H. Rider Haggard - "Fair Margaret"

Jean de La Fontaine - "The Fables of La Fontaine"

Lisle de Vaux Matthewman - "Crankisms"

George Mueller - "A Narrative of Some of the Lord's Dealings with George Mueller"

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

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"Here is your cloak and mine," he said, "and a change of clothes
for each of us. We could not wander about the country, in this
guise."

Philip laid the cloaks down to form a sort of couch; and placed the
bundle, with the rest of the things in, as a pillow.

"Now, mademoiselle," he said, "you will be safe here until
nightfall. First you must drink a glass of wine, and try and eat
something. Pierre brought some up here, two days ago. Then I hope
you will lie down. I will watch outside the door. Pierre will go
down into the town, to gather news."

"I will take something presently," she said. "I could eat nothing,
now."

But Pierre had already uncorked a bottle, and Philip advised her to
drink a little wine.

"You will need all your strength," he said, "for we have a long
journey before us."

She drank a few drops.

"Do not go yet," she said. "I must speak to you."

Philip nodded to Pierre, who left the hut. Claire sat on the cloaks
for some minutes, in silence.

"I have been thinking, Monsieur Philip," she said at last, "and it
seems to me that it would not be right for me to go with you. I am
the promised wife of the Sieur de Pascal, and that promise is all
the more sacred, since he to whom I gave it,"--and she paused--"is
gone. It would not be right for me to go with you. You shall take
me to the Louvre, where I will crave the protection of the King and
Queen of Navarre.

"Do not think me ungrateful for what you have done for me. Twice
now you have saved my life, and, and--you understand me, Philip?"

"I do," he said, "and honour your scruples. One of my objects, in
sending Pierre down into the town again, is to learn what has taken
place at the Louvre. It may be that this fiendish massacre has
extended there, and that even the King of Navarre, and the Huguenot
gentlemen with him, have shared the fate of the others. Should it
not be so, it would be best in every way that what you suggest
should be carried out.

"As for the Sieur de Pascal, it may be that the blow, that has
bereft you of your good father, may well have fallen upon him,
also."

"But many will surely escape, as we have done. It cannot be that
all our friends--all those who rode in with the princes--can have
been murdered."

"Some have doubtless escaped; but I fear that the massacre will be
almost universal, for it has evidently been carefully planned and,
once begun, will extend not only to the followers of Navarre, but
to all the Protestants within the walls of Paris."

"Do you know aught concerning the Sieur de Pascal?" Claire asked,
looking up.

Something in the tone of his voice struck her.

"I saw him fall, mademoiselle. He had made for the door of your
house, doubtless with the intention of joining your father in
defending it to the last; but the murderers were already there. He
was attacked on the doorstep, and was surrounded, and well-nigh
spent, when I saw him. I tried to reach him through the crowd but,
before I could do so, he fell.

"Then, seeing that it would be but throwing away my life, and
destroying all chance of saving yours, I hurried away to carry out
the plan I had before formed of making my way along the roofs, and
so entering your house.

"Monsieur de Pascal fell, mademoiselle, as a brave soldier,
fighting against a host of foes, and in defence of yourself and
your father. It was an unfortunate, though noble impulse, that led
him there; for I had rubbed out the mark upon your door that served
as a guide for the soldiers, and you and the count might have
escaped over the roof, before any attack was made, had not his
presence aroused their suspicions."

Claire had hidden her face in her hands, as he began to speak; and
he had kept on talking, in order to give her time to collect her
feelings; but as she was now crying unrestrainedly, he went quietly
out of the hut and left her to herself; glad that tears had come to
her relief, for the first time.

An hour later the door opened behind him, and Claire called him in.

"I am better now," she said, "I have been able to cry. It seemed
that my heart was frozen, and I was like one in a terrible
nightmare. Now I know that it is all true, and that my dear father
is dead.

"As for Monsieur de Pascal, I am sorry that a brave soldier has
been killed; but that is all. You know that I received him, as my
affianced husband, simply in obedience to my father's commands; and
that my heart had no part in it. God has broken the tie, and for
that, even in this time of sorrow, I cannot but feel relief."

At this moment there was a knock at the door. Then the latch was
lifted, and Pierre entered.

"What is the news, Pierre?"

