Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 459
“Halt, messieurs!”
The order was repeated from rank to rank back to the rearmost of the rear guard. One of the volunteers, who served as aide-de-camp to the Admiral, rode forward at a gallop to carry to the scouts the order to stop. An almost imperceptible shimmer began to whiten the horizon and announced the approach of dawn. A tepid breeze rose from the west, and became strong enough to chase the few clouds before it. These grew denser; at first they veiled the stars; soon they seemed to invade the whole firmament. Coligny attentively examined the aspect of the skies, communicated his opinion to his escort, and said to his lieutenants:
“A west wind, rising at dawn, generally presages a rainy day. Messieurs, we shall have to push the attack in lively style before the rain comes down upon us, otherwise the fire of our infantry will be almost useless.”
And addressing Lanoüe:
“My friend, the chiefs of divisions have my orders; let them be drawn up for battle.”
Lanoüe and several other officers rode off to execute the instructions of the Admiral. At this spot the road crossed a vast plateau more than a league wide, upon which the Protestant army deployed its lines and took up its positions. Coligny had Lanoüe and John of Soubise for his lieutenants. Prince Louis of Nassau commanded the right wing; La Rochefoucauld the center, with Henry of Bearn, Condé, the Prince of Orange, Wolfgang of Mansfeld and the Prince of Gerolstein under his orders; finally, the left was in charge of Saragosse. Colonels Piles and Baudine covered the right wing with their regiments; Colonels Rouvray and Pouilly the left. The lancers and the artillery were distributed along the two wings, while a strong cavalry force, consisting of twenty squadrons, held itself in reserve, ready to ride into action supported by several regiments of infantry.
In the measure that the light of dawn rendered the distant horizon more distinct, the belfry of the church of Roche-la-Belle, the fortified town occupied by the royalists, and lying about half a league away, could be discerned from the highest point of the plateau where the Protestant forces were deploying their lines. A black line along the dawn that dimly lighted the horizon marked the royalist entrenchments.
Soon as the army was drawn up in battle formation, Coligny said to Antonicq, one of the volunteers who served as aide-de-camp:
“Monsieur Lebrenn, convey to Colonel Plouernel my orders to push forward with his regiment and six companies of auxiliaries. Recommend to him above all to execute his march in the profoundest silence possible, without either beat of drums or blare of trumpets. The enemy must be taken by surprise. The colonel is to seize the lake road, which is strongly defended. When that post is carried, return and notify me.”
Antonicq left at a gallop for the extreme right wing, the post of Colonel Plouernel, the younger brother of Count Neroweg of Plouernel, who commanded the escort of Queen Catherine De Medici the day of her arrival at the Abbey of St. Severin. The religious feuds threw the two brothers into opposite camps — a not infrequent occurrence in those unhappy days. In the course of the civil wars, the colonel, like so many other Protestants, sought refuge in the city of La Rochelle. Odelin thanks to the family archives left to him by his father Christian, knew that the printer had met and was greatly gratified by the courtesy of Colonel Plouernel on the occasion of one of the first councils held by the reformers in the quarry of Montmartre, when he was known as the Knight of Plouernel. One day, at La Rochelle, Odelin saw the knight, who had become a colonel in the Huguenot army, enter his smithy. He came to purchase arms, and noticing on the shield of the shop the name of Lebrenn, inquired from the armorer whether any relationship existed between him and the artisan once employed in the printing establishment of Robert Estienne. Odelin answered that he was a son of the artisan, and, agreeably impressed by the cordiality with which the colonel spoke of his father, entered into friendly relations with the nobleman, finding a singular charm in an acquaintance with one of the descendants of that old Frankish family whose path the sons of Joel had so often crossed, arms in hand, across the ages. In short, prizing more and more the noble character, the generous heart and the artless manners of Colonel Plouernel, a man free from all taint of family haughtiness and imbued, as much as any, with the democratic principles of the Reformation, Odelin informed the scion of the ancient house of Plouernel of the accidental circumstance concerning the