Mary Imlay Taylor

“ There was no gardener at the château now, and it was the young girl’s custom to weed and tend her own flower beds. She was bending over some velvet-faced pansies, snipping off the dead blooms and plucking away the vagrant grass when she heard some one speak behind her, and looking up saw a hideous face peeping over the wicket-gate. Rosaline started and stood erect, viewing her visitor with a suspicious glance. But Mère Tigrane—for it was she—was accustomed to such receptions, and she only grinned more widely as she dropped mademoiselle a curtsey. ”

“ Père Ambroise was popular; hardly a parish priest in Nîmes was more welcome as a visitor, and none were less feared. Children ran after the amiable father, babies crowed for him, invalids were glad to hear his cheery voice. He was not intended as a persecutor or a martyr; he was round and the world was round, and both revolved comfortably in their own orbits. Père Ambroise was lazy, and, Mère de Dieu, these wretched Camisards were as fleet of foot as mountain goats! The good priest preferred a good dinner and a soft bed in Nîmes. ”

“ Then the hope that her cries might bring help began to rise in her heart, and she was on the point of screaming aloud, when a sound struck her ear that froze her blood in her veins. It was a laugh, but it sounded like a fiendish chuckle. It came from her right hand, and she turned her head quickly and looked into the face of Mère Tigrane. An exclamation of horror and fear burst from Rosaline’s heart, and she shrieked for help—help!—and the old fishwife laughed and rocked to and fro. ”

“ Rosaline curtsied with a smile on her lips.
“I am honored, monsieur,” she replied; “but happily, as my grandmother says, I have the decision of my fate. My marriage matters to no one except to her and to me—and, monsieur, I do not desire to marry.”
He stared at her in such frank surprise that she had to avert her face to hide her amusement.
“You are only a child,” he said bluntly; “you do not understand what my name and fortune would mean to you. ’Tis not every day, mademoiselle, that a man desires to marry a young girl without a dot!” ”

“ Denis!” she exclaimed at last, “how proud mademoiselle is,—an aristocrat! But ’tis not the Tour de Constance, ma chérie,” she added, with a mocking laugh. “No, no, there must be a better fate for such a lovely prisoner. Dame! but your flesh is white—I could eat it. How much does mademoiselle think that M. de Baudri would pay for such a prize?”
“Dieu!” cried Rosaline, shaken out of her resolve, “are you a woman? Is it possible that the bon Dieu put such a heart in a woman?”
“A woman, my pretty?” retorted the hag, with a peal of wild laughter. ”

“ There was a dancing bear, and beyond him—a rival attraction—a monkey in scarlet breeches, with a blouse or camisole over them. The little creature’s antics were hailed with shouts of derisive laughter and cries of “Camisard!” “Barbet!” “Huguenot!” the monkey’s little blouse being an unmistakable [8] caricature of the dress of the Camisards. It therefore behooved the wise to laugh, and they did, and that loudly,—though many a heart was in secret sympathy with the Huguenot rebels of the Cévennes; but were they not in Nîmes? And the Intendant Bâville was there, and the dragoons of King Louis XIV. ”

“ That meagre story of pain and sorrow was Charlot’s history, and now he stitched away patiently on his shoes and made no complaint. No one thought of him as a man endowed with all a man’s feelings and passions. The little hunchbacked shoemaker of St. Antoine was not disliked by his neighbors; he was welcome to gather up the crumbs of joy that fell from the happier man’s table, to look on at feasts and weddings; he was even wanted at funerals—for he had a strangely touching way of showing his sympathy; but Dieu! he was a thing apart, le bossu, a little deformity. ”

“ Yet the busy life of every day went on; people bought and sold and got gain; others married and made feasts; children were born, to be snatched from Huguenot parents and baptized into the old religion; some men died and were buried, others were cast from the galleys, at Marseilles, into the sea. Such was life in Nîmes in those old days when the sign of Two Shoes hung over the humble shop on the Rue St. Antoine. ”

