Priest and the Huguenot, or, Persecution in the age of Louis XV. Vol. I.

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THE PRE-ADAMITE EARTH : Contributions to Theological Science.
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THE FAMILY : Its Constitution, Probation, and History. Being the
third volume of the Series. In, Preparation. Co
AVORKS OF JOHN HARRIS, D. D.
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ZEBULON ; Or the Moral Claims of Seamen stated and enforced. Edited
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C3- A well-written and spirit-stirring appeal to Christians in behalf of that numerous, useful, gen-erous-
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UNIVERSITY SERMONS.
SEEMONS Delivered in the Chapel of Brown University. By tlic Hev.
Francis AVayland, D. D. Tiiird thousand. 12aio, clotli, 1,00.
ear Dr. Waylakd has here discussed most of the prominent doctrines of the Bible in liis usual
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No thinking man can open to any portion of it without finding his attention stronglj' arrested, and
feeling inclined to yield his assent to those self-evincing statements which appear on every page. As
a. writer. Dr. Wayland is distinguished by simplicity, strength, and comprehensiveness. He addresses
himself directly to the intellect more than to the imagination, to the conscience more than to the pas-sions.
— Watchman and Reflector.
Just issued, a noble volume of noble sermons, from the distinguished President of Brown Univer-sity.
These discourses are fine specimens of his discriminating power of thought, and purity and
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Dk. AVaylaxd's name and fame will cause any thing from his pen to be eagerly sought for ; and
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De. Wayland is one of the prominent Christian philosophers and literary men of our country.
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His style is peculiarly adapted to arrest the attention, and his familiar illustrations serve to make
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scarcely possible to forget a discourse wliich we read from Wayland, and we have ever found his
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We must call the attention of our readers again to this attractive volume of sermons. They come
from one wlio has attained a national reputation, and embody the views matured by the careful study
of many j-ears upon the most important topics in theology. — rhil. Ch. Chronicle.
It would be spending time to little purpose to attempt a eulogy on a work emanating from such a
source. — X. Y. Baptist Register.
THE PERSON AND WORK OF €HRIST. By Ernest Sartorius,
D. D., General Superintendent and Consistorial Director at Konigsberg, Prussia. Trans-lated
from the German, by the Rev. Oakman S. Stearns, A. M. 18mo, cloth^ 42 cts,
A work of much ability, and presenting the argument in a style that will be new to most American
readers. It will deservedly attract attention. — X Y. Observer.
Dk. Sartoeivs is one of the most eminent and ev.-mgclical theologians in Germany. The work
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A little volume on a great subject, and evidently the production of a great mind. The style and
train of thought prove this.— Southern Literary Gazette-
Whether we consider the importance of the subjects discussed, or the perspicuous exhibition of truth
in the volume before us, the chaste and elegant style used, or the devout spirit of the author, we can-not
but desire that the work may meet v.ith an cxtemive circulation.— Christian Inde:c. Gs
IMPORTANT AV O R K
.
KITTO'S POPULAR CYCLOPEDIA OF BIBLICAL LITERA-TURE.
Condensed from the larger work. By the Author, John Kitto, D. D., Autlior
of" Pictorial Bible," " History of Palestine," " Scripture Daily Readings," &c,. Assisted
by James Taylor, D. D., of Glasgow. With over Jive hundred Illustrations. One vol-ume
octavo, 812 pp., cloth, 3,00.
The Popular Biblical Ctclgp^edia of IiITEEATUee is designed to furnish a Dictionakt
or THE Bible, embodying the products of the best and most recent researclies in biblical literature,
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labor and research, and enriched by the contributions of writers of distinguislied eminence in the va-rious
departments of sacred literature, has been, by universal consent, pronounced the best work of
its class extant, and the one best suited to the advanced knowledge of the present day in all the studies
connected with theological science. It is not only intended for 7ninisters and theoloffical students,
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pu .lie. The illustrations, amounting to more than three hundred, are of the very highest order.
A romlenscd view of the various branches of Biblical Science comprehended in the work.
1. Biblical Ckiticism,— Embracing the History of the Bible Languages ; Canon of Scripture
!
Literary History and Peculiarities of the Sacred Books ; Formation and History of Scripture Texts.
2. HisxoKV,— Proper Names of Persons; Biographical Sketches of prominent Characters; Detailed
Accounts of important Events recorded in Scripture ; Chronology and Genealogy of Scripture.
S. GKOGRAriiY, — Names of Places; Description of Scenery ; Boundaries and Mutual Relations of
the Countries mentioned in Scripture, so far as necessary to illustrate the Saci-ed Text.
4. Akcii.eolooy, — Manners and Customs of the Jews and other nations mentioned in Scripture
;
tlieir Sacred Institutions, Military Affairs, Political Arrangements, Iviterary and Scientific Pursuits.
5. Physical Science,— Scripture Cosmogony and Astronomy, Zoology, Mineralogy, Botany,
Meteorology.
In addition to numerous flattering notices and reviews, personal letters from more than fifty of the
most distinguished Ministers and Laijmen of different religious de?io:ninat ions in the country have been
received, highly commending tliis work as admirably adapted to ministers. Sabbath school teachers,
heads of families, and all Bible students.
The following extract of a letter is a fair specimen of individual letters received from each of the
gentlemen whose names arc given below :—
" I have examined it with special and unalloyed satisfaction. It has the rare merit of being all that
it professes to be, and very few, I am sure, who may consult it will deny that, in richness and fulness
of detail, it surpasses their expectation. Many ministers will find it a valuable auxiliary ; but its
chief excellence is, that it furnishes just the facilities which are needed by tire thousands in families
and Sabbath schools, who are engaged in the important business of biblical education. It is in itself a
library of reliable information."
W. B. Spraguc, D. D., Pastor of Second Presbyterian Church, Albany, N. Y.
J. J. Carruthers, D. D., Pastor of Second Parish Congregational Church, Portland, 5Ie.
Joel Hawes, D. D., Pastor of First Congregational Church, Hartford, Ct.
Daniel Sharp, D.D.,lato Pastor of Third Baptift Church, Boston.
N. L. Frothingham, D. D.,late Pastor of First Congreg.ational Church, (Fnitarian,) Boston.
Ephraim Peabody, D. D., Pastor of Stone Chapel Congregational Churcli, (Unitarian,) Boston.
A. I-,. Stone, Pastor of Park Street Congregational Cliurch, Boston.
John S. Stone, O. D., Rector of Christ Church, (Episcopal,) Brooklyn, N. Y.
J. B. Waterbury, D. D., Pastor of Bowdoin Street Church, (Congregational,) Boston.
Baron Stow, D. D., Pastor of Rowe Street Baptist Church, Boston.
Tliomas H. Skinner, D. D., Pastor of Carmine Presbyterian Church, New York.
Samuel AV. "Worcester, D. D„ Pastor of the Tabernacle Church, (Congregational,) Salem.
Horace Buslmcll, D. D., Pastor of Third Congregational Church, Hartford, Ct.
Right Reverend J. M. Wainwright, D. D., Trinity Church, (Episcopal.) New York.
Gardner Spring, D. D., Pastor of the Brick Church Chapel Presbyterian Church, New Yoric
W. T. Dwight, D. D., Pastor of Third Congregational Church. Portland, Jle.
E. N. Kirk, I^astor of Mount Vernon Congregational Church. Boston.
Prof. Gcorse Bush, author of " Notes on the Scriptures," New York.
Howard Maloom, V). D., nuthor of " Bible Dictionary," and Pres of Lewisburg University.
Henry J. Ripley, D. D., author of " Notes on the Scriptures," and Prof, in Newton Theol. Ins.
N. Porter, Prof, in Yale College, New Haven, Ct.
Jared Sparks, Edward Everett. Theodore Frelinghuysen, Robert C. Winthrop, John JIcEcan,
Simon Greenleaf, Thomas S. "Williams, — and a large number of others of like character and
standing of tho above, whose names cannot here appear. H
HUGH MILLER'S AVORKS.
MY FIRST IMPRESSIONS
OF ENGLAND AND ITS PEOPLE.
By Hugh Millek, author of " Old Red Sandstone," " Footprints of the
Creator." etc., with a fine likeness of tlie author. 12ino, cloth, 1,00.
Let not the careless reader imagine, from the title of tliis book, that it is a common hook of travels,
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as a treasure, both of information and entertainment. It will greatly enhance the author's reputation
in this country as it already has m England. — }Villis's Home Journal.
This is a noble book, worthy of the author of the Footprints of the Creator and the Old Red Sand-stone,
because it is seasoned witli the same power of vivid description, the same minuteness of obser-vation,
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The author of this work proved himself, in the Footprints of the Creator, one of the most original
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Whoever wishes to understand the character of the present race of Englishmen , as contradistin-guished
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It is with the feeling with which one grasps the hand of an old friend that we greet to our home and
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him before, we open the First Impressions, and enter upon its perusal with a keen intellectual appe-tite.
We know of no work in England so full of adaptedness to tlie age as this. It opens up clearly to
view the condition of its various classes, sheds new light into its social, moral, and religious history,
not forgetting its geological peculiarities, and draws conclusions of great value. — Albany Spectator.
We commend the volume to our readers as one of more than ordinary value and interest, from the
pen of a writer who thinks for himself, and looks at mankind and at nature through his own spec-tacles.—
Transcript.
The author, one of the most remarkable men of the age, arranged for this journey into England,
cxpcctmg to " lodge in humble cottages, and wear a humble dress, and see what was to be seen by
humble men only, — society without its mask." Such an observer might be expected to bring to view
a thousand things unknown, or partially known before ; and abundantly does he fulfil this expecta-tion.
It is one of the most absorbing books of the time.— Portland Ch. ilirror.
NEW WOEK.
MY SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS;
OR THE STORY OF MY EDUCATION.
Bv Hugh Miller author of "Footprints of the Creator," "Old Red
Sandstone," " First Impressions of England " etc. ISino, cloth
This is a personal narrative of a deeply interesting and instructive character, concerning one of the
most remarkable men of the age. No one who purchases this l)ook will have occasion to regret it, our
word for it
!
U
A PILGRIMAGE TO EGYPT;
EMBRACING A DIARY OF EXPLORATIONS ON THE NILE,
WITH OBSERVATIONS, illustrative of the Manners. Customs, and
Institutions of the People, and of the present condition of the Antiquities and Kuilis. By
J. V. C. Smith, M. D., Editor of the Boston Medical and SurgicalJournal. With nu-merous
elegant Engravings. Third edition. 1,25.
There is a lifelike intercBt in the narratives and descriptions of Dr. Smitli's pen, which takes yon
directly along with the traveller, so that when he closes a chapter yoa feel that you have reacMfed
an inn, where you will rest for a while ; and then, with a refreshed mind, you will be ready to move
on again, in a journey full of fresh and instructive incidents and explorations. — Ch, fViiuess.
Every page of the volume is entertaining and instructive, and even tliose who are well read in
Egyptian manners, customs, and scenery, cannot fail to find something new aud novel upon those
somewhat hackneyed topics. — Mercantile Journal.
One of the most agreeable books of travel which have been published for a long time. — Daily Adv.
It is readable, attractive, and interesting, because familiar and companionable. You seem to be
travelling with him, and seeing the tilings which he sees. — Bunlcer Hill Aurora.
The author is a keen observer, and describes what he observes with a graphic pen. The volume
abounds in vivid descriptions of the manners, customs, and institutions of the people visited, ths
present condition of the ancient ruins, accompanied by a large number of illustrations. — Courier.
Wc see what Egypt was ; we see what Egypt is ; and with prophetic endowment we see what it is
yet to be. It is a charming book, not written for antiquarians and the learned, but for the million, and
by the million it will be read. — Congregationalist.
The reader may be sure of entertainment in such a land, under the guidance of such an observer as
Dr. Smith, and will be surprised, when he has accompanied him through tlie tour, at the vivid im-pression
which he retains of persons, and places, and incidents. The illustrations are capitally drawn,
and add greatly to the value of the book, which is a handsome volume in every respect, as are all
the works which issue from the house of Gould and Lincoln.— Salem Gazette.
