Robert Burns - "The Letters of Robert Burns"

Booth Tarkington - "In the Arena"

Anna Graetz - "Pearl and Periwinkle"

H. Rider Haggard - "The Ghost Kings"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Saint Bartholomew\'s Eve

G >> G. A. Henty >> Saint Bartholomew\'s Eve




"I shall look to see you again, Chevalier Philip; and shall expect
you to have some more good stories to tell me."

Having handed him his despatches, the Admiral pointed out to him
the position, as far as he knew by recent report, of the forces
under the Dukes of Aumale and Nemours.

"Possibly there will be other enemies," the Admiral said; "for our
friends in Paris have sent me word that the Spanish ambassador has,
at the king's request, written to beg the Duke of Alva, and
Mansfeld, governor of Luxembourg, to send troops to aid in barring
the way to the Duc de Deux-Ponts. I hope Alva has his hands full
with his own troubles, in the Netherlands; and although Spain is
always lavish of promises, it gives but little real aid to the
king.

"Then again, on the road you may meet with bands of German
mercenaries, sent by the Catholic princes to join the royal forces.
As you see, the despatches are written small and, at your first
halt, it will be well if you sew them in the lining of your boot.
They will escape observation there, however closely you may be
searched; for they are but of little bulk, and I have written them
on the softest paper I could obtain, so that it will not crackle to
the touch.

"I leave it to yourself to choose the route; but I think that you
could not do better than take that one you before followed, when
you and Laville joined me at Chatillon. Thence keep well south
through Lorraine. The royal forces are at Metz. I can give you no
farther instructions; for I cannot say how rapidly Deux-Ponts may
move, or what route he may be obliged to take, to avoid the royal
forces.

"And now farewell, lad. Remember that it is an important service
you are rendering to our cause, and that much depends on your
reaching Deux-Ponts; for the despatches tell him the route by which
I intend to move, indicate that which he had best follow in order
that he may effect a junction, and give him many details as to
roads, fords, and bridges, that may be of vital importance to him."

Philip rode forty miles that night; and put up, just as daylight
was breaking, at the village of Auverge. There they rested for six
hours, and then rode on to Laville; where he was received with
great joy by his aunt, for whom he bore a letter from Francois.
After halting here for a few hours, they continued their journey.

So far they had been riding through a friendly country, but had now
to travel with due precautions; journeying fast, and yet taking
care that the horses should not be overworked, as sudden occasion
might arise for speed or endurance; and as the journey was some
eight hundred miles long, it behoved him to carefully husband the
strength of the animals.

After riding another fifteen miles, they stopped for the night at a
village, as Philip intended to journey by day; for his arrival at
inns, early in the morning, would excite comment. The three men had
been carefully instructed in the story they were to tell, at the
inns where they halted. Their master was Monsieur de Vibourg, whose
estate lay near the place at which they halted on the preceding
night; and who was going for a short visit, to friends, at the next
town at which they would arrive. If questioned as to his politics,
they were to say that he held aloof from the matter, for he
considered that undue violence was exercised towards the Huguenots;
who, he believed, if permitted to worship in their own way, would
be good and harmless citizens.

So day by day they journeyed along, avoiding all large towns, and
riding quietly through small ones, where their appearance attracted
no attention whatever. On the fourth day when, as usual, they had
halted to dine and give their horses a couple of hours' rest,
Philip heard the trampling of horses outside the inn. Going to the
window he saw two gentlemen, with eight armed retainers,
dismounting at the door. The gentlemen wore the Royalist colours.
At the same moment, Pierre came into the room.

"I have told Eustace and Roger to finish their meal quickly, and
then to get the horses saddled; to mount, and take ours quietly to
the end of the village, and wait for us there, sir; so that if
there should be trouble, we have but to leap through the casement,
and make a short run of it."

"That is very well done, Pierre," Philip said; reseating himself at
the table, while Pierre took his place behind his chair, as if
waiting upon him.

The door opened, and the two gentlemen entered. They did not, as
usual, remove their hats; but seated themselves at a table, and
began talking noisily. Presently one made a remark in a low tone to
the other, who turned round in his chair, and stared offensively at
Philip. The latter continued his meal, without paying any attention
to him.

"And who may you be, young sir?" the man said, rising and walking
across the room.

