The Scourge of God: A Romance of Religious Persecution
As he spoke he revealed to those around him what were his true
feelings in regard to all that had taken place, though indeed some of
them knew or suspected those feelings; revealed that it was the
resistance to the king's power, the constituted authority, which he
was determined to crush more than the resistance to the ancient and,
in this place at least, cruel faith of the land. These were indeed his
feelings, this his guiding motive. He was above all things a courtier,
a king's man; and though for thirty-three years he never quitted
Languedoc for a single day, he becoming its Intendant in 1685 and
retiring from it in 1718, Versailles with its powerful master was the
star on which his eyes were ever fixed. Nay, he himself had said that
_Le roi était son Dieu_, and that to do him service was all he lived
for. As for the outraged Romish faith, let Rome repay that outrage.
His duty was to crush rebellion, and he did it well. When he finally
left the province, he had caused twelve thousand Protestants to suffer
either death, imprisonment, or transportation to the galleys.
But now from Buscarlet there came a denial of Baville's charges
against his creed. Rising from his seat by Martin's side he spoke,
while all in the room gazed in astonishment at the old man, never
expecting to hear the words he uttered.
"Your Excellency," he said, "have you weighed well your words ere you
uttered them? Scarcely, I think. All rebellion comes from us, the
Protestants, you have said, all attack upon those who are God's
anointed. Is this so? Pause, sir, and reflect. Who was it who first
uttered the maxim that bad kings should be deposed? Who were those
whom Henri of Valois saw force their way into his palace of the
Louvre, carry off his furniture, reverse his arms, destroy his
portrait, break his great seal, style him _Lâche_, _Hérétique_,
_Tyran?_ Was it not the Sorbonne who declared the people absolved from
their vow to him, erased his name from the prayers of the Romish
Church? Who slew him at St. Cloud? Jacques Clement, the monk--was he a
Protestant?"
"Henri de Valois was himself a murderer," the bishop made answer.
"Himself slew the Guises at Blois."
"How many Protestants have been murdered by orders of our present
king? Yet there is not one in France who would raise his hand against
him," the pastor continued. Then, as though carried away by one of
those ecstasies which caused men, especially men among the refugees of
the mountains, to seem almost inspired, he continued:
"Your Excellency has said we attack those who are God's anointed. Do
we so? Who formed the rebel league to exclude Henry of Navarre from
the succession? Who was it struck that great king to the heart in the
Rue de la Ferronnerie? Ravillac! Was he of the Reformed faith? Who
would have turned Louis off the throne he now sits securely on, have
set up the Prince of Condé in his place? Who? Who? Not Protestants for
sure! Name one who has slain a king or attempted to slay one in all
our land."
"Monsieur Buscarlet," Baville replied, still containing himself,
"there is no accusation against those of your faith as to their
desiring to slay King Louis. But they have revolted against all
constituted authority, against all who here rule for the king, against
his priests. Your statement as to what misguided men of our own faith
have done helps you not. Two wrongs do not make one right. And because
it is by the Protestants that the sacred soil of France is threatened,
the Protestants must go. Nay, more: those who rebel must pay the
penalty."
* * * * * * *
"Monsieur," said Baville, coming in two hours later to another room in
which Martin sat, he and Buscarlet having been requested to leave the
apartment in which the council were, after they had both testified to
all that had happened at Montvert on the night when the abbé was
slain, "Monsieur, I have heard strange news of you. I wonder you did
not see fit to tell me with whom I had the honour of conversing."
"With whom you had the honour of conversing!" Martin replied, looking
at him in astonishment. "I think, sir, you forget. I told you my name,
also where my property is--in France."
"Pardon me, you did so tell me." And, even as he spoke, Martin
observed, to his still further astonishment, that the Intendant's
manner had become one of almost deference, certainly of increased
courtesy, though he had never been in any way impolite to him since
they had met at Montvert. "You did tell me that. What you omitted to
inform me of, quite within your perfect right, doubtless, was that you
were of the de Rochebazon family. Sir, permit me to congratulate you.
There is no nobler house in all France, in Europe."
"Your Excellency, I have not the honour to be of the house of de
Rochebazon----"
"Not?"
"But, instead, a relative of the late Princesse de Rochebazon."
And as he spoke he did not doubt, nay, he felt sure, that he had given
himself into this man's power. If he knew so much of the de
Rochebazons as he seemed to do, he must know that the late princess
had been an Englishwoman. Baville would also be aware, therefore, what
his nationality was. Yet, still strong in the honour which lay deep
within his heart; strong, too, in his determination to profit by no
evasion of the truth when the telling of it was absolutely necessary,
he announced his kinsmanship with her, looking straight into the
Intendant's eyes as he did so.
In an instant he recognised that he stood in no peril at present.
Whatever Baville might know of the family of de Rochebazon, it was
evident he did not know that the princess was not a Frenchwoman.
"Monsieur," Baville replied, "it is the same thing. And, sir, I
welcome you to Languedoc, you, a member of a great family which has
stood ever by the throne, the Church. I hope you will make my
house--it is at Montpellier--your resting place while you remain in
the Midi. You will be very welcome."
