# The Rebellion in the Cevennes/Volume 2/Chapter III

CHAPTER III.
"Are you satiated with the buffoonery?" asked the fierce man of the youth after some time. "I should have thought that you had served your apprenticeship, and were now looking about for some more profitable business."
"Wretched man!" exclaimed Edmond, "thou, who neither believest in God, nor man, begone from my presence, for thy thoughts poison my mind."
"Not so haughty, young gentleman," cried the former in a bantering tone! "to-day my fist, in spite of my poisonous thoughts, has rendered you good service, that is, if you do not estimate life as cheaply as I do; but, as yet, your milky face has not the appearance of that. Why then are you of a disposition so inhumanly ​virtuous? Let me still continue to enjoy your gracious society, for I am indeed yours; early to-day, you begged me off indeed almost like a dog, therefore, you must allow me to bark and to remain near you, so that no other may bite you."
"How couldst thou then have sunk so low?" asked Edmond with some little sympathy. "I have merely remained stationary," said the former composedly, "I have only not been enabled to raise myself, and as I have perceived no wings on my shoulders, I had no wish to put any on, and still less to address myself on the subject to the first best goose I met, who, moreover, could not have assisted me."
"Thou meanest," said Edmond, "that thou hast formerly been a man like others?"
"Very probably," replied the robber: "now perhaps there is not so great a gulf between you and me. If one man rates himself so highly, then certainly to the mind the distance appears immeasureable as between the king and the beggar; but place both naked on a desert island together, ​then are they brothers and boon companions, provided the one does not devour the other. Thus is it also with the so called souls; when they compose verses, or are in love, then indeed they think themselves miracles enshrined, but let them but fall into despair, become utterly wild and untractable, then all affectation disappears like the rouge from the cheeks of the harlot when she is compelled to wander about in a shower of rain."
"Have you never heard my name perchance? I am called Lacoste, I should be surprised if you had not." Edmond became thoughtful. "It occurs to me," said he after a while, "that this name is not totally unknown to me; but I cannot revive my memory."
"Aye, good, young soul," continued Lacoste in his peculiar way. "In your green age, I was a gallant spendthrift, a sweet rabbit, that with rosy smiling lips, flattered every one, only tell me, have you ever yet loved passionately?"
"Oh silence!" angrily exclaimed ​Edmond: "who now would speak of that with you?"
"A curious discourse that we are holding," said Lacoste cooly; "if you know nothing of it, so much the better for you, but at your age, I was so thoroughly in love and enraptured, that a mere touch from me would have made a thousand men in love, as by the magnet the bar of iron acquires the power of attraction. At that time, the earth, with all its stones, appeared to me transparent, I was so benevolent and affectionate, that I would willingly have given my eye-brows to the nightingales, that they might carry them to their nests, to make a bed for their young brood. And beautiful was my beloved, the blind might almost have been aware of it, she was even still more loving and compassionate than I was. She would indeed have voluntarily taken upon herself all the suffering and sorrows of the whole world, would have even suffered herself to be condemned, could she thereby have ​released from hell, and make the hungry and sick, rich and healthy."
"Even in your wickedness," said Edmond, softened, "you represent this girl as a noble one, who was well worthy of her heavenly origin."
"Heavenly," said the former, "to disgust: quite natural. That is just what I mean. To every beggar she would have freely given her all; but to me—she saw my love, my despair, how I only breathed in her looks, how I withered away, and my grief, my inexpressable misery would assuredly have driven me to the grave or to madness.—But that was indifferent to her, more even then indifferent, it was pleasing to her.
"But how is such a thing possible?" asked Edmond.
"Every thing has its drawback," resumed Lacoste. "It is but just, when senseless fools, such as I was, are ill-treated by women, that they may serve as an example to other simpletons. But she would however have leant to mercy’s rather than to justice's side, ​had it not been for a fault that lay within myself and which still oppresses me, although I do not see it as such."
"And what is it?"