"I am not in the habit of answering questions addressed to me by
strangers," Philip said quietly.

"Parbleu, custom or no custom, you have to answer them, now. This
is not a time when men can go about unquestioned. You do not wear
the Royalist colours, and I demand to know who you are."

"I would wear the Royalist colours, if I were on the way to join
the Royalist army," Philip replied calmly; "as at present I am not
doing so, but am simply travelling as a private gentleman, I see no
occasion for putting on badges."

"You have not answered my question. Who are you?"

"I do not intend to answer the question. My name is a matter which
concerns myself only."

"You insolent young knave," the man said angrily, "I will crop your
ears for you."

Philip rose from the table; and the other was, for a moment,
surprised at the height and proportions of one whom he had taken
for a mere lad.

"I desire to have no words with you," Philip said. "Eat your dinner
in peace, and let me eat mine; for if it comes to cutting off ears,
you may find that you had better have left the matter alone."

[Illustration: Philip struck him full in the face.]

The gentleman put his hand to the hilt of his sword, and was in the
act of drawing it when Philip, making a step forward, struck him
full in the face with all his strength, knocking him backwards to
the ground. His companion leapt from his seat, drawing a pistol
from his belt as he did so; when Pierre sent a plate skimming
across the room with great force. It struck the man in the mouth,
cutting his lips and knocking out some of his front teeth. The
pistol exploded harmlessly in the air, while the sudden shock and
pain staggered and silenced him; and before he could recover
sufficiently to draw his sword or to shout, Philip and Pierre
leaped through the open casement, and ran down the street.



Chapter 16: A Huguenot Prayer Meeting.


"That was a good shot, Pierre," Philip said, as they ran; "and has
probably saved my life."

"I am accustomed to throw straight, sir. My dinner has frequently
depended on my knocking down a bird with a stone, and it was not
often that I had to go without it.

"They are making a rare hubbub, back at the inn."

Loud shouts were heard behind them.

"We have plenty of time," Philip said, as he moderated the pace at
which they had started. "The men will be confused at first, knowing
nothing of what it all means. Then they will have to get the horses
out of the stables."

"And then they will have trouble," Pierre added.

"What trouble, Pierre?"

"I gave a hint to Eustace," Pierre said with a laugh, "that it
would be just as well, before he mounted, to cut off all the
bridles at the rings. A nice way they will be in, when they go to
mount!"

"Did you cut their bridles for them, Eustace?" he asked, as they
came up to the others.

"Ay, and their stirrup leathers, too, Pierre."

"Good, indeed!" Philip exclaimed. "Without bridles or stirrup
leathers, they can scarce make a start; and it will take them some
minutes to patch them up. We will ride hard for a bit. That will
put us far enough ahead to be able to take any byroad, and throw
them off our traces. I have no fear of their catching us by
straight riding. The masters' horses may be as good as ours, but
those of the men can hardly be so. Still, they might come up to us
wherever we halted for the night."

They looked back, when they were some two miles from the village,
and along the long straight road could make out some figures that
they doubted not were horsemen, just starting in pursuit.

"They waited to mend their leathers," Pierre remarked.

"They were right, there," Philip said; "for a man can fight but
poorly, without bridle or stirrups. The horses will not have been
fed, so we have an advantage there. I do not think we need trouble
ourselves much more about them."

"There is one thing, sir. They won't mind foundering their horses,
and we have to be careful of ours."

"That is so, Pierre; and besides, at the first place they come to,
they may send others on in pursuit with fresh horses. No, we must
throw them off our track as soon as we can. There is a wood, a mile
or so ahead; we will leave the road there."

They were riding on the margin of turf, bordering the road on
either side, so as to avoid the dust that lay thick and white upon
it; and they held on at an easy canter, till they reached the
trees. Then, at Philip's order, they scattered and went at a walk;
so as to avoid leaving marks that could be seen, at once, by anyone
following them. A couple of hundred yards farther, they came upon a
stream running through a wood. It was but a few inches deep.

"This will do for us," Philip said. "Now, follow me in single file,
and see that your horses step always in the water."

He led them across the road, and on for half a mile. Then they left
the stream and, soon afterwards, emerged from the wood and struck
across the country.