This is really one of the most entertaining books upon Egj'pt that we have met with. It is an easy
and simple narration of all sorts of strange matters and things, aa they came under the eye of an at-tentive
and intelligent observer. — Albany Argus.
Sir. Smith is one of the sprightliest authors in America, nnd this work is worthy of Ids pen. Ho ia
particularly happy in presenting the comical and grotesque side of objects.— Cotmnonwealth.
The sketches of people and manners are marvellously lifelike, and if the book is not a little gossipy,
it is not by any means wanting in substantial information and patient research. — Ch. Inquirer.
One of the most complete and perfect books of the kind ever published, introducing entire new
places and scenes, that have been overlooked by other writers. The style is admirable and attractive,
and abundantly interesting to insure it a general circulation. — Diadem.
Keader, take this book and go with him ; it is like making the voyage yourself. Dr. Smith writes in
a very pleasing style. No one will fall to sleep over the book. AVe admire the man's wit ; it breaks
out occasionally like flashes of lightning on a dark sky, and makes every thing look pleasantly. Of
all the books we have read on Egypt, we prefer this. It goes ahead of Stephens's. Reader, obtain a
copy lor yourself. ~ Trumpet.
Tliis volume is neither a re-hash of guide books, nor a condensed mensuration of heights and dis-tances
from works on Egyptian antiquities. It contains the daily observations of a most intelligent
tr.ivcller, whose descriptions bring to the reader's eye the scenes he witnessed. "We have read many
books on Egypt, some of them full of science and learning, and some of wit aud frolic, but none which
furnished so clear an idea of A'gijpt vs it is, — of its ruins as they now arc, and of its people as they
now live and move. The style, always disnified, is not unfrequently playful, and the reader is borne
along from page to page, with the feeling that he is in good company. - Watchman and li^ector.
Its ''cological remarks upon the Nile and its valley, its information upon agriculture and tlie me-chanic
arts, amusements, education, domestic life and economy, and especially upon the diseasei of
the country, are new and important. — Congregationalist.
SCRIPTURE NATURAL HISTORY: containing a descriptive account
of auadrupeds, Birds, Fitlies, In.sects, Reptiles, Serpent:', Plants, Trees, iMinerals, Geins,
and Precion.s Stones, mentioned in the Bilile. By Wll.LlAM CARPENTER, London ;
witli Iin])roveinents, by Rev. Gorham D. Abbott. Illustrated by numerous Engrav-ings.
Also, Sketches of Palestine. ]2mo, clotii, I.O'J. T-
THE PREACHER AND THE KING;
OR, BOURDALOUE IN THE COURT OF LOUIS XIV.
Being an Account of that distinguished Era. Translated from the French
of L. BuNGENER. Paris, fourteenth edition. With an Introduction, by the Rev.
Geor&e Potts, D, D., New York. 12mo, cloth, 1,25.
It combines substantial histori/ with the highest charm of romance ; the most rigid philosophical crit-icism
with a thorough analj'sis of human character and faithful representation of the spirit and man-ners
of the age to which it relates. We regard the book as a valuable contribution to the cause not
merely of general literature, but especially of pulpit eloquence. Its attractions are so various that
it can hardly fail to find readers of almost every description. — Puritan Recorder.
Avery delightful book. It is full of interest, and equally replete with sound thought and profitable
sentiment. — N. Y. Commercial.
It is a volume at once curious, instructive, and fascinating. The interviews of Bourdaloue, and
Claude, and those of Bossuet, Fenelon, and others, are remarkably attractive, and of finished taste.
Other high personages of France are brought in to figure in the narrative, while rhetorical rules are
exemplified in a manner altogether new. Its extensive sale in France is evidence enough of its ex-traordinary
merit and its peculiarly attractive qualities. — Ch. Advocate.
It is full of life and animation, and convoys a graphic idea of the state of morals and religion in the
Augustan age of French literature. — N. Y. Recorder,
This book will attract by its novelty, and prove particularly engaging to those interested in the pul-pit
eloquence of an age characterized by the flagrant wickedness of Louis XIV. The author has ex-hibited
singular skill in weaving into his narrative sketches of the remarkable men who flourished at
that period, with original and striking remarks on the subject of preaching. — Presbyterian.
Its historical and biographical portions are valuable ; its comments excellent, and its effect pure and
benignant, A work which we recommend to all, as possessing rare interest. — Buffalo Mom. Exp.
A book of rare interest, not only for the singular ability with which it is written, but for the graphic
account wliich it gives of the state of pulpit eloquence during the celebrated era of which it treats.
It is perhaps the best biography extant of the distinguished and eloquent preacher, who above all oth-ers
most pleased the kmg ; while it also furnishes many interesting particulars in the lives of his pro-fessional
contemporaries. We content ourself with warmly commending it. — Savannah Journal.
The author is a minister of the Reformed Church. In the forms of narrative and conversations, he
portrays the features and character of that remarkable age, and illustrates the claims and duties of the
sacred office, and the important ends to be secured by the eloquence of the pulpit. — Phil. Ch. Ohs.
A book which unfolds to us the private conversation, the interior life and habits of study of such
men as Claude, Bossuet, Bourdaloue, Massillon, and Bridaine, cannot but be a precious gift to the
American church and ministers. It is a book full of historical facts of great value, sparkling with gems
of tnought, polished scholarship, and genuine piety. — Cin. Ch. Advocate,
This volume presents a phase of French life with which we have never met in any other work. The
author is a minister of the Reformed Church in Paris, where his work has been received with unex-ampled
popularity, having already gone through fourteen editions. The writer has studied not only
the divinity and general literature of the age of Louis XIV., but also the memories of that period, until
he is able to reproduce a life-like picture of society at the Court of the Grand Monarch. — AXb. Trans.
A work which we recommend to all, as possessing rare interest. — Buffalo Ev. Express.
In form it is descriptive and dramatic, presenhng the reader with animated conversations between
some of the most famous preachers and philosophers of the Augustan age of France. The work will
be read with interest by all intelligent men ; but it will be of especial service to the ministry, who can-not
aflbrd to be ignorant of the facts and suggestions of this instructive volume. — y. Y. Ch. Intel.
The work is very fascinating, and the lesson under its spangled robe is of the gravest moment to
every pulpit and every age. — Ch. Intelligencer.
THE PRIEST AND THE HUGUENOT ; or Persecution in the Age
of Loui= XV. Part I., A Sermon at Court ; Part II., A Sermon in the City ; Part III.,
A Sermon in the Desert Translated from the French of L. Bungener, author of
" The Preacher and the King." 2 vols. 12mo, cloth. D:^- A new Work.
OS- This is truly a masterly production, full of interest, and may be set down as one of the greatest
Protestant works of the age. Ft
THE
PRIEST AND THE HUGUENOT;
OR,
PERSECUTION IN THE AGE OF LOUIS XV,
PART I. — A SERMON AT COURT.
PART II. — A SERMON IN THE CITY.
PART III. — A SERMON IN THE DESERT.
jrvom tfje Jfrrnrii of
L . CONGENER,
AUTHOR OF " T H ^/yP R EACHEK AND THE KING,'
111 f'iita Miimcs.
VOL. I.
BOSTON:
OOTJLD AND LINCOLN,
£15 W.iSHINaTON STREET.
1853.
Entered according to Act of Congrress, in the year 1853, by
GOULD & LINCOLN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
vq
.68
PREFACE
THE TRANSLATOE.
After the very favorable reception of the " Preacher
and the King," it seems altogether unnecessary to preface
the present work by any account of its purpose or
merits.
It may, however, be well to inform the reader that in
a communication lately received from the author. Mon-sieur
Bungener, a minister of the Reformed Church of
Geneva—^not France, as was stated in the preface to the
preceding work—^he informs the translator that his works
have been conceived upon the plan of exhibiting in a
series, the principal religious aspects of France, from the
age of Louis XIY., to the close of the last century.
XJV PREFACE.
The first of the series is already in the hands of Amer-ican
readers ; the second is now presented to them in
these volumes ; the third, entitled Voltaire and his Times,
is about to be published in England, and the last, Julian,
or the End of a Century, Ave hope, in due time, to add to
the number of American books. The author has not
yet quite completed this last work.
He will thus liave brought out, in his very graphic
and popular manner, the state and relations of French
Protestantism from the time immediately preceding the
revocation of the Nantz Edict, down to the beginning
of our own times.
The early portions of this eventful history are more
familiar to us than the events wliich followed the worst
severities of the persecution. The history of Protest-antism
in the South of France, after its decimation by
the confiscations, violent conversions, exiles and death
inflicted in the time of Louis XIV., is but little knov/n.
The author aims to revive the men and incidents of those
periods which followed the atrocious dragonnades. He
PREFACE. XV
carries us into the remoter parts of Languedoc, known
as "the Desert," the last stronghold in which the Prot-estants
defied their relentless persecutors.
From the lips of old Eeboiil, one of the characters of
the present work, we have a bold and faithful sketch of
the sufferings and enthusiastic fervors which character-ized
the Camisard war. Hunted like Avild beasts, and
deprived of their spiritual guides, the desperation of these
unhapp}^, proscribed beings took the form of frenzy,
and at the bidding of enthusiasts, performed wonderful
feats of valor indeed, but at the expense of the intelli-gent
scriptural principles of their religion. The conse-quence
was a total and wide-spread disorganization.
One of the most interesting portions of the present
work, is that relating to the vast labors of Antoine
Court, one of the very few pastors left in France, and
called of God, Avhile still very young, to the great work
of calming and reorganizing the disturbed elements of
Protestantism.
It is shortly after the period of his labors, that our
XVI PREFACE.
story commences. Paul Eabaut is nowtlie leading spirit
of the French cliurclies, and in his movements, and the
fate of those connected with him, lies a great part of the
interest of this work.
How the author has succeeded in interweaving and de-lineating
the details of martyrdom—as in the deaths of
Eochette and Galas—^in introducing the champions of in-fidelity,
with their principles, and the consequences of
their principles—as in the scenes concerning Helvetius,
Diderot, and the others who were then beginning their
bitter and systematic assaults against the first principles
of religion—^in contrasting these with the simple, yet
•
thoughtful and dignified belief of Rabaut and his com-panions
—^in depicting the wonderful inconsistencies and
disorganization of the political and financial state of the
period—in bringing together Eabaut, the Huguenot,
and Bridaine, the priest, putting into their mouths the
main principles on either side of the great contro-versy
—^in short, how he has succeeded in laying a great
portion of the age before us, it is for the reader to
pronounce.
PREFACE. XVI)
It is a recommendation of these works, that they pre-sent
these principal points of controversy in a succinct
and popular form, and in a candid and liberal spirit. The
extreme gentleness of the writer must be obvious. He
leaves his facts to speak, rarely indulging in a sarcasm,
and scarcely ever uttering the vehement indignation
which the atrocious oppressions and monstrous doctrines
of popery would justify.
The character of that great anti-christian system has
not changed with time. It has been in a measure de-prived
of power, that is all. Wherever power remains
in its possession, it is still employed, as formerly, in
imprisoning and exiling its victims, as well as in exer-cising
upon them many lesser forms of tyranny and
violence.
Our own day furnishes proofs enough of this. Ma-deira
and Tuscany have furnished many martyrs in this
nineteenth century.
To keep out thought by penal restrictions, and when
it enters, to cast it out with violence, is the purpose of
XVlll PREFACE.
Eomanism, very candidly avowed by some of its adher-ents,
even in our own free land. It is not accidentally
but constitutionally intolerant. Every contribution to
the evidence wbicb proves this, is invaluable, and we are
grateful for the fidelity and earnestness with which our
author lends his aid.
The translator has only to add that her task has been
pleasant, but not unattended with anxiety, lest she should
fail in her aim. to render the author's meaning with scru-pulous
fidelity, and 3^et at the same time to preserve the
peculiar vivacity which forms so striking a characteristic
of the French style of thought and expression.
