Mary Hallock Foote - "The Desert and The Sown"

Louisa Stuart Costello - "Béarn and the Pyrenees"

Nathaniel Hawthorne - "The Ancestral Footstep (fragment)"

Joseph Cottle - "Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey"

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.

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"But is it possible, Philip," the countess said in tones of horror,
"that you used to wrestle and to fight? Fight with your arms and
fists against rough boys, the sons of all sorts of common people?"

"Certainly I did, aunt, and it did me a great deal of good, and no
harm so far as I know. All these rough sports strengthen the frame
and give quickness and vigour, just the same as exercises with the
sword do. I should never have been so tall and strong as I am now
if, instead of going to an English school, I had been either, as
you say, educated at home by a chaplain, or sent to be taught and
looked after by priests. My mother did not like it at first, but
she came to see that it was good for me. Besides, there is not the
same difference between classes in England as there is in France.
There is more independence in the lower and middle classes, and
less haughtiness and pride in the upper, and I think that it is
better so."

"It is the English custom, Emilie," her sister said; "and I can
assure you that my husband and I have got very English, in some
things. We do not love our country less, but we see that, in many
respects, the English ways are better than ours; and we admire the
independence of the people, every man respecting himself, though
giving honour, but not lavishly, to those higher placed."

The countess shrugged her shoulders.

"We will not argue, Marie. At any rate, whatever the process, it
has succeeded well with Philip."

The days passed quietly at the chateau. Before breakfast Philip
spent an hour on horseback, learning to manage his horse by the
pressure of knee or hand. This was the more easy, as both his
horses had been thoroughly trained in the menage, and under the
instruction of Captain Montpace, who had been Francois' teacher, he
made rapid progress.

"It is much easier to teach the man than the horse," his instructor
said, "although a horse learns readily enough, when its rider is a
master of the art; but with horse and rider alike ignorant, it is a
long business to get them to work together as if they were one,
which is what should be. As both your horses know their work, they
obey your motions, however slight; and you will soon be able to
pass muster on their backs. But it would take months of patient
teaching for you so to acquire the art of horsemanship as to be
able to train an animal, yourself."

After the lesson was over, Francois and Philip would tilt at rings
and go through other exercises in the courtyard. Breakfast over,
they went hawking or hunting. Of the former sport Philip was
entirely ignorant, and was surprised to learn how highly a
knowledge of it was prized in France, and how necessary it was
considered as part of the education of a gentleman. Upon the other
hand, his shooting with the bow and arrow astonished Francois; for
the bow had never been a French weapon, and the crossbow was fast
giving way to the arquebus; but few gentlemen troubled themselves
to learn the use of either one or the other. The pistol, however,
was becoming a recognized portion of the outfit of a cavalier in
the field and, following Francois' advice, Philip practised with
one steadily, until he became a fair shot.

"They are cowardly weapons," Francois said, "but for all that they
are useful in battle. When you are surrounded by three or four
pikemen, thrusting at you, it is a good thing to be able to
disembarrass yourself of one or two of them. Besides, these German
horsemen, of whom the Guises employ so many, all carry firearms;
and the contest would be too uneven if we were armed only with the
sword; though for my part I wish that all the governments of Europe
would agree to do away with firearms of every description. They
place the meanest footman upon the level of the bravest knight, and
in the end will, it seems to me, reduce armies to the level of
machines."

In the afternoons there were generally gatherings of Huguenot
gentry, who came to discuss the situation, to exchange news, or to
listen to the last rumours from Paris. No good had arisen from the
Conference of Bayonne, and one by one the privileges of the
Huguenots were being diminished.

The uprising of the Protestants of Holland was watched with the
greatest interest by the Huguenots of France. It was known that
several of the most influential Huguenot nobles had met, at Valery
and at Chatillon, to discuss with the Prince of Conde and Admiral
Coligny the question of again taking up arms in defence of their
liberties. It was rumoured that the opinion of the majority was
that the Huguenot standard should be again unfurled, and that this
time there should be no laying down of their arms until freedom of
worship was guaranteed to all; but that the admiral had used all
his powers to persuade them that the time had not yet come, and
that it was better to bear trials and persecutions, for a time, in
order that the world might see they had not appealed to arms until
driven to it by the failure of all other hope of redress of their
grievances.