"I should think they will have had pretty well enough of it, by the
time they get to the wood," Philip said; "and at any rate, will
lose a lot of time there. They will trace our tracks to the edge of
the stream, and will naturally suppose that we will follow it up,
as we struck it on the other side of the road. It is like enough
they will be half an hour searching, before they find where we left
the stream; and will know well enough, then, it will be hopeless
trying to catch us."

"They saw we had good horses," Eustace said; "for as we led them
out, one of them made the remark that they were as good looking a
lot of horses as you would often see together. No doubt, at first,
their leaders were so furious that they thought of nothing but
mending the leathers and getting off; but when they get a check, in
the wood, it is probable that someone will venture to tell them how
well we are mounted, and that pursuit will be hopeless."

"Nevertheless, I think they will pursue, Monsieur Philip," Pierre
said. "They did not look like men who would swallow an injury, and
think no more of it. As long as there remains a single chance of
discovering you, they will not give up pursuit. Of course, they
have no reason for suspicion that you are anything but what you
seem to be, a gentleman of the neighbourhood; and will consider
that, at one or other of the towns or villages ahead of us, they
are sure to hear of our passing through, and perhaps to learn who
you are and where you reside. Doubtless they asked at the inn,
before starting, whether you were known; and as soon as they find
they are not likely to catch us by hard riding, they will make
straight forward, dividing into several parties at the next place
they come to, and scattering in order to obtain news of us."

"Which they will not get," Philip said, "as we will take good care
to avoid passing through villages. For tonight we will sleep in the
woods, as the weather is warm and pleasant."

After riding another fifteen miles, they halted in a wood. They
always carried some food and wine with them, as circumstances might
at any time arise that would render it imprudent for them to put up
at an inn; and each also carried a feed of corn for his horse.

Leaving Pierre to unsaddle and rub down his horse, Philip walked to
the farther edge of the wood, to view the country beyond. They
were, he knew, not far from La Chatre; and he was not surprised to
see the town, lying in a valley, to which the ground sloped down
from the wood. It was about a mile and a half distant. Nearer the
wood, but half a mile to the west, the towers of a fortified
chateau rose from a clump of trees. The country was rich and well
cultivated, and everything had an aspect of peace and comfort.

"What a hideous thing it is," Philip said to himself, "that in so
fair a country people cannot live in peace together; and should fly
at each other's throats, simply because they cannot agree that each
shall worship God after his own fashion! It might be Canterbury,
with the hills rising round it and the little river, save that it
lacks the cathedral rising over it; and yet, I doubt not there are
many there who live in daily peril of their lives, for there is not
a town in France that has not its share of Huguenots, and they can
never tell when the storm of popular fury may burst upon them."

The shades of evening were beginning to fall, when he rejoined his
companions. They had already rubbed down their horses and replaced
the saddles, and the animals were contentedly eating their corn.

"They look well," Philip said, as he walked from one to the other.

"Yes, sir, they are none the worse for their travel so far, and
could carry us on a hard race for our lives. Shall we light a
fire?"

"I do not think it is worth while, Eustace. The evening is warm,
and we shall be off at daybreak. Someone passing through the wood
might see the flames, and carry the news down to La Chatre, which
is but a mile and a half away; and it is quite possible that those
fellows we had to do with today may be there, if they are
travelling the same way that we are, and may consider it likely we
shall halt there for the night. At any rate, as we do not need the
fire, we will run no risks."

They ate their supper and, an hour later, wrapped themselves in
their cloaks and lay down. Philip was just dropping off to sleep,
when Pierre touched him. He sat up with a start.

"There are some people in the wood," Pierre said.

Philip was wide awake now, and the sound of singing, at no great
distance, came to his ears.

"It is a Huguenot hymn," he exclaimed. "There must be a meeting in
the wood. No doubt it is some of the people from the town, who have
come out to hold a secret meeting here. I will go and see it.

"Come with me, Pierre. We will go very quietly, for it would scare
them terribly, did they hear anyone approaching."

Making their way noiselessly through the wood they came, after
walking about three hundred yards, to the edge of an open space
among the trees, where they halted. In the centre they could see,
in the moonlight, a body of some seventy or eighty people gathered.
Standing upon the trunk of a fallen tree was a minister who was
addressing them.