“ Cyr. At the sight of her grandmother’s face Rosaline awoke from her dream and running forward, fell on her knees beside her with a cry of surprise and anguish. Père Ambroise hastily closed the door behind him; he did not need to look a second time to see that M. de Baudri was to be defrauded of one victim.
“Speak to me, grand’mère,” Rosaline cried pitifully. “Oh, mon Dieu, why did I ask for one night to decide? Twelve hours ago I might have saved her!”
The sound of a beloved voice often rouses even the dying; Madame de St. Cyr stirred and opened her eyes. ”

“ The poor hunchbacked cobbler held their lives in his hand, their joy, and their desolation.
All these thoughts and many more crowded in upon le Bossu as he toiled along the road, and it seemed to him that Satan walked beside him. When a bodily infirmity as great as his is laid upon a man, there come hours of supreme temptation, when human nature revolts and the starved heart cries out in agony and will not be satisfied. ”

“ It was half an hour before moonrise and the night was supremely still. The warm air of midsummer stirred not even a leaf on the trees. There was no sound but the footsteps of three persons walking through a mulberry grove at a short distance from the spot where the highroad from Nîmes turned off to St. Hippolyte. Mademoiselle and Babet, escorted by M. d’Aguesseau, were making their way slowly back to St. Cyr. They had been—at the peril of their lives—to one of the night meetings of the Church of the Desert and were returning; cautiously avoiding observation all the while. ”

“ Rosaline read the evil look in the hag’s eyes and knew that she would never relent; and so great was her own abhorrence that it was well-nigh impossible to look at her again. She turned her eyes toward the door, therefore, and closed her lips; she had no hope save in heaven.
“How would mademoiselle like the Tour de Constance?” Mère Tigrane inquired pleasantly. “’Tis a healthful place and full of her friends. Dame de Dieu, what an opportunity to travel without pay from Nîmes to Aiguemortes!” ”

“ The good father is naturally kind,—he cannot help it; he is so round and sleek that he rolls through the world as easily as a ball. To strike anything violently would make him bounce uncomfortably, so dear old Père Ambroise rolls blandly on. I should weep indeed if the naughty Camisards caught the kind soul and harmed him. I can see him, though, trying to run away, with his round eyes starting and his fat cheeks quivering like Babet’s moulds of jelly ”

“ Babet was kneeling on the floor, with Truffe’s head smothered in her apron to hush the dog’s bark. Rosaline leaned against the window frame looking out, the moonlight outlining her slender figure.
“M. d’Aguesseau talks with one of them,” she said. “Ciel! how ghastly their faces look in this light—like chalk—and I see everywhere the flash of steel.”
“Can you make out who they are?” asked her grandmother, in a tremulous voice.
“Nay,” she replied, “but M. d’Aguesseau is friendly with them,—I can see that; he has shaken hands with one who seems to be a leader.” ”

“ The air was full of the twittering of birds, and all the life in Nature began to stir. There were no travellers on the highroad so early, save one, a corpulent priest, mounted on a stout mule, proceeding toward St. Cyr. Père Ambroise detested extraordinary exertion, but he had yielded to the importunities of the cobbler. For his own part, he thought that ten o’clock was soon enough to deal with M. de Baudri, but he had roused himself and set out at an unearthly hour because of le Bossu’s representations. ”

“ The unwitting cruelty of children often hurts as [240] much as the coarse brutality of their parents, but to-day le Bossu smiled. If his life was worth something to Rosaline de St. Cyr, it was worth all the suffering of living it; the bon Dieu had given him a blessed compensation.
He was returning to the shop of Two Shoes when another man entered the court. The cobbler looked about anxiously, for he had been dreading the possible appearance of Père Ambroise or one of M. de Baudri’s emissaries, but a second glance reassured him, for he came face to face with François d’Aguesseau. ”

“ Rosaline fled through the woods like a young fawn with the dog at her heels. She took no thought of herself but only remembered her grandmother and the terrible prospect of a dragonnade at St. Cyr. The custom of quartering dragoons on families suspected of heresy was too fearfully frequent for it to be improbable, and such visitations were attended by horrible indignities; neither age nor innocence was spared, and the end generally saw the château in smoking ruins and the members of the devoted family dead or banished. ”