The elder men among the visitors at the chateau were of the
admiral's opinion. The younger chafed at the delay. The position
had indeed become intolerable. Protestant worship was absolutely
forbidden, except in a few specified buildings near some of the
large towns; and all Protestants, save those dwelling in these
localities, were forced to meet secretly, and at the risk of their
lives, for the purpose of worship. Those caught transgressing the
law were thrown into prison, subjected to crushing fines, and even
punished with torture and death.

"Better a thousand times to die with swords in our hands, in the
open field, than thus tamely to see our brethren ill-treated and
persecuted!" was the cry of the young men; and Philip, who from
daily hearing tales of persecution and cruelty had become more and
more zealous in the Huguenot cause, fully shared their feeling.

In the presence of the elders, however, the more ardent spirits
were silent. At all times grave and sober in manner and word, the
knowledge that a desperate struggle could not long be deferred, and
the ever-increasing encroachments of the Catholics, added to the
gravity of their demeanour. Sometimes those present broke up into
groups, talking in an undertone. Sometimes the gathering took the
form of a general council. Occasionally some fugitive minister, or
a noble from some district where the persecution was particularly
fierce, would be present; and their narratives would be listened to
with stern faces by the elders, and with passionate indignation by
the younger men.

In spite of the decrees, the countess still retained her chaplain
and, before the meetings broke up, prayers were offered by him for
their persecuted brethren, and for a speedy deliverance of those of
the reformed religion from the cruel disabilities under which they
laboured.

Services were held night and morning in the chateau. These were
attended not only by all the residents, but by many of the farmers
and their families. The countess had already received several
warnings from the Catholic authorities of the province; but to
these she paid no attention, and there were no forces available to
enforce the decree in her case, as it would require nothing short
of an army to overcome the opposition that might be expected,
joined as she would be by the other Huguenot gentry of the
district.



Chapter 4: An Experiment.


Marie Vaillant, after remaining six weeks at the chateau, returned
to England; and Philip, with a party of twelve men, escorted her to
La Rochelle. Her visit was cut short somewhat, at the end, by the
imminence of the outbreak of hostilities, in which case she might
have found a difficulty in traversing the country. Moreover, La
Rochelle would probably be besieged, soon after the war began; for
being both an important town and port, the Catholics would be
anxious to obtain possession of it, and so cut off the Huguenots
from escape to England, besides rendering it difficult for
Elizabeth to send a force to their assistance.

"It has been a pleasant time," the countess said, on the morning of
her departure; "and your presence has taken me back five-and-twenty
years, Marie. I hope that when these troubles are past you will
again come over, and spend a happier time with me. I was going to
say that I will look well after Philip, but that I cannot do. He
has cast his lot in with us, and must share our perils. I am
greatly pleased with him, and I am glad that Francois will have him
as a companion in arms. Francois is somewhat impulsive, and liable
to be carried away by his ardour; and Philip, although the younger,
is, it seems to me, the more thoughtful of the two. He is one I
feel I can have confidence in. He is grave, yet merry; light
hearted in a way, and yet, I think, prudent and cautious. It seems
strange, but I shall part with Francois with the more comfort, in
the thought that he has Philip with him.

"Don't come back more English than you are now, Marie; for truly
you seem to me to have fallen in love with the ways of these
islanders."

"I will try not to, Emilie; but I should not like the customs, did
it not seem to me that they are better than my own. In England
Protestants and Catholics live side by side in friendship, and
there is no persecution of anyone for his religion; the Catholics
who have suffered during the present reign have done so, not
because they are Catholics, but because they plotted against the
queen. Would that in France men would agree to worship, each in his
own way, without rancour or animosity."

"Tell Lucie that I am very sorry she did not come over with you and
Philip, and that it is only because you tell me how occupied she is
that I am not furiously angry with her.

"Tell her, too," she went on earnestly, "that I feel she is one of
us; still a Huguenot, a Frenchwoman, and one of our race, or she
would never have allowed her only son to come over, to risk his
life in our cause. I consider her a heroine, Marie. It is all very
well for me, whose religion is endangered, whose friends are in
peril, whose people are persecuted, to throw myself into the strife
and to send Francois into the battle; but with her, working there
with an invalid husband, and her heart, as it must be, wrapped up
in her boy, it is splendid to let him come out here, to fight side
by side with us for the faith. Whose idea was it first?"

