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Huguenot: A Tale of the French Protestants

<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2><h3>THE DISCOVERY OF ERROR.</h3> We must now change the scene and time, though the spot to which we will conduct the reader is not situated more than ten miles from that in which the events took place recorded in the last chapter, and only one day's interval had elapsed. Considerably more inland, it presented none of that sandy appearance which characterises the landes. The vegetation also was totally different, the rich, even rank, grass spreading under the tall trees of the forest, and the ivy covering those which had lost their leaves thus early in the year. There was a little château belonging to an inferior noble of the province, situated in the midst of one of those wide woods which the French of that day took the greatest pains to maintain in a flourishing condition, both for the sake of the fuel which they afforded, and the cover that they gave to the objects of the chase. The château itself was built, as usual, upon an eminence of considerable elevation, overlooking the forest world around, and in its immediate neighbourhood the wood was cleared away so as to give an open esplanade, along which, upon the present occasion, some fifteen hundred or two thousand men had passed the preceding day and night: having liberated the poor pastor of Auron on the night before. Some few tents of rude construction, some huts hastily raised, had been their only shelter; but they murmured not; and indeed it was not from such causes that any of those who deserted from the body of Protestant insurgents quitted the standard of their leader. It was, that the agents of the governing priesthood had long been busy amongst them, and had sapped the principles and shaken the resolution of many of those who even showed themselves willing to take arms, but who soon fell away in the hour of need, acting more detrimentally on their own cause than if they had absolutely opposed it, or abandoned it from the first. Doubts of each other, and hesitation in their purposes, had thus been spread through the Protestants; and though, of the number assembled there, few existed who had now either inclination or opportunity to turn back, yet they thought with gloomy apprehension upon the defection that was daily taking place in the great body of Huguenots throughout France; and their energies were chilled even if their resolution was not shaken. The day of which we now speak rose with a brighter aspect than the preceding one, and it was scarcely more than daylight when the gates of the castle were opened, the horses of the Count de Morseiul and his immediate officers and attendants were brought out; and in a minute after, he himself, booted and spurred, and bearing energetic activity in his eye, came forth upon the esplanade, surrounded by a number of persons, who were giving him information, or receiving his orders. The men who were gathered in arms on the slope of the hill gazed up towards him with that sort of expectation which is near akin to hope; and the prompt rapidity of his gestures, the quickness with which he was speaking, the ease with which he seemed to comprehend every body, and the readiness and capability, if we may so call it, of his own demeanour, was marked by all those that looked upon him, and gave trust and confidence even to the faintest heart there. "Where is Riquet?" the Count said, after speaking to some of the gentlemen who had taken arms; "where is Riquet? He told me that two persons had arrived from Paris last night, and were safe in his chamber. Where is Riquet?" "Riquet! Riquet!" shouted several voices, sending the sound back into the castle; but in the mean time the Count went on speaking to those around them in a sorrowful tone. "So poor Monsieur de l'Estang is dead!" he said. "That is a shining light, indeed, put out. He died yesterday evening you say--God forgive me that I should regret him at such a moment as this, and wish that he had been left to us. There was not a nobler or a wiser, or, what is the same thing, a better man in France. I have known him from my childhood, gentlemen, and you must not think me weak that I cannot bear this loss as manly as might be," and he dashed a tear away from his eye. "That they should torture such a venerable form as that!" he added; "that they should stretch upon the rack him, who never pained or tortured any one! These things are too fearful, gentlemen, almost to be believed. The time will come when they shall be looked upon but as a doubtful tale. Is it not six of our pastors, in Poitou alone, that they have broken on the wheel? Out upon them, inhuman savages! Out upon them! I say. But what was this you told me of some ladies having been freed from the prison?