The Scourge of God

Meanwhile her orders were carried out strenuously wherever Protestants harboured, especially so in the Midi. "Saccagez ces chiens des Huguenots, saccagez les, c'est la volonté du roi," her minister, Louvois, wrote. "Drive out ce monstre de l'hérésie, ces chaires de pestilence, ces synagogues de Satan," exclaimed the priest. And it was done.

Swiftly to all the jails in the warm south, to the galleys waiting at Marseilles for their victims, to the lamp-posts on the town and village bridges, to the fuel in the market places, to the axe, the wheel and the rope, the Protestants were hurried.

Also the dragonnades began. The dragoons, les cravats, were quartered in houses, sometimes in Protestant churches. Wives and daughters were so treated that, to hide the bitterness of their shame and to escape the horror of ever meeting their father's or brother's glances again, they took their own lives. They need not have feared those glances, for, the jails being soon full to overflowing, hundreds of male Protestants were huddled off in crazy brigs and tartans and snows to the Mississippi and New France generally, where, if they were not drowned on the way, they mostly perished from the effects of the climate or by the hands of the Natchez.

For sixteen years it had gone on. By the end of that time the Protestant churches were all closed and the Protestant ministers forbidden to perform their services under pain of death; scores, indeed, had been executed for doing to, while still scores more, at the risk of death, performed those services and held Divine worship in the mountains and woods. Also none were allowed to quit the land who could be prevented from doing so, though a hundred thousand did manage to escape to other countries, high-born women and girls being disguised in most cases as muleteer's boys; high-born men of the oldest blood in France-such men as Ruvigny and Duquesne-driving pigs and asses toward the frontier, or disguised as pilgrim monks, or pushing handcarts full of fruit and vegetables or Nîmes serges, which they pretended they were desirous of selling. But these were people of wealth, people who left behind them in their flight the châteaux in which countless generations of their race had been born, left also their rich furniture and equipages and costly plate and silks and satins, and the woods and forests and vineyards to which they had been born the heirs and to the enjoyment of which they had looked forward for the rest of their lives. Or they were skilled mechanics and artisans who could gain a livelihood wherever they found themselves. But for the poorer sort there was no flight possible; if they left France they must die of hunger in other lands. They had no money, could speak no tongue but their own, often knew no trade by which they could earn their bread; understood nothing beyond the breeding of cattle and the arts of husbandry. Yet they, too, fled from persecution, though in a different manner. High up in the gloomy and, to strangers, inaccessible plateaux of the Cévennes-a region of sterile mountains on which for six months in the year the snow sometimes falls unceasingly, while for the other six the heat is almost the heat of the tropics-they sought a refuge. Here in this mountainous region, which covers an extent of one hundred and twenty miles, they found a home, here worshipped God in their own fashion and unmolested, which was all they asked, yet saw with horror, when disguised they ventured down into the plains, the misery that was still overwhelming those of their own faith. Also they knew that plans were being formed for their extermination; that from Paris was coming an army under Julien, a bloodthirsty soldier who had once been a Protestant like themselves, but who was now a convert possessing all the tigerish fury of the convert against those whom he had deserted; knew that Du Chaila was the most brutal of all priests as Baville was the most cruel of all rulers. No wonder that they groaned over the ferocities inflicted on any of their number who were caught below in the plains. The capture of the girl Fleurette and of the guide Masip ignited the flame of revenge which had long been smouldering. But even then, when they descended to Montvert, it was more with the desire of rescuing the victims than aught else. In their hearts there had been at first no intention of murdering either the abbé or the curé of Frugéres. Moreover, it was not against Louis that they rebelled but against his Church and the priests of that Church.

But Du Chaila had caused the dragoons to fire on them, and the first shot from the soldiers' musketoons had roused their passion; also it brought about a conflict of horrible cruelty and bloodshed which the passage of years alone extinguished. For now that war of retaliation had commenced which two of Louis' field marshals were successively unable to quench, and which a third only succeeded in doing, more by diplomacy and tolerance than by steel or ball.

* * * * * * *

"What has he on his breast?" asked Baville, leaning over the dead priest and pointing to something white that gleamed in the light cast by the flames from the burning church.

"A scrap of paper, Monsieur l'Intendant," the dragoon who had taken the most prominent part among his fellows replied, "with writing upon it. It is pinned to his vest."

"Give it to me."

Then he read aloud, not heeding, apparently, whether either Buscarlet or Martin heard the words:

"This paper replaces another containing the names of a score of men to be denounced to the monster, Baville. The man has gone before his God. Baville will follow."

"Will he?" the Intendant said to himself in a low, clear voice, which all heard. "Will he? Doubtless some day, but not now. For a surety not before these wolves have been tracked to their caves and exterminated-as they shall be-as they shall be."

And all watching him in the lurid light cast from the burning tower, saw that the white-gloved hands were opened and clenched again twice, as though he had the throats of those wolves he spoke of within them.

CHAPTER XI

"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."