hereditary feud between the two families both before and since the conquest of Clovis, and communicated to him the passages of the domestic chronicles touching upon those historic facts. By little and little an intimate friendship sprang up between Odelin and Colonel Plouernel. The latter, having married during one of the truces of the civil war a young lady of Vannes, from whom he had two little boys, was forced to seek refuge in La Rochelle with them and his wife when at last war broke out anew. He hired a few vacant rooms from Odelin, being anxious to leave Madam Plouernel with a family the virtues of which he appreciated. For Antonicq, Odelin’s son, he felt an almost paternal affection, there being many years’ difference between their ages. Being, thanks to his bravery, his reputation, his military talents, and his experience in the field, greatly esteemed among the Protestants, Colonel Plouernel commanded in this campaign a regiment composed almost exclusively of Bretons. His soldiers, however, although brave and zealous, were, like all other volunteers, unfortunately prone to disregard discipline; being, moreover, but ill broken to the pursuit of arms, they often failed to appreciate the authority of skilful and prudent tactics, preferring to listen to their own blind intrepidity. The Breton regiment, together with the company of auxiliaries, numbered about three thousand men. They stood drawn up for battle at the furthest extremity of the right wing, when Antonicq, the carrier of the Admiral’s orders, arrived at a gallop before their front ranks. Some, being field laborers, wore the ancient loose Gallic blouse, with hose fastened around the waist by a belt, and woolen bonnets on their heads; others, being either artisans or bourgeois from the cities, wore wide hose, jackets laced in front in the Burgundian style, or brigandines, or coats of mail or other defensive equipments, according to their several tastes. The men’s headgear also offered a varied aspect: casques, morions, bassinets, slouch hats, bonnets ribbed with two iron hoops. Neither were the offensive arms more uniform — lances, pikes, halberds, antique swords, cross-bows, iron maces, cutlasses, hunting arquebuses, field arquebuses, and pistols all being visible. Several wood-cutters and their helpers were armed with hatchets, and some had scythes with the edge turned out. The only uniform, or article common to all, was a belt or shoulder sash of white material. These men, although presenting a rather unmilitary appearance, displayed spirit and ardor. More than once did it happen that the fury of their onslaught overthrew the best royal troops, both infantry and cavalry, despite the latter’s long military training and discipline.
Armed like a German rider, with black casque, black cuirass and white cloak, Colonel Plouernel bestrode a powerful Breton bay mare, caparisoned in scarlet. When Antonicq approached him he was in conversation with several officers of his regiment. Among these was the Pastor Feron, a man gifted with exceptional energy, and of austere and resolute mien. Often did he, like so many other ministers of the Reformed religion, march to battle at the head of a troop, singing psalms like the old bards of Gaul who marched in advance of the warriors singing their heroic chants. More than once wounded, the clergyman Feron inspired the Protestants with as much confidence as veneration. Antonicq transmitted the orders of Admiral Coligny to Colonel Plouernel. The latter immediately faced his troops and said to the captains who surrounded him:
“The Admiral does us the honor of entrusting to us the lead in the attack. We shall prove ourselves worthy of the distinction. We are to take the royal army by surprise. It will soon be day, but the slope of this hill, along the foot of which runs the road that we are to follow, will hide us from the enemy’s pickets. We shall be able to reach the edge of the lake without being seen. Foreseeing the attack with which we are charged, I have just commissioned the Franc-Taupin to proceed with a picked body of determined men of his own corps and sound for a ford across the lake. Return to your companies. Order the drummers and trumpeters to remain quiet, and all your men to observe scrupulous silence.”
“Brothers,” remonstrated Pastor Feron with elation, “why conceal our approach from the Philistines? Does not the Lord lead the children of Israel? Let us place our reliance on Him only, and the proud towers of Zion will crumble before the breath of the Eternal. Let us march to the attack, not like timid and slinking thieves, but openly, bravely, like true soldiers of God! It was under the open sky that David vanquished Goliath!”
