by Ludwig Tieck
CHAPTER V.
When the night was nearly elapsed and that Roland had long with-drawnwith his troop into the distance, the little escorting band ofCamisards was suddenly surprised, out of an ambush, by a considerablemultitude of royalists. It was in the direction of Florac, where Vilawith his friend had intended to seek a place of refuge, which he deemedsafe. The confusion was general, and it seemed, that the destruction ofthe little troop of Camisards, as well as that of the travellers, wasabsolutely inevitable. During the firing and cries, Vila sprang fromthe carriage with pistols in his hand, and the Counsellor of Parliamentfollowed him, without knowing clearly what was going to happen. By thegrey light of the morning it was discovered that the attack was givenfrom a valley lying sideways; the travellers were on the heights. TheCounsellor of Parliament, who had quitted the carriage the last, sawimmediately, that all were engaged in a melee, the royalists seemed togive way, when a second troop rushed out of the underwood of whom itwas difficult to decide whether they were soldiers, or rebels. Beforehowever the Counsellor was able to gain any certainty, or to form anyresolution, the coachman laid hold of him, pressed him urgently to getinto the carriage, and as he saw the old man's hesitation, he liftedhim into it almost forcibly. "Better without the master, than to perishhere with him, he will soon find us again," cried he in the utmostanxiety, and whipped the horses, so that they started off snorting infull gallop over hill and dale. After some time the Lord of Beauvaisrecovered his recollection and with much argument and dispute, hecompelled the obstinate man to stand still again. On the summit of amountain, from whence they could overlook the whole surroundingcountry, they awaited the one, who had remained behind. Of the combatnothing more was to be discovered: it seemed as if far in the distancea band of fugitives was flying; but nothing could be clearlydistinguished. At length they espied two riders emerge from a copse,who pursued the same road. They approached nearer and the doctor wasnow seen waving a handkerchief and working his way up to the summit,mounted on a little horse. A young lad with his head bound up wasfollowing him. "You did well," cried he, when he arrived at the top,"to retreat immediately at the commencement of the battle; that isdull, insipid business, which does not suit us civilians."
"There Martin, for such is your name, take the nag again to yourselfand do what you will with him." With these words he dismounted, andbetook himself to the carriage, where he was first obliged to listen tomany self-praises from his coachman, who wished to appropriate tohimself the whole credit of this clever retreat, and on account ofwhose over-haste, the Lord of Beauvais abashed, entreated the pardon ofhis old friend. "It was no over-haste," cried Vila, "but the mostprudent that could have occurred, I ought to have remained sitting inthe carriage, for my little bit of firing was like a drop in the streamcompared to the bravery of the Camisards; with them none of us canengage. These knaves understand no reason, whether balls fly, or swordsglitter, it is to them mere pastime, and the smallest boys, who arescarcely weaned from their mother's breast, are just as much infatuatedwith this devilry as any of the oldest grey beards. I have seen that,for once quite close, which I could not have believed by hearsay; butnow that I have witnessed it, it is enough for the rest of my life."
They stopped at a lonely inn to refresh the horses, and while they wereenjoying their breakfast the doctor proceeded to relate the sequel ofthe event to his old friend. "How fortunate." he commenced, "that youwere not present at our battle, for only think, your Edmond continuedto accompany us, he would not be dissuaded from attending in person toyour safety. When the scene now opened he was ever foremost. There wasa young lad, who then came forward. 'From whence come you?' shouted theCamisards.--'What's that to you,' answered the impudent fellow,--'Youare a traitor.'--'Wherefore insult,' cried the little man, 'honestpeople act not thus.'--'Hew him down!' cried another.--'Hew me down;'said the hop of my thumb, 'when I would sacrifice my life foryou.'--'Who art thou?' was again reiterated.--'My name is Martin,further it is not necessary for you to know.'--Inquiry was cut short byfiring and hewing down. It came near me, and I felt a goose-skin allover my body. I had already spent my powder without, perhaps, havinghit any one, when the gigantic Lacoste took compassion on my trouble,and hewed down the knaves together as if they had been merely poppyheads. But Edmond who tried to cut his way through to me, got into adesperate melee. Two dragoons fell upon him, and struck furiously; butbefore they were able to hit, behold, my dear friend--the little rascalMartin, cut down one of them from his horse, and shot the other at thesame moment almost through the breast, as if the urchin had beenaccustomed to nothing else all his life long. The stout Lacoste, thedog as he styles himself, was not tardy either, and your son lostneither courage nor strength; the Camisards were like so many devils,and thus those of the true faith were obliged to leave the field to us,on which a great number of their friends remained lying.--I could notdiscern my poor, dear son; he may very likely have gone with the mainbody of the troops; if they have not already slain, or taken himprisoner."