"It is bad, sir. The king has, in truth, put himself at the head of
the massacre; and even in the Louvre, itself, several Huguenot
gentlemen have been slain, though I could not learn their names. It
is said that some of them were slain in the presence of the young
Queen of Navarre, in spite of her entreaties and cries. The young
king and his cousin Conde are close prisoners; and it is said that
they, too, will be slain, unless they embrace the Catholic faith.

"The massacre has spread to all parts of the town, and the
Huguenots are everywhere being dragged from their homes and killed,
together with their wives and children. It is said that the bodies
of Coligny, and other Huguenot leaders, have been taken to the
Louvre; and that the king and the queen mother and the ladies, as
well as the gentlemen of the court, have been down to view them and
make a jest of them.

"Truly, sir, Paris seems to have gone mad. It is said that orders
have been sent, to all parts of France, to exterminate the
Huguenots."

Philip made a sign to Pierre to leave the hut.

"This is terrible news," he said to Claire, "and it is now clear
that the Louvre will afford you no protection. In these days, no
more mercy is shown to women than to men; and at best, or at worst,
you could but save your life by renouncing your faith."

"I had already decided," she said quietly, "that I would not go to
the Louvre. The death of Monsieur de Pascal has altered everything.
As his affianced wife, with the consent of my father, the king
would hardly have interfered to have forced me into another
marriage; but, being now free, he would treat me as a ward of the
crown, and would hand me and my estates to one of his favourites.
Anything would be better than that.

"Now, of course, it is out of the question. Estates I have none;
for, with the extermination of our people, their estates will be
granted to others."

"As to that, mademoiselle, they have been trying to massacre the
Huguenots for years; and though, doubtless, in the towns many may
fall, they will not be taken so readily in the country; and may,
even yet, rally and make head again.

"Still, that does not alter the present circumstances; and I see no
other plan but that I had first formed, for you to accompany me and
my servant, in disguise."

The girl stood hesitating, twining her fingers over each other,
restlessly.

"It is so strange, so unmaidenly," she murmured.

"Then, Claire," Philip said, taking her hands in his, "you must
give me the right to protect you. It is strange to speak of love,
at such a time as this; but you know that I love you. As a rich
heiress, and altogether above my station, even had you been free I
might never have spoken; but now, standing as we do surrounded by
dangers, such distinctions are levelled. I love you with all my
heart, and it seems to me that God, himself, has brought us
together."

"It is surely so, Philip," she said, looking up into his face. "Has
not God sent you twice to save me? Some day I will tell you of my
heart, but not now, dear--not now. I am alone in the world, save
you. I am sure that my father, if he now sees us, must approve.
Therefore, Philip, henceforth I am your affianced wife, and am
ready to follow you to the end of the world."

Philip stooped down, and kissed her gently. Then he dropped her
hands, and she stood back a little apart from him.

"It were best that I called Pierre in," he said. "Even in this
lonely quarter some one might pass and, seeing him standing at the
door, wonder who he might be."

So saying, he opened the door and called Pierre in.

"Pierre," he said gravely, "Mademoiselle de Valecourt is now my
affianced wife."

"That is as it should be, master," Pierre said; and then, stepping
up to Claire, who held out her hand to him, he reverently pressed
it with his lips.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "my life will henceforth be at your
disposal, as at that of my master. We may have dangers to face, but
if anyone can get you through them, he can."

"Thank you, Pierre," the girl said. "It is well, indeed, that we
should have with us one so faithful and attached as yourself."

In the hours that passed before nightfall, Philip related to Claire
how Pierre's warnings had excited his uneasiness; and how the
discovery of the chalk marks, on the doors, had confirmed him in
his conviction that some evil was intended; and explained the steps
they had taken for providing for an escape from the city.

"I have been wondering vaguely, Philip," she said, when he had told
the story, "how it was that you should have appeared so suddenly,
and should have a disguise in readiness for me. But how could you
have guessed that I should be ready to go with you?"

And for the first time, a slight tinge of colour came into her
cheeks.

"It was scarcely a guess, Claire. It was rather a despairing hope.
It seemed to me that, amid all this terror and confusion, I might
in some way be able to rescue you; and I made the only preparation
that seemed possible.

