Read Ebook: Monsieur Judas: A Paradox by Hume Fergus

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1821 lines and 61199 words, and 37 pages

THE

REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES,

AN HISTORICAL NOVEL

IN TWO VOLUMES.

BY LUDWIG TIECK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY MADAME BURETTE.

LONDON: D. NUTT, FLEET STREET. DUBLIN: J. CUMMING.--EDINBURGH: BELL AND BRADFUTE. 1845.

PREFACE.

A predilection for the productions of TIECK and a desire to introduce this remarkable work of the great German Poet to a larger circle of the reading world: were the chief inducements, on the part of the translator, for causing it to appear in an English form. As far as regards the manner in which the translation itself has been executed, the writer will be allowed to affirm, that the original has been, in every sense, as closely adhered to, as the idiom of the English language would admit of; to say, however, whether those efforts have been attended with any corresponding success, must be humbly left to the judgment of the discerning critic.

HISTORICAL NOTICE

OF THE

"REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES."

THE REBELLION IN THE CEVENNES.

"Is Edmond not yet come home?" asked his father of the servant, as he walked up and down the great hall of his country mansion.

"No, my Lord," answered the old man, "and it were well that he returned before evening; for a storm is gathering over the mountains, which bodes us no good."

At this moment a little girl entered with her toys, and sat down at the large hall table. "The storm is raging again so fearfully up in the mountains," said she carressingly, "that I will stay near you, dear papa, I cannot bear such weather, why should there be such noise and thunder in the world?"

"Aye, truly," rejoined Frantz, the old domestic, "and all the misery that has oppressed us for so many years past and to which we see no end!"

"He only knows, who has thus afflicted us," replied the father, sighing; "and he will accomplish his own wise purpose."

"Papa!" exclaimed the child, looking up from her play, "our good Eustace, the charcoalburner, who used to bring me such pretty little stones from the wood, and who lately brought the large wild bird, which he said, was a thrush; the black good man is now become a satan too."

"What art thou chattering there about!" said her father angrily; "who told you this?"

"Martha, my nurse," replied the child; "for he is now in rebellion against his God and his king, until they take him prisoner and burn, or otherwise put him to death, for he will no longer be a Christian; Martha said so this morning, while she was dressing me, and she intends going to the town next week to see the other satans put to death; pray, allow her to go, dear papa? she thinks it will more particularly confirm and strengthen her in her faith, for she too has gone a little astray, and has almost fallen into evil ways. The evil one is very powerful in the neighbourhood, particularly up yonder in the mountains, he is quite at home there; we are much better down here. Papa, the figs are becoming ripe already in the garden."

"Thou chatterer!" said her father, in a tone of displeasure, "I shall take care that you are not so much alone with the old woman."

"It is true enough," interrupted the domestic, "Eustace is up in the mountains with Roland, and has joined the Camisards, his wife and children sit mourning in their desolate home; they are destitute of food, and dread being arrested and, perhaps, condemned on his account."

"I believe," said the Lord of Beauvais, "that you have already relieved them, my good Frantz, if not, do it now; give them what necessaries they may require, but do it prudently, that we may not be called upon to answer for it; for in this general affliction of want and confusion, every thing is suspicious. A man may do as he pleases provided he becomes not a tyrant, and places himself on a level with the executioner."

"Like our Marshal," exclaimed the old man impetuously, "like our Intendant; like the lords there in Nismes, who in the name of God sacrifice their brethren. I have sent some relief to these poor people already, and will provide them with more; it is only a drop of water in the sea, but still in this distress it will comfort a few poor creatures."

The servant retired, and as her father turned a mournful glance towards the mountains, his little daughter approached him smilingly, kissed his hand, and said: "Papa, pray let not you and Frantz became wicked and rebels, for then brother Edmond and I would go to heaven quite alone, and I should not like that; I can never agree with Edmond, he is so terribly pious, you are much better, though your faith may not be of the best kind."

"There comes Edmond along the garden," said the child, "it will be better not to say anything to him about the wicked Eustace, for we shall have noise and disputes again; he does not like such things at all."

Edmond entered, bowed, put his gun in the corner, and laid aside his pouch. A large dog came bounding up to the little girl, who played with him, and held up some pieces of broken bread.

"Where have you been this morning, my son?" inquired his father.

"At the Intendant's, at the Lord of Basville's," replied Edmond without raising his eyes. "Yonder in Alais, where he will stop for a few days in consequence of the trial of the rebels. He commends himself to you, but he is rather surprised that you should have refused the appointment offered, and thinks that the Marshal would understand it still less."

"The Marshal, my son," began the father, not without emotion, "there are many things that he cannot understand. I thank my God that I retired to this solitude more than ten years ago, for were I still in office, my conscience would compel me to resign it now, and that perhaps would be still more incomprehensible to these two valiant gentlemen. I neither envy nor admire their patriotism and God preserve our family from the fate of rendering such services to the king. Therefore, my dear, my beloved son, I once more give you a paternal warning to abandon these men, it would send me to the grave to see you act like them. What do they require of us? no open, direct service, no assistance which becomes citizens, and which all honorable men are ready to render: but we are required to turn spies and betray our fellow-subjects and our countrymen, to give them up to the rack and to the stake, and to rejoice in the inhumanity which depopulates the land, and congratulate ourselves at having incurred the hatred of God and of all mankind, and if we enquire into this too closely, we are looked upon as traitors to our king and country."

"Is it ever permitted to a subject to enquire?" hastily rejoined Edmond, "I am aware of your sentiments, my father, and I regret them; but ought the subject to enquire into this? May I be allowed to ask where is the submission, where are the ties that bind him to the state, where the holiness, the sublimity, the piety, the honor by which we are men and citizens, and upon which our virtue and existence repose; if I am permitted to say: here I renounce my obedience to you, this you dare not command, though you were my king; though my country, even heaven itself should speak to me through your revered lips."

"You are right, my son," replied the old man, "and because you ask this, you will ever be in the right; the ruler should with humble piety and with godly fear keep within these limits, respect the conscience of his subjects, keep inviolate the promises, the oaths which his noble predecessors made, and which he has repeated after them, and not hurl with his own hand the burning brand into his granaries, by raising up extortioners, judges, and persecutors!--And woe to those, who thus abuse the weakness of his age, his pliable conscience and their own influence; and woe to him who is appointed to fill these offices to slaughter good and pious men; but tenfold woe to the upright man, who from ambition, or a mistaken sense of duty, advances and sets fire to the stake, and extends the rack still more horribly."

"It grieves me, my father," said Edmond, suppressing his anger, "I am overwhelmed with inexpressible anguish at being compelled to feel myself so immeasurably distant from you in all that is dearest, holiest, most natural and nearest to my heart! From the moment that I was capable of thinking and feeling, our ancient and holy religion has been to me the most sacred, the most sublime, in her alone my heart lives, all my wishes and aspirations are brightly reflected in this clear crystal; this which love itself has proclaimed, this which is itself love, eternal, invisible, to us lost creatures become visible by descending in the form of a child, as our brother and nearest neighbour, and then suffering so painful a death for our wanderings and in this most devoted sacrifice thinking only of us, and of all our infirmities and corruptions in life and in death:--ought I ever to forget this, can I disdain it; my heart which this love consumes with gratitude; ought it to suffer this transcendent miracle of love to be annihilated, to be trampled in the dust, and all that is most holy reduced with scornful impiety to ruins, in order to associate it with all that is most contemptible?"

"Who requires that, my son?" exclaimed the old man; "even Turks and Heathens would and could not demand it, still less our brethren, who only desire to approach in plainness and simplicity that incomprehensible being, who, notwithstanding his immensity, so intimately and so closely connects himself with all our hearts in love and simplicity."

"In this portrait," said the son, "it would indeed be impossible to recognise those, who murder our priests, set fire to our sanctuaries, rob the peasant, and if they are victorious, which God forbid, would extend their heresy with fire and sword over the land."

"You see it thus, my son," said the old man, "because you will see it so; we misunderstand each other in this affair, for you resist conviction, and certainly as long as you are governed by this feeling, you will never possess that dispassionate clearness of mind, which according to my judgment, is necessary to render us susceptible of religion; and this alone is the true spirit of christianity, for which, it is true, you struggle with enthusiasm, but you cannot live in true devoted love."