"My brethren," he was saying, when they could catch his words,
"this is the last time we shall meet here. We know that suspicions
have already arisen that we are holding meetings, and that we do so
at the peril of our lives. The search for me has been hot, for some
days; and though I am willing enough to give my life in the cause
of our Lord, I would not bring destruction upon you, at the present
moment. Were the prospects hopeless, I should say, 'let us continue
together here, till the last;' but the sky is clearing, and it may
be that, ere long, freedom of worship may be proclaimed throughout
France. Therefore it is better that, for a time, we should abstain
from gathering ourselves together. Even now, the persecutors may be
on our track."

"Pierre," Philip whispered, "do you go over in that direction,
until you come to the edge of the wood. If you see any signs of men
moving about, run quickly to the others, and bring the horses up
here."

"I had better go back there first, had I not, Monsieur Philip, and
bring the men and horses along with me to the edge of the wood? For
I might lose a quarter of an hour in searching for them."

"That would be the best plan, Pierre. Should you hear a sudden
noise here, hurry in this direction, and I will come to meet you.
It may well be that, guessing the Huguenots would place someone on
watch towards the town, the Catholics may, if they come, approach
from the other side. Should you see anyone coming, give a loud
shout, at once. It will act as a warning to these people, and
enable them to scatter and fly, before their foes arrive."

For an hour the preacher continued to address his hearers,
exhorting them to stand firm in the faith, and to await with
patience the coming of better days. They were not more than twenty
paces away from the spot where Philip was standing, and in the
moonlight he could clearly see the faces of the assembly, for the
preacher was standing with his back to him. From their dress, he
judged that most of them belonged to the poorer classes; though
three or four were evidently bourgeois of the well-to-do class.

Seated on the trunk on which the preacher was standing, and looking
up at him so that her profile was clearly visible to Philip, sat a
young girl, whose face struck Philip as of singular beauty. The
hood of the cloak in which she was wrapped had fallen back from her
head, and her hair looked golden in the moonlight. She was
listening with rapt attention. The moonlight glistened on a brooch,
which held the cloak together at her throat. A young woman stood by
her; and a man, in steel cap and with a sword at his side, stood a
pace behind her. Philip judged that she belonged to a rank
considerably above that of the rest of the gathering.

When the address had concluded, the preacher began a hymn in which
all joined. Just as they began, Philip heard the crack of a stick
among the trees. It was not on the side from which Pierre would be
coming. He listened attentively, but the singing was so loud that
he could hear nothing; except that once a clash, such as would be
made by a scabbard or piece of armour striking against a bough,
came to his ears.

Suddenly he heard a shout.

"That is Pierre!" he exclaimed to himself, and ran forward into the
circle.

There was a cry of alarm, and the singing suddenly stopped.

"I am a friend," he exclaimed. "I have come to warn you of danger.
There are men coming in this direction from the town."

"My brethren, we will separate," the minister said calmly. "But
first, I will pronounce the benediction."

This he did solemnly, and then said:

"Now, let all make through the wood and, issuing from the other
side, return by a circuit to the town.

"Mademoiselle Claire, I will accompany you to the chateau."

At this moment Philip heard horses approaching.

"This way, Pierre," he shouted, and ran to meet them.

Fifty yards away he came upon them, and leapt into his saddle.

"See to your weapons, lads," he said. "I believe there are others
in the wood already."

He was within twenty yards of the clearing when he heard a sudden
shout of:

"Down with the Huguenot dogs! Kill! Kill!"

He dashed forward, followed by his men. A mob of armed men, headed
by two or three horsemen, had burst from the opposite side of the
glade and were rushing upon the Huguenots, who had just broken up
into small groups.

They stood, as if paralysed, at this sudden attack. No cry or
scream broke from the women. Most of these threw themselves upon
their knees. A few of the men followed their example, and prepared
to die unresistingly. Some sprang away among the trees, and above
the din the preacher's voice was heard commencing a Huguenot hymn
beginning, "The gates of heaven are opened;" in which, without a
moment's hesitation, those who remained around him joined.

In a moment, with savage shouts and yells, their assailants were
upon them, smiting and thrusting. With a shout, Philip spurred
forward from the other side. He saw at once that, against such
numbers, he and his three followers could do nothing; but his rage
at this massacre of innocent people--a scene common enough in
France, but which he now for the first time witnessed--half
maddened him.