"I knew that you were aware that I loved you. When you told me of
your engagement, I felt that you were saying farewell to me. When I
thought of saving you, it was for him and not for myself; for I
knew that you would never oppose your father's wishes. I did not
dream of such a general calamity as it has been. I thought only of
a rising of the mob of Paris, and that perhaps an hour or two in
disguise might be sufficient, until the king's troops restored
order."

"It is very wonderful," Claire said earnestly. "It seems, beyond
all doubt, that it is God Himself who has thus given me to you; and
I will not doubt that, great as the dangers may seem to be before
us, He will lead us safely through them.

"You will make for La Rochelle?"

"Yes. Once there we shall be safe. You may be sure that there, at
least, the cruel orders of the king will be wholly disregarded; as
we may hope they will be, in many other towns in which the
Huguenots are numerous; but at La Rochelle, certainly, were all the
rest of France in flames, the people would remain steadfast.

"But I do not believe that the power of the Huguenots will be
broken. It may be that, in the northern towns, the orders of the
king will be carried out; but from thence we have obtained no aid
in our former struggles. Our strength in the south will still
remain and, though the loss of so many leaders and nobles, here in
Paris, will be a heavy blow, I hope that the cause of the faith
will speedily rally from it and make head again; just as it did
when all seemed lost, after the battle of Moncontour."

So they talked until night fell, with Pierre sitting discreetly in
the corner, as far away as possible, apparently sleeping most of
the time. As soon as it became perfectly dark, the bundle of
clothes was taken from the hiding place and, going outside the hut,
Philip and Pierre put on their ordinary attire. Claire had simply
slipped on the dress prepared for her over her own, and had but to
lay it aside.

After partaking of a meal, they made their way to the nearest steps
leading to the top of the wall. One end of the rope was fastened to
the parapet, the other was tied round Claire, and she was carefully
lowered to the ground. Philip and Pierre slid down the rope after
her, and they at once started across the country.

After three hours' walking, they reached the farm where Pierre had
left the horses. They left Claire a short distance away. As Pierre
had seen the horses put into the stables, he knew exactly where
they were. He had, on leaving them there, paid for a week's keep;
saying that he might come for them in haste, and perhaps at night,
and if so he would saddle and take them off without waking the
farmer.

The horses whinnied with pleasure, when Philip spoke to them. The
saddles and bridles were found, hanging on a beam where Pierre had
placed them; and in two or three minutes the horses were led out,
ready to start. Philip had arranged his cloak behind his saddle,
for Claire to sit upon; and led the horse to the place where she
was awaiting them.

"All has passed off well," he said. "No one in the farmhouse seems
to have heard a sound."

He leapt into the saddle. Claire placed her foot on his, and he
swung her up behind him; and they then started at a brisk trot.

Avoiding all large towns, and stopping only at village inns, they
made their way south; making long journeys each day. In the
villages there was little of the religious rancour that animated
the people in the towns and, after the first two days, Philip found
that the news of what had occurred at Paris had not, as yet,
spread. Eager questions were asked Pierre as to the grand wedding
festivities at Paris; and there was, everywhere, a feeling of
satisfaction at a union that seemed to promise to give peace to
France.

Claire was generally supposed to be Philip's sister; and the
hostesses always did their best to make the girl, with her pale sad
face, as comfortable as possible.

Fearing that a watch might have been set at the bridges, they
avoided these, crossing either by ferry boats or at fords. The
Loire was passed above Orleans, and as that city, Blois, and Tours
all lay on the northern bank, they met with no large towns on their
way, until they approached Chatellerault. They bore to the south to
avoid that city and Poitiers and, on the eighth day after leaving
Paris, they reached the chateau of Laville, having travelled
upwards of two hundred miles.

As they crossed the drawbridge, Philip's four retainers met them at
the gate, and greeted him most warmly.

"Is the countess in?" he asked, as he alighted.

"She is, Monsieur Philip. She has been for some days at La
Rochelle, and returned yesterday. There are rumours, sir, that at
Poitiers and Niort the Catholics have again, in spite of the
edicts, fallen upon the Huguenots; and though the countess believes
not the tale, we had a guard posted at the gate last night."

"I am afraid it is true, Eustace," Philip said. "Take the horses
round to the stables, and see to them well. They have travelled
fast."

Taking Claire's hand, he led her up the steps; and just as he
entered the hall the countess, to whom the news of his approach had
been carried, met him.