"And Martin! the boy, of whom you spoke, who so valiantly saved myson's life?" inquired the Lord of Beauvais.
"Martin;" cried the doctor aloud: "where then do you hide yourself?yes, that's true indeed, you are both indebted to the stripling. Hewore, when he entered, a thick handkerchief round his head, it may havebeen from a blow that reached him; after he had rescued your son, hereceived a right deep cut in the head again from a sabre, so that astream of blood gushed out. As if for a change, he wiped his nose andwithout ceremony bound a second turban over the first, though he turnedghastly pale from it.--Martin! Where then is the rascal!" But there wasno one to answer his call. "Thus is it with foolish youth," said thedoctor vexedly: "he has misunderstood me about taking back the horse,and in his simplicity returned immediately. Poor youth! I trust nofever may be added to it."
"It would make me miserable," said the Counsellor, "if I should not beable to testify my thanks to the dear boy. If I were persuaded that hewas suffering, ill, helpless, or dying, I should weep tears of blood."
"It will not turn out so bad as that," muttered Vila chagrined: "Whyshould the oaf run off thus, as if----Aye! Aye! at least I would havebound up his wounds for him. But now, the devil will not catch himdirectly. Such Camisard webs are usually formed of very toughmaterials."
"They were compelled to proceed again, in order to reach with safetythe solitary village in the mountain heights." "You must know," saidthe doctor, when they were again seated in the coach, "that it ismerely to an old maidservant of mine I am now conducting you, a simpleperson, who served me long, but who is, however, so faithful andhonest, that it is almost a scandal, what perhaps many free thinkingexquisites would say of her. She has married a gardener, or peasant,who also plays the surgeon in the mountains. There you will pass for anold invalid cousin, whose house and farm the Camisards have set fireto; you will find your daughter there already, the intelligent childhowever must not betray you; the husband and wife would sufferthemselves to be torn to pieces rather than give out any thing else ofyou. If you will but sit half an hour in the room with Barbara, sheherself will take you for her cousin, and there will be no furthernecessity for lying. That is why such things often succeed better inthis class than in a higher one: education they have none, but theypossess the proper capacity for belief. Only lose not courage yourself,and in that solitude there do not become a timid hare's foot. All mayyet be well." With these and similar conversations they, at length,arrived in the afternoon at the village in the centre of the mountains.The houses lay dispersed midway, or above the declivity of themountain; each had a garden and shrubbery attached to it, and thechurch situated on the highest point, looked down on the lowlycottages. The little dwellings after which the travellers were obligedto inquire, stood at the extremity of the village, immediately over arapidly flowing brook, a kitchen-garden was in front and a few chesnut,ash, and plantain-trees spread a shade and freshness around. When thetravellers alighted, the rather elderly hostess advanced t
o the littlevestibule to meet them. "Welcome! right welcome!" said she halfjestingly, but with the heartiest good will: "So the old gentleman ismy cousin? I rejoice in the acquisition of his relationship." "Where ismy daughter?" asked the Lord of Beauvais.
"Hush! hush!" said Barbara with a significant look; "my little cousinsleeps in the room above--which you too will now inhabit, my muchhonoured cousin."