--Oh, here is Riquet. Now, sirrah, what are your tidings? Who are these personages from Paris?" "One of them, Sir," replied Riquet, whose tone was changed in no degree by the new situation in which he was placed, "one of them is your Lordship's own man, or rather your Lordship's man's man, Peter. He is the personage that I left in Paris to give the order for your liberation that you wot of." "Ay!" said the Count; "what made him so long in following us? He was not detained, by any chance, was he?" "Oh no, my Lord," replied the valet, "he was not detained, only he thought--he thought--I do not know very well what he thought. But, however, he stayed for two or three days, and is only just come on hither." "Does he bring any news?" demanded the Count. "None, but that the Prince de Conti is dead, very suddenly indeed, of the smallpox, caught of his fair wife; that all Protestants are ordered to quit Paris immediately; and that the Duke of Berwick has made formal abjuration." "I grieve for the Prince de Conti," said the Count, "he was promising and soldier-like; though the other, the young Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon, is full of still higher qualities. So, the boy Duke of Berwick has abjured. That might be expected. No other news?" "None, my Lord, from him," replied the man, who evidently was a little embarrassed in speaking on the subject of his fellow-servant; and he added immediately, "The other gentleman seems to have news; but he will communicate it to none but yourself." "I will speak with them both," replied the Count. "Bring them hither immediately, Riquet." "Why, my Lord," said the valet, "as to Peter, I do not well know where----" "You must know where, within three minutes," replied the Count, who, in general interpreted pretty accurately the external signs and symbols of what was going on in Riquet's heart. "You must know where, within three minutes, and that where must be here, by my side. Maître Riquet, remember, though somewhat indulgent in the saloon or the cabinet, I am not to be trifled with in the field. Now, gentlemen, what were we speaking of just now? Oh, these ladies. Have you any idea of what they were in prison for? Doubtless, for worshipping God according to their consciences. That is the great crime now. But I did not know that they had begun to persecute poor women;" and a shade of deep melancholy came over his fine features, as he thought of what might be the situation of Clémence de Marly. "Why, it would seem, Sir," replied one of the gentlemen, "from what I can hear, that the ladies were not there as prisoners; but were two charitable persons of the town of Thouars, who had come to give comfort and consolation to our poor friend, Monsieur de l'Estang." "God's blessing will be upon them," replied the Count, "for it was a noble and a generous deed in such times as these. But here comes Master Riquet, with our two newly arrived friends. Good heavens, my old acquaintance of the Bastille! Sir, I am very glad to see you free, and should be glad to see you in this poor province of Poitou, could we but give you any other entertainment than bullets and hard blows, and scenes of sorrow or of strife." "No matter, no matter, my young friend," replied the old Englishman; "to such entertainment I am well accustomed. It has been meat and drink to me from my youth; and though I cannot exactly say that I will take any other part in these transactions, being bound in honour, in some sense, not to do so, yet I will take my part in any dangers that are going, willingly. But do not let me stop you, if you are going to ask any questions of that fellow, who came the last five or six miles with me; for if you don't get him out of the hands of that rascal of yours, there will be no such thing as truth in him in five minutes." "Come hither, Peter," cried the Count. "Maître Riquet you have face enough for any thing; so stand here. Now, Peter, the truth at one word! What was it that Riquet was telling you not to tell me?" "Why, my Lord," replied the man, glancing his eye from his master to the valet, and the awe of the former in a moment overpowering the awe of the latter; "why, my Lord, he was saying, that there was no need to tell your Lordship that I never delivered the order that he gave me to deliver at the gates of the Bastille." The Count stood for a moment gazing on him thunderstruck. "You never delivered the order!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you never delivered the order he gave you for my liberation?" "No, my Lord," replied the man, beginning to quake in every limb for fear that he had done something wrong. "I never did deliver the order. But I'll tell your Lordship why. I thought there was no use of delivering it, for just as I was walking up to do so, and had made myself look as like a courier of the court as I could, I saw you yourself going along the Rue St. Antoine, with two boys staring up in your face, and I thought I might only make mischief for myself or you if I went and said any thing more about the matter. When I knew you were free, I thought that was quite enough." "Certainly, certainly," replied the Count; "but in the name of Heaven, then, by whom have I been delivered?" "Why, my Lord, that is difficult to say," replied Riquet, "but not by that fellow who has brought me back the order as I gave it to him; and now--as very likely your Lordship would wish to know--I told him not to tell you, simply because it would tease you to no purpose, and take away from me the honour of having set your Lordship free, without doing you any good." "You are certainly impudent enough for your profession," replied the Count, "and in this instance as foolish as knavish. The endeavour and the risk were still the same, and it is for that I owe you thanks, not for the success or want of success." "Ah, Sir," replied Riquet, "if all masters were so noble and generous, we poor valets should not get spoilt so early. But how you have been liberated, Heaven only knows." "That's a mistake," replied the old English officer; "every body at the court of France knows. The King was in a liberating mood one week; and he himself gave an order for the Count's liberation one day, and for mine two days afterwards. I heard of it when I went to present myself before the King, and the whole court was ringing