Une fille du régent. English

by Alexandre Dumas

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  THE SORCERESS OF SAVERNAY.

  "I was ten years old, and I lived at Pontcalec, in the midst of woods,when one day my uncle Crysogon, my father, and I, resolved to have arabbit hunt in a warren at five or six miles distance, found, seated onthe heath, a woman reading. So few of our peasants could read that wewere surprised. We stopped and looked at her--I see her now, as thoughit were yesterday, though it is nearly twenty years ago. She wore thedark costume of our Breton women, with the usual white head-dress, andshe was seated on a large tuft of broom in blossom, which she had beencutting.

  "My father was mounted on a beautiful bay horse, with a gold-coloredmane, my uncle on a gray horse, young and ardent, and I rode one ofthose little white ponies, which to strength and activity unite thedocility of a sheep.

  "The woman looked up from her book at the group before her, and seeingme firm in my stirrups near my father, who seemed proud of me, she roseall at once, and approaching me, said--

  "'What a pity!'

  "'What do you mean?' asked my father.

  "'It means that I do not like that white pony,' replied the woman.

  "'And why not?'

  "'Because he will bring misfortune to your child, Sire de Pontcalec.'

  "We Bretons are superstitious, you know; so that even my father, who,you know, Montlouis, was an enlightened as well as a brave man, stopped,in spite of my uncle Crysogon, who urged us to proceed, and trembling atthe idea of danger to me, he added--

  "'Yet the pony is gentle, my good woman, and Clement rides well for hisage. I have often ridden the little animal in the park, and its pacesare perfect.'

  "'I do not know anything of that, Marquis de Guer,' replied the woman,'but the little white horse will injure your son Clement, I tell you.'

  "'And how can you know this?'

  "'I see it,' replied she, in a strange voice.

  "'When?' asked my father.

  "'To-day.'

  "My father turned pale, and I was afraid; but my uncle Crysogon, who hadbeen in the Dutch wars, and had become somewhat hardened by combatingthe Huguenots, laughed till he nearly fell from his horse.

  "'Parbleu!' said he, 'this good woman certainly is in league with therabbits at Savernay. What do you say to it, Clement: would you like togo home and lose the sport?'

  "'Uncle,' I replied, 'I would rather go on with you.'

  "'You look pale and odd--are you afraid?'

  "'I am not afraid,' said I.

  "I lied, for I felt a certain shudder pass through me, which was verylike fear.

  "My father has since owned to me, that if it had not been for my uncle'swords, which caused a certain false shame in him, he would have sent mehome or given my horse to one of the servants; but what an example for aboy of my age, who declared himself to have no fear, and what a subjectfor ridicule to my uncle.

  "I continued, then, to ride my pony; we reached the warren, and thechase commenced.

  "While it lasted, the pleasures made us forget the prediction; but thechase over, and having started on our road home--

  "'Well, Clement,' said my uncle, 'still on your pony; you are a braveboy.'

  "My father and I both laughed; we were then crossing a plain as flat andeven as this room--no obstacles in the way, nothing that could frightena horse, yet at that moment my pony gave a bound which shook me from myseat, then he reared violently, and threw me off; my uncle laughed, butmy father became as pale as death. I did not move, and my father leapedfrom his horse and came to me, and found that my leg was broken.

  "To describe my father's grief and the cries of the grooms would beimpossible; but my uncle's despair was indescribable--kneeling by myside, removing my clothes with a trembling hand, covering me with tearsand caresses, his every word was a fervent prayer. My father was obligedto console him, but to all his consolations and caresses he answerednot.

  "They sent for the first surgeon at Nantes, who pronounced me in greatdanger. My uncle begged my mother's pardon all day long; and we remarkedthat, during my illness, he had quite changed his mode of life; insteadof drinking and hunting with the officers--instead of going on fishingexpeditions, of which he was so fond--he never left my pillow.

  "The fever lasted six weeks, and the illness nearly four months; but Iwas saved, and retained no trace of the accident. When I went out forthe first time, my uncle gave me his arm; but when the walk was over,he took leave of us with tears in his eyes.

  "'Where are you going, Crysogon?' asked my father in astonishment.

  "'I made a vow,' replied the good man, 'that if our child recovered, Iwould turn Carthusian, and I go to fulfill it.'

  "This was a new grief. My father and my mother shed tears; I hung on myuncle's neck, and begged him not to leave us; but the viscount was a manwho never broke a promise or a resolution. Our tears and prayers werevain.

  "'My brother,' said he, 'I did not know that God sometimes deigns toreveal Himself to man in acts of mystery. I doubted, and deserve to bepunished; besides, I do not wish to lose my salvation in the pleasuresof this life.'

  "At these words the viscount embraced me again, mounted his horse, anddisappeared. He went to the Carthusian monastery at Morlaix. Two yearsafterward, fasts, macerations, and grief had made of this bon vivant,this joyous companion, this devoted friend, a premature skeleton. At theend of three years he died, leaving me all his wealth."

  "Diable! what a frightful tale," said Du Couedic; "but the old womanforgot to tell you that breaking your leg would double your fortune."

  "Listen," said Pontcalec, more gravely than ever.

  "Ah! it is not finished," said Talhouet.

  "We are only at the commencement."

  "Continue, we are listening."

  "You have all heard of the strange death of the Baron de Caradec, haveyou not?"

  "Our old college friend at Nantes," said Montlouis, "who was foundmurdered ten years ago in the forest of Chateaubriant?"

  "Yes. Now listen; but remember that this is a secret which till thismoment has been only known to me, and which even now must go no furtherthan ourselves."

  The three Bretons, who were deeply interested, gave the requiredpromises.

  "Well," said Pontcalec, "this college friendship of which Montlouisspeaks had undergone some change between Caradec and myself, on accountof a rivalry. We loved the same woman, and I was loved by her.

  "One day I determined to hunt the stag in the forest of Chateaubriant;my dogs and huntsmen had been sent out the day before, and I was on myway to the rendezvous, when, on the road before me, I saw an enormousfagot walking along. This did not surprise me, for our peasants carrysuch enormous fagots, that they quite disappear under their load; butthis fagot appeared from behind to move alone. Soon it stopped; an oldwoman, turning round, showed her face to me. As I approached, I couldnot take my eyes off her, for I recognized the sorceress of Savernay,who had predicted the misfortune caused by my white pony.

  "My first impulse, I confess, was to take another road, and avoid theprophetess of evil; but she had already seen me, and she seemed to waitfor me with a smile full of malice. I was ten years older than when herfirst threat had frightened me. I was ashamed to go back.

  "'Good-day, Viscount de Pontcalec,' said she; 'how is the Marquis deGuer?'

  "'Well, good woman; and I shall be quite easy about him, if you willassure me that nothing will happen to him during my absence.'

  "'Ah! ah!' said she laughing; 'you have not forgotten the plains ofSavernay. You have a good memory, viscount; but yet, if I gave you someadvice, you would not follow it any more than the first time. Man isblind.'

  "'And what is your advice?'

  "'Not to go hunting to-day.'

  "'Why not?'

  "'And to return at once to Pontcalec.'

  "'I cannot; I have a rendezvous with some friends at Chateaubriant.'

  "'So much the worse, viscount, for blood will be spilled.'

  "'Mine?'

  "'Yours, and another's.'
r />   "'Bah! are you mad?'

  "'So said your uncle Crysogon. How is he?'

  "'Do you not know that he died seven years ago at Morlaix?'

  "'Poor fellow!' said the woman, 'like you, he would not believe: atlength he beheld, but it was too late.'

  "I shuddered involuntarily; but a false shame whispered that it would becowardly to give way, and that doubtless the fulfillment of thepretended witch's former prediction had been but a chance.

  "'Ah! I see that a former experience has not made you wiser, my finefellow,' said she. 'Well, go to Chateaubriant then, since you must haveit so, but at least send back that handsome hunting-knife.'

  "'And with what will monsieur cut the stag's foot?' asked the servantwho followed me.

  "'With your knife,' said the old woman.

  "'That stag is a royal animal,' replied the servant, 'and deserves ahunting-knife.'

  "'Besides,' said I, 'you said my blood would flow. What means that?--Ishall be attacked, and if so, I shall want it to defend myself.'

  "'I do not know what it means,' replied the old woman; 'but I do know,that in your place, my brave gentleman, I would listen to a poor oldwoman, and that I would not go to Chateaubriant; or, if I did go, itwould be without my hunting-knife.'

  "'Do not listen to the old witch, monsieur,' said the servant, who wasdoubtless afraid to take the fatal weapon.

  "If I had been alone, I should have returned; but before my servant Idid not like to do so.

  "'Thank you, my good, woman,' said I, 'but really I do not see whatreason there is for not going to Chateaubriant. As to my knife, I shallkeep it; if I be attacked, I must have a weapon to defend myself.'

  "'Go, then, and defend yourself,' said the old woman, shaking her head;'we cannot escape our destiny.'

  "I heard no more. I urged my horse to a gallop; but, turning a corner, Isaw that the old woman had resumed her route, and I lost sight of her.

  "An hour after I was in the forest of Chateaubriant; and I met you,Montlouis and Talhouet, for you were both of the party."

  "It is true," said Talhouet, "and I began to understand."

  "And I," said Montlouis.

  "But I know nothing of it," said Du Couedic; "so pray continue,Pontcalec."

  "Our dogs started the deer, and we set off in pursuit; but we were notthe only hunters in the forest--at a distance we heard the sound ofanother pack, which gradually approached; soon the two crossed, and someof my dogs by mistake went after the wrong deer. I ran after them tostop them, which separated me from you. You followed the rest of ourpack; but some one had forestalled me. I heard the howls of my dogsunder the lash of a whip; I redoubled my pace, and found the Baron deCaradec striking them. I told you there were causes of dislike betweenus, which only needed an opportunity to burst out. I asked him why hestruck my dogs. His reply was haughtier than my question. We werealone--we were both twenty years of age--we were rivals--each was armed.We drew our knives--threw ourselves one upon the other, and Caradec fellfrom his horse, pierced through the body. To tell you what I felt when Isaw him, bleeding and writhing in agony, would be impossible; I spurredmy horse, and darted through the forest like a madman.

  "I heard the voices of the hunters, and I arrived, one of the first, butI remember--do you remember it, Montlouis?--that you asked me why I wasso pale."

  "I do," said Montlouis.

  "Then I remembered the advice of the sorceress, and reproached myselfbitterly for neglecting it. This solitary and fatal duel seemed to melike an assassination. Nantes and its environs became insupportable tome, for every day I heard of the murder of Caradec. It is true that noone suspected me, but the secret voice of my conscience spoke so loudthat twenty times I was on the point of denouncing myself.

  "Then I left Nantes and went to Paris, but not until I had searched forthe sorceress; not knowing either her name or her residence, I could notfind her."

  "It is strange," said Talhouet; "and have you ever seen her since?"

  "Wait," said Pontcalec, "and listen, for now comes the terrible part.This winter--or rather last autumn--I say winter, because there was snowfalling, though it was only in November--I was returning from Guer, andhad ordered a halt at Pontcalec-des-Aulnes, after a day during which Ihad been shooting snipes in the marshes with two of my tenants. Wearrived, benumbed with cold, at the rendezvous, and found a good fireand supper awaiting us.

  "As I entered, and received the salutations and compliments of mypeople, I perceived in the chimney-corner an old woman wrapped in alarge gray-and-black cloak, who appeared to be asleep.

  "'Who is that?' I asked of the farmer, and trembling involuntarily.

  "'An old beggar, whom I do not know, and she looks like a witch,' saidhe; 'but she was perishing with cold, hunger and fatigue. She camebegging; I told her to come in, and gave her a piece of bread, which sheeat while she warmed herself, and now she has gone to sleep.'

  "The figure moved slightly in its corner.

  "'What has happened to you, Monsieur le Marquis,' asked the farmer'swife, 'that you are so wet, and that your clothes are splashed with mudup to the shoulder?'

  "'You nearly had to dine without me, my good Martine,' I replied,'although this repast and this fire were prepared for me.'----"'Truly!'cried the good woman, alarmed.

  "'Ah! monsieur had a narrow escape!' said the farmer.

  "'How so, my good lord?'

  "'You know your marshes are full of bogs; I ventured without soundingthe ground, and all at once I felt that I was sinking in; so that, hadit not been for my gun, which I held across, enabling your husband tocome and pull me out, I should have been smothered, which is not only acruel but a stupid death.'

  "'Oh, monsieur,' said the wife, 'pray do not expose yourself in thisway!'

  "'Let him alone,' said the sepulchral voice of the figure crouched inthe chimney-corner; 'he will not die thus; I foretell that.'

  "And, lowering the hood of her gray cloak, she showed me the face ofthat woman who had twice crossed my path with sad prediction.

  "I remained motionless and petrified.

  "'You recognize me?' she asked, without moving.

  "I made a sign of assent, but had not really the courage to reply. Allgathered in a circle round us.

  "'No, no,' continued she; 'be easy, Marquis de Guer; you will not diethus.'

  "'How do you know?' I stammered out, with a conviction, however, thatshe did know.

  "'I cannot tell you, for I do not know myself; but you know well that Ido not make mistakes.'

  "'And how shall I die?' asked I, making an effort over myself to askthis question and to listen to her reply.

  "'You will die by the sea. Beware of the water, Marquis de Guer!' shereplied.

  "'How?' asked I. 'What do you mean?'

  "'I have spoken, and cannot explain further, marquis; but again I say,_Beware of the water!_'

  "All the peasants looked frightened; some muttered prayers, otherscrossed themselves; the old woman returned to her corner, buried herselfagain in her cloak, and did not speak another syllable.