“Yes, yes. No underhanded tactics!” cried several officers. “Let us march straight upon the enemy, singing praises to the Lord. He is with us. We shall vanquish.”
“My friends,” said Colonel Plouernel, “follow my advice. Let us proceed with caution. The royal army is much our superior in numbers. We must make up with tactics for our inferiority. Let us arrive noiselessly before the vanguard of the enemy, you will not then lack for opportunity to prove your valor. Place yourselves at the head of your companies, and forward at the double quick, only in the profoundest silence.”
The authority enjoyed by Colonel Plouernel, the wisdom of his orders, the confidence of the volunteers in his bravery and military skill once more carried the day over the seething impatience of his captains, although Pastor Feron looked displeased with a manoeuvre in which he imagined he saw a weakness and dissimulation unworthy of the children of Israel. The officers took their posts, and the column advanced in silence, with its right covered by the ridge of a long hill that completely masked it on the side of the enemy’s entrenchment. The road that the column followed crossed a wide field covered with wild roses, their petals heavy with the dew of night, and spreading an aromatic odor far and wide. Colonel Plouernel inhaled with delight the early morning fragrance, and addressing Antonicq, who rode beside him, said:
“Oh, my boy! This sweet perfume, these wild smells, remind me of the moors of Brittany. I draw them in with full lungs.”
“Brittany! It is the dream of my life! When I was still a boy my father took us to Vannes, on a pilgrimage to the sacred stones of Karnak. They rise not far from the spot where stood the cradle of our family at the time of Julius Caesar. I being then too young to understand it, my father only gave me a short account of our family history. Since then I have read it from beginning to end. I now have but one uppermost desire, and my father shares it. It is, should God put an end to these disastrous wars, to leave La Rochelle and settle down in Vannes. We may be able to purchase a patch of land on the seashore, near the stones of Karnak.”
“Those sacred stones, the surviving witnesses of the voluntary sacrifice of your ancestress Hena, the virgin of the isle of Sen — that old Armorica, the independence of which your ancestor Vortigern defended so valiantly against the son of Charlemagne!”
“You may judge, colonel, what memories are awakened within us by that single word — Brittany.”
“Well, my boy, it occurred to me quite recently that your and your father’s wishes may easily be realized.”
“How?”
“By virtue of his primogeniture, my brother is the sole owner of the vast hereditary domains belonging to our family in Auvergne and in Brittany. But the father of my dear wife Jocelyne, a good and honest Breton who resides in Brittany, owns an estate that lies not far from Karnak, along the seashore. Judging from what your father has told me of your family traditions, the estate is bound to consist, partly at least, of the fields once owned by your ancestor Joel the brenn of the tribe of Karnak. Now, then, if God should grant us peace again, nothing would be easier for me than to obtain from my wife’s father either the sale or lease of a portion of those fields, and you could then settle down there with your family.”
“Oh, colonel! I should be pleased to owe to you the happiness of living in Brittany, near the cradle of my family, together with father and mother, and my sisters, and Cornelia my sweetheart, who will then be my wife!”
“And yet, strange to say, my boy, your ancestors and mine have hated and fought each other across the ages. I must admit the fact — the law of nature justified the terrible reprisals of the conquered upon their conquerors, in those days of frightful oppression. It required the rude school of the religious wars to join in one common belief the children of Joel the Gaul and of Neroweg the Frank, as your father puts it. That first step in Evangelical fraternity marks an immense progress. Thus will traditional hatreds cool down little by little, and race antagonisms will be wiped out, as they have been wiped out between our two families, once such bitter enemies—”
“And now,” Antonicq completed the sentence, “united by the bonds of firm friendship. May the same be kept ever green among our descendants.”
“It is my fervent hope, my dear Antonicq. I am bringing up my children in that feeling. More than once have I cited to them incidents from your family legends, to the end that their young minds may be penetrated with the sense that the rights, the privileges, the titles of which the nobility boasts so loudly, and which it guards so jealously, have for their principle or origin the abominable acts of violence that conquest brings in its train.”
