The proof of the apparatus having been made in that manner, we were perfectly tranquil regarding the success of our voyagers’ descent. Their departure was fixed for two days thereafter.
However, on seeing the moment of their separation so imminent, the voyagers were besieged by troubles and anxieties. They were about to quit a country where all physical needs, and all those of the heart and mind were completely met, and the pain and pleasure of an individual were felt by the entire society. In brief, the same soul seemed common to all the brothers of that great society.
What would they find in exchange of an abode heaped with so many favors? A country entirely unknown for fifty years, which, in that epoch, exhausted by long external wars with all the powers, was completing its destruction by a persecution as unjust as it was bloody against the most industrious and most useful portion of its own inhabitants. Was it not reasonable to suppose that that country, expiating its pride, might have fallen prey to the vengeance of rival powers or the despair of its unfortunate citizens?
Those reflections were less dolorous for the older of the two voyagers; he no longer had a wife, his married children saw before them a numerous posterity, and their gazes turned less frequently toward their father. But our brother Montalègre was the unique object of the love of his tender spouse; tears flowed abundantly in the secrecy of the nuptial bed.
Among the objects necessary for the great voyage, money was not forgotten. All the cash that had been brought, as much by the founders of the colony as by the citizens who came to populate it, had been gathered together and deposited in the governor’s house. The sum was quite considerable, but, money being of no utility for the needs of the Valley, the box in which it was contained had not been opened for more than forty years. Three thousand livres was taken out, which seemed sufficient for the expenses of the mission; a further three thousand livres were to be employed for the purchase of objects that might present themselves.
It was agreed that our voyagers would sound their horn three times to announced their return to the foot of the mountain; at that signal, the rope would be sent down that would haul them back up into the Valley.
At dawn on the day appointed for the departure, the voyagers went to the rampart, surrounded by their families and fooled by all the inhabitants. Curiosity, surprise and fear were panted alternately in their expressions.
Meanwhile, a seat was attached to one of the ends of the rope on which the voyagers could sit. The other end was coiled around a windlass in order that the descent might be more gradual and less perilous.
The elder, Andossy, took his place on the seat first. While he descended, the people sang a hymn, asking Heaven for a favorable welcome on the ground, and a happy and prompt return. The old man, suspended over the abyss, joined his voice with the concert of his brethren.
When he had reached the ground at the bottom of the mountain, the seat was brought back up and the younger man placed himself upon it, after having hugged his desolate wife for the last time. The songs never ceased to resound in the air until he too reached the ground. Then we saluted again, and followed them with our eyes, until they disappeared entirely in the distance.
XII
This is the relation of the voyagers, written by our friend Montalègre:
We descended to the earth on the third of July 1729, an hour after sunrise. After having followed a shaded path to the left and then the stream of a cascade, we arrived on a vast plain covered with gravel and the debris of rocks. Our plan was not to stop on that first day, until we reached Garringue, Andossy’s natal village. Although it was more than forty years since he had left it, he had not forgotten that it was situated on a high hill above the torrent. Thus, we were sure of finding it by not losing sight of the waters. We had encountered on our way a few shepherds, who had reminded our brother of his native tongue.
Finally, after three hours of marching, we discovered Garringue, elevated on a plateau. We climbed up by a sinuous path carved into the rock. But what was our brother’s surprise when we found his village abandoned and deserted, all the houses denuded of their thatch and most of the walls fallen into ruin. He searched for his paternal roof; the interior was full of brambles and piles of stones that served as retreats for snakes and scorpions. The land around, once ornamented with beautiful wheat-fields, was covered in gorse and heather. There was hardly any trace of the ancient furrows.
It was only half a league further on that we found a commencement of agriculture. Until then, the mountains, closely approaching on either side, only left a passage for the torrent. The sun only appeared for a few hours in that narrow defile, where cold vapors reigned almost constantly. Afterwards, the slope became less steep and presented some surface for exploitation, but cultivation is exceedingly difficult on soil inclined by seventy-five degrees. It was accomplished by means of oxen, which, in spite of their small stature and extreme lightness, would not have been able to maintain themselves upright on the precipice without the support of the laborer.
We stopped at the first hamlet. My brother Andossy was immediately recognized by a few old neighbors who wept with tenderness and joy on seeing him again. We sat down at their frugal table, and slept beneath their hospitable roof. They told us the story of what had happened after the flight of our brothers from the village of Garringue in these terms:
“Shortly after that event, the government put the fugitives’ property up for sale. Although the possessions would have suited us principally, we were too attached to our unfortunate neighbors to take possession of their spoils. The same sentiment of fraternity united all the mountain folk. So, throughout the Pyrenees, people thought like us, and none of the inhabitants presented themselves as buyers. A few foreigners were the only ones who came to look at these domains with a view to acquiring them, but we struck them so vividly with the dread of our friends’ return that they all renounced their plans. Then we resumed the cultivation of your lands, but after several years of waiting in vain, the hope of seeing you again vanished, and we ceased our work. Your uncultivated fields testify to our regrets as well as the absence of the rights of their masters.”
Such was the discourse of the good mountain folk. We could not doubt their sincerity; they all had their hearts on their lips. All along the mountain road, we found the same cordiality, mores and almost the same habitudes as our Valley. We were given excellent dairy produce everywhere, with a very tasty bread made with maize flour, which they call mistra. They were the gifts of the purest hospitality. The first time, following the instruction we had been given, we tried to pay, but they were astonished as we would have been in our Valley. In brief, it still seemed to us that we were among our brethren, and the only difference we perceived between that country and ours was the thickness of the air that we were breathing. That air seemed heavier to us the further we descended toward the plain. We were no longer animated by the delightful sensation of existence that perhaps suffices in the ethereal region for the existence of pure spirits. Thus the fish that swims full of joy in descending from the height of a river has difficulty in penetrating into the heavy and viscous waters of the sea.
When we arrived in the plain, we were offered two places in a public vehicle that was departing for Toulouse, but we preferred to continue our route on foot. We perceived that we were no longer among brothers, but among strangers who made a traffic of the needs of passers-by. The meals and shelter or which we paid were not as good as those we had been given.
The country to either side was flourishing with a rich culture, but we were surprised to see almost as many women as men devoted to laboring in the fields. That disturbance of the order of nature, which has so clearly marked by the strength, character and inclination that she has given to each sex the kind of occupation that befits them, is evidently one of the most deplorable effects of the preceding wars. Several consecutive years deprived of their spring had attacked generation at its source, and the women had been obliged to quit their spindles in order to take up t
he spade and guide the abandoned plow.
What will result from such disorder? If the women are hardened; if they lose the exquisite sensitivity of which the great part of their intelligence consists; if they become men, who will replace them in the gentle functions of wives and mothers? The Amazons made themselves warriors, but they renounced marriage. These peasant women, hang become men, will not remain celibate, but they will be wives devoid of modesty, mothers devoid of tenderness, and will have lost the advantages of their sex without acquiring those of ours.
XIII
We entered Toulouse through the Muret gate, and we traversed the Garonne over a beautiful bridge constructed in the reign of Louis XIV. Scarcely were we within the city walls, however, that our senses were struck by the most frightful confusion; the noxious air of the streets, the tumult of carriages, the shouts, the friction of an insensate crowd, two ranks of tall houses that scarcely permitted us to see the sky—everything redoubled our astonishment, embarrassment and alarm at every step.
We walked in silence, clasping hands from time to time with tears in our eyes, and every time, we experienced the same desire to retrace our steps; but the gaze of God, ever present in our thoughts, affirmed our courage, and we advanced as far as the Grand Monarque inn, which our friends in the mountains had indicated to us. It required some time for us to recover our normal composure. How many time an involuntary memory returned us to our peaceful retreat! Oh, my worthy friends, if we had had any doubt about the incomparable felicity of our abode, that voyage would have dissipated it irrevocably. No, God has not created anything more perfect than the Aerial Valley!
The principal object of our mission was to inform ourselves of the present condition of France and its political and religious principles. In seeking that instruction, it was necessary to be wary of making ourselves known. To that effect, we introduced ourselves into several societies of the quarters of estates, conditions and relationships entirely opposed, and as soon as we became the object of curiosity in a house we did not return there.
One day, passing along the Rue Nazareth, I was struck by an inscription on the fronton of a coaching entrance: Hôtel de Montalègre. As I stopped to consider the house that bore my name, and reflect on the fluke of chance that had led me, for the first time, after fifty years, to my forefathers’ residence, I saw an old man running toward me, his arms extended, shouting: “It’s him, it’s him! It’s my good master’s son. Yes, there on his wrist is the mark of the burn. Oh, forgive me, Monsieur, but I saw you when you were very small, I carried you in my arms. How you resemble Monsieur your father! Oh, what a father! What a man he was! Alas, I was the only member of his household who did not accompany him in his flight. He forbade me to do so; he had his reasons...”
At the old man’s exclamations, and the name of Montalègre, which he repeated several times, the neighbors and passers-by had assembled; the courtyard was filing up with every passing moment. At a window on the house, however, a fat man suddenly appeared, who shouted furiously: “François, François, what’s all that rabble doing? Get rid of them and close the doors.”
The good François obeyed, and said to me with tears in his eyes: “Oh, Monsieur, I once had a father in yours, but now...” He held on to me, and begged to be allowed to come and see me at my lodgings. I consented with pleasure.
News of that adventure, however, spread through the town, and the next day I received visits from several people, among others an old friend of my father who had been his colleague in the parliament, of which he was still a member. That acquaintance allowed me to make others in the highest class of society, for the parliaments, since the death of Louis XIV, had usurped a portion of the sovereign authority.
It is doubtless indifferent to you to know how the parliament of Toulouse is made up, and if you desired to know, would it be possible for me to give you an idea of it? How can you, my friends, my brothers, who live in a perfect equality understand that there are societies where wealth and power are on one side, misery and servitude on the other? The class of despots is perhaps even more unhappy than that of slaves. You would surely never consent to a part of our population one day increasing the number of tyrants or that of victims.
At any rate, liberty of conscience is no more assured in that city than justice, and this is what the venerable old man I met, who was a friend of my father, told me:
“My friend, religion is subject in France to all the instability of the ministry. When your father was obliged to flee, bigotry was on the throne; the depositaries of authority declared war on the intelligence that they did not have, and which they feared. Reason hid, philosophy dared not appear and hypocrisy was a virtue. That sad epoch was succeeded by impiety and the most immoral and most abject license. Persecution had already been revealed in the general dissolution that followed that disorder, and the executioners took up their instruments of torture again. Now, a sage ministry holds the reins of the empire, but the monarch is devoid of strength, and his authority might pass into other hands at any moment and change its principles.”
I had informed that worthy old man of the death of his old friend, my father, but I had hidden from him, as from everyone else, the place to which he had retired with the fugitive inhabitants of the village of Garringue. It is necessary that our dwelling, like the celestial abode, not only remains accessible but that no one knows its location, its form and its nature. In any case, after a few fruitless attempts, I was left perfectly tranquil in that regard.
XIV
We often heard mention in the societies of a stranger who had taken refuge in Toulouse some time ago, as astonishing by virtue of his benefits as by the care he took to conceal their author. His wealth seemed as inexhaustible as his generosity and modesty. He anticipated the needs of all the indigents of the city, every year putting a large sum at the disposal of the parish priests, and it was by chance that the source of the alms had been discovered. A frightful famine would have desolated the locality the previous year, if provisions had not been brought in from afar by a businessman who was honest but devoid of fortune and in whom, by the considerable sacrifices that the largesse in question cost, was able to divine the hand that was secretly distributing them. However, he had obstinately refused public recognition, and when he was pressed on the subject he said that he was not giving anything to anyone, but only returning a deposit confided to him.
That friend of humanity avoided people. When he went for a stroll, it was far from public places, in the deserted countryside or along the solitary bank of the Garonne.
One day, as we were passing a garden that he had outside the city, we stopped to look through the gate at a large number of hives for which he cared with marvelous success, for no one understood the education of bees better than he did. As soon as he saw us he came toward us and invited us to enter.
We were charmed to encounter an opportunity to inform ourselves concerning the exploitation of those precious insects. Since we had discovered the honey that they produced, we had thought about introducing the practice in our Valley; a honeycomb that we have brought will allow you to judge for yourselves whether that new production might be as useful as agreeable.
The conformity of tastes naturally links men together. That one saw us as savages of a sort which lived in some remote desert in the Pyrenees, and it was in some such retreat that he desired to bury himself. He offered to transport his hives there if we would consent to receive him with them.
As he made us that proposal, the most tender affection shone in his eyes. Everything that we had learned thus far about that man was to his advantage. His mores were pure, his character mild, his knowledge extensive on numerous objects, and profound on the administration of bees, which interested us particularly. However, before making any reply, we desired to know who he was, and the motives for the mystery in which he enveloped himself.
At first he seemed troubled by that request, but a moment’s reflection convinced him of the innocence of our curiosity, and he accor
ded us his confidence in the following terms.
XV
“You see in me a man who, with the purest heart, carries the weight of all the misfortunes of his century. I am devoured by remorse without having committed any crime; I try in vain to efface the past by means of the present. Ardent coals beneath my feet would not torment me any more than my memories. Permit me, then, Messieurs, only to tell you as much of my life as is sufficient to make myself known.
“I only learned the secret of my birth on my mother’s death, a few years ago. Thus, I had reached maturity when everything relating to that event was revealed to me. I shall thus be anticipating in time in that part of my story.
“My father was a simple artisan, my mother an honest peasant. Both of them lived in obscurity for a year, at the end of which my father, tormented by an ambitious presentiment, quit his wife in order to go and seek his fortune in Paris. They agreed before separating that the wife would change her place of residence and her name.
“Cleverness, a spirit of intrigue and a talent to please and flatter the passions soon opened to the husband a familiar access to the prince, too facile and too fond of pleasures, who governed France. Ecclesiastical dignities were in the hands of the regent, and to make one the recompense of the minister of his lusts appeared to him to be a piquant novelty that made him smile in advance.
“Then, he sent one of his accomplices to detach the page from the register kept by the curé containing the certificate of the celebration of his marriage. The same man then stole the minute of the contract from the office of the notary. As soon as those two documents were in his possession, he destroyed them. Thus entirely relieved of his first bonds, he established my mother in a rich domain in the vicinity of Tours. She continued to pass herself off as the widow of an officer named de Ville-Franche.
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