"My husband's. Gaspard regards Philip almost in the light of a son.
He is a rich man now, as I told you, and Philip will become his
heir. Though he has no desire that he should settle in France, he
wished him to take his place in our family here, to show himself
worthy of his race, to become a brave soldier, to win credit and
honour, and to take his place perhaps, some day, in the front rank
of the gentry of Kent."

"They were worldly motives, Marie, and our ministers would denounce
them as sinful; but I cannot do so. I am a Huguenot, but I am a
countess of France, a member of one noble family and married into
another; and though, I believe, as staunch a Huguenot, and as ready
to lay down my life for our religion as any man or woman in France,
yet I cannot give up all the traditions of my rank, and hold that
fame and honour and reputation and courage are mere snares. But
such were not Lucie's feelings in letting him go, I will be bound;
nor yours."

"Mine partly," Marie said. "I am the wife now of a trader, though
one honoured in his class; but have still a little of your
feelings, Emilie, and remember that the blood of the De Moulins
runs in Philip's veins, and hope that he will do credit to it. I
don't think that Lucie has any such feelings. She is wrapt up in
duty--first her duty to God, secondly her duty to her crippled
husband, whom she adores; and I think she regarded the desire of
Philip to come out to fight in the Huguenot ranks as a call that
she ought not to oppose. I know she was heartbroken at parting with
him, and yet she never showed it.

"Lucie is a noble character. Everyone who knows her loves her. I
believe the very farm labourers would give their lives for her, and
a more utterly unselfish creature never lived."

"Well, she must take a holiday and come over with you, next time
you come, Marie. I hope that these troubles may soon be over,
though that is a thing one cannot foretell."

After seeing his aunt safely on board a ship at La Rochelle, Philip
prepared to return to the chateau. He and his aunt had stayed two
nights at the house of Maitre Bertram, and on his returning there
the latter asked:

"Have you yet found a suitable servant, Monsieur Philip?"

"No; my cousin has been inquiring among the tenantry, but the young
men are all bent on fighting, and indeed there are none of them who
would make the sort of servant one wants in a campaign--a man who
can not only groom horses and clean arms, but who knows something
of war, can forage for provisions, cook, wait on table, and has
intelligence. One wants an old soldier; one who has served in the
same capacity, if possible."

"I only asked because I have had a man pestering me to speak to you
about him. He happened to see you ride off, when you were here
last, and apparently became impressed with the idea that you would
be a good master. He is a cousin of one of my men, and heard I
suppose from him that you were likely to return. He has been to me
three or four times. I have told him again and again that he was
not the sort of man I could recommend, but he persisted in begging
me to let him see you himself."

"What sort of a fellow is he?"

"Well, to tell you the truth he is a sort of ne'er-do-well," the
merchant laughed. "I grant that he has not had much chance. His
father died when he was a child, and his mother soon married again.
There is no doubt that he was badly treated at home, and when he
was twelve he ran away. He was taken back and beaten, time after
time; but in a few hours he was always off again, and at last they
let him go his own way. There is nothing he hasn't turned his hand
to. First he lived in the woods, I fancy; and they say he was the
most arrant young poacher in the district, though he was so cunning
that he was never caught. At last he had to give that up. Then he
fished for a bit, but he couldn't stick to it. He has been always
doing odd jobs, turning his hand to whatever turned up. He worked
in a shipyard for a bit, then I took him as a sort of errand boy
and porter. He didn't stop long, and the next I heard of him he was
servant at a priest's. He has been a dozen other things, and for
the last three or four months he has been in the stables where your
horse was standing. I fancy you saw him there. Some people think he
is half a fool, but I don't agree with them; he is as sharp as a
needle, to my mind. But, as I say, he has never had a fair chance.
A fellow like that, without friends, is sure to get roughly
treated."

"Is he a young man of about one or two and twenty?" Philip asked.
"I remember a fellow of about that age brought out the horse, and
as he seemed to me a shrewd fellow, and had evidently taken great
pains in grooming Robin, I gave him a crown. I thought he needed
it, for his clothes were old and tattered, and he looked as if he
hadn't had a hearty meal for a week.