During the conversation between Colonel Plouernel and Antonicq the regiment pursued its march under shelter of the ridge that it skirted. The further end of the ridge sloped gradually down to the level of the field, watered by the lake and the stream which protected the front of the royal camp. The attacking column, which, obedient to the orders of the Admiral, marched in silence, was expected to reach the open before sunrise, and thus be able to open the assault unexpectedly upon the strongly entrenched outposts, that were planted on the lake road. The execution of the plan was frustrated by the martial impatience of the volunteers, whom Pastor Feron in his exaltation drove to a fever heat of excitement with his blind faith in the irresistible power of the arm of Israel. The Huguenots were still half an hour’s march from the enemy when the pastor, who marched ahead of the silent drummers, suddenly intoned in a ringing voice the psalm well known to the Protestants:
“The Eternal looks down from above,
Night and day from out the skies,
On all men bestowing love,
And nothing escapes His eyes.
“From His throne august,
The holy King and just
Sees below distinctly,
Of man the distant race,
Through th’ abyss of space
Sees it all distinctly.
“Nor camps nor yet gendarmes,
Nor all the strong alarms
Can ever save a king!
Nor iron nor courage
Are of a good usage,
Oh, Lord, without Thy aid.
“Yes, God His wings doth spread,
On us His grace doth shed.
And ever mounteth guard
O’er those who Him esteem.
None other worthy deem
But only Him regard.”
No sooner had the pastor struck up the psalm with its biblical poetry, than each couplet was repeated in chorus by the Huguenots. Nothing could be more solemn than that choir of three thousand male and sonorous voices, rising from the silent plain, and seeming to salute with a martial hymn the first rays of that day of battle. Nevertheless, sadly inopportune, the canticle announced to the enemy the approach of the Protestants. Driven to despair by the infraction of the Admiral’s orders, Colonel Plouernel sought at first to restore silence by addressing himself to the foremost companies. Vain hope; vain entreaties. The soldiers wrought themselves up with their own voice.
“Oh, this lack of discipline will ever be fatal to us!” observed Colonel Plouernel to Antonicq. “Thus have we almost always either endangered the success of a battle, or even lost the day that otherwise would positively have been ours! But the error is committed. The enemy is informed of our proximity. Let it at least be announced resolutely!”
And addressing the drummers:
“Boys, beat the double-quick!”
The drums immediately resounded without however drowning the voices of the Protestants — an imposing military orchestra. The column hastened its steps. After half an hour’s rapid march its front ranks debouched into the open field. Piercing a heavy bank of clouds, the first rays of the sun crimsoned the face of a wide lake into which emptied a stream that itself was fed by a number of streamlets which descended from an elevated plateau, dominated by the burg of Roche-la-Belle. The lake and main stream were hemmed in on the side of the royal entrenchments, and constituted the enemy’s first line of defense. A thick chestnut forest rose to the left of the lake. The lake road ran at right angles, and was fortified by an earthwork, furnished with embrasures, and these armed with falconets. This light artillery could sweep the whole length of the water-courses, which had to be crossed in order to attack a palisaded ground, which, crenelated with loop-holes for the use of arquebusiers, completed the defenses of the Catholic army. Finally, a number of heavy guns, mounted upon a high embankment, could also play upon the water-course. A cross-fire thus rendered the crossing doubly dangerous. This particular peril would have been almost wholly escaped had the Admiral’s orders been obeyed. Had the attacking column arrived noiselessly at break of day and taken the royalists by surprise when still rolled in slumbers, and before they could hurry to their light and heavy guns and form their ranks, the Huguenots could have crossed the stream and, soon supported by their whole army corps, could have led a powerful attack upon the enemy’s position. It happened otherwise. The reverberations of the hymn sung by the Huguenots sounded the reveille to the enemy, and frustrated the Admiral’s plans. From all sides the drums of the Catholics were sounding the call to arms when the first company of the Protestants debouched upon the plain. Colonel Plouernel ordered a halt, alighted from his horse, gathered his captains around him and, in order to avoid further mishaps said to them:
