by Eugène Sue
“Above all, Monsieur the Marquis, induce the Duke of Chaulnes to hang high and dry as many bourgeois as he can,” added Abbot Boujaron, who seemed less sure than the Marchioness of the speedy quelling of the sedition. “The minds of the scamps must be struck with terror. The repression must be merciless.”
“The customary severity of the Duke of Chaulnes should be an ample guarantee to you, Monsieur Abbot, that he will not flinch before the populace,” was the Marquis of Chateauvieux’s answer. “He will be inexorable.”
And, proceeding to address the Marchioness and the Count:
“I can not express to you how touched I feel at your words! I can now hope for the best — unless the health of Mademoiselle Plouernel should prevent our betrothal. She has not left her room for two days, a circumstance that has desolated me; it prevented me from presenting to her my homage upon her return from Mezlean. I hope you can give me a favorable report of her health.”
“Reassure yourself, my dear Marquis; my niece’s indisposition was caused only by the fatigue of the journey. It will in no wise prevent her from proceeding to the chapel to solemnize her betrothal, if, as I do not doubt, any more than my nephew, she consents to hasten the conclusion of the marriage. I shall immediately visit Bertha. I shall tell her that her brother and myself wish to converse with her; and I doubt not, dear Marquis, that the issue will fully meet your wishes and ours.”
Saying this the Marchioness of Tremblay proceeded immediately to Bertha’s apartment. Mademoiselle Plouernel occupied the chamber that her mother formerly inhabited, contiguous to the library of the castle. As the Marchioness crossed this vast room she met Dame Marion, Bertha’s nurse, who was devotedly attached to her. Madam Tremblay ordered her to notify her mistress that she wished to speak to her shortly.
“She is probably still in bed,” added the Marchioness. “She must rise without delay and dress herself to receive her brother, myself and Monsieur the Abbot. We have to speak to her upon matters of the highest importance.”
“Oh! Mademoiselle has risen and dressed herself more than two hours ago, madam.”
“That being the case, go and request Monsieur the Count and Monsieur the Abbot to come and join me in my niece’s chamber.”
“Madam the Marchioness will not find mademoiselle in her chamber.”
“Where is she?”
“Mademoiselle went out for a walk in the park, as she often does.”
“What! Gone out! And yesterday and this morning she pretended to feel so ill that she could not receive me?”
“The weather is so beautiful that mademoiselle believed a walk would do her good. She went down and walked towards the park.”
“You lie! My niece did not go out!”
“Madam the Marchioness can ascertain the truth for herself by walking into the room.”
“This sudden going out looks highly suspicious. Toward what part of the park did my niece go?”
“I could not say as to that, madam; mademoiselle took her gloves, her mask and her taffeta hood to protect herself from the heat of the sun — and she left. That is all I know.”
“There is some mystery in this — you are hiding something from me.”
“I am telling madam all I know.”
“You are an accomplice in all the follies of Mademoiselle Plouernel, and it may happen that you will have reason to feel sorry for it!”
“I obey the orders of mademoiselle the same as I obeyed the orders of Madam the Countess, her mother. That is my duty.”
“It is impossible that my niece, who only this morning claimed to be ill, can have gone out without some particular reason. You know the reason. Answer! What caused my niece to leave her chamber?”
“I have already told madam. The weather is so beautiful that mademoiselle believed a walk would help her.”
“Enough!” ordered Madam Tremblay angrily, and casting a threatening look upon old Marion. “I shall remember your obstinacy. I shall find out the truth.”
The Marchioness hastened to rejoin the Count of Plouernel and the Abbot, who were no less surprised, alarmed and angry than herself at Mademoiselle Plouernel’s unexpected outing. The Marquis of Chateauvieux could prolong his stay at the castle only a couple of hours, so that, if Bertha did not return before his departure the marriage would have to undergo a further postponement. Accordingly, not satisfied with sending several of his men in quest of his sister in all directions through the park, the Count himself took horse together with the Marquis of Chateauvieux in the hope of meeting Mademoiselle Plouernel; while, anxious not to be themselves idle in the search, Abbot Boujaron and the Marchioness of Tremblay went out in a carriage.
