Jacques Bonneval Part 12

It was surprising to me how he carried on this game hour after hour, apparently without fatigue, and always to the delight of his audience, new-comers continually pressing around him, and old ones lingering in the distance with broad smiles on their faces. A little of it was well enough, but I thought that to be always at it must be harder work than the hardest handywork trade I knew. At last the day closed in, the people departed, we supplied ourselves with food, and departed like the rest.

"Now, then, have I not come off with flying colors?" said La Croissette, complacently.

"a.s.suredly you have: but you must be very tired."

"Tired as can be--you know I had no sleep last night--we are coming to a little thicket where we will roost for the night."

We had scarcely drawn up under the trees, which were thinning of leaves, when we heard a distant hollow sound gradually growing louder as it approached. "The dragoons," said La Croissette, in a low voice. "I trust we shall escape their notice."

They pa.s.sed by like a whirlwind, taking the direction we had just left, and we congratulated ourselves on having quitted their path.

"These wretches, look you," said La Croissette, "know neither mercy nor justice; they know they are let loose on the country to do all the mischief they can, and if they find a Paradise, they leave it a howling wilderness."

Of this we had proof next day, when we came on their track, and found wretched women and children in tears and lamentations impossible for us to a.s.suage: men that had been cudgelled within an inch of their lives, or hung up by their wrists or their heels till they swooned, lying on the ground uncared for and dying. Ah, what wickedness! and all under pretence of doing G.o.d service! I cannot dwell on the terrible scenes we saw in crossing the country. Sometimes La Croissette did some trifling act of kindness, but the evils demanded more potent remedies.

"This unfits me for my calling," said he, one day, as he scrambled into the cart and drove off. "How can one play the merry-andrew under such circ.u.mstances? What will become of these poor creatures as winter comes on, even if they can last till then? It is impossible they should all escape from the country--they will have to conform after all, and had they not better do so now?"

I replied, "It is written, 'Fear not, little flock; for it is the Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom.'"

"The kingdom of France?"

"No, the kingdom of heaven."

"To whom were the words spoken?"

"To the early Christians, whose praise is in all the churches--whom the Catholics not only reverence but wors.h.i.+p."

"Hum. Well, if they weathered such persecution as this, perhaps these may; but I could not stand it, I!--Do you know (with great awe) there are dungeons called Hippocrates' Sleeves, the walls of which slope like the inside of a funnel tapering to a point, so that those who are put inside them can neither lie, sit, nor stand? They are let down into them with cords, and drawn up every day to be whipped."

"And have any come forth alive from such places?"

"I grant you; but sometimes without teeth or hair."

"O, what glorious faith, to survive such a test!" exclaimed I.

"But some don't survive."

"O, what hallelujahs their freed spirits must sing as they find themselves suddenly released and soaring upward with myriads of rejoicing angels, to receive their welcome at the throne of G.o.d!"

"Jean, I never knew anything like you!" said La Croissette. "The worse the stories I tell you, the greater the triumph and exultation you cap them with."

I answered, "They overcame by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death." Rev.

xii. II.

"Do you think you could bear being put into a Hippocrates' Sleeve?"

"I am not called on to think what I could bear: only to bear what is put on me."

"Your father, every word! As the old c.o.c.k crows, so does the young one.

But after all, 'tis a fearful thing to lie at the mercy of those that can devise and carry out such tortures."

"It is written, 'I say unto you, my friends, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do; but I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear. Fear Him which after He hath killed, hath power to cast into h.e.l.l; yea, I say unto you, fear Him.'"

"You seem to have all the texts on this particular head at the tips of your fingers. Did you learn them for this particular purpose?"

"My dear mother used to repeat to me a text every night, and expect me to repeat it to her the next day."

"An excellent plan," said La Croissette, whipping his horse. And he hummed a tune.

When we reached Montauban, he said,

"I must now begin my old tricks, to earn a little money;" and he drew up in the market-place. But the people had been as heavily visited as at Nismes, and were in no mood for jesting. When he began to vend his nostrums, an old man of severe aspect held up his hand, and said:

"Peace, unfeeling man--you bring your senseless ribaldry to the wrong market. Here are only lamentations, and mourning, and woe."

"My good sir, one must live," said La Croisette.

"And how? tell me that!" retorted the old man, indignantly. "They that fed delicately are desolate in the streets; they that were clad in scarlet are cast on dunghills; the tongue of the suckling child cleaves to the roof of its mouth for thirst; the young children ask for bread, and no man giveth unto them."

Then, with a wail that was almost like a howl, he tore his hair and cried, "For this, for this mine eyes run down with water and mine eyelids take no rest. Is it nothing to you, all ye that pa.s.s by?"

"Jean, I cannot stand this," said La Croissette, as the old man hurried away. "All the people seem with broken hearts--it takes all spirit out of me. I cannot even hawk needles and pins among the starving--who would buy?"

I could only say, "How dreadful is this place! The Lord seems to have forsaken his sanctuary."

"Let us seek another place as soon as we can--"

"You forget: I am to be met here by an agent of my father's at La Boule d'Or."

"Ah, well, we will go thither."

When we drove into the inn-yard, however, we could hear unruly voices in the house, and feared we might fall into bad company. A man immediately came up to us, and said to me, in a low voice:

"Are you M. Jacques Bonneval?"

"I am. Are you Antoine Leroux?"

"Hist!--yes. There are ill-disposed people in the inn; you had better not go in-doors. Can you walk a little way?"

"Yes."

"Come with me, then."

"I must bid my companion farewell." Turning to La Croissette, I took his hand in both mine, and pressed it fervently, saying:

"My dear La Croissette, adieu. May G.o.d bless you in this world and the next. I wish I could make some return for your exceeding kindness, but, unfortunately, can give you nothing but my prayers."

"Pray say nothing of it," said he, cordially. "Your prayers are the very thing I should like to have, for, unfortunately, I am not good at them myself. As I pa.s.s a Calvary by the roadside I pull off my hat, in token of respect, you know, for what it represents; and had I had a bringing up like yours I might have had as pretty a turn for psalmody; but as the matter stands, why, you will be Jacques Bonneval, and I Bartholome La Croissette to the end of the chapter. As for what I have done for you, why, it's nothing! I was coming this way, at any rate, and I've given you a lift; that's all."