"That's all right," said the doctor: "only study nicely yourexpressions; and what is sick Joseph doing?"
"Ah, heaven!" said the old woman, he did not get over his fright, "thepoor man has died at the next village below there, for when he wasobliged to make off so quickly, helter skelter with my little cousin,and had lost his master, who had taken another road, and that thepolice officers became so troublesome, and the militia would alsointerfere, then all that affected his liver and spleen, and he died ofit.
"Poor Joseph!" sighed the Counsellor.
"But pray, make yourselves comfortable," pursued the old hostess,--"sitdown then cousin, poor man, there on that soft chair; you must nowforget, that you were formerly accustomed to anything better."
"Well," asked Vila, "and the household, how fares it? what is yourhusband doing?"
"Thanks for the kind inquiry," answered the chatterer; "Ah! dear God!nothing can be done with him, he will remain a boaster his life long."
"Wait until he comes a little to years," said Vila, "his petulance willthen pass away."
"Ah good heaven!" exclaimed she, "he is already past fifty; it does notdepend upon that, God has permitted him to arrive at years ofdiscretion, youth no longer oppresses him, but he is past all hope ofamendment."
"Is he idle then? or does he squander your substance?"
"No," continued she quickly, "that must not be said against him, hespends nothing on himself, scarcely will he allow himself the extremenecessaries, and as to running about, working and lending a hand, he isnot remiss, but he lays by no store. Indeed times are no longer as theywere formerly."
"You get no profit then?"
"Just so, most respected doctor. Look you, here among us in thecountry, my old husband is called nothing, far and wide, but the cleverman. Where an animal is sick, where a man is infirm, there is hecalled, and it must be true, that heaven has placed a very peculiarblessing in his hands, for almost whatever he merely touches becomesbetter. Where his misicaments, or his proscriptions fail, he is thencompelled to have recourse to symphonies, or what you call thesympathretical system, and that is always among the peasantry mostliked and most fructifying."
"You have then learned something from him," observed Vila.
"Should not something have devolved to me in so many years?" repliedshe modestly. "But if he would only not do so much withoutremuneration, all would be well and good. Look you, instead of plantingcabbage, our little garden is full of learned rampons, and horse radishand onions with Latin names, which he then mingles or distils, as hecalls it, and economises powders and opiates out of them that cannot beequalled. But they know already throughout the whole neighbourhood thathe is a fool, for they frequently knock him up at midnight and summonhim to a sick child, or to a tom-cat or taby-cat that has eaten ordrank too much. And when they are to pay, the service is forgotten andthere is no money in the coffers. 'They are poor people,' says thegood-for-nothing fellow, 'they have already misery enough; and God bepraised, we have never yet been in want of bread.'
"Thus was he ever," remarked Vila. "I thought he would become morereasonable, and learn to think a little of himself. He was always toodevout."
"Devout!" exclaimed the wife: "ah heavens! your honour, we now come inearnest to the foul spot. No, Monsieur Vila, religion, or what peopleso call christianity, he is utterly deficient in."
"How then has he thus fallen into error?" asked the old man.
"The Lord knows best," answered she, "who has created him so confused.He will ruin himself yet with his curing. Look you, it is not alone hiscompanions of the faith, the Catholic Christians that he succourswithout remuneration, if they only give him the least hint of poverty;nay also--God be with us--the Huguenots and even the Camisards heattends, as one of us, if he can find an opportunity. The wounded whomthey ought to have taken off to Florac swarmed here; look you, theGod-forgetting man quartered, healed and fed them and occupied himselfso much with them, that they were able afterwards to run off in health,and I will not answer for it, that he did not also give them money andthe worth of money to take with them on the road. No, not a spark oftrue genuine faith and of proper christianity is in the man."
"He is probably a sort of Samaritan," said Vila affected.