CHAPTER VI.
BERTHA AND NOMINOE.
AS HAS ALREADY been told, the ruins of the ancient feudal manor of Plouernel rose on the crest of an abruptly rising ridge that once was wholly stripped of vegetation, but that was since planted with trees, seeing it was one of the views from the new castle, the park of which it bounded from the north. The antique dungeon, like all fortified seigniorial castles of the middle ages, had a secret and subterranean issue which opened at a considerable distance from the manor itself. Thanks to this issue, the seigneur, who was always involved in feuds with his neighbors, could flee and elude his enemies if he found his lair on the point of being forced. The subterranean passage of the dungeon of Plouernel which was cut through the living stone by the labor of serfs, communicated, at its near end, with the floors that were constructed below the level of the ground, where were located the prison cells, the torture rooms, and the oubliettes of the manor, and, at the further end, with a precipitous slope at the foot of the mountain, at the top of which rose the dungeon itself. This outer issue opened just outside of but close to the park. One of the numerous gates of the park, the one nearest to the modern castle, opened on the outside upon an avenue, cut through the forest that belonged to the domain of the Count of Plouernel. To the right of the avenue, which ran into the highroad to Rennes, extended a thick wood of old trees, and about two hundred paces from the edge of the same, where the wood grew thickest, was the location of the outer issue of the underground passage from the dungeon. This issue, obstructed in the course of many centuries by underbrush and the slow rise of the soil, bore marks of having recently been cleared, although a curtain of ivy and wild trailing vines, that fell over a natural platform formed by a rocky projection upon which the tangled vegetation had taken root, was left to mask the entrance. Thanks to his family archives, Salaun Lebrenn was aware of this entrance to the dungeon, and he and his son having put themselves in touch with some of the Count’s vassals — resolute men and leaders in the projected uprising — he had acquainted them with the secret passage that communicated with the open country, and which offered a safe place for the deposit of arms and munitions of war. The mouth of the passage, partially masked by the vines, lay about twenty paces from a clump of old trees that surrounded a little clearing carpeted with grass. In the middle of the clearing rose an enormous oak, so old, so very old, that, crowned with age, as foresters say, its sap had dried out, and not a leaf greened its immense spread of branches. A living spring furnished a natural reservoir at the extremity of the clearing. A narrow path, worn across the copse of the wood by the hoofs of the does and stags who came during the night to drink at the spring, ran out into the road.
At the hour when Mademoiselle Plouernel’s family was searching for her in the park, Nominoë Lebrenn, standing with his back against the dead oak tree in the middle of the clearing, was a prey to profound anxiety. Pale, worn, with his head drooping, his eyes fixed upon the ground, and his arms crossed on his breast, he was saying to himself:
“No, she will not come! Oh! now that this desperate attempt has been made, I recognize how insensate it was! To write to Dame Marion, to beg her to place in the hands of Mademoiselle Plouernel the letter that accompanied my note, to entrust the package to the gateman at the castle with the words: ‘For Dame Marion,’ and then run back to wa
it for her at this place! To believe that she would come! It is a crazy man’s dream! No, she will not come.”
After a short pause Nominoë resumed:
“Who knows but she may have lost her way! But the directions in my letter were accurate— ‘Take, to the right of the avenue, that runs from the park, the first path that leads to a clearing where rises a big dead oak near a running spring of water.’ Oh, I know this wood! For the last two days I have prowled around it like a bandit! I also know that underground passage,” added Nominoë, turning his head in the direction of the issue masked by the ivy and wild vines. “In that underground place have bleached the bones of one of my ancestors — a serf of a sire of Plouernel.” With a start Nominoë continued: “Strange fatality! Woe is me! It is for a daughter of this race — a race that mine has so often cursed across the ages — it is for a daughter of the Nerowegs that I am consumed with delirious love — and soon, perhaps — but no! Go to! Set your hopes at rest, poor fool! She will not come. No, however generous her heart may be, she cannot forget that she is of noble origin, and that my family are vassals to her brother! No! she will not come — and if she did — would I dare to meet her gaze! Have I not virtually imposed this rendezvous upon her gratitude! Did I not write to her: ‘He who at The Hague saved your life and your honor — waits for you — you will come if you have preserved the remembrance of the service he rendered you.’ If she does come, will it not be with a haughty front and a severe mien?”