M. E.
New York, October, 1853.
CONTENTS
THE FIRST VOLUME
PAGE
Introduction xiii
P A E T I.
A SERMON AT COURT.
I.—A Traveller 25
II.—Bossuet's Tomb 26
III.—The Unknown 29
IV".
—
Rehearsal of a Sermon 33
V.
Escape from Imprisonment 40
VI.
The Priest and the Huguenot -42
VII.
The Beggar 43
VIII.
The Cevenol's Story 47
IX.
The Pardons of the Church 49
X.
The Cevenol's Story 60
i
XX CONTENTS.
PAGK
XI.
Thk Lktter. Father Bridaine's Sermon. Confission 56
XII.—A Discovery. The Arrest 59
XIII.—The Bishop of Meaux 62
XIV.
—
The young Marquis 65
XV.
Remonstrances 71
XVI.
The Abbe's Sermon 75
XVII.
Embarrassment. Moele Remonstrances 78
XVIII.
To Paris. The two IVIissives 80
XIX.
Contradictions and Inconsistencies 83
XX.
True I'osition of the Jesuits , . . 85
XXI.
Expulsion of the Jesuits from Portugal . . . , 86
XXII.
Jesuits in France 89
XXIII.
Secret Plans. De Beaumont 91
XXIV.
The Bull Unigenitus > 92
XXV.
The Place de Greve. The Priest and the Huguenot. 97
XXVI.
Tender Mercies of the Parliament 100
XXVII—The Protestants 103
XXVIIL—The Memorial 107
XXIX.
Prospects of Success 1 09
XXX.—" The Great Workshop" 113
XXXI.
D'Alembert and Diderot 115
XX XII.—Hypocrisy 118
XXXIII.
The Encyclopedists in full Conclave 122
XXXIV.—Rabaut 131
CONTENTS. XXI
PAGE
XXXV.
At Table. Rabaut's Narrative 138
XXXVI.
Discussion. Erroneous Impressions. Prophetic... 142
XXXVII.
Insinceritv ok Authors and Readers 151
XXXVIII.
Accouxtkd for 1 54
XXXIX.
—
Revival of energetic Efforts among Romanists, a
favorable Sign 156
XK
Conference of the Jesuits, at the archiepiscopal
Palace .* 158
XLI.
Father Desmarets 165
XLII.
Policy of the Jesuits when attacked 166
XLIII.
Letter from Laurent Kaulen 1 69
XLIV.
Father Bridaine's Censure 1*71
XLV.
Plain Speaking 115
XLVI.
Jesuit Morality 1 80
XLVIL
Startling Proposal 184
XLVIII.
Peity Motives for great Changes 189
XLIX.—A Prime Minister 191
L.
Warring Elements 193
LI.
Soiree at the Minister's Hotel. The Abbe 195
LII.—Two Mkn of the nkw Regime. Wit of the Eighteenth
Century '200
Lllf.
Plans 204
LIV.
Unexpected Arrival. A Prime Minister in Agonies.
Jesuit and Jansemst 207
LV.—What next ? 214
XXU CONTENTS.
PAGE
LVI.
Diplomacy and Jesuitism 215
LVII.
—
An Apparition 221
LVIII.—A CRUSHING Disappointment 223
LIX.
Palaces of Louis XV. Choisy. Bellevue 225
LX.
The King and his Confidant. Voltaire's Letter. Van-ity
of Richelieu. The Marquise 227
LXL
The Conscience of Louis XV 239
LXII.
Mme. de Pompadour. The King's Indifference to his
Family 242
LXIII.
Old HL\bits. Voltaire's Dedication of Tancked. IIichic-
LiEu's Orthography. A new Word 245
LXIV.
New Words and Ideas 254
LXV.
Banish Thought 255
LXVI.
The anxious Abbe, Toilette Receptions 257
LXVII.
Toilette of Mme. de Pompadour 260
LXVIII.
The young Author 262
LXIX.
Petitions, Plans, Suggestions, Appeals. .- 265
LXX.
Marigny^. The King and his Architect. Great Plans 268
LXXI.
The King's Arrival. Voltaire's Dedication again.
Characteristics of the Nobility of France 279
LXXII.
Rising Hopes 285
LXXIII.
The royal Chapel of Versailles. Lours XV. and
HIS Children '287
LXXIV.
The Gallery leading to the Chapel 291
LXXV.
The Priest and the Huguenot 292
CONTENTS. XXin
PAGE
LXXVI.
—
The mysterious Letter. High Mass 294
LXXVIL—The Abbe's Uneasiness. The Letter. Total Discom-fiture
2^^
LXXVIIT.
Fury. A strange Proposal 299
LXXIX.—Bridaine in the Pulpit 301
LXXX.—Three Hearers. " No Man can serve t\70 Masters'" 803
LXXXL—Character of Saint Paul. Where are the Martyrs
OF OUR Day ? Reply of Bridaine's Heart 305
PART II.
A SERMON IN THE CITY.
I.
Various Effects of the Discomfiture S09
II. A bough Visitor. No Answer received to a plain Question 311
in.—A difficult Thing for Roman Catholic Priests to believe
in Transubstantiation ^'^°
IV.
The two Brothers. Lives of the Saints 320
V.
—
Saints. Manufacture of Saints S24
VI.
Saint Juventia ^^'^
VII.
The Marquis reflects. 337
VIII.
—
The Cevenol in Prison t 339
IX.—A Visitor. The Cevenol's History continued 340
X.
—
Madeleine ^^^
XXIV CONTENTS.
PA OB
XI.—Two Petitions granted 371
XII.
—
Beidaine witnesses a singulak Spectacle 373
XIII.—L'EsPBiT OF Helvetius 376
XIV.—A strange Auto-da-fe 878
XV.
^The Character and Works of Helvetius 380
XVI.
French Journals in the Eighteenth Century 384
XVII.
Voltaire's Implacability 387
XVIII.
Peculiarities of Rousseau. 390
XIX.
The Encyclopedists observe the Auto-da-fe from a Dis-tance
395
XX.
Recantations of the Infidels 401
XXI.
Want of Oandob. of Authors of the present Day 402
XXII.
Helvetius becomes thoughtful. Sad Discovery causing
serious Reflections 405
PART I.
A SERMON AT COURT.
I.
A TRAVELLER.
One day, towards the end of July, in the year 1760, a
priest might have been seen proceeding with rapid steps
towards one of the doors of the cathedral of Meaux.
He wore a travelling dress, broad-brimmed hat, small
bands, brown cloak, gaiters and dusty shoes. His figure was
tall and erect; his eye quick and intelligent, although set
beneath a somewhat low forehead, and his physiognomy
rather rugged than grave. It was impossible at this moment
to decide whether he was agitated, or only hurried.
However, a few steps from the door, a more decided emo-tion
began to be visible in his countenance ; he slackened his
pace involuntarily ; his eyes were turned towards the interior
of the church, and seemed already to seek something there.
As he was about to cross the threshold,
" Charity ! Monsieur I'Abbe !" said one of the numerous
beggars, kneeling or sitting, according to custom, on each side
of the entrance.
And as the abbe appeared neither to hear nor see him, he
repeated, " Charity !"
VOL. T. 3
26 THE PRIEST AND
His tone, in spite of a tolerably marked Southern accent,
was proud and short ; he did not beg—he demanded. It was
like a profound indignation, seeking an occasion to burst forth.
Accordingly, whispers were exchanged by the other mendi-cants.
" He is crazy, that man," said a woman. " Is that the way
to talk ?"
"And to a priest !" said another. " And the first day, too !"
murmured a blind man. The priest had heard these last
words as he turned. He cast upon the beggar first an unob-serving,
and then a more attentive look.
" Do I understand aright that it is thy first day V he said.
" Thou dost not yet know how to beg—^"
" I know that I am hungry, and that—
"
" Thou art hungry V
"Yes."
"Thouliest!"
U
J
55
"Thouliest, I tell thee!"
And the bold beggar cast down his eyes.
"Thou art not hungry," resumed the priest, slowly, "and
thou art not what thou—
"
The beggar started, and at his frightened look, the priest
interrupted himself. " Wait for me here," he said to him
" I wish to speak with thee." And he disappeared within the
church.
II.
bossuet's tomb.
He had taken only a few steps, when he stopped, as if he
did not know which way to turn. The church was deserted
THE HUGUENOT. 27
and gloomy, for night was coming on. No sounds were heard,
save here and there the mnrmured prayers of some women,
kneeling in the chapels and beside the columns.
Perceiving no one who appeared able to guide him in his
search, he went straight on, and after kneeling rapidly, with
a sign of the cross, upon the first step of the high altar, he
turned to the left, and began to read, while he walked on, the
monumental inscriptions which covered the walls and pave-ment.
It grew darker and darker, and at each tomb he was
obliged to stoop lower than before. His impatience accord-ingly
increased at every step. One would have said that he
was irritated at these dead, known or unknown, who came so
inopportunely to place themselves between him and the object
of his search.
At length he stopped abruptly. Behind the high altar,
against the wall, on a marble tablet, upon which a mitre was
executed in relief above some books of tolerably good design,
he had perceived these words :
" Hie quiescit resurrectionem espectans,
Jacobus Benigni Bossuet,
Episcopus Meldensis
Serenissimi Delpliini prseceptor
Universitatis Parisionsis
Privilegiorum apostolicorum conservator
Collegii Regii Navarrse superior.
Obiit Anno Domini MDCCIV.
Annos natus LXXVI.
Requiescat in pace." *
* "Here rests, awaiting the resurrection, James Benignus Bossxiet,
bishop of Meaux, preceptor of his serene highness the Dauphin, pre-server
of the apostolical privileges of the University of Paris, and
superior of the Royal College of Navarre. Died in the year of our
Lord 1704, at the age of IQ. May he rest in peace."
28 THE PRIEST AND
The priest had not gone beyond the second line. What were
these titles, these dates, to him? He was only seeking a
name, and this name he had found ; his eyes were fixed upon
it. It might have heen imagined, that through the stone he
perceived the well-known features of him whose resting place
was pointed out by this marble.
" Yes," he murmured, " hie quiescit—he is there
—
quiescit.
I love the word, he rests. He has all eternity to rest in, as he
said to his friends, to Arnauld and Nicole, when they coun-selled
him to take a little rest in this world. He rests/
After sixty years of labor, this word is a complete eulogy.
If it be written one day on my tomb, will it be there also an
eulogy 1 Will it be said—^but let men say what they will.
What difference does it make to him who is lying there what
I arn saying about this epitaph 1 But Thou, O God ! what
wilt Thou say 1 Wilt Thou find that I have fulfilled my task t
Quiescit. He is there."
He reached out his hand towards the marble ; he seemedr
expecting to feel it soften beneath his fingers.
" Does he see me 1" he resumed. " Am I permitted to
think that my labors, that—^but no. Back, self, back ! While
I am here, almost on my knees before his tomb, behold my
pride, which follows me even into the presence of the glory
before which I seem to humiliate myself ! Even beside these
ashes, which teach me also the nothingness of man, I asked if
he sees me, hears me ! Thus it is : it is not enough that we
are seen and heard by the living ; we wish also to be seen and
heard by the dead. Ah ! poor wretched heart ! After having
preached so long to others, am I no further advanced myself!
Who, then, will preach to me 1 Alas ! and he also—how
often has he sought his own glory, believing all the while that
he was seeking that of God alone !"
THE HUGUENOT, 29
He ceased, and after a long silence, he continued
" Fearful thought, that for forty, fifty, sixty years, a man
may seem to be laboring for the glory of God and the salva-tion
of his brethren, and in all these years God may not find
one "which has been completely and sincerely given to Hiin
To think that dying, a man may find himself rejected at the
day of judgment as an unfaithful servant ! How is it now
with him ? Has God presented this fearful account to him 1
He rests,—men have written here. What do they know
of it r
Then, returning to the first reflections which had been
awakened by the mortal remains of Bossuet, he exclaimed
" He who said so eloquently, ' Come, see all that remains
of so much greatness and so much glory,' he has now been for
nearly sixty years outside of that dread portal whose terrors
he described. It is he who is now ' that nameless something
for which men have no designation in any language.' O ! my
God, however eloquent may have been the voices in this world
which have spoken of eternity, how much more eloquent are
they when they become silent ! What a pulpit is the tomb !