"Aunt," he said, "I confide this lady to your loving care. It is
Mademoiselle de Valecourt, now my affianced wife. I have bad news
to tell you; but I pray you lead her first to a chamber, for she is
sore wearied and in much grief."

"Francois is not dead?" the countess exclaimed in a low voice,
paling to the lips.

"I trust not, aunt. I have no reason for believing that he is."

"I will wait here, Philip, with the countess's permission," Claire
said. "It is better that you should not keep her in suspense, even
for a moment, on my account."

"I thank you, mademoiselle," the countess said, as she led the girl
to a couch. "This is but a poor welcome that I am giving you; but I
will make amends for it, when I have heard what Philip has to tell
me.

"Now, Philip, tell me the worst, and let there be no concealment."

Philip related the whole story of the massacre, his tale being
interrupted by frequent exclamations of horror, by the countess.

"It seems incredible," she cried, "that a king of France should
thus dishonour himself, alike by breaking his vows, disregarding
his own safe conduct, and massacring those who had accepted his
hospitality.

"And Francois, you say, was at the Louvre with the King of Navarre
and Conde; and even there, within the walls of the royal palace,
some of the king's guests were murdered; but more than this you
know not?"

"That is the report that Pierre gathered in the street, aunt. It
may have been exaggerated. Everyone eagerly seized and retailed the
reports that were current. But even if true, it may well be that
Francois is not among those who fell. To a certain extent he was
warned, for I told him the suspicions and fears that I entertained;
and when he heard the tumult outside, he may have effected his
escape."

"I do not think so," the countess said, drawing herself up to her
full height. "My son was one of the prince's gentlemen of the
chamber, and he would have been unworthy of his name, had he
thought first of his personal safety and not of that of the young
king."

Philip knew that this was so; and the knowledge had, from the
first, prevented his entertaining any great hopes of his cousin's
safety. However, he said:

"As long as there was a hope of his being of service to the prince,
I am sure that Francois would not have left him. But from the
first, aunt, resistance was in vain, and would only have excited
the assailants. Pierre heard that in few cases was there any
resistance, whatever, to the murderers. The horror of the thing was
so great that even the bravest, awakened thus from their sleep,
either fell without drawing sword, or fled."

"What a day for France!" the countess exclaimed. "The Admiral, our
bravest soldier, our greatest leader, a Christian hero, slaughtered
as he lay wounded! And how many others of our noblest and best! And
you say orders have been sent, over all France, to repeat this
horrible massacre?

"But enough, for the present. I am forgetting my duties as hostess.
Mademoiselle de Valecourt, we are alike mourners--you for your
noble father, I for my son, both of us for France and for our
religion. Yet I welcome you to Laville. For you, brighter days may
be in store. My nephew is a gallant gentleman, and with him you may
find a home far away from this unhappy country. To me, if Francois
has gone, Philip will stand almost in the light of a son. Francois
loved him as a brother, and he has grown very dear to me, and
gladly shall I welcome you as his wife.

"Now, come with me.

"Philip, I leave it to you to send round the news to the tenants,
and to see that all preparations are made to leave the chateau,
once again, to the mercy of our foes; and to retire to La Rochelle,
where alone we can talk with safety. See that the bell is rung at
once. The tenants know the summons and, though little expecting
danger, will quickly rally here."

Philip at once went out into the courtyard, and in a minute the
sharp clanging of the bell told the country round that danger
threatened. The retainers of the chateau ran hastily out, arming
themselves as they went; and exclamations of horror and fury broke
from them, as Philip told them that the order for the massacre of
the Huguenots, throughout France, had gone forth; and that already,
most of those who rode to Paris with the King of Navarre had
fallen.

Then he repeated the countess's order that, upon the following
morning, the chateau should be abandoned and all should ride to La
Rochelle; and he despatched half a dozen mounted men, to warn all
the Huguenot gentry in the district.

In a few minutes the tenants began to flock in. Although the tale
that they heard involved the destruction of their newly-built
houses, and the loss of most of their property, this affected them
but slightly in comparison with the news of the murder of Coligny,
and of so many Huguenot leaders; and of the terrible fate that
would befall the Huguenots, in every town in France. Some wept,
others clenched their weapons in impotent rage. Some called down
the curses of Heaven upon the faithless king, while some stood as
if completely dazed at the terrible news.

