It Was Not Much Past Six; And For Healthy People Who Have Slept
Enough, That Is An Hour Of Expansion And Of Open And Trustful Talk.
'Connaissez-vous le Seigneur?' he said at length.
I asked him what Seigneur he meant; but he only repeated the question
with more emphasis and a look in his eyes denoting hope and interest.
'Ah,' said I, pointing upwards, 'I understand you now. Yes, I know Him;
He is the best of acquaintances.'
The old man said he was delighted. 'Hold,' he added, striking his bosom;
'it makes me happy here.' There were a few who knew the Lord in these
valleys, he went on to tell me; not many, but a few. 'Many are called,'
he quoted, 'and few chosen.'
'My father,' said I, 'it is not easy to say who know the Lord; and it is
none of our business. Protestants and Catholics, and even those who
worship stones, may know Him and be known by Him; for He has made all.'
I did not know I was so good a preacher.
The old man assured me he thought as I did, and repeated his expressions
of pleasure at meeting me. 'We are so few,' he said. 'They call us
Moravians here; but down in the Department of Gard, where there are also
a good number, they are called Derbists, after an English pastor.'
I began to understand that I was figuring, in questionable taste, as a
member of some sect to me unknown; but I was more pleased with the
pleasure of my companion than embarrassed by my own equivocal position.
Indeed, I can see no dishonesty in not avowing a difference; and
especially in these high matters, where we have all a sufficient
assurance that, whoever may be in the wrong, we ourselves are not
completely in the right. The truth is much talked about; but this old
man in a brown nightcap showed himself so simple, sweet, and friendly,
that I am not unwilling to profess myself his convert. He was, as a
matter of fact, a Plymouth Brother. Of what that involves in the way of
doctrine I have no idea nor the time to inform myself; but I know right
well that we are all embarked upon a troublesome world, the children of
one Father, striving in many essential points to do and to become the
same. And although it was somewhat in a mistake that he shook hands with
me so often and showed himself so ready to receive my words, that was a
mistake of the truth-finding sort. For charity begins blindfold; and
only through a series of similar misapprehensions rises at length into a
settled principle of love and patience, and a firm belief in all our
fellow-men. If I deceived this good old man, in the like manner I would
willingly go on to deceive others. And if ever at length, out of our
separate and sad ways, we should all come together into one common house,
I have a hope, to which I cling dearly, that my mountain Plymouth Brother
will hasten to shake hands with me again.
Thus, talking like Christian and Faithful by the way, he and I came down
upon a hamlet by the Tarn. It was but a humble place, called La Vernede,
with less than a dozen houses, and a Protestant chapel on a knoll. Here
he dwelt; and here, at the inn, I ordered my breakfast. The inn was kept
by an agreeable young man, a stone-breaker on the road, and his sister, a
pretty and engaging girl. The village schoolmaster dropped in to speak
with the stranger. And these were all Protestants - a fact which pleased
me more than I should have expected; and, what pleased me still more,
they seemed all upright and simple people. The Plymouth Brother hung
round me with a sort of yearning interest, and returned at least thrice
to make sure I was enjoying my meal. His behaviour touched me deeply at
the time, and even now moves me in recollection. He feared to intrude,
but he would not willingly forego one moment of my society; and he seemed
never weary of shaking me by the hand.
When all the rest had drifted off to their day's work, I sat for near
half an hour with the young mistress of the house, who talked pleasantly
over her seam of the chestnut harvest, and the beauties of the Tarn, and
old family affections, broken up when young folk go from home, yet still
subsisting. Hers, I am sure, was a sweet nature, with a country
plainness and much delicacy underneath; and he who takes her to his heart
will doubtless be a fortunate young man.
The valley below La Vernede pleased me more and more as I went forward.
Now the hills approached from either hand, naked and crumbling, and
walled in the river between cliffs; and now the valley widened and became
green. The road led me past the old castle of Miral on a steep; past a
battlemented monastery, long since broken up and turned into a church and
parsonage; and past a cluster of black roofs, the village of Cocures,
sitting among vineyards, and meadows, and orchards thick with red apples,
and where, along the highway, they were knocking down walnuts from the
roadside trees, and gathering them in sacks and baskets. The hills,
however much the vale might open, were still tall and bare, with cliffy
battlements and here and there a pointed summit; and the Tarn still
rattled through the stones with a mountain noise. I had been led, by
bagmen of a picturesque turn of mind, to expect a horrific country after
the heart of Byron; but to my Scottish eyes it seemed smiling and
plentiful, as the weather still gave an impression of high summer to my
Scottish body; although the chestnuts were already picked out by the
autumn, and the poplars, that here began to mingle with them, had turned
into pale gold against the approach of winter.
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