What an orator is death ! And he, he is there—there, under-neath
my feet. If I should raise this stone, I should see him."
III.
JHE UNKNOWN.
" You would not see him," said a voice.
It was not that of the beggar ; but its accent was so similar,
that the priest, who was moreover startled, was deceived.
" Thou here ?" he said, turning quickly. But immediately
he resumed, " Pardon me ; I thought—
"
30 THE PRIEST AND
He who interrupted him was also in travelling costume,
large hat, dusty gaiters and shoes, and black cloak. His com-plexion,
deeply embrowned, denoted that he was an inhabitant
of the country ; but his bearing was easy and noble. Although
he appeared not more than forty years of age, his hair was
nearly white.
I " I ought to ask your pardon," he said ; " I have broken in
upon your meditations."
" I was speaking almost aloud," said the priest ; " you heard
mef
" A few words—the last. I comprehended that you believe
yourself at the tomb of the former bishop of Meaux, and—
"
" Am I not 1 And this epitaph ?"
" It only remained twenty years on the tomb of Bossuet.
The cardinal de Bissy had the front of the high altar repaired
in 1724. The monumental stones were taken away, and put
here. The body of Bossuet then remained—
"
" Where ? You know the spot V
" There, before the first step—
"
" There, you say 1 At the very spot where I kneeled just
now !"
He hastened thither. Nothing was there to indicate a tomb
;
squares of white and green marble covered the whole space
comprised between the altar and the grating of the choir.
" Thus it is all through life," said the new comer. " We
pass by the truth without knowing it, and go to pay homage
to that which has only its appearance."
" Yes," added the priest ; " and, unfortunately, that appear-ance
often possesses a charm over which it is difficult for truth
itself to triumph. In fact, I am almost sorry that you have
undeceived me. Bossuet has said to me there, where he
is not, all that he had to say. It is immaterial to me that
THE HUGUENOT. 31
he is in reality here ; for my imagination and heart he is still
there."
And he went to give a last look at the epitaph. The
unknown followed him.
" After all," said the latter, " if the spirit of Bossuet be any-where
in this church, it is neither here, nor yet over there.
You know that our spirits, according to the poets, most will-ingly
haunt those places which were during life our favorites.
If Bossuet should become visible, see where I think he would
appear to us."
And he pointed to the pulpit, which was visible in the
distance between the columns and the nave.
The priest shook his head.
" You think so 1" he said. " I think he would be very ill
satisfied to find himself there, unless God gave him the power
to drive out of it the preachers of the day, or to inspire them
with a very different eloquence."
" It is precisely what I thought just now, as I passed this
pulpit," said the unknown. " I know but little of the preachers
of the day, but it appears that there are some of them whom
Bossuet would scarcely own as his disciples. Affectation,
tinsel, many words and few ideas, abundance of philosophy,
and scarcely any Christianity—
"
" Scarcely any 1 Say rather none—
"
" Willingly ; but I did not venture—
"
"Why?"
" Your dress—
"
" My dress is a livery which cannot prevent my censuring
those who degrade it."
" Your frankness does you credit, and you must have but
too many occasions for exercising it. Yes, as you say, evan-gelical
traditions have become more and more extinct among
32 THE PRIEST AND
your preachers. You have, it is said, but one who has escaped
the decline, and who may still be .cited as a truly Christian
orator. I have heard him once, and—
"
"Who is it
f
If the church had not been so dark, he to whom this question
was addressed would have seen that the eyes of the priest
sparkled with a sudden light ; a slight color tinged his cheek,
and his hand trembled.
" Who is it V he repeated.
" Father—wait—oh, Father Bridaine."
" Ah ! Father Bridaine—yes, I believe I have heard him."
" What did you think of him ?"
" I like your fancy," said the priest, half absently, and as if
wishing to change the subject ; " yes, the shade of Bossuet in
this pulpit. I believe, in fact, that if I were to remain here
an hour or two alone, in the evening,—as now,—among these
tombs, enveloped in the solemn twilight, my imagination, the
shadows— "
"Well, what
r
" Do not laugh, I believe I should finish by seeing him. I
should see him slowly advance. He would glide there, past
the columns. No noise,—on the contrary, he would seem to
bring silence with him, as the night now brings it to us. Be-hind
him, before him, the shadows would darken, but I should
still see him. At least I should see naught but him. He would
mount into the pulpit—^ha ! good God !"
" What is the matter f
"There!—see!"
THE HUGUENOT. 33
IV.
REHEARSAL OF A SERMON.
The priest stood amazed and motionless, his arm still ex-tended
in the direction of the pulpit. The shades of night
had completely enveloped the church. The last faint rays of
twilight scarcely penetrated through the stained glass win-dows.
A lamp burned before the altar, and its beams, until
then unnoticed, gradually took possession of all the space
abandoned by the light of day. By this uncertain gleam, a
human form could be perceived ascending the steps of the
pulpit. As far as could be judged, it was that of a man of tall
stature. His hair was white, and the lamp glancing on his
face revealed its pallor.
Had the priest really fancied that he saw him whom his im-agination
had just conjured up ^ Perhaps in the first moment
he would have been himself somewhat puzzled to explain what
he felt. At the stifled exclamation which had escaped him,
the shade had appeared to pause, with one foot upon the first
step. Then the rustling of his robes and the sound of his step
were again heard, so that by the time he had ascended into the
pulpit, there was no doubt that if he w^ere a phantom, it was
a phantom of flesh and blood. But still it was strange. What
was the object of this priest, (for he wore bands,) at this hour,
and in the dark ?
He sat down, coughed, and blew his nose, making, however,
as little noise as possible. He was evidently under the dominion
of that vague feeling, which seizes upon one in the presence of
the dead, and which makes one speak softly, even in addressing
a deaf man. This undefined feeling had been experienced by
our two speakers themselves, and it was doubtless on this ac-
34 ' THE PRIEST AND
count that the mysterious priest had not heard them speaking.
At length he rose.
" Ah !" said our two invisible hearers at the same moment,
" a sermon, it seems."
The orator made a large sign of the cross. Then another,
and another. And each time he slightly modified his gesture.
" What is he doing 1" said the priest.
" Do you not perceive 1" replied the unknown.
" No. Ah ! yes,—I have it. I—I am afraid I understand it."
" Alas, yes. It is one of those very preachers of whom you
have been speaking. He has come to rehearse his part."
The signs of the cross still continued.
" Miserable court monkey !" muttered the priest. " Will
he ever come to an end 1 Why does he not rather go into the
boudoir of a marquise 1 He v/ould at least find a glass there
in which to see himself Ah ! at last—"
The silent orator was a,t length satisfied with himself! His
last sign of the cross' was of unimpeachable elegance.
Then he repeated it, saying ;
" In nomine Patris, et Filii, ei
Spirifus sancti. Amen."
His voice was that of a man thirty or thirty-five years of
age, agreeable, but affected. Art had destroyed nature, and the
speaker was evidently one of those who thinli it impossible too
entirely to destroy it.
Then followed his text : " Nihil aliud inter vos scire volui,
nisi Christum, et Christum crucijixum.'''' Then, according to
custom, the translation : For I determined to Jcnoio nothing
among you, save Jesus Christ and him crucified^''
And all this in the tone in which he would have recited a
madrigal of Chaulieu, or Bernis, or La Fare, or—but it would
take too long to mention all the versifiers who were then call-
THE HUGUENOT. 35
ed poets, and by whose verses the orator had undoubtedly
been far more nourished than by the prose of St. Paul.
In the meantime, the priest and his companion began to dis-tinguish
his face more plainly. Whether their ey^s^had be
come more accustomed to the semi-obscurity, oi^^i^ir imagi
nations, calmer, allowed them to see better, he had now no-thing
ghastly about him. A rosy hue had succeeded the
cadaverous paleness ; his hair was still white, but with powder.
The lugubrious cloak had turned into an elegant cassock, be-neath
which, a well-proportioned emhoivpoint was visible. This
was then doubtless one of those " stout fellows," with ten
thousand crowns of income, as La Bruyere says, in describing
the court abbes.
" Sire," he said.
Another discovery. It was a sermon to be preached be-fore
the king.
" Sire," he repeated.
And after having tried every possible tone, he appeared at
length to have found one which suited liim. It was a skilful
enough mingling of grace and power, of boldness and hu-mility.
" Sire," he continued, " thus expressed himself a great apos-tle
; he whom Providence selected to spread abroad the virtues
and teachings of the legislator of Christians."
" There we have it," muttered the priest. " Great apostle^—
Providence^—the legislator of Christians.''''
" What would you have ?" said the other. " The encyclo-pedia
has had a hand in this. Religion must turn philosopher,
if she wishes to be endured. Instead of God^—Providence. It
is more vagme, each one interprets it in the manner which best
suits him. Instead of Jesus Christy—the Legislator of Christians.
In order, apparently, not too much to frighten those who would
36 THE PRIEST AND
make of him only a doctor, like any other teacher. And then
Apostle,—great Apostle,—why how could they say plain Peter
or Paul, John or James, and that too, before the court V
" And to think," added the priest, " that it is thus through-out
all France !"
The unknown smiled.
" The whole of France ! I know one corner where I war-rant
you it never has been, and never will be thus."
" And this corner is—?"
" The—Z>eser^."
"You say the—
"
But the orator was going on, and the priest, without await-ing
a clearer answer, had again begun to listen. After a tol-erably
well-arranged delineation of the labor and suffering of
the apostle, he said, " what then was^ the secret of his power %
From whence did he draw so much perseverance and courage "?"
But, instead of answering, with the apostle himself, " In his
faith," which in 1760 would have betrayed his profession a
mile off, the orator replied, " In his devotion to his master,"
and then followed a long tirade upon devotion in general, upon
the power which it gives, and the courage which it inspires.
This passage was, moreover, full of talent, and did not want
life ; it would have figured perfectly well as accessory, in a
serious and Christian discourse. Unhappily, the accessory took
its place as principal ; the orator had evidently made up his
mmd to go no farther.
Was the learned abbe going at least to confine himself to
all that was purest in the exclusively human devotedness to
which he had reduced that of Paul %
It seemed, at one time, as if he were about to enter upon the
religious view of the subject.
" And who," he commenced, " who is this master to whom
THE HUGUENOT. 37
the apostle is proud of having given himself up entirely 1 ' I
will know none other than Christ,' he says. What Christ ?
Christ glorified, without doubt—Christ forever seated on the
right hand of God his Father,—no! Christ in His abase-ment—
Christ in His humiliation—Christ condemned—Christ
crucified—
"
" Good, abbe, good !" But He had risen, only to fall
farther.
It was not without risk that a man preached before the
king in France ; and where a Bossuet, a Bourdaloue, a Masil-lon,
had so often and so sadly failed, it was hardly to be
expected that an abbe of the court could, in 1760, refrain from
burning some -incense upon the altar of the same idol.
Accordingly, the humiliation of Christ was introduced, only
in order to bring in a compliment to the king. Must there
not be one, according to custom, at the close of the exordium 1
" This," he then added, " is assuredly a sort of devotion with
which your majesty will never inspire any one. Under what-ever
aspect your subjects contemplate you, they can perceive
naught save glory and greatness—greatness of birth, greatness
of undertakings, greatness in your virtues, greatness in all
that comes from you ! Ah ! how easy is devotion to such a
master ! How little merit there is in serving you ! But
devotedness in misfortune—devotedness, in spite of humilia-tions
and outrages—^this it is which is difficult and truly
beautiful ; this it is which we will demand from God, through
the intercession of Mary—
"
''Mary! Good! Mary T murmured the priest again.