"You are right, good sir," continued Barbara, "Samariter, or Samoid,and if he only does not turn out an anibaptist in his old days. Wouldyou believe it, six weeks ago, when they gave up so many of those poorsinners to justice at Florac, thither did he run the first, and boundup the wounds of the sick and set their broken limbs. Husband, said I,they will certainly be put to the wheel, and hanged, there is nothingmore to heal in them. Then said the simple fellow, God or nature hadtaken so much pains to suffer their joints, bones, muscles, and I knownot what else to grow, that one is obliged out of charity to spare andtake care of them as long as they will last. Look you, he has suchenthusiasm stuff in his head that, as the saying is, he is Jack inevery corner, where there is only any thing to doctor, should it evenbe the greatest criminal, there he is."
"I shall read him a sermon on that point," said Vila.
"That's right!" cried she joyfully, "scold him a skin full, for healways says, that I am too stupid; and my persuasions tend to nothing."The woman had got up several times to look at the little bed."Perhaps, you have a sick child there?" asked the doctor.--"Child!"answered she somewhat mockingly! "quite otherwise! only look at thepresent!"--when she removed the cushion, there lay a cur dog withbandaged paws.--"The history," commenced the narrator, "correcterisesexactly the simple man. The people about here often make him theirlaughing stock, because he is such a good-humoured, easy fellow; and sothe smith at length gave him his dog to doctor, having in a passionbroken its hind-paws in two with a hammer. My Godfred wrapped up thedog and dragged it home to me, bound up its wounds himself, laid himdown, raised him up, suffered him not to run about, bound the cushiontight over him, made him a kind of maskinnery for his legs, because hesaid the dog would not be taken proper care of at home, and that hemust have it under his own eyes. Well, my good smith's dog becamehealthy again, and went off without saying good day, or by your leave.That may be about two months ago; last week, towards evening, somethingcame scratching at our room door; come in! no one opened; but thescraping and scratching continued: so my Godfred opened the door andlooked out, in springs our old smith's dog like a fool and behind himcame hobling the diseased thing, the cur there with a broken legdragging behind him, and the smith's dog danced and sprang round myhusband, as if to beg, and thus supplicated him that he would alsodoctor his comrade. In my rage, I seized the botanix stick from my oldman to cudgel the curs out of the room. But he, as if affected, said,'Never could I have imagined so much understanding and gratitude in adog,' and immediately took him in his arms, examined his foot, bandagedit, and busied himself about the animal. Gratitude! cried I, youcall it thus, if the bull dog recommenders you to the cur which willafterwards spread the story about among all the dogs in the country, sothat finally with all the fame of dog-pratix, you will no longer beable to stand, or walk? But all in vain! there is the beast, and I mustattend to it, when the old fool is not at home."
The husband now returned, his arm full of herbs, which he immediatelycarried into a closet; he then saluted his guests quietly and affably,and before he sat down he looked after his four-legged patient, whichin gratitude licked his hands, and looked fondly in his face. With thegreatest composure and as if there was nothing remarkable in it, herebandaged the foot, placed the invalid again in its bed, which he alsobound fast, then pressed its head down on the cushion, as if tointimate that it must now go to sleep. The do
g seemed also tounderstand him, for he only blinked a few times up at his benefactor,and then resigned himself to sleep.
"Your wife here," commenced the doctor, "complains of you, that you donot think enough of your own concerns, you cure every body, even dogsand cats, and receive nothing for it, for this dog as little as for theformer; have they not paid your bills yet?"
"I made none for them," said the old man with the driest gravity.
"Then I must make them out for you; you negligent fellow!" exclaimedVila vehemently: "What; write out prescriptions for nothing? truly youdegrade our whole art. Take this then on account of what the poorsinners, the wounded, the beggar-train, and the oppressed race ofanimals owe you up to the present."--He threw to the astonished andperplexed individual a heavy purse of gold, and without waiting for histhanks, he hastened out, and was already seated in the carriage beforethe rustic practioner had recovered from his astonishment. The Lord ofBeauvais gazed with emotion after his rapidly departing friend.