"Well, Maitre Bertram, can you tell me if, among his other
occupations, he has ever been charged with theft?"

"No, I have never heard that brought against him."

"Why did he leave you?"

"It was from no complaint as to his honesty. Indeed, he left of his
own accord, after a quarrel with one of the men, who was, as far as
I could learn, in the wrong. I did not even hear that he had left
until a week after, and it was too late then to go thoroughly into
the matter. Boys are always troublesome and, as everyone had warned
me that Pierre would turn out badly, I gave the matter but little
thought at the time. Of course, you will not think of taking the
luckless rascal as your servant."

"I don't know. I will have a talk with him, anyhow. A fellow like
that would certainly be handy; but whether he could be relied upon
to behave discreetly and soberly, and not to bring me into
discredit, is a different matter. Is he here now?"

"He is below. Shall I send him up here to you?"

"No, I will go down and see him in the courtyard. If he comes up
here he would be, perhaps, awkward and unnatural, and would not
speak so freely as he would in the open air."

The merchant shook his head.

"If you take the vagabond, remember, Monsieur Philip, that it is
altogether against my advice. I would never have spoken to you
about him, if I had imagined for a moment that you would think of
taking him. A fellow who has never kept any employment for two
months, how could he be fit for a post of confidence, and be able
to mix as your body servant with the households of honourable
families?"

"But you said yourself, Maitre Bertram, that he has never had a
fair chance. Well, I will see him, anyhow."

[Illustration: Philip gets his first look at Pierre.]

He descended into the courtyard, and could not help smiling as his
eye fell upon a figure seated on the horse block. He was looking
out through the gateway, and did not at first see Philip. The
expression of his face was dull and almost melancholy, but as
Philip's eye fell on him his attention was attracted by some
passing object in the street. His face lit up with amusement. His
lips twitched and his eyes twinkled. A moment later and the
transient humour passed, and the dull, listless expression again
stole over his face.

"Pierre!" Philip said sharply.

The young fellow started to his feet, as if shot upwards by a
spring; and as he turned and saw who had addressed him, took off
his cap and, bowing, stood twisting it round in his fingers.

"Monsieur Bertram tells me you want to come with me as a servant,
Pierre; but when I asked him about you, he does not give you such a
character as one would naturally require in a confidential servant.
Is there anyone who will speak for you?"

"Not a soul," the young man said doggedly; "and yet, monsieur, I am
not a bad fellow. What can a man do, when he has not a friend in
the world? He picks up a living as he can, but everybody looks at
him with suspicion. There is no friend to take his part, and so
people vent their ill humours upon him, till the time comes when he
revolts at the injustice and strikes back; and then he has to begin
it all over again, somewhere else.

"And yet, sir, I know that I could be faithful and true to anyone
who would not treat me like a dog. You spoke kindly to me in the
stable, and gave me a crown. No one had ever given me a crown
before. But I cared less for that than for the way you spoke. Then
I saw you start, and you spoke pleasantly to your men; and I said
to myself, 'that is the master I would serve, if he would let me.'

"Try me, sir, and if you do not find me faithful, honest, and true
to you, tell your men to string me up to a bough. I do not drink,
and have been in so many services that, ragged as you see me, I can
yet behave so as not to do discredit to you."

Philip hesitated. There was no mistaking the earnestness with which
the youth spoke.

"Are you a Catholic or a Huguenot?" he asked.

"I know nothing of the difference between them," Pierre replied.
"How should I? No one has ever troubled about me, one way or the
other. When my mother lived I went to Mass with her; since then I
have gone nowhere. I have had no Sunday clothes. I know that the
bon Dieu has taken care of me, or I should have died of hunger,
long ago. The priest I was with used to tell me that the Huguenots
were worse than heathen; but if that were so, why should they let
themselves be thrown into prison, and even be put to death, rather
than stay away from their churches? As for me, I know nothing about
it. They say monsieur is a Huguenot, and if he were good enough to
take me into his service, of course I should be a Huguenot."

"That is a poor reason, Pierre," Philip said smiling. "Still, you
may find better reasons, in time. However, you are not a Catholic,
which is the principal thing, at present.

"Well, I will try you, I think. Perhaps, as you say, you have never
had a fair chance yet, and I will give you one. I believe what you
say, that you will be faithful."

The young fellow's face lit up with pleasure.

"I will be faithful, sir. If I were otherwise, I should deserve to
be cut in pieces."

"As for wages," Philip said, "I will pay you what you deserve. We
will settle that when we see how we get on together. Now follow me,
and I will get some suitable clothes for you."

There was no difficulty about this. Clothes were not made to fit
closely in those days, and Philip soon procured a couple of suits
suitable for the serving man of a gentleman of condition. One was a
riding suit; with high boots, doublet, and trunks of sober colour
and of a strong tough material; a leather sword belt and sword; and
a low hat thickly lined and quilted, and capable of resisting a
heavy blow. The other suit was for wear in the house. It was of
dark green cloth of a much finer texture than the riding suit; with
cloth stockings of the same colour, coming up above the knee, and
then meeting the trunks or puffed breeches. A small cap with turned
up brim, furnished with a few of the tail feathers of a black cock,
completed the costume; a dagger being worn in the belt instead of
the sword. Four woollen shirts, a pair of shoes, and a cloak were
added to the purchases; which were placed in a valise, to be
carried behind the saddle.

"Is there any house where you can change your clothes, Pierre? Of
course you could do so at Monsieur Bertram's, but some of the men I
brought with me will be there, and it would be just as well that
they did not see you in your present attire."

"I can change at the stables, sir, if you will trust me with the
clothes."

"Certainly, I will trust you. If I trust you sufficiently to take
you as my servant, I can surely trust you in a matter like this. Do
you know of anyone who has a stout nag for sale?"

Pierre knew of several and, giving Philip an address, the latter
was not long in purchasing one, with saddle and bridle complete. He
ordered this to be sent, at once, to the stables where Pierre had
been employed, with directions that it was to be handed over to his
servant.

It was one o'clock in the day when Madame Vaillant embarked, and it
was late in the afternoon before Philip returned to Monsieur
Bertram's house.

"What have you done about that vagabond Pierre?"

"I have hired him," Philip said.

"You don't say that you have taken him, after what I have told you
about him!" the merchant exclaimed.

"I have, indeed. He pleaded hard for a trial, and I am going to
give him one. I believe that he will turn out a useful fellow. I am
sure that he is shrewd, and he ought to be full of expedients. As
to his appearance, good food and decent clothes will make him
another man. I think he will turn out a merry fellow, when he is
well fed and happy; and I must say, Maitre Bertram, that I am not
fond of long faces. Lastly, I believe that he will be faithful."

"Well, well, well, I wash my hands of it altogether, Monsieur
Philip. I am sorry I spoke to you about him, but I never for a
moment thought you would take him. If harm comes of it, don't blame
me."

"I will hold you fully acquitted," Philip laughed. "I own that I
have taken quite a fancy to him, and believe that he will turn out
well."

An hour later one of the domestics came in, with word that Monsieur
Philip's servant was below, and wished to know if he had any
commands for him.

"Tell him to come up," Philip said, and a minute later Pierre
entered.

He was dressed in his dark green costume. He had had his hair cut,
and presented an appearance so changed that Philip would hardly
have known him.

"By my faith!" the merchant said, "you have indeed transformed him.
He is not a bad-looking varlet, now that he has got rid of that
tangled crop of hair."

Pierre bowed low at the compliment.

"Fine feathers make fine birds, Monsieur Bertram," replied Pierre.
"It is the first time I have had the opportunity of proving the
truth of the proverb. I am greatly indebted to monsieur, for
recommending me to my master."

"It is not much recommendation you got from me, Pierre," the
merchant said bluntly; "for a more troublesome young scamp I never
had in my warehouse. Still, as I told Monsieur Philip, I think
everything has been against you; and I do hope, now that this
English gentleman has given you a chance, that you will take
advantage of it."

"I mean to, sir," the young fellow said earnestly, and without a
trace of the mocking smile with which he had first spoken. "If I do
not give my master satisfaction, it will not be for want of trying.
I shall make mistakes at first--it will all be strange to me, but I
feel sure that he will make allowances. I can at least promise that
he will find me faithful and devoted."

"Has your horse arrived, Pierre?"

"Yes, sir. I saw him watered and fed before I came out. Is it your
wish that I should go round to the stables where your horse and
those of your troop are, and take charge of your horse at once?"

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