"The same upon which our conversation commenced; those same wings which always sit so ridiculously upon us. To come to the point, I was not religious; I could by no means comprehend how people made this discovery. I had learned to think, to judge, to fancy, but I could believe neither of the new lights of which I had heard so much. From whence was I to derive it too? I exist, I rejoice if all goes on well with me, shall I render thanks for that? be resigned and humble? Well, to whom am I to rescribe the innumerable sorrows? all the sufferings of this wretched life? the multiplied griefs? There is no one whom I dare accuse of it. But even all this I am to receive with joy and humility ! If it go well with me: superabundant benevolence; if wrong: parental correction. I cannot conceive such things ​as other brains have done. The nameless Being, whom I know not how to represent to myself at all, or only with giddiness and with terror, sustains worlds, permits shipwrecks, wars and earthquakes, therefore he may now suffer me and my thoughts. But he will, he cannot approach me closely, as they say, if I do not draw near him with contrition, if I do not believe and speak thus and thus of him; edifices, words, prostrations, belong thereto, in order to lay him as by magic in fetters, that he may take an interest in me, that he may love me, he must even first excite my commiseration. Aye, truly all this roused my wrath. Instead of these loving, religous men having patience, instructing and sympathising with me, they imagine they can offer no satisfaction to their God of love, if they do not hold me in execration."
"Fearful man!" exclaimed Edmond, "how could they do otherwise? if the flame of the stake be kindly; it certainly is so for such as you."
​"Naturally!" said Lacoste, with a loud laugh. "As the jews burn gold out of old garments, so also out of the most hardened, callous and heartless sinner, a little spark of religion may he extracted by burning. The best and most supportable of all this, is that they massacre and inflict martyrdom on one another for the sake of this faith of love, and each treats the other as heretic, each curses the other and gives him up to hell, but, however much all parties may rage against one another, they still invariably agree in my damnation." "A sign," said the youth, "that though all may err in themselves, with regard to you, they still possess the truth."
"I envy them not their possession," replied the old man; "my life, all my sorrows, even when I became wicked and and with justice so, I have only to thank this egoism, which calls itself humility, inspiration, love, or religion; I was rejected, persecuted, nay to use the silly expression, misunderstood, for what man knows another, ​or even himself? Impoverished; broken-hearted, I went forth, and my friends gladly saw me depart. In every country this self-same miserable farce was repeated. They would willingly have lent me their aid, confided in me, probably have loved me, had I but possessed this so called religion. The foolish virtue of my probity was lost sight of, that I would pretend to none, even to the very best of them. A few marriages which were almost decided upon with me, were broken off for the same cause. It did not fare better with mein other quarters of the world; thus am I become an old man, thus am I become a villain, and I returned, to revenge myself on my beloved countrymen, and on my friends. Then you came and spoiled the thing with me: just, you yourself! strange enough!"
"How so?" asked Edmond excited.
"Come let us go," said the stranger, "we ought to seek our comrades again."
They arose and walked as chance directed through mountain and wood. When ​they ascended higher, they observed a thick smoke advancing towards them, blackening the heavens with dark clouds. A distant cry directed their steps. As they proceeded, they beheld on the summit of the mountain a number of rebels moving hurriedly to and fro. When Edmond approached he thought he recognised Roland. It was he too, but before he was able to advance towards the leader, a young man rushed with a terrific shout, to meet him. "Brother!" exclaimed he, interrupted by sobs and rage, "brother, all is over! The incendiaries have rendered thee for ever unhappy."
It was diflicult for Edmond to recognise his young friend Vila. "What is the matter with thee? whence comest thou?" asked he at length, amazed.
"I am now one of yours!" exclaimed Vila: "I have not been able to govern my heart, since I beheld the affliction of our people. Yes, I will assist you to annihilate, to murder, to tear to pieces these ​murderous slaves, which, to the shame of all created beings, bear but the figures of men." When Edmond desired to question, to gain some information, Vila drew him higher up the mountain, and the youth stood again above, and looked down, as on that night, upon his father’s garden and house; but the house was in ruins, the fire was still raging through the apartments, and thick columns of smoke arose, between which was seen a consuming glow, that frequently sent red streams sideways and upwards; shepherds and peasants stood beneath, many were gazing fixedly on the spectacle, some seeking powerless help and deliverance.
"Where is my father?" exclaimed Edmond, when he had recovered from the first shock. "Fled," answered Vila, "no one knows whither; child, servants, all were compelled to escape, for the Marshal and the Intendant had summoned him to a severe account at Nismes. When miscreants, who call themselves soldiers, found the ​house quite empty, they plundered, and then set fire to it."
"I have now nothing more to care for," said Edmond coldly.
"Ah! ha!" cried Lacoste, "has it then fared so ill with the old Lord, my ancient rival, my former friend and foe? see now yourself, we had lately scarcely an idea of worse than what has now happened, when you, Ned, stopped us in the business."
No one heard him, and all gazed in silence, Edmond with deadly pale countenance, down on the raging fire.