“ Of the six, five were wounded, and the blood flowed from an unbandaged wound on one man’s head. Faint from the loss of it, he reeled in his saddle, but uttered no complaint. Meanwhile M. de Baudri sat erect on his spirited horse, his head uncovered, his rich uniform spotless, and his periwig freshly curled. He looked smilingly into Rosaline’s pale face.
“A fair good morning, my Rose of Languedoc,” he said gallantly, speaking too low for the ears of his dragoons; “I count it fortunate when even my duty takes me past your door.” ”

“ Cyr. Le Bossu tucked the slipper out of sight and greeted his visitor. She entered with a quick, firm step, bearing herself like a grenadier, and dusted the stool with the end of her shawl before she sat down.
“Well, Charlot,” she said, opening a bundle that she had brought, “here are my boots, and the left one pinches me and the right is too large. I tell you, man, that you never make two shoes alike.”
The cobbler smiled. “Your feet are not alike; that is the trouble, Babet,” he retorted; “the left one is larger than the right.” ”

“ Rosaline looked up with a haggard face, but her eyes sparkled with anger.
“François d’Aguesseau is no servant,” she cried; “he is as well born and far more noble than his persecutor!”
The man laughed fiercely. “He is doubtless mademoiselle’s lover,” he remarked contemptuously; “she is more lightly won than I supposed.”
“It is always in the power of the strong to insult the weak,” Rosaline retorted coldly. ”

“ Le Bossu heard footsteps in the shop as he descended the stairs, and leaning forward, saw Mère Tigrane in the kitchen door. Without a word he went back and closed the trap, slipping the bolt; then he came down to find la Louve in the kitchen.
“Where are my sabots, Petit Bossu?” she demanded, her fierce little eyes travelling around the room, and her lips very red. “I came for them myself, you are so slow.”
“You do not need them, Mère Tigrane,” the cobbler replied coolly, eying her feet; “your sabots are as good as new. ”

“ Rosaline loosened her hold on Truffe, who wriggled herself free and fled away along the hedge barking angrily. Neither of them heeded the poodle, however, for their thoughts were of more serious matters.
“Have no fear, monsieur,” Rosaline said; “our peril could scarcely be increased. We are all members of a proscribed religion, and it is natural that we should all suffer together. It has been a pleasure to my grandmother to be able to have you as her guest. We have been so situated that we could do nothing for our fellow-religionists, and it is much to her to do even so little for you.” ”

“ Rosaline replied, “and then she caught hold of my skirt in her eagerness to arrest my attention. I was foolish, I know, but, I couldn’t help it, I cried out—such a horror came over me! Then Truffe sprang on her, and she drew a knife on my dog! I saved Truffe and ordered her away, but I know she was fearfully angry, and—and I fear her; I can’t tell why, but I fear her!”
“Put her from your thoughts, mademoiselle,” he said soothingly; “’tis not in the power of such a wretched creature to hurt you.” ”

“ IN THE WOODS OF ST. CYR
The next morning found Charlot in his shop. He had spread his tools and leather on his bench with a pretence of work, but he was not working. He sat watching his door with eager eyes, alert and impatient. He was waiting for the return of the blacksmith’s boy whom he had sent in search of d’Aguesseau. Rosaline and Babet had walked out of the gate of the town as soon as it was opened, and must be now near St. Césaire. In le Bossu’s chamber a candle burned before the Virgin, a prayer for the heretics; such is the inconsistency of the human heart and its religion. ”

“ She crossed the court and trudged away toward the gate of Nîmes with a feeling of satisfaction. She had relieved her mind, and she believed that she had disarmed the hunchback’s suspicions. Babet knew that Charlot thought her a Huguenot, and she took many different ways of deceiving him. She thought now that she had given a reason for M. d’Aguesseau’s stay at St. Cyr. It was a truthful statement, but she had made it to excuse the presence there of a stranger. No one knew of her intentions; Babet always acted on her own impulses and she fancied herself a wise woman. ”