The son rose indignantly from his seat, and walked hastily up and down the saloon, then he seized his father's hand, looked at him earnestly, and said: "Enthusiasm? with this word then, with this vague sound you have satisfied yourself, and responded to my sorrowing spirit. This is it exactly what the world desires, what the despairing one means whose heart is dead. Is it not so, the martyrs and heroes of the christian church were merely enthusiasts then?--and those who joyfully shed their blood and endured martyrdom for Him, to whom they could not offer too great a sacrifice of love and suffering, were fanatics too, because they were deficient in understanding and composure? All these miracles of love are merely the crude wanderings of delirious passion, which those celestial spirits have contemplated from on high, not with emotion and joy, but only with compassionate smiles, and those who expired in ecstasy are immediately greeted with grave looks and admonishing reproof! Oh, rather than discipline my throbbing heart to such presumption and vile incredulity, I would tear it palpitating from my breast, trample it under foot and throw it to the dogs for food."

"We will drop the subject," said the father, half angry, half moved, while he took a large book from the mantel-piece.

"I blame not your sentiments, far be it from me to censure what is sacred, but you do not know what it is, you have yet to learn that greatness and truth lie only on the verge, on the transition-point of this feeling; as we have beheld them in their ecstasy, we must draw back with timidity and reverence; but should the lying spirit entice us in our spiritual revellings to higher enthusiasm and visions, we sink under mental voluptuousness, and delusive images, fearful fancies take prisoners soul and heart, love dies within us; and you will be obliged to go through this sad probation, my son, and God knows if the issue does not leave you a seared, an empty heart, or perhaps a hypocrite, for thy path through life will not be smooth and easy."

With these words, the Lord of Beauvais sat down to read, his son took his hand and said in a gentle tone, "No, no, my father, let us go on with this subject, which once for all occupies my whole life. Is it possible that this reading, this reasoning of Plato can interest you at this moment? Am I permitted to feel as you do, am I not obliged to blindly obey, if moreover, this obedience accord with my sentiments?"

"St! st!" exclaimed the little girl playfully, and the dog ran barking towards the door, and could only be silenced by his master's whistling to him. "Is it not true," said Eveline, "that Hector is entirely of the true faith, for he might be so easily set upon the Camisards?"

"Silly child!" exclaimed Edmond reddening with anger, the father shook his head at her, but she continued: "Edmond said even now that he would give his heart to Hector to eat, therefore I may well consider him a very peculiar sort of dog." "Come Hector, they always do us injustice;" thus saying, she took the dog by the collar and both went into the garden.

"I understand you not, my father," commenced Edmond after a pause, "you are religious, you visit the church with devotion, I must consider you attached to it, however often a suspicion to the contrary may occur to me, and yet can you contemplate it with composure, that destruction threatens this our church, and does she not in the most gracious manner fulfil all the desires and yearnings of our hearts? I feel ever incensed, when many priests urge so strenuously the necessity of good works, virtue and morality; Heathens can teach us that, and our very reason exacts it from us; however much these must be respected, it is the progressive development and formation of the miraculous that I perceive in history which always so powerfully affect my heart. In the distance lies the first miracle dark and indistinct; but veiled entirely in love. The gift of prophecy was not withdrawn after the apostles; saints and martyrs followed in the steps of the departed, and fulfilled that which the former predicted, the mystery of love is interminable, and can only be explained by a new mystery. That the explanation of the holy sacrament should be sanctioned by decrees of the church, disturbs me not, while to the worldly only it appears a mere temporal event; for in the insignificant germ lie already concealed the blossom and sweetness of the fruit, which become ripe only by that which we call time. Thus it happened that at a later period the forebodings of the soul were fulfilled, and she, who had given birth to the Saviour was worshipped as heavenly; festivals were celebrated in her honour. Thus the prophetic song from the mouth of one prophet descends through all ages, and is never silent, even to futurity. Festival follows festival, temples and images follow statues, posterity will turn with deep emotion to the love of the present, as we enraptured trace the past, only through this mutability, through this re-echoing of the Eternal Word is the truth made manifest to me, through this alone am I convinced that it went forth in former times, by this means, that it apparently changes, as the leaf into the blossom, the flower into the fruit, and the fruit yields again the seed of the flower, it is a permanent, an eternal truth; through this endless, this inexhaustible abundance, resembling an ocean of love, by anticipating each individual sense, by quenching every desire, by satisfying the hungry: by this only it becomes something simple, authentic and independent, and I abhor the interpretations of those innovators, who would treat these miraculous events as a tale, who venture to call our mass with its symbols, lights, temples, pomp, and music idolatry, and by thus warring against the most sacred things, according to the feelings of my heart, they war against God himself, and they must be rooted out and destroyed like noxious, venemous reptiles."