One of the horsemen, whom he recognized at once as the man Pierre
had knocked down with the plate, rode at the girl Philip had been
watching; and who was standing, with upturned face, joining in the
hymn. The man attending her drew his sword, and placed himself in
the way of the horseman; but the latter cut him down, and raised
the sword to strike full at the girl, when Philip shot him through
the head.

Instantly another horseman, with a shout of recognition, rode at
him. Philip thrust his still smoking pistol in his holster, and
drew his sword.

"This is more than I hoped for," his assailant said, as he dealt a
sweeping blow at him.

"Do not congratulate yourself too soon," Philip replied, as he
guarded the blow and, lunging in return, the point glided off his
adversary's armour.

He parried again; and then, with a back-handed sweep, he struck his
opponent on the neck with his whole force. Coming out to take part
in a Huguenot hunt, in which he expected no opposition, the knight
had left his helmet behind him; and fell from his horse, with his
head half severed from his body.

In the meantime the two men-at-arms and Pierre had driven back the
mob of townsmen; who, however, having massacred most of the
unresisting Huguenots, were surging up round them.

"Give me your hand, mademoiselle, and put your foot on mine,"
Philip exclaimed to the girl, who was still standing close to him.

"Pierre," he shouted as, bewildered by the uproar, the girl
instinctively obeyed the order, "take this woman up behind you."

Pierre made his horse plunge, and so freed himself from those
attacking him. Then, reining round, he rode to Philip's side, and
helped the companion of the young lady to the croup of his saddle;
Philip dashing forward, to free his two followers from their
numerous assailants.

"To the left, Eustace;" and, cutting their way through the crowd,
the three horsemen freed themselves and, as they dashed off, were
joined by Pierre.

"We must work back by the way we came, Monsieur Philip," Pierre
said. "There is another body coming up in front, to cut off
fugitives; and that was why I shouted to you."

In a minute or two they were out of the wood. Men were seen running
across the fields, but these they easily avoided.

"Now turn again, and make straight for La Chatre," Philip said. "We
can cross the bridge, and ride through the place without danger.
Those who would have interfered with us are all behind us."

As he had expected, the place was perfectly quiet. The better class
of the bourgeois were all asleep, either ignorant or disapproving
of the action of the mob. As soon as they were through the town,
Philip checked the speed of his horse.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I am as yet in ignorance of your name. I
am the Chevalier Philip Fletcher, an English gentleman fighting for
the cause of the reformed religion, under Admiral Coligny. I am on
my way east, with important despatches; and I was bivouacking with
my three followers in the wood, when I was attracted by the
singing.

"Judging, from the words of the minister, that there was danger of
an attack, I put one of my men on the watch; while I myself
remained in the wood by your meeting place. Unfortunately, the
sound of the last hymn you sang drowned the noise made by the party
that assailed you. However, happily we were in time to save you and
your servant; and our sudden appearance doubtless enabled many to
escape, who would otherwise have been massacred."

The girl had burst into a fit of sobbing, as soon as the danger was
over; but she had now recovered.

"My name is Claire de Valecourt, monsieur," she said. "My father is
with the Admiral. He will be deeply grateful to you for saving my
life."

"I have the honour of knowing the Count de Valecourt, mademoiselle;
and am glad, indeed, that I have been able to be of service to his
daughter. The count is one of the gentlemen who act as guardians to
the Prince of Navarre, whom I have also the honour of knowing.

"And now, what are your wishes? It is not too late even now, should
you desire it, for me to take you back to the chateau."

"I should be defenceless there, sir," she said. "There are but a
score of men-at-arms and, though formerly a place of some strength,
it could not be defended now. See, sir, it is too late already."

Philip looked round, and saw a bright light suddenly rising from
the clump of trees on which the chateau stood. He gave an
exclamation of anger.

"It cannot be helped," she said quietly. "It is but a small place.
It was part of my mother's dower. Our estates, you know, are in
Provence. My father thought I should be safer, here, than remaining
there alone while he was away. We have always been on good terms
with the townspeople here, and they did not interfere with those of
our religion during the last war; so we thought that it would be
the same now. But of late some people have been here, stirring up
the townsmen; and some travelling friars preached in the
marketplace, not long since, upbraiding the people with their
slackness in not rooting us out altogether.

Copyright (c) 2007. topboookz.com. All rights reserved.