The Rebellion in the Cevennes/Volume 2/Chapter VI
CHAPTER VI.
The father went up to his daughter, who now awaked from her refreshing sleep. The little girl, in a flood of tears threw herself into the arms of the new comer, and was never weary of kissing his hands and cheeks: it seemed as if it were a necessity for her to indulge this once, in an unrestrained declaration, and expression of her love. "Man, indeed," thought the Lord of Beauvais within himself, "has nothing else but these poor tokens, or the action of alleviating sorrow, and administering food, clothing the naked, or affording warmth to the freezing: perhaps it may be that in a future state spirits intermingle in love." When both were more composed, the father said, "Eveline, you have ever been a sensible child, but now you have an opportunity of shewing it in deed for my safety; and for your own also. Never must a word escape your lips here of our former residence of my friends, or of your brother: When we are both quite alone, you may then talk of these things, but below, or when anybody is present, you must ever be the little cousin of our good hosts. Be therefore in company rather perfectly quiet, or try to accommodate your behaviour for a short time to these people; for your father’s life depends on our not being discovered and spied out in this place of concealment." "My dear, my poor father," said Eveline, "all this will not be difficult to me, now that you are with me again. You know well how our·great Hector always looked up to my brother, or to Frantz, and from a sign understood, when he was to go, to stay, to lie down, or to eat; the animal has never once made a mistake: Now, dear papa, thus will your little pet dog attend to the slightest sign from your dear eyes and understand, and conceive everything. I was not allowed to speak of many things in the presence of my brother, many things that Martha related I was unable to tell you, because you were angry with my nurse formerly; one must, indeed, learn from childhood to suit one’s self to the world. But shall we see Frantz and Hector again? my brother too? ah, it has ever floated in my mind, that he would one day become downright godless; for no good can come of it, when men approach God as it were too rudely."
The father descended again, and was very much surprised to find a newly arrived guest in his host's room. Old Godfred was at that moment employed in dressing two deep and dangerous wounds in the head of a young lad, who seemed scarcely fourteen years of age. "See now, cousin," cried the talkative Barbara, turning towards him, "as I told you, our Sam-Rocious, as the old gentleman called him, a short time ago, is again seized with a vertigo, a real vagabond, as they call such deserters; who asks here in the village after such and such an one, after a coach and strange travellers, and immediately our dealer in herbs there brings him to our house, because he has something to cure, which is once for all his greatest passibility." The Counsellor of Parliament listened not to the chattering, but examined with the greatest attention the handsome countenance and noble expression of the stranger, who seemed to be yet almost a boy. This sight attracted him the more, as the supposition occured to him, that this wounded youth might probably be that Martin of whose astonishing fearlessness the doctor had spoken. Emotion and gratitude mingled therefore in those feelings of sympathy which drew him towards the sufferer, and he only waited for the others to retire to interrogate him. The surgeon Godfred seemed dissatisfied at the appearance of the wounds, he comforted the youth, and cut his short brown hair still shorter, and stroked his handsome head with tender sympathy. "The Lord has blessed us with money," exclaimed he aloud, "it shall benefit you, not only thee, I was going to say, dear old cousin, but this young patient here as well. I will run directly to the town and fetch better food, for wounds must not be neglected by any means."
A gaunt, haggered-looking man, in a tattered uniform entered, the surgeon sprang joyfully to meet him, and shook his meagre hand so heartily, that his long arm quivered with emotion, and a grim smile of affability passed over his pale face, under a large hat, which he still kept on. The new comer who now perceived the Counsellor, took off his hat, and said: "I did not know, gossip, that you had strangers."
"Not exactly strangers," immediately replied dame Barbara, preventing her husband's reply, "but a dear cousin of ours, Mr. Peter Florval, who possessed a pretty house and garden below there in the fruitful Camargue. The antichrists, the rebellious Camisards have plundered and burnt every thing, and it was with difficulty that he saved himself with our little cousin; he will now remain here contenting himself with our poor house until better times." The stranger drew near, and said solemnly, while he extended his hand to the Counsellor with a certain majestic air: "Venerable Mr. Peter Florval, be but at peace and let not your spirits flag, these times will pass quickly and in less than a year you will be happy again, I have had dreams, which have predicted this and still more to me, and my dreams never deceive, as I know how to give them the right interpretation. The abominable Cavalier has appeared to me, I could have painted him; behold: a head taller than myself, broad, muscular as a hercules, moustaches that he might have twisted twice round his whole head, which he did too, several times, to make himself look still more terrible. He came up to me, he had a guard’s uniform in his hand: sergeant, I shall be once more under the banners of the royal guards, and that shall be the sign, that this day twelve months I shall wear this uniform, and then peace will be in the land, for without my supernatural giant-strength the rebels would be unable to do anything, and would be obliged to surrender. Remember Gerard Dubois, my good Peter, when the thing comes to passe."