Edmond had listened to this long harangue of his father, without testifying any signs of impatience; at length said he, sighing deeply: "We are standing then on two opposite shores, a wide stream between us; I understand your meaning so little, that I even shrink with fear from it, for according to that, our holy religion may vanish in the empty folly of every fool, who has the arrogance to set himself up for a teacher, and just enough ability to mislead the ignorant, novelty-hunting populace; thus then might indeed the sacred edifice of the state with its, by heaven itself, consecrated representative sink into the dust, if every malcontent is permitted to dispute with him those rights by which the king is king, and if lie finds an opportunity to rob him of them. Then come chaos and anarchy bringing in their train the hellish fiends of murder, vengeance, fire, and sword, in order to destroy and slay the friends of the throne, the nobles and the priests. Oh! my father, to this only then their doctrine tends. Can my king be no more to me my visible god on earth, to whom I blindly and unreservedly submitted my whole heart with all its impulses, can I no longer believe, that to him alone belongs all responsibility? In this case I can neither act, nor think. Must my church, for which innumerable miracles, and thousands of the sublimest spirits speak and confirm it, yield to contemptible communities of yesterday, out of whatever corner they creep, who seek with gross deception and delirious ravings to cover and decorate their pitiful wretchedness;--no, I would just as soon fly to the unenlightened heathens of the North Pole, and attach myself to their absurd faith."

"Miracles!" exclaimed the old Lord, "and what then do you call miracles? the dull eye cannot discern them, just because they are too great and too mighty. That these poor people, who were perfectly content if they only had their hardly-earned dry bread, and who in the recesses of their mountains revered every commander as a deity;--that these should venture to defy the Intendant, the Marshal with his armies, and even the king himself;--that these poor, common men were enabled to sacrifice their wives, their children, and their lives, and die martyrs for their doctrine: Is this then no miracle? A miserable band without education, without arms, without having ever seen service, led by young men, who scarcely know what a sword is, should defeat regular troops and experienced commanders in more than one battle; and, sometimes too, one against four: Is that no miracle? How, if these rebels, for such they are in reality, should desire to found the truth of their doctrine upon this, what have you to oppose against them?"

"Rather mention too," said Edmond, with bitterness, "their prophets, their ecstasies, their absurd convulsive contortions, which the young learn from the old and deceive and grossly lie with the name of God on their lips."

"My son," said his father, sighing, while he gazed with emotion on the dark eyes of his son. "In all unrestrained passions man is transformed into an inexplicable but fearful miracle, then becomes realised and identified with him, what the wildest fancy itself cannot imagine more irrational. Let every man beware of this state, still less let him seek it, as you do, Edmond; your fire will consume you. Go not yonder so often to the lady of Castelnau: this will nourish your enthusiasm and destroy you." Edmond quitted the hall abruptly without saying a word. The old man looked after him, sighed and said to himself, "Ardent love and bigotry encouraged by an enthusiastic woman what may they not effect in our times in this poor youth; who knows the misery that is still before me!"

"For God's sake, my Lord," exclaimed old Frantz, rushing in, "what is the matter with our son; there he is running up the vineyard without a hat, and the storm is fast gathering. Oh, if you had but not scolded him! He will never indeed give up the lady!"

"How do you know," asked the father, "that the conversation related to her?"

"He ran by me," replied Frantz, "and looked at me with that very peculiar, fierce expression, which he only has, if any one speaks of the Lady Christine; then only he stamps his feet; he has thrown down the apple-tree there, and kicked back his own Hector that was running after him, which he never does at any other time; some harm will yet befall our Edmond."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet