Read Ebook: The Rebellion in the Cevennes an Historical Novel. Vol. II. by Tieck Ludwig Burette Madame Translator

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"Even in your wickedness," said Edmond, softened, "you represent this girl as a noble one, who was well worthy of her heavenly origin."

"Heavenly," said the former, "to disgust: quite natural. That is just what I mean. To every beggar she would have freely given her all; but to me--she saw my love, my despair, how I only breathed in her looks, how I withered away, and my grief, my inexpressible misery would assuredly have driven me to the grave or to madness.--But that was indifferent to her, more even then indifferent, it was pleasing to her."

"But how is such a thing possible?" asked Edmond.

"Every thing has its drawback," resumed Lacoste. "It is but just, when senseless fools, such as I was, are ill-treated by women, that they may serve as an example to other simpletons. But she would however have leant to mercy's rather than to justice's side, had it not been for a fault that lay within myself and which still oppresses me, although I do not see it as such."

"And what is it?"

"The same upon which our conversation commenced; those same wings which always sit so ridiculously upon us. To come to the point, I was not religious; I could by no means comprehend how people made this discovery. I had learned to think, to judge, to fancy, but I could believe neither of the new lights of which I had heard so much. From whence was I to derive it too? I exist, I rejoice if all goes on well with me, shall I render thanks for that? be resigned and humble? Well, to whom am I to rescribe the innumerable sorrows? all the sufferings of this wretched life? the multiplied griefs? There is no one whom I dare accuse of it. But even all this I am to receive with joy and humility! If it go well with me: superabundant benevolence; if wrong: parental correction. I cannot conceive such things as other brains have done. The nameless Being, whom I know not how to represent to myself at all, or only with giddiness and with terror, sustains worlds, permits shipwrecks, wars and earthquakes, therefore he may now suffer me and my thoughts. But he will, he cannot approach me closely, as they say, if I do not draw near him with contrition, if I do not believe and speak thus and thus of him; edifices, words, prostrations, belong thereto, in order to lay him as by magic in fetters, that he may take an interest in me, that he may love me, he must even first excite my commiseration. Aye, truly all this roused my wrath. Instead of these loving, religious men having patience, instructing and sympathising with me, they imagine they can offer no satisfaction to their God of love, if they do not hold me in execration."

"Fearful man!" exclaimed Edmonds "how could they do otherwise? if the flame of the stake be kindly; it certainly is so for such as you."

"Naturally!" said Lacoste, with a loud laugh. "As the jews burn gold out of old garments, so also out of the most hardened, callous and heartless sinner, a little spark of religion may be extracted by burning. The best and most supportable of all this, is that they massacre and inflict martyrdom on one another for the sake of this faith of love, and each treats the other as heretic, each curses the other and gives him up to hell, but, however much all parties may rage against one another, they still invariably agree in my damnation." "A sign," said the youth, "that though all may err in themselves, with regard to you, they still possess the truth."

"I envy them not their possession," replied the old man; "my life, all my sorrows, even when I became wicked and with justice so, I have only to thank this egoism, which calls itself humility, inspiration, love, or religion; I was rejected, persecuted, nay to use the silly expression, misunderstood, for what man knows another, or even himself? Impoverished, brokenhearted, I went forth, and my friends gladly saw me depart. In every country this self-same miserable farce was repeated. They would willingly have lent me their aid, confided in me, probably have loved me, had I but possessed this so called religion. The foolish virtue of my probity was lost sight of, that I would pretend to none, even to the very best of them. A few marriages which were almost decided upon with me, were broken off for the same cause. It did not fare better with me in other quarters of the world; thus am I become an old man, thus am I become a villain, and I returned, to revenge myself on my beloved countrymen, and on my friends. Then you came and spoiled the thing with me: just, you yourself! strange enough!"

"How so?" asked Edmond excited.

"Come let us go," said the stranger, "we ought to seek our comrades again."

They arose and walked as chance directed through mountain and wood. When they ascended higher, they observed a thick smoke advancing towards them, blackening the heavens with dark clouds. A distant cry directed their steps. As they proceeded, they beheld on the summit of the mountain a number of rebels moving hurriedly to and fro. When Edmond approached he thought he recognised Roland. It was he too, but before he was able to advance towards the leader, a young man rushed with a terrific shout, to meet him. "Brother!" exclaimed he, interrupted by sobs and rage, "brother, all is over! The incendiaries have rendered thee for ever unhappy."

It was difficult for Edmond to recognise his young friend Vila. "What is the matter with thee? whence comest thou?" asked he at length, amazed.

"I am now one of yours!" exclaimed Vila: "I have not been able to govern my heart, since I beheld the affliction of our people. Yes, I will assist you to annihilate, to murder, to tear to pieces these murderous slaves, which, to the shame of all created beings, bear but the figures of men." When Edmond desired to question, to gain some information, Vila drew him higher up the mountain, and the youth stood again above, and looked down, as on that night, upon his father's garden and house; but the house was in ruins, the fire was still raging through the apartments, and thick columns of smoke arose, between which was seen a consuming glow, that frequently sent red streams sideways and upwards; shepherds and peasants stood beneath, many were gazing fixedly on the spectacle, some seeking powerless help and deliverance.

"Where is my father?" exclaimed Edmond, when he had recovered from the first shock. "Fled," answered Vila, "no one knows whither; child, servants, all were compelled to escape, for the Marshal and the Intendant had summoned him to a severe account at Nismes. When miscreants, who call themselves soldiers, found the house quite empty, they plundered, and then set fire to it."

"I have now nothing more to care for," said Edmond coldly.

"Ah! ha!" cried Lacoste, "has it then fared so ill with the old Lord, my ancient rival, my former friend and foe? see now yourself, we had lately scarcely an idea of worse than what has now happened, when you, Ned, stopped us in the business."

No one heard him, and all gazed in silence, Edmond with deadly pale countenance, down on the raging fire.

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 ch?teau, 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, 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.

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