which affects madness, is permitted to go
from hence unchastised. But beware that you hold no correspondence with
the rebels and suspected persons, or we shall speak again together and
then in a higher tone."
"As it may please you to order it," said the doctor, and retired with a
low bow. His carriage stood at the door, he went however first into the
stables of the court to seek an old servant, whom he intended to take
to St. Hypolite with him, the latter advanced groaning, limping and
with head and arm bound up. "Coachman," cried Vila to his driver, "make
room on the box for this old servant of mine."
In the mean while Colonel Julien came down the street; "What sort of
merchandise are you carrying off with you there?" asked he,
scrutinising the wounded man.
"My superannuated Conrad," replied the doctor; "the stupid knave found
himself in a village yesterday and took it into his head to engage in
the conversion of a Camisard, who in the true rebel fashion began to
deal out blows, my decrepid enthusiast would let neither his king, nor
his Lord God be outraged and on that account is so bedecked, that our
Phylax at home will scarcely recognise him again." "Look," said the
Colonel, "the poor cripple trembles so, that he cannot attain the high
coach-box. He does not appear accustomed to such a place. Help him a
little, reverend priest."
The sturdy vicar of St. Sulpice, who had pressed forward, helped up the
old man with arms and shoulders. "Accustomed, or not accustomed!" cried
Vila, vexedly, "he may thank heaven, that I take him with me at all. A
knave, who at his years still addicts himself to pugilism, is good for
nothing in my peaceable house. Times, indeed, seem strange enough, so
that the rabble will soon, perhaps, assert their pretensions to ride
with me in my carriage."
"You would have room enough," said the Colonel, taking leave of the
doctor, who had already seated himself at his ease.--
"Now, drive on!" said Vila, "and not too fast, particularly over the
stones, for all my sides, and my head into the bargain, are as if they
were crushed, and take care that that old spectre does not perchance
tumble from the box,--Adieu, reverend priest!"--The coach drove down
the street and out through the gate.
The high road was filled with soldiers and militia, the coach was
forced to stop in many places to let the troops go by. At length, when
they had taken another road towards the mountains, the journey could be
continued without interruption. The doctor was very uneasy, and looked
round on all sides, muttered to himself, and was alternately moved, and
vexed. At last, when the country became rather solitary he ordered the
carriage to stop, descended and assisted the wounded Conrad, as he had
called him in the town, himself, from the coach box. "My poor, old
friend!" exclaimed he embracing him with the greatest emotion: "How
fares it with you? do you feel fatigued? come now inside here with me,
and pardon all that I have been forced to do for your safety."
"I am tolerably well, my kind, faithful friend," answered the Lord of
Beauvais: "but render me one more loving service, that we may once more
visit the ruins of my dwelling."
Vila gave directions to the coachman, and they both ascended into the
carriage.
"But why will you make your heart still heavier?" commenced the doctor.
"Come rather directly with me, that I may conduct you to the little
rural asylum, in order to conceal you there until better times. For it
is not to be thought of, that they will now be able to carry you over
the frontiers in safety."
"Oh my poor country!" sighed the Counsellor of Parliament: "men of
probity must now seek hiding-places like criminals. I will only go once
more to the great hall: an iron closet has perhaps been spared by the
robbers and the flames, in it lies the portrait of my wife, which in
the hurry, I forgot to pack up. It would be very painful to me to lose
this dear remembrance." The sun had already set, and they were now
approaching their native, well-known place. From the blackened walls,
dense, smoky clouds were still rising, although the fire appeared
extinguished. The carriage stopped, the travellers descended from it; a
lantern was lighted, and the Counsellor could not avoid wondering at
the difficulty he experienced in finding his way through the formerly
so well-known mansion. Fallen beams reduced to cinders lay
extinguished, and obstructed the entrance to the hall, ashes and
rubbish filled the vast space, it was impossible to recognise any
thing, the walls alone still indicated the former seat of happiness and
peace. The lantern threw a pale wavering glimmer over the sad
destruction, and while the father tremblingly felt about by its light
for the closet, he thought he heard a voice in another apartment.
As he listened more attentively, all was still; yet after a short
interval, a deep, painful sigh was heard again, and then as if from a
heavily oppressed bosom resounded these words: "Yes, my sinful fire has
laid this dwelling in ashes, my wicked impetuosity has murdered the
happiness of this beloved house."