"I thank your Excellency, but it is impossible I should accept. You
will remember I told you I have a mission here--one that I can not put
aside even amid the troublous times which have now arisen in the
neighbourhood. I must prosecute my mission to the end."
"To find the lost man you spoke of?"
"To find him."
"Is he a de Rochebazon? If so, he should be very near to a great
inheritance--an inheritance which, the Franciscan tells me (the monk
who recognised you as the gentleman who attended the last moments of
Madame la Princesse), the Church has fallen heir to."
"The monk! What monk? Yet--I remember. There were two at her bedside:
one who watched continuously, another who came at the last moment.
Which is he?"
"I can not say. Yet I will bring you into intercourse with him if you
desire it. He is here to assist in stamping out this accursed
Protestantism, in helping to convert them to the true faith."
"Your Excellency hates bitterly these Protestants."
"I hate the king's enemies. And all Protestants are such."
As the Intendant uttered these words Martin told himself the time had
come. He must speak now or be henceforth a coward in his own esteem.
It was for nothing that his father had cast off forever his allegiance
to James, had openly acknowledged that henceforth he abjured the
religion to which James belonged. Not for nothing, since by so doing
he had stood his trial before Sir Francis Wytham and Sir Creswell
Levinz, narrowly escaping Jeffreys himself. Not for nothing, since he
had been fined and imprisoned, he who had followed the Stuarts into
exile, almost ruined.
Yet all would be for nothing--his father's tribulations, his own
repudiation of the wealth his aunt had amassed for him--all would be
worth nothing if now he stood here before this man and, hearing the
cause reviled for which both father and son had sacrificed so much,
held his peace like a coward.
The time had come.
"Your Excellency," he said quietly, "stigmatizes Protestants as
accursed; also as the king's enemies. Well, as to being accursed I
know not; it may be even as you say. But I do know that I am no enemy
of King Louis. Yet--I am a Protestant."
"You!" Baville exclaimed, taking a step back in sheer astonishment.
"You! Yet a kinsman by marriage of the de Rochebazons. It is
impossible."
"Nevertheless it is true."
Baville shrugged his shoulders, then suddenly turning round on him, he
said:
"Your sympathies, then, are with these rebels here. You approve,
perhaps, of what you saw on the bridge at Montvert two nights ago. Are
here, it may be, to foment further troubles."
"You mistake. I utterly disapprove of what I saw. Would indeed have
saved the priest had it been in my power. It is not by cruelty that
wrongs are righted."
"In Heaven's name, then, if these are your sentiments what makes you a
Protestant?"
"Conviction. As conviction made that de Rochebazon a Protestant whom I
am here to find some traces of, alive or dead."
They had remained standing face to face with one another since the
Intendant had come into the room; they were face to face still as
Martin told how the missing heir to the de Rochebazon name and wealth
had himself changed his religion, and, being face to face, he saw a
strange look, a shade of startled perplexity, come into the
countenance of Baville. Also he noticed that he paled perceptibly.
Then the latter said:
"De Rochebazon, _the_ de Rochebazon, turned a Protestant! turned
Protestant!--_c'est incroyable!_--and came here to Languedoc.
When--how long ago?"
"I do not know. Possibly forty years ago. Your Excellency," and now
the clear blue eyes of the young man looked into the equally clear
dark eyes of the ruler of the province, "do you know aught of him? Can
you put me in the way of finding him?"
"I--no. Why do you ask? I came not here till '85. And--and--alas! that
it should be so. It is their own doing. The Protestants and I have
been at enmity ever since. They have made my rule a bitter one. It is
their own doing, I repeat. Their own fault."
"They have not risen until now. Done no overt act!" Martin exclaimed.
"Unfortunately, they have done many. You do not know. And they have
resisted the king's ordinances." Then changing the subject swiftly, he
said:
"Monsieur Martin, you tell me you are here to seek this missing man;
that you have no intention of aiding these rebels. I am glad to hear
it. Yet, remember, if you remain here you do so at dire peril to
yourself. If you take part in any act of rebellion, if you join in any
way in their uprisings, proclaim yourself in the least as an opponent
of the law and order which must be re-established at all costs here,
then you too must be responsible for whatever may befall you. Do you
think you can stay here and also remain neutral?"
"Are there not others in France who, being of my faith, are doing so?
Are there not still De Colignys, De Rohans, De la Trémoilles, De
Sullys in France, surrounding the king's person? Yet they are loyal to
him and he molests them not; accept their service; lets them worship
God in their own way."
"They are not in Languedoc," Baville said briefly yet very
pertinently. "And the day will come when they will all return to their
own faith. Otherwise France is not for them.[1] Nor will it be for you
or yours."
Martin shrugged his shoulders at the latter part of this speech, since
no answer was possible. France was not for him under any circumstances
when he had once carried out his dead kinswoman's request, had found
and done justice to Cyprien de Beauvilliers or his children, if he had
left any, or, failing to find them, had at last discontinued his
search.
"Meanwhile," continued Baville, "I would counsel you to reside at
Montpellier. There, for the present at least, your co-religionists are