LE MARQUIS DE PLOEUC
In the Château de Ker-Guélegaan, near Quimper, lived an old friend of
my family's, the Marquis de Ploeuc. The château was one of the oldest
in Finisterre, an immense weather-beaten pile with a moat, a
drawbridge, a great crenellated tower, and a turret that, springing
from the first story, seemed, with its high-pointed roof, to be
suspended in the air. Tall, dark trees rose in ordered majesty about
the château, and before it a wide band of lawn, called a _tapis vert_,
ran to the lodge-gates that opened on the highroad. From the upper
windows one saw the blue Brittany sea. Along the whole length of the
front façade ran a stone terrace with seven wide steps; the windows of
the _salle d'honneur_ opened upon this, and the windows of the _petit
salon_ and the dining- and billiard-room. The furniture in the _salle
d'honneur_ was of Louis XV white lacquer, court chairs, and
_tabourets de cour_. There were tall mirrors all along the walls, and
in the corners hung four great crystal chandeliers. The curtains and
portières were of a heavy, white silk that had become gray with time;
they were scattered with bouquets of faded flowers, and caught up and
looped together with knots of ribbon that had once been rose-colored.
This glacial and majestic room was seldom used; it was in the _petit
salon_, leading from it, that guests usually sat. Here the chairs were
carved along their tops with garlands of roses and ribbons so delicate
that we children were specially forbidden to touch them. The walls
were hung with tapestries, at which I used often to gaze with delight.
One saw life-sized ladies and gentlemen dancing in stately rounds or
laughing under trees and among flowers and butterflies. The great
dining-room was paneled with dark wood carved into frames around the
portraits of ancestors that were ranged along it. The coffers and the
sideboards, where the silver stood, were of the same carved wood. I
remember once going down to peep at the kitchen in the basement, and
the dark immensity, streaming, as it were, with cooks, servants,
kitchen-boys, and maids, so bewildered and almost frightened me that I
never ventured there again.
The old marquis was a widower, and his married daughters, the Marquise
de L---- and Mme. d'A----, usually lived with him and his unmarried
daughter Rosine, who became a nun. He was a splendid old gentleman,
tall, with a noble carriage and severe, yet radiant, countenance. In
the daytime he dressed always in gray coat and knee-breeches, with
gray-and-black striped stockings and buckled shoes. At night his
thick, white hair was gathered into a _catogan_,--a little square
black-silk bag, that is to say,--tied with a bow, and he wore a
black-silk suit. On festal occasions, Christmas, Easter, or his
fête-day, he became a magnificent figure in brocaded coat and
white-satin waistcoat and knee-breeches; he had diamond shoe- and
knee-buckles, diamond buttons on his waistcoat, and golden
_aiguillettes_ looped across his breast and shoulder.
The diamond buckles he left to me, to be given to me on my first
communion, and in his lifetime he had made for me a beautiful missal
bound in white parchment and closed with a diamond and emerald clasp;
inside were old illuminations.
In his youth M. de Ploeuc had been an officer of the Chouans, and he
was, of course, a passionate royalist. He always wore the Croix de St.
Louis, a fleur-de-lis, with the little cross attached by blue ribbon.
I asked him once if it was the same sort of decoration as my
Grandfather de Rosval's, which, I said, was larger and was tied with
red, and I remember the kindly and ironic smile of my old friend as he
answered, "Oh, no; that is only the Légion d'honneur."
[Illustration: "He was a splendid old gentleman"]
Brittany had many marquises, some of them also old and distinguished;
but he was the _doyen_ of them all, and was always called simply _le_
marquis. Any disputes or difficulties among the local _noblesse_ were
always brought to him for his decision, and on such occasions, if the
discussions became heated, he would say, "_Palsan bleu, mes seigneurs,
il me semble que vous vous oubliez ici_," using the dignified oath
already becoming obsolete. His French was the old French of the court.
He never, for instance, said, "_Je vous remercie_," but, "_Je vous
rends gráce_."