with what they called your ingratitude, Count; for by that time it was known on what errand you had set off hither." The Count clasped his hands together, and looked down upon the ground. "I fear," he said in a low voice, "that I have been sadly misled." "Not by me, my Lord, upon my honour!" cried Riquet, with an earnest look. "I did my best to serve you, and to deliver you; and I fully thought that by my means it had been done. The man can tell you that he had the order from me: he can produce it now--" "I blame you not, Riquet," said his master, "I blame you not! you acted for the best; but most unhappily has this chanced, to bring discredit on a name which never yet was stained. It is now too late to think of it, however. My part is chosen, and there is no retracting." "When on my visit to the court," said the old English officer, "in order to return thanks for my liberation, and to demand certain acts of justice, I heard you blamed, I replied, my good Sir, that we in England held that private affections must never interfere with public duties; and that doubtless you felt the part you had chosen to be a public duty. They seemed not to relish the doctrine there--nor you fully to feel its force, I think." "My dear Sir," said the Count, "I have not time to discuss nicely all the collateral points which affect that question. All I will say is, that in following such a broad rule, there is much need to be upon our guard against one of man's greatest enemies--his own deceitful heart; and to make sure that, in choosing the seeming part of public duty, to be not as much influenced by private affections--amongst which I class vanity, pride, anger, revenge--as in adopting the opposite course." "That is true, too; that is true, too," replied the other. "Man puts me in mind of an ape I once saw, whose greatest delight was to tickle himself; but if any one else tried to do it, he would bite to the bone. But I see you are about to march--and some of your people have got their troops already in motion. If you will allow me half an hour's conversation as we ride along, I shall be glad. I will get my horse, and mount in a minute." "The horse that brought you here must be tired," replied the Count; "my people have several fresh ones. Riquet, see that a horse be saddled quickly for--this gentleman. A strange piece of ignorance, Sir," he continued, "but I am still unacquainted with your name." "Oh, Thomas Cecil, my good Count," replied the old officer, "Sir Thomas Cecil; but I will go get the horse, and be with you in a moment." The Count bowed his head, and while the Englishman was away, proceeded to conclude all his arrangements for the march. In something like regular order, but still with evident symptoms of no long training in the severe rules of military discipline, the Count's little force began to march, and a great part thereof was winding down the hill when the old Englishman returned. "That is a fine troop," he said, "just now getting into motion. If you had many such as that, you might do something." "They are a hundred of my own Protestant tenantry and citizens," replied the Count. "They have all served under me long in the late war, and were disbanded after the Truce of twenty years was signed. There is not a braver or steadier handful in Europe; and since I have been placed as I am, I make it a point to lead them at the head in any offensive operations on our part, and to follow with them in the rear in the event of retreat, which you see is the case now. You will let them precede us a little, and then we can converse at leisure." Thus saying, he mounted his horse, and after seeing the little body, which he called his legion, take its way down the hill, he followed accompanied by Sir Thomas, with a small party of attendants fifty yards behind them. "And now, my good Sir," said the young nobleman, "you will not think me of scanty courtesy if I say that it may be necessary to tell me in what I can serve you; or, in fact, to speak more plainly, if I ask the object of your coming to my quarters, at once, as I am informed that the intendant of the province, with what troops he can bring together from Berry and Rouergue, forming altogether a very superior force to our own, is marching to attack us. If he can do so in our retreat, of course he will be glad to avail himself of the opportunity, especially as I have been led away from the part of the country which it is most easy to defend with such troops as ours, in order to prevent an act of brutal persecution which they were going to perpetrate on one of the best of men. Thus our time for conversation may be short." "Why, you have not let him surprise you, I hope?" exclaimed the old officer. "Not exactly that," replied the Count; "but we are come into a part of the country where the people are principally Catholic, and we find a difficulty in getting information. I am also obliged to make a considerable movement to the left of my real line of retreat, in order to prevent one of our most gallant fellows, and his band of nearly three hundred men, from being cut off. He is, it is true, both brave and skilful, and quite capable of taking care of himself; but I am sorry to say grief and excitement have had an effect upon his brain, and he is occasionally quite insane, so that, without seeming to interfere with him too much, I am obliged, for the sake of those who are with him, to give more attention to his proceedings than might otherwise have been necessary." The Count paused, and the old officer replied, in a thoughtful tone, "I am in great hopes, from