“ The gray cliff’s towered boldly, hiding the little falls, locking them in a spot as wild and as deserted as the wildernesses of the Cévennes. But below, where the stream widened, the banks were mossy, and in summer ferns and wild flowers clustered, and on either bank was a fringe of juniper bushes, and beyond, the tall, well-nurtured chestnut trees. Here were fish,—the brown trout darting through the placid waters, and the eels, and there were always birds in the trees when the chestnuts blossomed. ”

“ After that he threw himself on the bed, dressed as he was, and all night he wrestled with a temptation that beset him, with a new-born hatred of the man whom he had befriended in the market-place. If he had left M. d’Aguesseau in that tent with the body of the damned person, how different the end might have been! Ah, the desolate soul and the desolate hearth, the misery and the poverty! Dame de Dieu! some men possessed the earth and the fulness thereof, and others starved! ”

“ Next time you drive Mère Tigrane away with her fish, I think you will not hold that little head so high.”
“Mon Dieu!” cried Rosaline, in amazement, “is it possible that my one little act has made you hate me so?”
Mère Tigrane shook her head, wagging it slowly from side to side. “No,” she replied, [255] “I hate you for living; I hate all men and all women and all children. I would blast them if I could; I live on hatred! Mère de Dieu! how I love to see a heretic burn!”
Rosaline closed her eyes with a shudder, and la Louve sat looking at her thoughtfully, with a greedy eye. Dame! ”

“ Morning found Charlot stirring the fire in the kitchen; the commonplace world possessed him again; he was no longer an individual, only one of many, the little cobbler of Nîmes. He made [169] his coffee and he ate his black bread, and then he went to his bench and worked patiently, finishing a pair of high military riding-boots. They were of fine leather, and he fastened burnished buckles on the high insteps. They were elaborate, and he had put some fine labor upon them, and he looked at them now with a recognition of their perfections; no one made better shoes than the hunchback. ”

“ Fire and sword had laid waste in Languedoc. It had been a reign of terror. The chieftains of the Camisards sweeping down from the Cévennes carried the war almost to the sea; priests were slain, Catholic villages burned. On the other side, the king’s soldiers poured into the devoted country, and the Huguenots were hunted far and wide. The galleys at Marseilles were crowded, the jails were packed, the gallows in constant use; the women and children were sent to convents and prisons, and the desolate country threatened famine, with no man to till the soil, and no woman to bind the sheaves. ”

“ The dragoons dismounted at M. de Baudri’s command and surrounded the spot. It would be impossible for any one to escape down that bare hillside unseen. De Baudri’s eyes burned fiercely; he thought his prey within his grasp. Le Bossu was lame from the long and weary walk, and his drawn face was white, but his expression was full of content. ”

“ It was twelve o’clock when he rose and put the boots into his green bag, and gathering up his measure and some tools, set out once more. The streets were full and the cobbler made his way slowly through the throng. One or two spoke to him, others noticed him less than the mule that stood waiting for a reverend father outside the Garden of the Récollets. Le Bossu took little heed of it all; his face was drawn and haggard, and the hump seemed larger than ever. He walked on until he passed in front of the inn of the Golden Cup and came to a house a few yards beyond it. ”

“ When it was over the grandmother bade Rosaline good-night and sent her away with Babet, but she detained d’Aguesseau. When they were alone she turned to him with a sad face.
“I fear that trouble is brewing, monsieur,” she said quietly; “the very presence of Cavalier near Nîmes increases our perils, and there too are the Florentines,—the White Camisards, as they call themselves,—ruffians, in fact, banded together to hunt us down. I see nothing but danger and death on every side. For myself, I no longer fear,” she added with sorrowful dignity ”

“ The Intendant of Languedoc might indeed regard him as scarcely worth the killing; but no man can see the naked soul of his brother, and it may be vastly different from his body; as [238] different as the abode on earth is from the mansion in heaven. “It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power.” It is cast in the shape of a cripple on earth, it is raised in the form of an angel. The starved soul of le Bossu looked out of his patient eyes and saw not even a crumb of comfort falling from the rich man’s table, and self-sacrifice became the law of his life. ”