" Formerly, we said the Virgin^ the holy Virgin. But now,
bah ! they would laugh at it. Mary^—it is in better taste.
What do you think 1"
" I object to it,—^but Mary, or the Virgin, it does not make
VOL. I. 4'
38 THE PRIEST AND
much difference to me. As for myself, I should say neither
the one nor the other." .
" What would you say, then ^" asked the priest.
He did not reply, but began once more to listen.
The priest began to think that there was something quite
strange about his companion : he had wondered several times
with whom he was speaking. Was he a stranger, as his tra-velling
costume seemed to indicate '? But the details which
he had given respecting Bossuet's place of burial, seemed more
likely to come from a citizen of Meaux. Was it one of the
infidels of the day 1 He appeared, in fact, to have but little
devotion to the Virgin ; but he had spoken of Christianity and
Christ, just as the priest would have wished all preachers to
do. And that corner of France, in which he had affirmed that
it was always spoken of in this manner 1 And that mysterious
name, which his companion had not seized, but which had not
resembled that of any province ? The unknown, on his side,
began to perceive the uncertainty into which his companion
was thrown.
"Shall we go?" he said. "The exordium is finished; the
sermon will be perhaps very long. You hear, moreover, that
it is a constant repetition. Now he has taken up his devoted-ness
in detail. Devotedness among the ancients—devotedness
among the moderns—devotedness among savages—everything
is there, excepting Christian devotedness."
" Let us go, with all my heart," said the priest. " I have
heard only too much."
" We must try not to let him either see or hear us. We
will take the lower aisle—this way—^in the shadow. Ah ! he
stopsj Can he have heard us f
" He has lost his thread, I believe."
" So he has. Listen how he runs after his phrase. He has
THE HUGUENOT. 39
lost one word. Impossible ! Ah ! it seems he must abso-lutely
have tliis word—
"
"He deserves that the same thing should happen to him
before the king."
" This is the consequence of mechanically learning by heart
forget one word, and all is lost."
" But, Monsieur," said the priest, " one would suppose that
you were of the profession—
"
" I ? Ah ! he is coming down from the pulpit. Where is
he going now V
'• To the lamp : he is looking into his manuscript. He has
found his word, and is going back again. Let us pass wMle
he tiu'ns away."
They reached the end of the aisle, but there was no getting
out ; the three doors were closed.
" We might have thought of that," said the priest. " Of
course, he would take measures not to be interrupted. I
remember now to have seen a beadle in the distance, showing
out the women. What is to be done 1"
" We must wait. He will, of course, open the doors, or
have them opened for him."
" He is becoming animated. Let us go back. The end
will probably be curious."
The end. had not yet come. He was just then citing Orestes
and Pylades. At length the peroration commenced. After
listening some moments, the priest exclaimed
" What impiety !"
But the orator, warming with his subject, did not hear.
" I would fmish," he said, " by some instance, which would
bring vividly before your eyes all that I have just laid before
you. I would take this instance from a king, or those around
him,—in this very place, if possible. But I have already said,
40 THE PRIEST AND
sire, that devotion is of no merit here, it is so easy, so sweet.
If I were to name all those who are heart and soul yours, I
should have but to name all those who hear me—all this
court—all your subjects. Nevertheless, in the midst of these
torrents of devotion which ascend towards you from every
direction, may I not be permitted to point out one devotion,
which, if not more entire, is at least more special, more con-stant,
dearer to your heart 1 If devotedness in misfortune be
a thing necessarily unknown, in relation to a prince surrounded
with glory, and happy in the happiness which he bestows, yet
royalty has nevertheless its cares, its vexations, its fatigues.
Happy, then, happy the hand which is permitted to alleviate
them ! Happy the long friendship—
"
It was here that the priest exclaimed, " What impiety !"
V.
ESCAPE FROM IMPRISONMENT.
There was, in fact, no room for a mistake. It was to the
friendship of Madame de Pompadour that the orator dared to
allude.
As long as this liaison had been manifestly an immoral one,
the pulpit of Versailles had been contented to remain, as in
the time of Louis XIV., silent and impassible ; but since the
king's mistress, now in her fortieth year, had taken it into her
head to call herself his friend, the most scrupulous had gladly
seized upon this aspect of the matter. It was well known that
the marquise, in order to prolong the debasing influence which
she no longer hoped to retain by her own fascinations, had
finished by becoming caterer for the ignoble pleasures of the
Parc-aux- Cerfs. But appearances were saved ; and what more
THE HUGUENOT. 41
was necessary'? What business had any one to aslc ^Yhat
passed beneath the chaste name of friendship "?
Our preacher of Meaux had accordingly only followed the
example of many others, and, as is frequently enough the case,
had gone farther than any of his predecessors.
It may be doubted, moreover, whether an arrangement of
this sort was altogether to the liking of the favorite. " Long
friendsliip^''' in particular, risked being ill received. Did it
not force people to remember that the intimacy commenced
some fifteen years back, and the friendship) only three or four 1
Did it not bestow upon her, besides, that unwelcome certificate
of forty years, which no woman is ever in haste to receive %
But the abbe, in his zeal, did not look so closely into the mat-ter.
Who has tact enough never to be the bear in the fable ?
He had' just finished. A triumphant tirade had closed the
peroration. "I am overwhelmed!" exclaimed the priest.
" No ! tliis abominable sermon shall never be preached."
"How—"
" It shall not be, I tell you. I would go, rather—yes, I
would go to the king—
"
" But what is all this 1 He is beginning again."
And, in fact, he re-commenced ; but this time he spoke very
rapidly, and without gestures, as if reciting it for the last time,
in order to be quite certain of it.
" This time," said the priest, " I cannot bear it."
" It must be put an end to. Let us show ourselves."
" Come. But no—go, go alone—I could not contain
myself."
" And if I restrain myself, believe me, it is not without
difficulty."
He advanced ; and as the orator paused in amazemoit, he
said
4*
42 THE PRIEST AND
"Monsieur, there are persons here who have just heard
your sermon—
"
" Have heard my sermon !"
" And who desire to leave the church ; not that they are
not charmed."
The preacher "bowed.
"Monsieur, you overwhelm me. May I know by what
happy accident—
"
" I really believe," said the priest, in a whisper, " that he
thinks we are enchanted. Let him think so. I know where
to find him again."
" We were at the further extremity of the church, and the
door was then closed."
" It was by my orders. Pardon my having caused you this
hour of imprisonment and fatigue."
This last word required a compliment. He stopped, as if
he expected one ; but his auditors were not the people to carry
a pleasantry any further.
*
" You wish to go out '?" he said, in a much less polite man-ner
than before. " Knock at this little door behind you. A
beadle is waiting outside to open it for me."
They went out : the beadle re-closed the door, and took his
departure.
VI.
THE PRIEST AND THE HUGUENOT.
In the meantime, the priest, occupied by these incidents, had
forgotten the man in the porch.
After proceeding several steps, he remembered him ; and
although it appeared improbable that the beggar still awaited
THE HUGUENOT. 43
him, he said to his companion, " Excuse me, I have business
in this direction. I thank you much for your company."
"Adieu, Monsieur," said the other. "I shall remember
this evening, and the tomb of Bossuet."
" And I shall not forget him who showed it to me. Shall
we meet again V
" I am on my way to Paris."
" And I also. Where shall you lodge V
" At ^but no ; let us leave to God the care of bringing
us together again, if He wills it."
"Be it so; I accept the rendez-vous. It will be perhaps
more certain than those agreed upon beforehand. One word
are you a citizen of Meaux ?"
"No."
"From Paris, then?"
"No."
" From what province, then V
The unknown appeared to hesitate. " From none," he replied.
" You are not French ?"
" I am,—and I am not."
" In God's name, I ask from whence you come f
" From—^the—Desert."
The priest at length understood. He involuntarily let go
the hand of the unknown, but this he seemed to repent : he
took it again, and pressed it, but without adding a word.
VII.
THE BEGGAR.
His beggar awaited him, still seated in the same place.
" At last," he said, rising ; " your devotions are very
lengthy."
44 THE PRIEST AND
And with the same air with which he had asked alms, he
advanced towards the priest, when the latter perceived him
suddenly turn pale, stagger, and at length fall upon his knees,
his arms extended towards the middle of the street.
" Judas !" said a voice.
But the beggar, rising, precipitated himself in the direction
of the church. His hands convulsively clasped above his head,
he pressed himself, sobbing, against the doorway. He seemed
desirous of hiding himself in the thickness of the wall, to
escape some terrible vision.
The priest approached him.
" What ails thee ? What is it ? He is gone—"
" I do not wish to see him,—I do not wish—
"
" I tell thee, he is gone."
" He is gone f said the man, suspiciously. And when he
had assured himself, he said, " So you knew me, when you told
me to wait for you ! He had seen me—^had told you who I
am!"
" Se^—^he ! Of whom do you speak ?"
"OfAm—Rabaut."
" It is Rabaut ? Rabaut of the Cevennes !"
"Yes, Rabaut of the Desert—Rabaut, the minister. You
did not know him, then ?"
" I had just left him, but I did not know his name. How
he chanced to be behind me, I cannot now imagine."
Upon leaving the priest, Rabaut—^for it was he, had, not
without surprise, seen him direct his steps towards this door
which he knew to be closed. A man who has a price set upon
his head, has a right to be distrustful. He followed him.
" You did not know hiin !" cried the beggar. " And I have
named him ! and to a priest ! good God ! was I fated to be-tray
him again f
THE HUGUENOT. 45
" Again ?"
" Did you not hear what he said ?"
" He said—' Judas !'
"
" And I—I am that Judas !"
" Listen. On the word of a priest—"
The beggar shook his head.
" On the word of a man then,—will that content thee ? On
the word of a man, I swear that I will not betray him. But
thou shall relate to me thy history. Where dost thou live "?"
" I ?—nowhere."
" Where wouldst thou have passed the night ?"
" There, upon the steps."
" Thou shalt come with me."
The beggar looked at him fixedly.
' " I—^with a priest ? Since you have guessed so well, that
I am not what I seemed to be,—^have you not also guessed
that I have a horror of them f
" All f
" All—save one."
" Come,—I will try to make thee say^—' save two,"*—come,
come."
And the beggar allowed himself to be persuaded. They
arrived at a little tavern, in a, faubourg of Meaux.
" Has my horse been cared for V asked the priest ; " and
where has my valise been placed 1"
" Up in your chamber. Monsieur."
" Show me there, and bring me up supper."
The supper came, but the beggar refused to seat himself
at the table. He took a piece of bread, and went to the other
end of the room, where he ate it in silence.
" Still—' save one ?'' " asked the priest, with a smile.
"Still."
46 THE PRIEST AND
But this still was somewhat constrained. The heart of
this man was evidently melting beneath the benevolent glance
of the old priest. The latter contained himself as much as he
could, in order that he might not seem to force a reconciliation
which was now certain. He continued his repast. At length,
after a somewhat protracted silence, he said :
" What is the name of this fortunate one .^"
" I shall never mention it, save to the other
;
—if I find
another."
" Then tell me."
" You wish it % Well, since I have eaten your bread ; it is
Tather Bridaine."
The priest raised his head quickly,—"Ah !" he said, " Father
Bridaine V Then continuing his meal, he said in a low voice,
" and yet I have never seen this man."
The beggar thought he was speaking of Father Bridaine.
" You have never seen him, you say 1 Nor I either. But it
seems to me that if I should see him—
"
" Well V
" I should recognize him."
" Dost thou think so V said the priest, with the same smile.
" Ah ! - Well, I have finished my supper. Wilt thou confide in
me,—yes or no V
" There is a price set on my head, I tell you beforehand, as
on Paul Rabaut's. After that, keep my secret or not, as you
choose. It is of little consequence to me. Listen."
THE HUGUENOT. 47
VIII.
THE CEVENOl's STORY.
And then the beggar commenced his history.
