FullReads

The vacation arrived; I hastened to Nismes in hopes of being happier there. As I passed the chateau on the Vidourle I stopped. All was closed, though the fields and vineyards were thronged with reapers and grape-gatherers. I looked for the magic spot under the chesnut trees, where dream and reality were once so magically blended. I threw myself under the waving branches, and on the spot which Clementine’s foot had once hallowed by its touch. Love and sadness weighed me down, and I kissed the sacred ground which had then borne all that the world contained most dear to me.

In vain, alas! I looked for the angelic vision. I left the delightful spot when evening approached, and only the rocky summits of the Sevennes reflected the sun’s golden rays over the dusky plain.

My uncle Etienne and the pious mother, with my cousins, Maria, Antonia, and Susanna, received me with affecting joy. I embraced them all speechlessly and rapturously, and knew not who expressed the greatest affection for me, or whom I most loved. I was the son and brother of the family; I felt at home, and was the joy of them all.

“Yes,” said my uncle, with emotion, “you are the joy of us all, and the hope of our church. All the reports from Montpellier have praised your industry, and have expressed the esteem your teachers entertain for you. Continue, Colas, to strengthen yourself, for our sufferings are great, and the affliction of the true believers knows no end. God calls you to become his chosen instrument to break the power of Antichrist, and to raise triumphantly the gospel now trodden in the dust.”

The fears of my uncle had been particularly increased of late by the harsh expressions of the governor of the province against the secret Protestants. The Mareschale de Montreval resided in Nismes, and was the more powerful and formidable as he possessed the unbounded confidence of the king. His threats against the Calvinists spread from mouth to mouth, and were the common talk even of the boys in the street.

I was harassed by another care. In vain had I wandered daily up and down the street in which the house of M. Albertas was situated; in vain had I loitered in the amphitheatre; Clementine was nowhere to be seen.

One morning I met the old servant who had entertained me, by the orders of Madame de Sonnes, in the chateau. He recognised me joyfully, shook me by the hand, and told me, among a thousand other things, that Madame de Sonnes and her daughter had left Nismes for some months, but had gone to Marseilles to seek relief from their sorrow for the loss of a beloved daughter and sister, in the amusements of that great commercial city.

My hopes of seeing Clementine once more being thus disappointed, I walked sadly home. All the joyful expectations which had supported me for the last six months were frustrated. I determined to go to Marseilles, which was only three days’ journey, there to search every street and window, attend every church and mass, to discover her, if only for a moment;–would she not, for so much trouble, give me one kind look?

But, on cooler reflection, I soon abandoned my wild scheme, and returned home more dejected than ever.

With surprise, I there perceived an unusual embarrassment and trouble in every countenance.

My aunt came towards me, put her hands on my shoulders, and kissed me with an air of deep melancholy; my cousins kindly seized my hand, as if wishing to comfort me.

“What is it, after all?” asked my uncle, with a powerful voice; who, notwithstanding his air of piety, had something heroic in his character; “you know that a good Christian is most cheerful when the waves of misfortune are lashed most tempestuously. The devil has no power over us, and providence has numbered every hair of our heads. The mareschale is not beyond the power of the Almighty.”