Guests at Ker-Guélegaan arrived with their own horses and carriages to
stay a month or more, and open house was kept. Breakfast was at six
for those who did not take communion at the mass that was celebrated
every morning in the chapel adjoining the château; these breakfasted
on returning. It was permissible for ladies, at this early hour, to
appear very informally in _peignoirs_ and _bigoudics_. _Bigoudics_ are
curl-papers or ribbons. The marquis almost always took communion, but
he usually appeared at the six o'clock breakfast. After mass, once his
correspondence dealt with, he played billiards with Rosine, the
beautiful girl who became a nun in the order of the Carmelites, an
order so strict that those who entered it died, to all intents and
purposes, since their relatives never saw them again, and at that time
were not even informed of their death. I see Rosine very clearly,
bending over the billiard-table under her father's fond gaze, and I
can also see her kneeling to pray in a corner of the _petit salon_. It
was with such simplicity that any suspicion of affectation or parade
was out of the question. In the midst of a conversation she would
gently ask to be excused and would go there apart and pray, sometimes
for an hour. The ladies quietly gossiping over their embroidery-frames
took it quite as a matter of course that Rosine should be praying near
them.
[Illustration: "Guests at Ker-Guélegaan arrived with their own horses
and carriages"]
_Déjeuner_ was at ten, and it was then that one saw how strongly
feudal customs still survived at Ker-Guélegaan. The marquis sat at the
head of the table, and behind his chair stood his old servant Yvon,
dressed in Breton mourning-costume in memory of his defunct mistress;
that is to say, in blue, black, and yellow. The other servants wore
the livery of the house. Half-way down the table the white cloth
ended, and the lower half had a matting covering. Here sat all the
farmers of Ker-Guélegaan and their families, taking their midday meal
with their master, while M. de Ploeuc and his guests and family sat
above. We children were usually placed at a little side-table. The
meal aways began by M. de Ploeuc rising and blessing the company with
two outstretched fingers, like a bishop, and he then recited a
benediction. He was always served first, another survival of
patriarchal custom, forced upon him, rather, for I remember his
protesting against it and wishing my mother, who sat next him, to be
served before him; but she would not hear of it. During the repasts a
violinist and a _biniou_-player, dressed in his Breton costume, played
to us.
After luncheon the ladies drove or rode or walked as the fancy took
them, or, assembled in the _petit salon_, talked over their work. On
hot days the blinds would be drawn down before the open windows, but
in the angle of each window was fixed a long slip of mirror, so that
from every corner one could see if visitors, welcome or unwelcome,
were driving up to the _perron_. _Goûter_, at three, consisted of
bread, fruit, and milk, and dinner was at five. After that the ladies
and gentlemen assembled in the _petit salon_ and talked, told
ghost-stories and legends, or played games till the very early
bedtime of the place and period.
This was the _train de vie_ at Ker-Guélegaan; but my memories of the
place center almost entirely around the figure of my old friend. I was
his constant companion. When he rode out after luncheon to visit his
farms, I would sit before him on his old horse Pluton. He never let
Pluton gallop for fear of tiring him. "Do you see, _ma petite_," he
would say, "Pluton is a comrade who has never failed me. He has earned
a peaceful old age." We passed, in the wood behind the château, a
monument of a Templar that frightened and interested me. He lay with
his hands crossed over his sword, his feet stayed against a couchant
hound, and I could not understand why he wore a knitted coat. My old
friend burst out laughing when I questioned him, and said that I was
as ignorant as a little carp, and that it was high time I went to the
Sacré Coeur. He told me that the knitted coat was a coat of mail,
and tried to instil a little history into my mind, telling me of the
crusades and St. Louis; but I am afraid that my mind soon wandered
away to Pluton's gently pricked ears and to the wonders of the woods
that surrounded us. We had walks together, too, and went one day to
the sea-shore, where there was a famous grotto often visited by
strangers. When we arrived at the black arch among the rocks and I
heard it was called the Devil's Grot, I was terrified, clinging to M.
de Ploeuc's hand and refusing to enter.
[Illustration: "_Maman_ wrote secretly to _bon papa_ in Paris"]
"But why not, Sophie? Why not?" he questioned me. "I am here to take
care of you, and there is no danger at all. See, Yann is lighting the
torches to show us the way."
"But the devil--the devil will get me," I whispered; "Jeannie told me
so."