Philip spoke a few cheering words to them.

"All is not lost yet, my friends. Heaven will raise up fresh
leaders for us. Many may fall, but the indignation and rage that
you feel will likewise animate all who, dwelling in the country,
may escape; so that, ere long, we shall have fresh armies in the
field. Doubtless the first blow will be struck at La Rochelle, and
there we will meet these murderers face to face; and will have the
opportunity of proving, to them, that the men of the Reformed
religion are yet a force capable of resisting oppression, and
revenging treachery. There is one thing: never again shall we make
the mistake of laying down our arms, confiding in the promises and
vows of this perjured king; never again shall we be cozened into
throwing away the results of our victories.

"Gather your horses and cattle, as you did before. Take your
household goods in carts and, at daybreak, send in here the waggons
that you have to provide, in case of necessity."

At noon the next day, the whole of the occupants of the chateau
started for La Rochelle. The tenants, with their cattle and horses
and all their portable property, had left at daybreak; and at
nightfall the countess and her party came up with them. The
encampment was a large one. The women and children slept under the
waggons. The men lay down by fires they had kindled, while a
portion were told off to keep watch over the animals.

The train had swollen considerably since they had started. Most of
the inhabitants of the villages were Huguenots and, as soon as
these heard of the massacres in Paris and elsewhere, they collected
their animals, loaded up their carts, and took the road to the city
of refuge.

After four days' travelling, they entered La Rochelle. The news had
arrived before them, being brought by some of those who had escaped
the massacre, by being lodged without the walls of Paris. The
countess and Claire were received at the house of Monsieur Bertram.
Philip found lodgings near them, and the whole of the inhabitants
vied with each other, in their hospitable reception of the mass of
fugitives.

Claire was completely prostrated by the events through which she
had passed, and Monsieur Bertram's daughter devoted herself to her,
tending her with unwearied care until, after a week in bed, she
began again to gather strength.

The time of the countess was entirely occupied in filling the part
that had, before, been played by Jeanne of Navarre: holding
consultations with the town councillors, going down to the walls
and encouraging the men who were labouring there, and urging on the
people to make every sacrifice in defence of their religion and
homes. She herself set the example, by pawning her jewels and
selling her horses, and devoting the proceeds to the funds raised
for the defence.

She worked with feverish activity, as if to give herself no time
for thought. She was still without news of Francois. Henry of
Navarre and the Prince of Conde had, as was soon known, been
compelled to abjure their religion as the price of their lives. She
was convinced that her son would have refused to buy his life, upon
such conditions. Philip, who had come to regard Francois as a
brother, was equally anxious and, two days after his arrival at the
city, he took Pierre aside.

"Pierre," he said, "I cannot rest here in ignorance of the fate of
my cousin."

"That I can see, master. You have eaten no food the last two days.
You walk about at night, instead of sleeping; and I have been
expecting, every hour, that you would say to me, 'Pierre, we must
go to Paris.'"

"Will you go with me, Pierre?"

"How can you ask such a question?" Pierre said, indignantly. "Of
course, if you go I go, too. There is not much danger in the
affair; and if there were, what then? We have gone through plenty
of it, together. It will not be, now, as when we made our escape.
Then they were hunting down the Huguenots like mad dogs. Now they
think they have exterminated them in Paris, and will no longer be
on the lookout for them. It will be easy enough to come and go,
without being observed; and if we find Monsieur Francois, we will
bring him out with us.

"The young count is not like you, monsieur. He is brave, and a
gallant gentleman, but he is not one to invent plans of escape; and
he will not get away, unless we go for him."

"That is what I think, Pierre. We will start at once, but we must
not let the countess know what we are going for. I will get the
chief of the council, openly, to charge me with a mission to the
south; while telling them, privately, where I am really going, and
with what object. I am known to most of them, and I doubt not they
will fall in with my plans.

"We will ride my two best horses, and lead a spare one. We will
leave them a few miles outside Paris, and then go in disguised as
countrymen. At any rate, we shall soon be able to learn if my
cousin is among those who fell. If not, he must be in hiding
somewhere. It will not be easy to discover him, but I trust to you
to find him."

Accordingly, the next day, the countess heard that Philip had been
requested by the council to proceed on a mission to the south,
where the Huguenots were everywhere in arms.

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