" I am one of those children of the desert,* of -^hom you
have made pariahs if not worse, for pariahs have at least the
right to exist, and this is denied us,—this right, f My father
was born in the midst of the sabres of your great king's
dragoons. My grandfather died upon the wheel ; his father
upon the walls of La Rochelle, and we have in our family
Bible, by way of mark, an old piece of cloth stained with the
blood of one of our ancestors, assassinated at Nimes on Saint
Bartholomew's day. We spread this carefully, every evening,
upon the page which we were going to read, and we said, with
another martyr, in whose name we are persecuted, ' Father,
forgive them !'
" I will pass over my earlier years. We grow old very soon,
you see, when we grow up under the knife. I was seven or
eight years old, when, in 1745, broke out the increased perse-cutions
which gained us the laurels of Fontenoy. There was
no childhood for me. Nursed in the midst of dangers and
alarms, we were men at twelve,—at thirty, almost old men,
—
at forty, we had white hair, like him.
" I was not yet old, however,—I was twenty, but not one of
* It is known that this name generally designated the retired and
wild spots where the Protestants of the south of France went to hold
their religious services. Hence the common expressions ;
" Churches
of the Desert, Ministers of the Desert, Woi'ship of the Desert."
\ The Edicts of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. were based, as will be
seen farther on, upon the supposition that there existed no Protestants
iu France.
48 THE PRIEST AND
our mountaineers surpassed me in courage, in gravity, in faith.
If a message were to be carried at the risk of a thousand
perils, I was ready. If consolation were needed, or encourage-ment,
then also was I ready. The elders summoned me to
their deliberations, and the ministers regarded me as one of
the pillars of that poor but glorious church, all built of the
bones of our martyrs.
"And I,—^I loved this adventurous life. I, as well as others,
might have attempted to fly from a country thirsting for our
blood ; no one could have feared less than I, those galleys to
which the Protestants arrested in their flight were condemned.
But to fly ! Never once had I even dreamed of such a thing.
And do not think it was only idle vanity. I said to those who
fled ;
' Go whither God summons you, He wills that I re-main.'
And I remained. In the midst of this oppressed prov-ince,
I had naade for miyself a sort of independence which
was even respected by the agents of tyranny. Twenty times
I might have been captured in the exercise of my religion
;
twenty times was I allowed to escape.
" There were plenty of others who made up for this. Like
Job seated in his habitation, and receiving in rapid succession,
information of all the blows which could wound his very soul,
I heard it said ;
' Such an one is taken ; he will be judged to-morrow,
executed the day after.' And this one was perhaps
a neighbor, or a friend of my childhood, with whom the day be-fore,
perhaps the same day, I had conversed and prayed. One
day my young sister was seized and shut up in a convent, and
not long after I learned that she had died of grief. Another day
my brother was brought to me, wounded mortally. He had
been surprised while returning from one of our assemblies.
The soldier had fired at hazard, and the ball pierced his breast.
" Well, in the midst of this sea of troubles, I was calm.
THE HUGUENOT. 49
Peaceably seated on the unshaken rock of my belief, I heard
the waves of this bloody torrent roaring around me. What
matters it, I thought, if it leaves me now, I shall arrive none
the less surely, sooner or later, at that goal which the martyrs,
and those who deserved to be martyrs, attain. Often, in some
retired pass of our mountains, I took pleasure in erecting with
stones, turf and wood, the antique altar of the patriarchs, I
perfumed it with thyme, I ascended it, and then, upon my
knees, with my hands raised to heaven, I offered myself up,
body and soul, to that God, whose voice I recognized in all the
sounds of nature, as well as in each throb of my heart. These
mountains, at such times, were no longer the Cevennes,—I had
overleapt time and space. In spirit I trod that land sanctified
by the footsteps of Abraham, of the prophets, of the Son of
God. O my mountains ! O holy reveries beneath the ches-nut
trees of my home ! In these times of desolation you were
for me an Eden. And now—^were I permitted to find myself
once more in your solitudes,—they would be no longer heaven
for me—but hell."
IX.
THE PARDONS OF THE CHURCH.
He ceased. His head fell upon his breast. His eyes were
swollen with tears which he could not shed.
" Courage, my son," said the priest. " Take heart ! Thou
rcpentest. Of what, I know not as yet,—but thou repentest.
It is enough. The church has pardons."
"The church !" he cried. "The church ! The pardons of the
church ! Is it with flames that you would refresh the damned'?
It is this,—it is the church—it is her infamous pardons which
have ruined me."
VOL. I. n
50 THE PRIEST AND
" Calm thyself."
" Her pardons ! Ah,—I thought that I had found a man,
—
a (Christian. And after all—^it is but a priest."
He was already at the door. The priest retained him, say-iug,
" My poor friend,—thou dost not believe in the pardons
of the church. They have ruined thee, thou sayest. They
have often been abused. None know it better than I. Come,
thou believest in the pardon of God "?"
" I believe in his ]3unishments—for those who have made
me fall into the abyss—
"
" Pardon them, my son. Hast thou not told me that in
thy home the murderers of thy brother were prayed for ?"
" Ah ! they killed only the body ; these others—
"
" Pardon them, I tell thee, and God will revive thy soul
also."
" Ah ! at last ! The Christian has returned, the priest gone
!
Let him not return, I beg."
The priest sighed. Could he deny, that in this century as
in others, there was but too often an abyss between the Chris-tian
and the priest 1
" Sit down again," he said, " and continue."
X.
THE CEVENOL S STORY.
" Such, then, was my life," resumed the Cevenol. " So
many miseries suffered in common, could not fail to j)roduce
among us an entire conformity of feelings and ideas ; and yet
it seemed to me that few had attained that lofty point to which
God had raised the impulses of my soul. It was not that I
grev/ proud of this : on the contrary, I said to myself, trem-
THE HUGUENOT. 51
bling, ' Mucli has been given me, much will be required of
me.' And it was only in rising ever higher, by contemplation
and prayer, that I could strive to be grateful for the mercies
by which I felt myself overwhelmed.
" But if the generality of souls appeared to me my inferiors,
there were two, in whose presence I felt myself penetrated by
a divine and superior warmth,
'' One was his—Rabaut, the father of all of us ; the pastor
and patriarch, at thirty years, of these destitute colonies. He
did not build altars of wood and' stone, he did not bury
himself in the mountains, unless he had to go to some distant
cavern, to receive the last .breath of some of our outlawed
brethren ; but the ideal of devotion, of which I went to dream
in our solitudes, was realized by him in our villages, within a
few paces of dragoons and executioners. God spake to me by
the sounds of the desert ; but God spake to others by his mouth.
" The other soul—ah ! where is it 1 Has God recalled it to
Himself? I know not : I am not worthy to know.
" It was a woman,—and I loved her, I loved her as only
those can love who see each other in this world, but to hope
for a meeting in the next. With her I tasted, beforehand, all
the joys of this heavenly meeting ; and if, sometimes, when
persecution appeared to slacken, I dared to hope for the
moment when the most sacred of earthly relations might be
formed between us, it was she who taught me to keep my
eyes turned towards heaven. Never had the contemplation
of things divine raised me to such a height, that she had not
preceded me upon the summits of faith—that her hand w.\s
not extended, to aid me in rising still higher. In the mean-time,
the report of our happiness had reached the ears of our
tyrants. As I said, they neither wished to kill nor to take me,
although I was daily within their reach. But if some spared
53 THEPRIESTAND
me out of respect, there were others who did so from policy.
A prisoner, or dead, I should not be useful to them in any
way, and my example would only serve to encourage my
brethren. Living, but converted^ who could better serve their
projects than myself?
" But to accomplish this conversion, from which such an
effect was anticipated, by any ordinary means, they felt to be
impossible. They determined, accordingly, to aim a blow at
my very heart. Madeleine suddenly disappeared. Her
parents could not even ascertain in what convent she was
imprisoned.
" The blow was a terrible one, yet I remained unshaken. I
did not even suspect that they intended her liberty to be pur-chased
by my apostasy. When, some two months afterwards,
the subject was cautiously touched upon to me, it was easy to
perceive, from my astonishment, that the idea had never
entered my head, so impossible a thing did my conversion
seem to me. I could not comprehend how any one could
have the folly to hope for it.
" Yes, I was invincible, and I would have remained so, in
spite of priests, soldie'rs, and tortures of mind and body ; all
these I could have defied ; but alas ! while life still beamed
from my eyes, a subtle poison was already instilling itself into
my very heart,
"While my enemies despaired of gaining anything from
me, save my contempt for themselves and their faith, who,
think you, had been their auxiliary 1 He who was filling all
Europe with complaints against them.—the philosopher of
Ferney,—Voltaire himself!
"Jesuits came to preach regularly in our villages. We
were forced to be present at their instructions, and I had fre-quently
the honor of receiving their severest animadversions.
THEHUGUKNOT. 53
As they found me immovable, the colonel of one of the regi-ments
T\-hich occupied the country said to them ;
' You under-stand
nothing of the matter. Let me take this man in hand.
Without violence, without threats, I will convert him in three
months.' The proposal was accepted. What did they care
for the means'? These are always sufficiently sanctified by
the end,
" The colonel pretended to take a liking to me. He spoke
of our stedfastness in terms almost of respect. He said he
thought it very absurd for the king to insist upon punishing it
as a crime; but it was none the less a/o//y, he added. Did
God care about being served in one way more than another ?
Were these doctrinal difierences, for which we allowed our
selves to be murdered, so very important?
" I soon saw that I had to deal with an infidel. However,
he was no more so than the greater number of the officers who
were sent to preside over our sufferings. This will doubtless
one day, be one of the most hideous characteristics of this age,
that so many were found willing to act as persecutors, without
believing in a God.
"It was accordingly by means of infidelity that he intended
to try and lead me to what he called kis religion ; that is to
say, his church, that shadowy something to which so many
Romanists imagine they still belong, even though in reality,
every tie which bound them to it be broken. The interest,
which he appeared to take in me alone j^revented me from
expressing to him at once my horror of infidelity ; besides, I
pitied still more than I condemned him. His infidelity ap-peared
to me the natural consequence of a religion which
taught so many absurd things, and I became, in consequence,
only the more attached to that in which all that is believed is
distinctly founded upon divine instruction.
54 ' THE PRIEST AND
"Very soon, he adopted the method of appearing full of
respect for all that I regarded as essential in Christianity. He
lent me books which did not directly oppose any of these
doctrines, but which, passing them by, exalted morals at the
expense of doctrine, and the virtues of man at the expense of
the work of God. I grew accustomed, gradually, to set less
importance upon faith. I began vaguely to say to myself,
that after all, if such different doctrines could lead to the same
moral results, it was wrong to be too much concerned, either
in regard to what others, or what oneself believed. I had
never seen this pretended morality, independent of doctrine,
put into practice. I did not know what vices, what turpitudes
it could shelter.
" Thus the cuirass was broken ; or, rather, I had permitted
it to be taken off. Then he lent me bolder, more able works,
in which infidelity, disguised as simple doubt, treacherously
attacked the very foundations of faith. A month before, I
should not have read two pages of these; I should have
rejected them with horror. iVbw, I read, I devoured them
;
and I began to understand, almost to excuse, this odious word,
folly^ which my seducer had used in speaking to me of our
martyrs.
" At last he came to the point. No more books, but abusive
pamphlets ; no more discussions, but sarcasms. For the first
time, the tombs of the old Camisards trembled, horror-stricken,
Avith the echoes of that infernal laugh which had resounded
from Ferney to Paris—from Paris to the remotest hamlets.
" Two persons, two only, could yet have saved me from this
lamentable fall ; he and she. But I had not seen him. So
strict a watch had been kept, that he could not have taken a
step in this part of the country without being captured. She
—
ah ! I ought not to have needed to see her, in order to remain
T H E H U G U E N O T
.
55
under her blessed influence. I ought to have shuddered at the
very thought of disturbing the harmony m which our souls
had dwelt. I ought to have cried, ' Get thee behind me,
Satan !' But fanaticism and impiety had combined for my
perdition. Whilst the colonel brought mie his books, Father
Charnay, director of the missions of Languedoc, brought me
news of Madeleine ; and this news, by a diabolical understand-ing,
was always just what was necessary to confirm me in raj
impressions of the moment. When my old enthusiasm had
begun to cool, they told me that Madeleine, broken by soli-tude,
had begun to incline to a calmer piety. When I had
been seen actually ready to make light of my belief, she had
been represented to me as occupying herself only in good
works. When I had learned to laugh at what I had adored,
she was shown me—not as an infidel,—they would not have
dared, I would not have believed it,—but indifferent, almost
gay ; ready, if I set her the example, to open the doors of her
detested convent by apostatizing. They had often given her
news of me too, they said. At first, she had been deeply
grieved ; then simply surprised, but rather glad than sorry for
the change which was taking place in me. She saw in it an
opening for proceedings which would permit us to be united.
These proceedings, however, had never been openly proposed
to me. They waited, with cumiing patience, until I should
meet them half way in that which they wished to impose upon
me. At length the colonel spoke to me of it, but lightly,
almost jestingly, as of a disagreeable step, which, with my new
ideas, I could scarcely any longer refuse to take. I yielded—
;
I signed—I was a Catholic."
56 THE PRIEST AND
XI.
THE LETTER, FATHER BRIDAINe's SERMON. CONrESSION.
The Cevenol had proceeded thus far, when the host brought
in a letter, sealed with a large seal. " A chair was below," he
said, " and the porters awaited an answer,"
The priest appeared much surprised : he read and re-read
the address. " It is undoubtedly for me," he said. " Ah ! the
archbishops' seal ! Who knew that I was here V
He read it, and then said, " Tell them that I will come after
a while.—I want the rest of thy story," he resumed, turning to
the Cevenol. " I am far more interested than thou thinkest,"
"The end is still a long way off. They are waiting for
you."
" Let them wait. Keep the end for to-morrow, then ; but
come to Father Bridaine, Where, when, and how didst thou
know him ?"
" You know him also, then f
" Yes—but go on."
" I was a Catholic, and Madeleine (at least so I was assured,)
was about to become one. The news of my apostasy had
been received in the country by a long wail of sorrow. My
fither had cursed me ; nay poor mother had nearly died of
grief
" It was necessary now to perform, at least for appearance
sake, some of the public acts of my new religion ; it was par-ticularly
desired that I should confess. Now, for this I had au
inexpressible repugnance. Besides believing no more than I
had before in absolution given by a man, however sincere and
virtuous he might be, I had yet seen among the priests nothing
but that which tended to render them odious to me. Even
THE HUGUENOT. 57
while bowing my neck beneath their yoke, I could not lose the
recollection of their cruelty and treachery, and I had not ceased
to hate the authors of the persecutions, from whose influence I
had withdrawn myself by apostasy. :$
" It was at this time that I heard Father Bridaine spoken of.
They said he had never approved of the violence practised
against us : he desired no other arms than gentleness, per-suasion,
charity. The evil spoken of him by our Jesuits,
completed my conviction of the justice of these praises. * I
resolved to make my confession to him. He was preaching
at Nimes. I went to hear him—
"
" Thou hast said," interrupted the priest, " that thou hadst
never seen him."
" And it is true. I did not see him. The crowd concealed
the pulpit from me, and I made no effort to approach. In
default of conscience, a remnant of shame made me shun all
eyes. If I did not consider myself as a traitor to God, I could
not at least help lookmg upon myself as a coward in the eyes
of men.
" I expected a controversial discourse. He preached none
such, and I learned that he rarely did. Faith, the sources of
faith, its enjoyments, these were on this occasion the principal
points of his discourse. But what a difference between the
faith of which he spoke, and that with which Ave had been tor-tured
in our villages, to the sound of drum and musket ! I
had believed in all that he represented to us as constituting
Christian faith, when I was a Protestant. And it was only in
* " The Jesuits of this place ai-e a hard-headed set, who nevei* speak
to the Protestants save of fines and imprisonment in this world, and
the devil and hell in the next. "We have had infinite difficulty in
preventing the good fathers from rebelling against our gentleness."
—
Fenelon. Written from La Saintonge, in 1686.
58 THE PRIEST AND
ceasing to believe thus, that I had decided to abjure. Where,
I said to myself, while listening to him, where, in the midst of
these broad and magnificent ideas of the redemption of Christ,
and salvation by his blood, where are the saints, the Virgin,
purgatory, indulgences, and all that was preached to us as in-dispensable
to believe, or indispensable to practise ? He says
nothing of them, and yet the system is complete. No vacuum,
no place where these vain things which they tell us are essen-tial,
could reasonably figure even as accessories.
"I rejoiced; I triumphed. It was the Huguenot which return-ed
! Alas ! it was not the Christian. In vain I allowed my-self
to be delighted with such homage rendered to the doc
trines of the reformation ; I fell back upon myself the next
moment, and considered with horror the vacuum which infi-delity
had created in my soul. Ah ! if I have since endeavor-ed
to fill this vacuum, if God has permitted me to find again,
beneath the severe pressure of remorse, at least a portion of
my former piety,—it is to the impressions of this day, it is to
Father Bridaine that I owe it.
" It had been announced that after the sermon he would con-fess
all those who wished to employ his ministry. I waited
long for my turn ; it was night when I kneeled, after twenty
others, before the grating of the confessional. From the em-barrassed
manner in which I recited the Confiteor^ he ^under-stood
with whom he had to deal. His questions put me at my
ease ; I finished by telling him nearly all my history. When
I came to the means which had been employed to bring about
my conversion, he made me repeat twice to him the shameful
story. ' Poor lad,' he said in a low voice ;
' poor lad !' At
length he broke forth. ' The abominable wretches,' he said,
' to make him an infidel in order to make him a Catholic
!
To kill his soul in order to gain it !' And he seemed ready
THE HUGUEKOT. 59
to burst from the confessional. His voice had been heard.
The people scattered about the church cast curious and terri-fied
glances at me ; they wondered, doubtless, who the horrible
sinner could be, who excited in him such indignation. ' My
poor friend,' he said at length, ' what can I do in this case for
y-ou 1 It is not by an absolution, in which you do and cannot
believe, that I can restore peace to your conscience, and faith
to your soul. "Will you take my blessing ? The blessing
of an old man is said to do good. Receive it,—God will do
the rest.'
" I left him,—I went av/ay all in tears, and— "
XII.
A DISCOVERY. THE ARREST.
" Enough now, enough,—" said the priest, who had appeared
deeply moved by the conclusion of the narrative. " Thy miem-ory
is faithful,—yes, it is indeed that which Father Bridaine
said to thee,—which he would say to thee, such as I know
him. But they are waiting for m.e. I shall not return this
evening, for I am going to lodge with—a friend,—I leave thee
my chamber. To-morrow.—
"
And soon the heavy tread of the porters was heard beneath
the window, bearing him_ away.
Remaining alone, the beggar said ;—" A chamber ! a bed !
It is a long time since I have lost the habit of using them,
—
and if it should be a trap ? If—but no. His manner is so
frank. Yes. And Father Charnay ? And the Colonel ?
They appeared frank also—
"
His eye fell accidentally upon the letter which the priest had
received, and which he had left upon the table. He looked at
60 THE PRIEST AND
it with an absent air, then he took it, but mechanically. He
did not apj)ear to dream of its power to teach him the name
of his protector. Besides, what difference did this name make
to him ?
At length he looked at the address. The letter fell from
his hands.
This priest whom he had so rudely addressed at the door of
the church, this priest to whom he had just related his history,
this priest who had been so curious to hear him speak of
Father Bridaine
—
It was Father Bridaine.
"It was then himself!" murmured the Cevenol, astonished.
" It was himself ! In fact—yes—it is so—
"
And one by one, returned to his mmd, all the little details
from which he might have been able to recognize him if he
had had but the beginning of a suspicion.
" When I mentioned his name, with what an air he started.
The second time, how he smiled. And what astonishment in
his eyes at the first words of my history ! How exactly it
was that of a man who makes an unexpected discovery
!
When I repeated to him his own words, how he seemed to re-cognize
them! And I—I did not recognize him ! And yet in
default of memory, my heart should have spoken. Ah ! but
why also that odious dress 1 At any rate, I have gained my
Avager. Except one, I said ; and he pretended to bring me to
say except two. I abide by the one." •
" It is singular," he resumed, after a moment of silence. " I
feel ill at ease here. I told him that a price was set on my
head. He does not know why. He knows, perhaps. Let us
see. What does this bishop write him. I am presumptuous,
—
but by what right should modesty be exacted from me % Let
us see—
"
THE HUGUENOT. 61
He read
:
" You, my reverend father, are not a man who can with im-punity
pass through a town without the risk of being recog-nized.
You have been recognized, and I am glad that the news
of it reached me ; for I hope you will do me the honor to ac-cept
a lodging at my house. Others, bolder than I, go so far
as to say, that we must not allow you to go away again with-out
paying a ransom. They say, and I have a great desire to
do the same, that you have never preached at Meaux, and that
you could have no reason for refusing us what you have grant-ed
to so many other towns. All that I fear,—and your incognito
confirms me in this idea,—is that you may have engagements
which call you elsewhere. I confine myself for the moment,
accordingly, to inviting you for this evening and to-night, as-suring
you, my reverend Father, of all my consideration.
" Louis, Bishop of Meaux.
" P. S.—At all events, I send my chair for you."
" This is very simple," thought the Cevenol, " and very
harmless. He evidently did not expect this letter. Besides,
would he have left it, if it had been connected with any con-spiracy
1 I am easy. But what is that f
A noise was heard on the staircase. The door was flung
open with violence. Two soldiers precipitated themselves
upon him.
He made not the slightest resistance. The treason of the
priest, for he could not doubt it, crushed him, body and soul.
At the moment of quitting the room, he turned his head again
tc wards the interior, and with a bitter smile, murmured ; "I
can no longer say except one.''''
VOL. I. 6
62 THE PRIEST AND
XIII.
THE BISHOP OF MEAUX.
Louis de Narniers, bishop of Meaux, "belonged to the then
numerous class of prelates who had never comprehended, nor
appeared to comprehend, what a Christian pastor is.
His conduct, it is true, had not been openly scandalous.
Public opinion no longer tolerated in ecclesiastics those bold
turpitudes once so common, and of which more than one pre-late
had preserved, even so late as the reign of Louis XIV.,
the too ancient tradition.
Monsieur de Narniers had accordingly never transgressed
beyond certain limits. He had had mistresses, like any other,
but had not made it public ; he had incurred debts, but he had
paid them. The proximity of Versailles had enabled him to
hang about the court, while still residing at Meaux. At Ver-sailles
as at Meaux, at Meaux as at Versailles, he had for a
long time lived in a dashing style : then, brought back by age
to less expensive tastes, he had easily gained a reputation for
simplicity and wisdom. In short, he squandered an enormous
amount in his youth ; and in his old age, he heaped together
in an equal degree. These two facts comprise his whole life.
At this time nearly eighty years of age, during the last
twenty years all his affections had been concentrated upon two
nephews—one a soldier, the other an abbe, according to the
invariable custom of noble families. To raise one to the
highest honors of the army, and to assure to the other, after
him, the bishopric of Meaux, were the only and unchangeable
objects of all his combinations and all his labors. He did not
appear to suspect the least in the world that this was not his
great business, or that he had been raised to the see of Bossuet
THE HUGUENOT. 63
for any other purpose. He was, moreover, not ignorant ofthe
weakness which his illustrious predecessor also had displayed
towards a nephew, and was able, when necessary, to remind
those of it who were astonished at his solicitude for his own.
And, nevertheless, with these exceptions, he was a man of a
good deal of mind and tact. Few people, among the fortunate
of the age, perceived more clearly tlian he did the universal
decomposition of society, which was now drawing towards its
crisis. It was asserted, that among his intimates, no one could
criticise with better sense than he the abuses which were
destroying France. Was there question of reforming a single
one of these ? The most crying evils had no better defender
than him. He did not attempt to justify them; he confined
himself to asking why the present generation should
trouble itself more about them than any other. If they did
not exist, he^fhought, it would be wrong to create them ; since
they did exist, it would be quite as wrong not to profit by
them, if possible. It was the common mode of reasoning among
those of the privileged classes who had not absolutely repelled
the invasion of new ideas, and whose object was to belong to
their age, although without breaking with the preceding ones.
Thus, when the old Count of Canaples obtained a regiment for
a young cousin of eighteen,* to the prejudice of many older
officers, he declared his opinion to be, that nothing in his
eyes, could be more contrary to good order and justice. But
lie hastens to add, that after having, as a citizen, spoken against
an abuse, one is not bound, on that account, to renounce the
advantao-es which it offers. The Duke de Saint-Simon, after
so many austere discourses, contrived to have raised from
three to twelve thousand livres his emoluments as governor
of the castle of Blaye, in which he never set foot.
* DUOLOS.
64 THE PRIEST AND
Thus acted our bishop of Meaux. He was frightened, be-sides,
and not without reason, at the thought of the endless
overturnings which the least change might bring about. He
felt that it was impossible to move one stone, without being
led gradually, nay, perhaps suddenly, to demolish and re-build
the whole edifice. In the meantime, he made himself as com-fortable
as possible in the old building. Like Louis XV., he
said, " It will last as long as I do ;" which meant, in his mind,
" as long as I and my nephews ;" for he would not have been
able to endure the idea of a revolution ruining all that he had
had so much trouble to build.
A great aristocrat in his notions, there was, nevertheless, no
nieanness to which he did not willingly and without effort sub-mit
himself, as soon as circumstances appeared to him to exact
it. He considered it no more humiliating to bow before a
favorite or a minister, than to stoop in going through too low
a door. People had made for themselves, in this respect, a
sort of fatalism—a sad excuse for all degradation. Whoever
desired the end, must endure also the means. Did not Maria-
Theresa, an empress, having need of Madame de Pompadour,
call her my cousin^ in 1756?* iVecess^^y justified everything;
and for our bishop there was no more imperative necessity
than to establish the greatness of his house.
Thus far, he had had but to congratulate himself upon the
success of his system. It was thus that he had obtained many
rich benefices under the Regency, and that, after becoming
bishop, he had succeeded in keeping them. It was through
Madame de Pompadour that he had had a regiment given to
his elder nephew ; it was through her, also, that he had quite
recently gamed for the other the title of preacher to the king.
* At the period of the treaty of Versailles.
THE HUGUEl^OT. 65
XIV.
THE YOUNG MARQUIS.
When Father Bridaine arrived at the bishop's residence, he
was received with every honor. His talent and his zeal had
gained him a reputation which raised him to a level with the
bishops. It was well known, besides, that his wearing the
mitre depended upon himself alone. Benedict XIV. had
granted him the sole right of preachmg where it seemed good
to him, without having to ask permission of the diocesan.
He had for a long time exercised a sort of itenerant bishopric
in France, of which all the bishops were glad to favor the exer-cise.
The Jesuits alone, as has been seen, were jealous of his
influence and success.
He had but little esteem for the bishop of Meaux. This
was one of the reasons why he had not intended to make any
stay in the city, and had meant to leave incognito. He
responded however with much politeness to the prelate's
officiousness ; but as soon as they had exchanged a few words
he perceived that his host had an extremely preoccupied air.
He could not understand, after so pressing an invitation, the
embarrassment which his arrival appeared to cause him.
"You will excuse me, my father," said the prelate at length;
" but you perceive that I am very uneasy. My nephew was
to be at home at nine o'clock : he had appointed this hour for
several persons to come. It is ten, and he has not made his
appearance. Well, no news V he continued, addressing him-self
to a valet who entered.
" None, my lord : we have been everywhere. No one has
seen Monsieur I'Abbe."
6*
66 THE PRIEST AND
" Holy Virgin !" exclaimed the bishop, clasping his hands.
Then recalling the valet, he said, in a low tone
:
" Have you been also to—to her /"
" Yes, my lord ; he is not there."
" Holy Virgin !" exclaimed the prelate again.
Bridaine had heard the Tier ; and as the abbe passed for
being very little of an abbe in his morals, he had concluded
from it—what was unhappily but too true of many of the
abbes of the time. At Meaux the thmg was of public notoriety.
" Has not my lord also another nephew f asked the mis-sionary.
*
" Yes—the colonel. Ah ! if I were obliged to trouble my-self
about his absences, I should not often close my eyes.
When he comes home before midnight, I am half inclined to
compliment him upon it. Ah, stay—here he is, I believe."
And, in fact, the jingling of spurs was heard in the ante-chamber,
accompanied by the roar of coarse laughter, by which
the young lords of the; day announced their arrival, in their
moments of mauvais ton.
"Parbleu, uncle!" he said, dashing into the saloon; "here
is a pretty day's work, I think !"
But his uncle, a little confused, had hastened to meet him,
and made him a sign to be silent. Then, taking him by the
hand, and leadmg him to the missionary, he said
:
"Monsieur Bridaine, Monsieur the Marquis de Narniers,
my nephew."
Monsieur the marquis bowed, took off his hat, and threw it
from him.
" Enchanted, Monsieur. But only fancy, uncle, that—
"
" Have you seen your brother ?"
" Ah ! parbleu ! But let me finish. Have I seen him
!
Most certamly I have seen him—most certainly—ha ! ha !"
THE HUGUENOT. 67
And still shouting ^vith laughter, he threw himself back in
the arm-chair mto which he had thrown himself.
" You have seen him ? Nothing had happened to him V
" Now come, do I look like a man whose brother has broken
his neck,—or who has just sold him to some merchant, like
Joseph?"
The poor bishop began to be horribly ill at ease.
" Hemy," he said,—" this tone—
"
" Ah ha ! scolding 1 The moment is well chosen. On my
honor ! Jacob getting angry when his Benjamin is brought
back to him !"
" Henry,—once more,—you see that I am not alone."
" My lord," said Bridaine rising, " have the goodness to let
me be shown the chamber which you have had the goodness
to destine for me."
" Monsieur, Monsieur," cried the Marquis, " sit down again,
I beg you. My uncle would say that it is I who have driven
you away."
" Hewould say what is true. Monsieur," replied the missionary.
The other rose, crimson with anger. He seemed ready to
rush upon the priest
" Henry ! Henry ! are you mad ?" cried the bishop, quite
terrified. " Do you wish, wretched boy, to make me die of
shame 1 I swear to you my father, that I have never seen him
thus,—^never."
And in fact, his nephew did not always go so far ; but he
rarely came home in the evening, without having the excite-ment
of wine added more or less to his usual impetuosity.
" Come,—calm yourself," resumed the bishop, accustomed
to yield, and sure, besides, that it was the only way of coming
to an end. " Sit down, my father, sit down,—^it is I who beg
you. Come then, Henry, you were saying—
"
68 THEPRIESTAND
" I was saying—^upon my word, I have forgotten what I was
saying. Ah !—yes—it is this. Fancy then, that I was quietly
returning to supper with
—
jou know—
"
" Yes,—^yes,—I know. Go on."
" What a family !" murmured the missionary.
" when, passing by your cathedral, I heard heavy blows
struck on the inside, against one of the doors. 'Oh ho !' I said
to myself. ' some devotee who has gone to sleep over his pater-nosters.
He is caught ; it is good for him.' I approached.
' Hey ! m.y friend,' I cried, ' are you going to wake the dead.
The door is not opened any more to-night.'
"
' AVhat, is it thou !' said a voice. ' Thou,—-thou,—' I asked,
—
'•who is it that calls me tJiou P 'Why it is I,—I.' At the first
moment I nearly dropped with surprise. You do not guess,,
my very dear uncle ? It was Monsieur the abbe, your nephew,
—your preacher to the king."
" My nephew in the cathedral. At ten o'clock at night !"
cried the bishop, turning jDale, for he knew the abbe too well
not to fear that this adventure would serve to put him on the
trace of some new scandal.
" Yes," continued the Colonel, " it was he. What he was
doing there, I do not know ; he would not tell me. One thing
perfectly certain is, that if he did fall asleep in some cor-ner,
it was not while saying his prayers. And yet Vv^hen he
saw me laugh, as I asked him if he were alone, he swore to
me, swore very seriously, that my charitable suppositions
were false."
" He swore this to you V
" Yes. You are going to tell me that that is no reason for
believing him. True. But I saw from his manner, that he
was telling the truth."
" God be praised !" said the prelate.
THE HUGUENOT. 69
" Very good. But you do not ask me how I got him out.
A little heroically, I tell you. I ran to the Laker's on the cor-ner,
whose shop was luckily still open. I armed myself—
"
" With a log r'
" Fie ! that would be a pretty weapon for a gentleman ! A
log ! An axe, uncle, an axe. And still, it took me I do not
know how long, to break the lock of that cursed door."
" Holy Virgin ! An axe ! The door of my cathedral
!
' Why there is enough there to bring on a terrible law-suit!"
" To be tried before you, luckily. And even if it should be
before somebody else, well !—a great affair, truly ! A brother
rescuing his brother ! Why that is fine, very fine ; it is an-tique.
And as to the broken door, an old habit, in faith. It
was from the Camisards that I learned to use the axe. Are
there then no indulgences, as in the good old time, for those who
have warred against the heretics 1 Ah, ha ! apropos of Cami-sards,—
you were there too. Father Bridaine, in these cursed
Cevennes. How was it that I did not remember that when I
heard your name 1 We have served together, uncle, served
together."
" Not the same master," said Bridaine.
" Yes, I understand. You God, and I the king. The fact
is, that the king would do just as well to leave to God, and
God's people, the care of this sort of affair, for it is an abomi-nable
bore to stay in those mountains. So, do you know
what I once did to amuse myself there 1 I made a convert—
•
Oh, a real convert. Not with the sword. No, a real convert, by
reasoning, upon nny honor ;—and discussions', and books,
books such as you have perhaps never read nor seen. Ask my
uncle."
" Henry, not a word more of this abominable affair. I for-bid
it."
70 THE PRIEST AND
" Then you don't wish me to tell you my other adventure
this evemng V
" There is another adventure f
" Parbleu,—I should not have cried out, ' a good day's
work !' for only one !"
" Let us hear it."
" You remember, do you not, this famous convert, my Cev-enol,
my assassin of Toulouse 1 Well, he is at Meaux ; he is
under lock and key."
" This man is taken ?" said Bridaine eagerly.
" Taken ; as taken as it is possible for any one to be."
" Henry," said the bishop, " if it is you who have had him
taken, you were wrong, very wrong."
" Why ? Cannot he be hung here as well as anj'^where else ?"
" You are determined he shall be hung 1 Come ! Another
taste which I did not know that you possessed."
" I ? Not at all. The fact is, it did not even occur to me,
that the thing might have consequences for him, so — disa-greeable.
I recognized him this afternoon, disguised as a
beggar, and do you know where 1 At the door of the cathe-dral.
I thought it comical that he should thus have come and
put himself in the jaws of the wolf, and so I said a few words
to the authorities. They watched him, and followed him, and
at length caught him at an inn, where he had gone accompan-ied
by a priest, no offence to you."
" And this priest f
" Had just gone out. They will have him when helcomes
back, if he does come back ; for he may be some vagabond
also. And there is the whole story. I should have done bet-ter
perhaps to have let them alone. Bah ! v/hat 's done is
done."
Bridaine had from the first, as may well be thought, recog-
THE HUGUENOT. 71
nized the Colonel and his victim. At first, the bold marquis
had inspired him with contempt only ; but now, he shuddered
at the sight of a man who had in cold blood delivered another
to the hangman, because, he said, the thing had appeared to
him comical. The spectacle of an implacable hatred would
have been less affli