Jeannie, indeed, was in the habit of punishing or frightening me by
tales of the devil and his fork and tail and flames, and of how he
would come and carry off disobedient little girls; so it was not to be
wondered at that I feared to enter his grot. I imagined that he
himself lurked there and would certainly carry me off, for I was well
aware that I was often very disobedient. M. de Ploeuc sat down on a
rock, took me on his knee, and said:
"It is very wrong of Jeannie to fill your head with such nonsense, my
little one. Nothing like her devil exists in the whole world, and you
must pay no attention to her stories."
He told me that the cavern was filled with beautiful stalactites, like
great clusters of diamonds, and was so gentle and merry and reasonable
that the devil was exorcised from my imagination forever, and I
consented to enter the grotto.
Yann and the guide, a young farmer of Ker-Guélegaan, led us in with
their lighted torches, and I suddenly saw before me, strangely
illuminated, a somber, yet gorgeous, fairy-land. Diamonds indeed!
Pillars of diamonds rose from the rocky floor to the roof, and
pendants hung in long clusters, glittering in inconceivable vistas of
splendor. I was so dazzled and amazed that I gave the vaguest
attention to M. de Ploeuc's explanation of the way in which the
stalactites were formed among the rocks. Indeed, that night I could
not sleep, still seeing diamond columns and pillars, and my dear
old friend was full of self-reproach next day when he heard that
during the night the Devil's Grot had given me a fever.
[Illustration: "As a country gentleman he had lived and as a country
gentleman he intended to go on living"]
Sometimes the Marquis de L---- accompanied us on our expeditions, and
sometimes I was even left in his charge for an afternoon. I disliked
this very much, for he had no amusing stories to tell me and walked
very fast, and when my pace flagged, he would pause to look at me
reproachfully, tapping his foot on the ground, and crying out, as
though I were one of his horses, "Get up! Get up!"
M. de Ploeuc often took me, after lunch, into his little study and
played the flute to me. I liked being in the study, but it rather
frightened me to see my old friend remove his teeth before beginning
to play. Their absence sadly altered his beautiful and stately
countenance, and gave, besides, an odd, whistling timbre to his music.
Still, I listened attentively, looking away now and then from his
rapt, concentrated countenance to the _tapis vert_ outside, where the
cows were cropping the short grass, or glancing around rather
shrinkingly at the headless bust of Marie Antoinette that stood on the
mantelpiece. The head lay beside the bust, and there was, even to my
childish imagination, a terrible beauty in the proud shoulders thus
devastated. This was one of two such busts that had been decapitated
by the Revolutionists. The other belonged, I think, later on, to the
Empress Eugénie. When the marquis had finished his thin, melancholy
airs, it was my turn to perform, and that I liked much better. I saw
that he loved to hear the old Breton songs sung in my sweet, piping
little voice, and it was especially pleasant, our music over, to be
rewarded by being given chocolate pastils from a little enamel box
that stood on the writing-desk. While I softly crunched the pastils M.
de Ploeuc told me about the countries where the plant from which the
chocolate came grew. It was not at all common in Brittany at that
time, and the pastils much less sweet than our modern bon bons. M. de
Ploeuc also carried for his own delectation small violet and
peppermint lozenges in a little gold box that he drew from his
waistcoat-pocket, and these gave the pleasantest fragrance to his
kiss. I often sat on with him in the study, looking at the pictures in
the books he gave me while he read or wrote. He wore on the third
finger of his right hand an odd black ring that had a tiny
magnifying-glass fixed upon it, and while he read his hand moved
gently across the page.
I owe a great deal to this dear old friend. He took the deepest
interest in my deportment, and _maman_ was specially delighted that he
should extirpate from my speech provincial words and intonations. He
entirely broke me of the bad habits of shrugging my shoulders and
biting my nails.
"Only wicked men and women bite their nails," he told me, and pointed
out to me as a terrible warning the beautiful and coquettish Mme. de
G----, one of his guests, who had bitten her nails to the quick and
quite ruined the appearance of her hands.
"And is she so wicked?" I asked. At which he laughed a little, and
said that she must become so if she continued to bite her nails. He
made me practise coming into and going out of a room until he was
satisfied with my ease and grace.
"Do you see, _ma petite Sophie_," he said, "a woman, when she walks
well, is a goddess. Walk always as if on clouds, lightly and loftily.
Or imagine that you are skimming over fields of wheat, and that not an
ear must bend beneath your tread."