Suddenly, as he turned his ear toward the wood, a tremor ran through Nominoë’s frame. He quickly straightened up. His heart, that before heaved heavily, now stopped beating. His strength failed him. He attempted to take a step, but fell upon his knees on the grass and clasped his hands as in prayer. Mademoiselle Plouernel entered the clearing, holding her silken mask in her hand.
What was his surprise and joy! The features of Mademoiselle Plouernel, so far from expressing the sentiment of wounded pride, revealed profound tenderness. She advanced with steady step towards Nominoë, who remained on his knees; pulled off her glove, and extended to him her charming hand that illness, alas! had thinned. Presently, her beautiful face suffused with a slight blush, she said without attempting to restrain the tears that enhanced the brilliancy of her large black eyes:
“Thanks to you, Monsieur Lebrenn. You afford me at last the opportunity of telling you that never have I forgotten that on the coast of Holland you saved my life — and in The Hague you saved my honor! Yes, thanks to you,” repeated the young girl in an accent of ineffable tenderness, while sweet tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. “I owe to you the only happy moment that I have tasted for a long time.”
Mademoiselle Plouernel’s emotion, her words, her tone, the cordiality of her gesture as she extended her hand to Nominoë, threw him into such confusion that, remaining on his knees and contemplating the young girl with a sort of adoration, he tremblingly received the hand which she offered him, wet it with his tears, and pressed his burning front upon it. Sobs smothered his words.
Bertha gently withdrew her hand from Nominoë’s, saying in a moved voice:
“Monsieur Lebrenn, rise—”
And noticing a few steps from where they were a rock covered with moss, a sort of natural bench, the young girl added:
“I am barely convalescent — my weakness is still great. I feel tired; allow me to repose on that rock.”
Nominoë rose, and obeyed a sign of Mademoiselle Plouernel, who, after seating herself, invited him to a place beside her. The girl remained silent for a moment and then proceeded:
“Situations that seem difficult, and even false, become, I think, easy and right, thanks to straightforwardness of conduct. I shall be frank. You also will be sincere, Monsieur Lebrenn. You will answer all my questions.”
“I feel grateful to you, mademoiselle, that you judge me so favorably,” answered Nominoë. “You will find me straightforward and sincere in all things.”
“First of all, in order to render intelligible what may otherwise seem inexplicable to you, Monsieur Lebrenn, I must inform you that even before I owed my life — and then my honor — to you, I already felt a deep interest, if not in you personally, at least in all the members of your family.”
And in response to a gesture of surprise on the part of Nominoë, Bertha added:
“I am acquainted with a part of your family legend.”
“You, mademoiselle! You are acquainted with our plebeian legends!”
“Yes; thanks to a manuscript left to us by Colonel Plouernel, one of my ancestors.”
“Does that manuscript date back to the last century?” inquired Nominoë, struck by a sudden recollection. “Colonel Plouernel, a Huguenot, intended those pages for his son. Yes, indeed, our family narrative mentions the fact.”
“My mother discovered the manuscript in the library of the castle. My mother suffered a great deal, Monsieur Lebrenn; she was a woman of great understanding and of a large heart. Therefore, so far from embittering her disposition, her sufferings rendered her still more generous. Herself acquainted with sorrow, she sympathized all the more with the sorrows of others. A victim of iniquity, she felt tender compassion for the victims of all iniquity, and a vigorous hatred for all oppression. Although she was of patrician origin, and although the wife of the Count of Plouernel, my mother, ripened by misfortune and by reflection, being instructed by the revelations contained in your family narratives, embraced the convictions of the Huguenot colonel who was the friend of your ancestor Odelin Lebrenn, the armorer of La Rochelle. Oh, I have not forgotten a single incident of that interesting narrative.”