"Oh my unhappy son!" exclaimed the old man as he endeavoured to reach
that apartment; but Edmond advanced immediately, sank down before him
and embraced his knees. "Can you forgive? can you still love me?" cried
he in violent emotion; "I, I, wretch that I am, have flung the brand
into this house, I have rendered you and my sister miserable, I am
indeed the cause of your death. Oh, most gracious, mildest of men, with
what a torn heart do I lie here at your feet, unworthy to embrace them,
unworthy of the dust.--"
The old man raised, pressed him to his heart and said: "Not so,
my son, we are not to criticise and blame the ways of destiny in so
short-sighted a manner. It was you, as I well know, who delivered me
from the hands of the incendiaries. Your heart has remained to me;
those walls, this inanimate possession belonged not to my happiness and
existence, you are nearer to me, you are, God be praised! not lost to
me. Let me enjoy the satisfaction of having found you again among the
ruins, and I will thank Heaven with heartfelt tears for my calamity.
Follow me now and abandon your unfortunate covenant. The time and
favourable moment will be found, when we may fly over the frontiers of
our native land, and under another sky be permitted to rear the
blessing of our love again."
"Only require not this of me, generous man," cried Edmond, as if in
unconscious anger: "at least I must punish, avenge, retaliate, in some
degree on our and God's foes. Oh Catinat! how unjust I have been in
censuring thee. No, I will not degrade mercy so far by wasting it on
these wretches, who might take the tiger in apprenticeship in order to
augment his malice and cruelty."
Vila came up with the lantern and turned the light upon the youth's
pale, agitated countenance, saying with the greatest good nature: "ah!
Ned! my boy! be advised: now for once only follow your aged parent
there, who has ever merely required from you what is quite reasonable."
"Leave vengeance to Him," said the father in a powerful voice, "to Him,
who rules, permits and superintends all, and in whose almighty arm our
wrath and weakness, are no longer vengeance! I do not understand the
word. Our hearts were not created for this feeling."
"Still and ever the same folly!" cried a deep voice from behind and the
gaunt figure of the grey-headed Lacoste was groping his way towards
them in the dark, over heaps of rubbish. "Vengeance! hatred!" exclaimed
he; "who knows not those sentiments, knows love but in part. Knowest
thou me still, thy rival, the Lacoste, whom thou renderedst many years
ago so unhappy? Who meant thee evil were it not for thy gallant
Edmond."
"How comest thou here?" cried the father astounded. "What art thou
doing here?"
"I am become thy son's dog," replied the former, "I do him what service
I can, at least I run after him, out of gratitude, because he has saved
my life."
"I have scarcely time and feeling," said the Lord of Beauvais, "to
wonder at this extraordinary rencontre."
"The hour presses indeed," cried Vila, "we have yet a long way before
us and we must take advantage of the night."
"Here is the concealed closet still unconsumed," cried the Counsellor
of Parliament, "just as I had supposed." He took a key, opened and held
a light into it, among various articles, which were kept there, he
found the picture in a little casket. He gazed upon it with tears, and
was going to attach it to his person, when Lacoste seized his hand and
said: "Only one moment, for the sake of former acquaintance and
friendship: suffer this face after so many years to blossom once again
in my desolate heart."
The father gave it to him trembling; Lacoste held it close to the light
and gazed fixedly on it with his widely opened grey eyes; a tear
unconsciously escaped him, he imprinted a kiss on the portrait and
returned it to the Counsellor. "See, see," said he to himself, "every
man remains still a fool, let him behave as he will. If they can feel
and imagine as much over their relics, as I at this moment feel, then
the unfortunate ones are not so entirely in error."
"Roland is stationed in the neighbourhood with his troops; a few of us
may conduct your dear father, as far as you wish, so that at least our
party does not harm you."
"Prudently spoken," said Lacoste, "for we are, with permission, very
outrageous people."
The Counsellor of Parliament re-ascended the carriage with his friend,
saying: "We are now indeed so far on our road, that the usual
precaution becomes superfluous. Let us only be careful, that our friend
Vila meets with no misfortune on our account." "Were my son only
reasonable," said the latter, "they might do what they liked with me,
old, half dead and worn out sinner; to die is almost a diversion to be
sought for, to that have the ruling lords pushed affairs."
They drove off, and Edmond and Lacoste followed on horseback, in order
to accompany them to Roland's troop.