what I hear, that you will find more mild measures adopted towards you than you anticipate. Are you aware of who it is that has been sent down to command the troops in this district, in place of the former rash and cruel man?" "No," replied the Count, "but, from what I have heard during these last four days, I have been led to believe that a man of far greater skill and science is at the head of the King's troops. All their combinations have been so much more masterly, that I have found it necessary to be extremely cautious, whereas a fortnight ago I could march from one side of the country to the other without any risk." "The officer," replied Sir Thomas Cecil, "was raised to the rank of major-general for the purpose, and is, I understand, an old friend of yours, the Chevalier d'Evran." The Count suddenly pulled up his horse, and gazed, for a moment, in the old man's face. "Then," said he, "the Protestant cause is ruined.--It is not solely on account of Louis d'Evran's skill," he added, "that I say so: though if ever any one was made for a great commander he is that man; but he is mild and moderate, conciliating and good-humoured; and I have remarked that a little sort of fondness for mystery which he affects,--concealing all things that he intends in a sort of dark cloud, till it flashes forth like lightning,--has a very powerful effect upon all minds that are not of the first order. The only bond that has kept the Protestants together has been sharp and bitter persecution lately endured. If any one equally gentle and firm, powerful and yet conciliating, appears against us, I shall not have five hundred men left in two days." "And perhaps, Count," said the old man, "not very sorry for it?" The Count turned his eyes upon him, and looked steadily in his face for a moment. "That, I think," he said, "is hardly a fair question, my good friend. I believe you, Sir, from all I have seen of you, to be an upright and honourable man, and I have looked upon you as a sincere Protestant, and one suffering, in some degree, from your attachment to that faith. I take it for granted, then, that nothing which I have said to you this day is to be repeated." "Nothing, upon my honour," replied Sir Thomas Cecil, frankly. "You are quite right in your estimation of me, I assure you. If I ask any question, it is for my own satisfaction, and because, Sir, I take an interest in you. Nothing that passes your lips shall be repeated by me without your permission; though I tell you fairly, and at once, that I am going very soon to the head quarters of the Chevalier d'Evran, to fulfil a mission to him, which will be unsuccessful I know, but which must still be fulfilled. Will you trust me so far as this, Count? Will you let me know whether you really wish this state of insurrection to go on; or would not rather, if mild--I will not call them equitable--terms could be obtained for the Protestants of this district, that peace should be restored and a hopeless struggle ended? I do not say hopeless," he continued, "at all to disparage you efforts; but----" "My dear Sir," replied the Count, "act as bluntly by me as you did in the Bastille, call the struggle hopeless if you will. There are not ten men in my little force who do not know it to be hopeless, and those ten are fools. The only choice left, Sir, to the Protestants of this district when I arrived here was between timid despair and courageous despair; to die by the slow fire of persecution without resistance, or to die with swords in our hands in a good cause. We chose the latter, which afforded, indeed, the only hope of wringing toleration from our enemies by a vigorous effort. But I am as well aware as you are that we have no power sufficient to resist the power of the crown; that in the mountains, woods, and fastnesses of this district and of Brittany, upon which I am now retreating, I might, perhaps, frustrate the pursuit of the royal forces, for months, nay, for years; living, for weeks, as a chief of banditti, and only appearing for a single day, from time to time, as the general of an army. Day by day my followers would decrease; for the scissars of inconvenience often shear down the forces of an insurgent leader more fatally than the sharp sword of war. Then, a thousand to one, no means that I could take would prevent all my people from committing evil acts. I, and a just and holy cause, would acquire a bad name, and the whole would end by the worst of my people betraying me to death upon the scaffold. All this, Sir, was considered before I drew the sword; but you must remember that I had not the slightest idea whatsoever that the King had shown any disposition to treat me personally with any thing but bitter severity.--To return to your former question, then, and to answer it candidly and straight-forwardly, but merely remember between you and I, I should not grieve on such reasonable terms being granted to the generality of Protestants as would enable them to live peacefully, adhering to their own religion, though it be in private; to see my men reduced, as I have said, to five hundred, ay, or to one hundred: provided those gallant men, who, with firm determination, adhere to the faith of their fathers, and are resolved neither to conceal that faith nor submit to its oppression, have the means of seeking liberty of conscience in another land. As for myself," he continued, with a deep sigh, "my mind is at present in such a state that I should little care, if once I saw this settled, to go to-morrow and lay my head at the foot of the King's throne. Abjure my religion