Without paying particular attention to the speaker, the surgeon had again devoted himself to the invalid; for whom he had also made up a bed in the hay loft. He looked after the dog too once more, then gave his hand to the Counsellor and fetched his hat and stick. "I will go with you," said Gerard, "if you do not botanise, for I cannot endure that cursed stooping and mountain-climbing." On learning that the walk was only to the neighbouring market-town, he took leave, rejoiced to have an opportunity of accompanying his gossip.
"Look you, dear cousin," commenced the old dame, immediately again, "that great herculus is also the cause, that my old man will not be anything as long as he lives. He seduces him fearfully to idleness, because he himself has nothing to do. He has been formerly a dreampeter in the royal guards, but as he was weak at the chest, he obtained his discharge and a pension, and with a small fortune, he plays the nobleman here, and gives himself such intolerable airs, that he addresses almost every body with familiarity. He was so enamoured with blowing, that they were obliged to pull the dreampet forcibly out of his mouth, for he is phthisical, properly hictical, as my old man calls it, for he looks wicked enough for it. Now the great beast stalks about here, and no one can hear him, because he is so very haughty and moreover wearisome and quite ennuiyant when he speaks of his forefathers. My good calf, however, will suit him, he might easily speak and listen to him in his leisure hours, and often may be thinking of other things at the same time; but this is not the case, he has nothing to think of, and is delighted when the bully goes on with his gasconading to him. Only think, cousin, because he is not permitted to blow any more, he whistles, or lisps a little with his tongue all his old dreampeter airs for hours together into my husband’s ears; when he tells of campaigns, at times, with his mouth screwed up, he imitates the sounds of appelle, and retreat, the attack, every thing; or he beats i with his long stork-fingers on the table, which then is to represent the dulcimer or the harpichord, and thus does he play the harpichord as it is called before my old husband the live-long day and he talks of x sharp and z soft, and crosses and stories of fughes and passages, such gibberdish, that one might loose one’s senses, looking at these two fools wasting their time. The lanky fellow frequently assits in searching for herbs, and makes out of old rags a lineament for wounds, or cooks a mixture, and syrup quackery, and as they are almost always together, he seduces my old husband away from me. They will no longer suffer the long Urian in the public—house, because he drives away all the guests with his blowing and harpchord playing, even the common people are wise enough for that, my Godfred alone suffers himself to be taken in. But this quick dreampeter-blower is an arrant rogue. He tices my old husband out of his chimistical experiments and begins to doctor patients, but he principally makes use of symphonies, which besides is much easier when one is once in the way of it, and the silly peasants therefore begin to have faith in the spoil-trade. What does a physician know of symphony; books and study appertain to that, and no little dreampeters. Moreover, he is for ever telling his stupid dreams. The times are so very bad, because now children, and old people, women and maid-servants, almost every one in the country, when they at once gave up the faith, began with prophecying and prediction to prepare misfortune; formerly my husband was asked this thing and that, he also looked at the hands to see whether they would get rich husbands and so forth; he drew their line of life longer, once even he cast the Hurenskorp of a right noble lady, yonder in Florac, for he was much renowned at that time; but since this new-fashioned superstition has arisen, hardly any one inquires after him, all tell their own fortunes, or run to the unbelieving children, and what can these urchins know of philosophy or chiromantic and particularly of the stars; as if one only needed to take a horn in the mouth in order to obtain any knowledge of astrology and of all the abstract or dried-up sciences, for which purpose a great deal more is required." The old dame would have still run on, if she had not thought that she heard a pot boiling over in the kitchen; she ran therefore hastily out, leaving the Counsellor of Parliament alone with the young man. "My son," began the Lord of Beauvais, "could you be the same of whom a friend of mine has spoken to me? perhaps your name may be Martin?"
"It is so," said the youth, approaching nearer and seizing the Counsellor's hand, over which he bent with deep emotion.
"And this blood ."—
"It is mine, mingled with that of your son." "Thanks then," exclaimed the father and embraced the youth much affected. "You know then who I am?"
"Yes," replied Martin, "in the fight your son pointed you out to me; Vila spoke of you, and now, my honoured sir, as I have discovered you, as I enjoy such kind care here, and as I shall soon be cured, grant that I may remain by you, and be your servant. Your domestic household is far from you, flown, dead, your tender child requires more affectionate, more gentle attendance, than these people here, with all their good will, are able to bestow. It shall be wretched, if you reject my petition."