“What, mademoiselle! You remember that obscure name?”
“That obscure name was the name of an honorable man and one of the brave soldiers of Admiral Coligny, wrote Colonel Plouernel in the pages that he destined for his son. You seem surprised at the accuracy of my memory, Monsieur Lebrenn,” added Bertha with a melancholy smile; “and yet my recollections are not circumscribed to that incident alone. At this moment there is present to my memory the name of another of your ancestors — Den-Brao the mason, who, assisted by other serfs, cut the underground gallery, one of the issues of which you can see yonder.” With these words the young girl pointed to the orifice of the vault cut in the rock, and added, with a shiver, “It is a mournful history, that history of your ancestor Den-Brao! He was starved to death in the passage his own hands had built.”
Nominoë and Bertha looked at each other in silence. Bertha proceeded:
“Do you know why I now recall those narratives? It is that you may understand what a deep impression was bound to be produced upon my mother — and then upon myself — by the account contained in the manuscript of Colonel Plouernel. Yes, judge what we must have felt, especially when we learned that one of the descendants of that Gallic race was in our own days among the vassals of the seigniory of Plouernel, on the domain of Mezlean. ‘Oh! my child,’ my mother would say to me, ’is not this revelation of the iniquities and barbaric acts committed from century to century by your father’s family upon the family of this poor vassal, a providential revelation? Should not such a revelation induce us to step upon the path of expiation for so many iniquities and barbarisms committed from century to century? Alas! Had I any power in this place, I would call around us the descendants of that family, who are to-day our vassals; I would strive to appease their resentment with acts of kindness, and with delicate consolation. I would be their protectress, their friend.’”
“Oh, generous heart!” exclaimed Nominoë, touched to tears. “How else could it be, but that, brought up by such a mother, Mademoiselle Plouernel, you should prove worthy of her!”
“Never shall I forget her lessons and her example. Finally, at the time that a sudden illness carried my mother away, she and I were on the point of going to Mezlean, in order to visit the leasehold peasant Gildas Lebrenn, who, as I subsequently learned, is your father’s brother. That excursion never took place. I lost my mother, I had to lea
ve Brittany. I went to Versailles with my aunt. Perhaps you learned from your friend, Monsieur Serdan, the object that, without my being made privy to the plot, was contemplated by those who were taking me to England?”
“Yes, mademoiselle; it was that which enabled Monsieur Serdan to discover the loftiness of your sentiments and the grandeur of your nature.”
“The oddness of our meeting has caused you extreme surprise; is it not true, monsieur? Well, imagine what my feeling must have been when, at The Hague, I, Bertha of Plouernel,” the young girl proceeded, fixing her beautiful eyes upon Nominoë, “learned that he who had saved my life, and who, subsequently, at the price of his blood, saved my honor, was descended from that very family to whom mine had so much to atone for — when I discovered that my savior’s heart was as great as his courage — when it was granted to me to know — to appreciate you.”
The accents of Mademoiselle Plouernel’s voice, and the expression of her face as she uttered these last words, denoted such tenderness, such nobility, such affection — the silence into which she immediately relapsed seemed so significant to Nominoë, that a sudden thought flashed through his mind. Despite his own modesty, despite his diffidence in himself, despite the seemingly insane improbability of the hope that caused his heart to bound — he believed himself loved. The intoxication of bliss emboldened him. In a tremulous voice he cried:
“And you, mademoiselle, imagine what my feelings must be at this moment, when I hear you recall to my memory the running conflict between our two families across the ages — and then to hear you pronounce the words of atonement and reparation! In what can that reparation consist? Despite myself — an insane hope enters my heart. Alas! I know but too well that my hope is insensate! Pronounce my sentence!”