I never will; live in a land where it is persecuted I never will; but life has lately become a load to me, and it were as well for all, under such circumstances, that it were terminated. This latter part of what I have said, Sir, you may tell the Chevalier d'Evran: namely that, on the Government granting such terms to the Protestants of this district as will insure the two objects I have mentioned, the Count of Morseiul is willing to surrender himself to the pleasure of the King; though, till such terms are granted, and my people so secured, nothing shall induce me to sheath the sword:--and yet I acknowledge that I am bitterly grieved and mortified that this error has taken place in regard to the order for my liberation, and that thus an imputation of ingratitude has been brought upon me which I do not deserve." The old officer held out his hand to him, and shook that of the Count heartily, adding with a somewhat profane oath, which characterises the English nation, "Sir, you deserve your reputation!" He went on a minute or two afterwards to say, "I have been accustomed, in some degree, to such transactions; and I will report your words and nothing more: but, by your leave, I think you had better alter the latter part, and stipulate that you shall be allowed yourself to emigrate with a certain number of your followers. Louvois is extremely anxious to keep from the King's ears the extent of this insurrection, having always persuaded him that there would be none. He will, therefore, be extremely glad to have it put down without more noise on easy terms, and doubtless he has given the Chevalier d'Evran instructions to that effect." "No, no," replied the Count; "I must endeavour, Sir, to wipe away the stain that has been cast upon me. Do you propose to go to the Chevalier's head quarters at once?" "Not exactly," replied the old Englishman. "I am first going to Thouars, having some business with the Duc de Rouvré." "Good God!" exclaimed the Count; "is the Duc du Rouvré at Thouars?" and a confused image of the truth, that Clémence de Marly had been one of the two persons found in the prison with Claude de l'Estang, now flashed on his mind. Ere the old man could reply, however, two of the persons who were following, and who seemed to have ridden some way to the left of the direct road, rode up as fast as they could come, and informed the Count de Morseiul, that what seemed a large body of men, was marching up towards their flank by a path which ran up the hollow-way between them and the opposite hills. The little force of the Count had by this time emerged from the woods, and was marching along the side of the hill, that gradually sank away into those landes, across which Armand Herval had, as we have seen, led Clémence de Marly. Up the valley, on the left, lay a deep ravine, bringing the cross road from Thouars into the road in which the Huguenots were, so that the flank of the Count's force was exposed to the approach of the enemy on that side, though it had somewhat the advantage of the ground. No other line, however, had been open for him, the country on the other side leading into tracts much more exposed to attack; and, in fact, on that morning no choice had been left but either to run the risk of what now appeared to have happened, or to leave Herval and his men to their fate, they not having joined the main force on the preceding day as they had been directed to do. The Count instantly turned his horse's head galloped to the spot from whence the men had seen the head of the enemy's column, paused for a single instant, in order, if possible, to ascertain their force, and then riding back, commanded the small troop, which he called his legion, to face about. While, by his orders, they traversed a piece of broken ground to the left, so as to approach a spot where the hollow-way debouched upon the open country, he sent five or six of his attendants with rapid orders to the different noblemen who were under his command, in regard to assuming a position upon the hill. "Tell Monsieur du Bar," he said to one of the men, "to march on as quickly as possible till he reaches the windmill, to garnish that little wood on the slope with musketeers, to plant the two pieces of cannon by the mill so as to bear upon the road, to strengthen himself by the mill and the walls round it, and to hold that spot firm to the very last. Jean, bid the Marquis send off a man instantly to Herval, that he may join us with his Chauve-souris, and in the mean time ask him to keep the line of the hill from the left of Monsieur du Bar to the cottage on the slope, so that the enemy may not turn our flank. If I remember right, there are two farm roads there, so that all movements will be easy from right to left, or from front to rear. As soon as Herval comes up, let the Marquis throw him forward, with his marksmen, to cover my movements, and then commence the general retreat by detachments from each flank, holding firm by the mill and the wood to the last; for they dare not advance while those are in our hands. I can detain them here for a quarter of an hour, but not longer.--Sir Thomas Cecil," he added, "take my advice, and ride off for Thouars with all speed. This will be a place for plenty of bullets, but no glory." Thus saying, he galloped down to his troop; and in a moment after the old English officer, who stood with the utmost sang-froid to witness the fight, saw him charge into the hollow-way at the head of his men. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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