The Counsellor gazed long on the youth's dark, sparkling eyes. "My dear, beloved son," said he then, "I am indeed bound to you by the dearest ties; oh, ought I not call it friendship cemented with blood? How shall I command you, as you are here the guest of our benevolent host? I dare not now have any attendants, I must conceal myself, I must appear as a poor man of inferior condition. Would you wish to belong to me, so that I might put full confidence in you, you must give me further knowledge of yourself. Who are you? from whence come you? your appearance is too refined and delicate for service to be your vocation; this small, nobly-formed hand has not yet been hardened by any labour, your pale face has never yet been exposed to the inclemency of the seasons; tell me then what is your parentage, your name, how you became a member of this unfortunate rebellion?"
"Dear, beloved, paternal friend," said the pale Martin with a gush of tears, did you but know the excruciating pain you give my heart by these questions, you would spare me. Will it not suffice, that I venerate your family, that it has long been my desire to be at your beloved side? you can guide, you can reform me; let my whole life be consecrated to you. I can, I dare not return, they would seize and sentence me to an ignominious death; my brethren too, the Camisards, distrust me and hold me for a traitor. Why put my poor parents to the blush, by naming them at this moment? They brought me up with tenderness and affection, and the more bitter must their sorrow be, to behold me degenerate, and liable to be executed. They are wealthy, but not of such high rank as to have their name disgraced by my humble services in my attendance on the noblest of men."
"I will believe you, young man!" cried the Lord of Beauvais; "could such an eye as that deceive? Be to me in lieu of child, of son, perhaps soon—" He could not proceed from emotion, and Martin also appeared deeply moved.
The repast was served up and Godfred also returned from his wandering loaded with poultry, and delicate vegetables, Eveline descended, who in her peasant’s attire appeared very attractive; the Counsellor placed a chair for Martin, by the side of Eveline, saying at the same time. "My dear cousins, this young man belongs to me, he is related to me, and whatever expenses you may incur for him, I shall return to you again: only do me the favour to call him also cousin Martin and be kind to him."
"Aye! aye!" smiled Barbara, "last week, I could not have supposed, that all on a sudden my family would thus increase, sit down then, cousin Martin, and you Godfred, take care only not to make blunders before strangers." Grace was said, and the little Eveline made the sign of the cross, just as gravely as she saw the old people do; Godfred had prepared a separate soup for the invalid Martin, and would not allow him to eat of such meats as he deemed injurious to him. Godfred spoke little, he seemed as if he had almost entirely renounced the habit of speech in the society of his too loquacious spouse, but on that account he had imbibed the peculiarity of frequently expressing aloud, when a pause occurred, whatever was at that moment passing in the train of his thoughts, for he listened but seldom to Barbara’s wonderful phraseology.
"The fever will now be kept under," said he; just then Martin perceived that he was the subject of discourse, and the Lord of Beauvais would willingly have inquired more closely into the state of the invalid, if the dame had not again launched out into narrations and far—fetched ideas.
"A little deeper and all would have been over," continued Godfred.
After the repast, Martin, for whom a room had been prepared near the Counsellor of Parliament, lay down. The rustic doctor, who had already fed the dog, now examined his wounds; Eveline and her father retired to the room up stairs.
"Have I done all well?" asked the little girl. "Quite well, my child," answered the father, "I am satisfied with you."
"That is a beautiful rule," recommenced Eveline, "to pray before and after the repast. Why did we not do the same at home?"
"You are not wrong, my child," replied the Counsellor; "for fear of being like tradespeople, or appearing very hypocritical, much that is good is neglected!"
"Ah! what a beautiful prayer the old woman said before dinner," continued Eveline: "All eyes wait upon thee!"—"Do you know too, papa, how at home, when our Hector, or the other dogs, were fed in the hall, all gazed up so flxedly into the eyes of old Frantz? and as he turned his head, so went all the eyes like so many torches, right and left, still peeping at the old man, without ever blinking, until they at length obtained their portions. No other animal, no ox, cat, nor horse can so affectionately gaze into the eyes as the faithful dog. Even the smallest child is ashamed, when it begs so fervently. That sick dog looks thus hungrily at old Godfred, and immediately shuts its eyes, when dame Barbara glances that way. That is indeed a glorious thought, that here, in all towns, in all France, in all countries, and in the whole world, all hungry eyes, young and old, rise up to our Heavenly Father so devoutly, so confidingly, and it must also be pleasing to him, mighty and great as he is, when he beholds prayers and confidence shining from all parts wherever he turns. But indeed all men are not, or perhaps at all times grateful. Ah! dearest papa, how often have I, in my short little life, already been ungrateful to you! Forgive me, pray, good papa, how often have I sulked, when you would not give me a toy, or when you have kept me steadily to work, for then I forgot so intentionly in my ill-humour and wickedness, how much I ought to thank you, how you love me, and care for me. That God exists and gives me every thing, I have often forgotten the whole day long. But I will become better and more reasonable."
The father took his child in his arms, and his heart was gladdened by the prattle of simplicity.