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, Nominoe 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 wait 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 Nominoe 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 Nominoe, 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 Nominoe 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
Nominoe'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 Nominoe, 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 Nominoe, 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 Nominoe'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."
Nominoe 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 Nominoe. "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 Nominoe, 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 Nominoe,
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."
Nominoe 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 Nominoe, 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
leave 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 Nominoe, "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 Nominoe, 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!"
"What do you hope?" asked Bertha in a firm voice.
"No; I should never have the courage to tell you--I dread to arouse your
just disdain--your mockery--your anger--"
"If I could disdain you, would I now be near you? The future of us both
is too somber for me to think of mocking! You promised sincerity to me."
Nominoe grew paler than he was before; he lowered his head; he murmured
in a trembling, desperate, passionate voice:
"I love you! I love you to distraction!"
"I also, Nominoe, love you!" answered Mademoiselle Plouernel solemnly.
"Yes," she proceeded, holding her head high, and serene; "I love
you--with all my soul--I fear not to make the admission."
"Oh, joy in heaven!" cried the young man, falling upon his knees and
clasping his hands before Bertha. "You love me! I am not the sport of a
dream! You love me?"
"Yes, I love you; I tell you so without blushing, because I hold you
worthy of such a love, Nominoe! 'Joy in heaven!' did you say? Oh, you
spoke truly. Our joys will be celestial--our future looks dark here on
earth--but yonder--yonder, where, according to the belief of your
fathers, we shall live anew, body and soul--yonder our future will shine
in splendor. You seek to fathom the meaning of my words, Nominoe! Rise,
sit down here beside me, listen to me! You shall be made acquainted with
all my thoughts."
Racked by doubt and hope, intoxicated by the confession of Mademoiselle
Plouernel, discouraged, almost frightened by her last words, Nominoe
rose silently, approached again the moss-covered bench, and sat down
beside Bertha, who proceeded:
"The first time I saw you was in the midst of a storm that threatened to
engulf our vessel, and dash it against the coast of Holland. I preserved
my self-possession despite the threatening danger--because I do not fear
death. Thus I could follow your manoeuvres with inexpressible interest.
I admired your devotion. I was touched by your youth. Shortly after, as
our vessel rode safely at anchor, I had the opportunity of appreciating
your nature and the dignity of your character by the answer you gave to
the offer of remuneration made to you by the Abbot, our traveling
companion. I then thought I would never see you again, Nominoe!
Nevertheless, I felt happy at being bound to you by the bond of
gratitude. Since that day your image took its place in my heart!"
"Oh! Since that day also, your image has been ever present in my
thoughts. How was I ever to forget the moment when, as I approached
your brigantine in the hope of saving it, I saw you at the poop of the
vessel so beautiful, so calm, smiling at the tempest! It was to me a
dazzling vision! Alas! often did the vision reappear in my dreams!
Finally, when on that same day, I read in your eyes the grief it caused
you to see the humiliation that I had to suffer--I divined the benignity
and the nobility of your heart! Your remembrance became still dearer to
me! Oh! I loved you passionately!"
"I believe you, Nominoe! Why should not the feelings that you
experienced have been as strong as the feelings experienced by myself?
Then came that unhappy, that frightful day when, wounded by gunshots,
you came near perishing in order to shelter me from dishonor," continued
Mademoiselle Plouernel with a tremulous voice and eyes moist with tears;
"in short, the day when I learned--Oh, providential coincidence!--that
my savior belonged to that vassal family whose history I knew. The
discovery, coming, as it did, upon the heels of the shocks of that same
day, quite overthrew me; it dealt me a last blow. Nevertheless, when,
after Monsieur Serdan had furnished us with the conveyances to leave The
Hague, he gave me warrant to entertain the hope that your wounds would
not prove fatal, and with a few heartfelt words praised you in a way
that filled my soul with bliss, I recovered heart. I swear to you,
Nominoe, had I not at that moment felt prostrated by the first symptoms
of a grave illness that was to prey upon me for a long time; had my mind
not been upset and my strength exhausted by so many violent emotions, I
would not have left The Hague that night without first seeing
you--without expressing to you all the gratitude and admiration that
your generous conduct evoked in me. But all the springs of my spirit had
snapped; I could only weep--sterile, cowardly tears!--in that I left you
in that city; dying, perhaps; a victim of your devotion to me! We
departed for France. The fatigues of the journey, coupled with a slow
fever, left me in an almost desperate condition when we arrived at
Versailles. For two or three months I hovered between life and death.
Thanks to the care of able physicians and to my youth, I finally emerged
from the desperate state in which I languished. It seemed to me that I
awoke from a frightful dream--by little and little the events in The
Hague and of my return to France came back to me. Those recollections,
rendered as they were doubly dear to my heart by our separation, awoke
within my breast a sentiment towards you more tender than mere
gratitude. I loved you, Nominoe! In doing so I yielded above all to the
irresistible attraction of the thought that I loved in you the
descendant of that family that had so long been persecuted by my own. My
love became an atonement for the past! I saw something providential in
the events that had thrown us together! Did I not owe life, honor, to
you, the descendant of those vassals who had themselves been so often
smitten in their lives, in the honor of their daughters and of their
wives, by my ancestors! Oh! Nominoe, if you only knew with what fervor I
thanked God for having inspired me with the desire of taking for my
husband, I, a daughter of Neroweg the Frank, a son of Joel the Gaul! Was
not the atonement of the daughter of the oppressors a just one to the
son of the oppressed? Was not the marriage, that would consecrate the
union of the conquered race with the conqueror, a natural one? Was not
that love celestial that had its source in justice? I felt happy at the
thought of that fusion of our two races!"
Words are impotent to express certain emotions. His visage bathed in
tears, Nominoe remained silent. Suddenly a voice from afar, fresh and
pure--the voice of a young girl--began to sing or rather to recite to a
slow and melancholy rythm, one of those bardings or national Breton
songs, some of which, popular still in these days, go back to the oldest
possible antiquity. The singer was taking her sheep to pasture upon one
of the shaded slopes of the ridge, at the crest of which rose the ruins
of the feudal dungeon. The sweet voice, thinned by the distance, seemed
to descend from the skies. At the sound of the first lines of the song,
despite his emotion, Nominoe felt thrilled; he listened a moment, and
said to Mademoiselle Plouernel:
"Strange coincidence! That chant, traditional in Brittany for centuries
and centuries, recounts the death of a young girl of our family in the
days of the conquest of Gaul by Julius Caesar."
"The death of a young girl!" echoed Mademoiselle Plouernel with an
indefinable smile.
The last couplet of the song barely reached the ears of Bertha and
Nominoe because the shepherdess was climbing the slope as she sang, and
soon her voice was lost in space. Mademoiselle Plouernel had listened to
the chant with profound attention, clasped hands, and eyes raised
heavenward.
Awaking from her revery and addressing Nominoe with an agony, the cause
of which he was unable to explain, Bertha said to him:
"Is the legend of the brave and sweet Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of
Sen, the daughter of your ancestor Joel, also preserved in your family?
The virgin who sacrificed herself to appease the anger of Hesus?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; it is one of the legends of our family. To the
narrative is attached a little gold sickle, a sort of symbolic and
sacred piece of jewelry that female druids wore in their belts."
"So it is, Nominoe! I remember that in his manuscript Colonel Plouernel
says that to each of your family narratives there is attached some
trinket that is almost always symbolic and was left by the author of the
story, and that, in that way, from generation to generation, the humble
and antique collection of your family relics was gathered. Monsieur
Plouernel mentions among others a little silver cross, left by your
ancestral grandmother Genevieve, who witnessed the execution of Jesus of
Nazareth in Jerusalem! What mementoes! What magnificent mementoes!"
Bertha relapsed into a pensive mood, and then asked:
"Tell me, Nominoe, are the sacred stones of Karnak, mentioned in the
ballad of Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of Sen, the same that are seen to
this day?"
"They are the same; and already in the days of Julius Caesar their
origin was lost in the night of remote ages."
"I visited those stones during my recent trip to Mezlean. They are
gigantic; their colossal avenues extend to the very edge of the sea,
which breaks at their feet! Their granite ribs have defied the ages!
They are at this hour what they were on the day when your ancestress
offered her innocent life to the gods, in order to appease their anger,
and save Gaul from the foreign invader! Sublime devotion! Its memory is
perpetuated down to our own days! Oh, Nominoe! My proud family boasts of
the antiquity of its stock and the nobility of its origin! How much
older and truly noble is yours! It is you, my friend, it is you who
would _stoop low_, as they say, if this union, that I have dreamed
about--"
And answering a gesture of the young man, Bertha added:
"Did I not tell you, Nominoe--our joys will be celestial, not
terrestrial! Providence so wills it--you must submit to the providential
decree. We must know how to resign ourselves, my friend."
"Bertha, I implore you, have mercy upon my feverish brain. What is
happening to me hurls me into a sort of vertigo. I know not whether I am
dreaming, or whether I am awake. I doubt what I see, what I hear, what I
feel! A moment ago you pronounced the word marriage. Despite myself I
yielded to the intoxication of an insane hope. Oh, truly insane!"
"I have not yet finished my confessions to you, Nominoe. That ballad,
the thoughts it awakened in me; the memories that it recalled to your
mind, interrupted our conversation. Listen further. I saw in our
marriage an atonement, a reparation of the wrongs that your family
suffered from century to century at the hands of mine. In the measure
that my health improved, that project grew to a rooted thought. But
doubts and misgivings assailed me. First of all, you might not love
me--perhaps, on learning that I was a daughter of the Nerowegs, you
might entertain an instinctive aversion for me, one of those racial
antipathies that often are invincible, and, unhappily, but too well
justified. I often doubted whether you could love me. Again, when I
considered this marriage in the light of the world's prejudices, deep
abysses of difficulties seemed to yawn before my eyes. Nothing
frightened me away--I continued to love you bravely, Nominoe. Long did I
cudgel my brains in the effort to overcome so many obstacles, above all
to ascertain whether you remembered me at all. Finally my ponderings
arrived at the following conclusions: I would, first of all, make
certain of the nature of your feelings towards me, by addressing myself
directly to you with the tranquility of a straightforward heart and a
pure soul. You were a sailor of the port of Vannes, your father told me;
other members of your family were vassals of the domain of Mezlean, and
leasehold peasants of Karnak. Consequently, I had to return to Brittany.
There I would be certain of an opportunity to meet you. My fate and
yours would then be ascertained and determined. This decision put an end
to the anxieties that had long beset me, and operated a wholesome
reaction in my health. My recovery made rapid progress. In the spring of
this year, the physician to whom I communicated my desire to return to
Brittany not only approved, but added that my native climate was alone
able to finish my cure. As my aunt and my brother could not then leave
Versailles, they let me depart for Plouernel in the escort of an old
equerry and accompanied by my old nurse Marion, a good and worthy woman
who never left my side. She is honest, faithful, devoted and of Breton
extraction; her family lives in Vannes. Immediately upon my arrival at
Plouernel I ordered Marion to write to one of her relatives and beg him
to inquire, whether Monsieur Lebrenn and his son, mariners of the port
of Vannes, were still residents of the town. Marion received answer that
you and your father were away, but were soon expected back. I waited. At
about this time--I must conceal nothing from you--my brother came to
Plouernel. The plans he had formed concerning myself, at the time of our
projected journey to England, had extinguished all the affection, all
the esteem I entertained for him. I told him so one day; since that,
self-esteem and a sense of personal dignity prevented me from again
touching upon the subject with him. But court people are so constituted
that they speedily forget one unworthy act in the commission of another.
Although all the new plans of my brother were honorable, compared with
the first, yet were they stamped with his characteristic and profound
selfishness. He wished to marry me off. The ambition and greed of
Monsieur Plouernel saw considerable advantage in the marriage that he
now proposed. However great the strain upon my candor, I did not
formally reject his new projects. Thanks to this seeming readiness on my
part, my brother showed himself tolerant towards what he calls my
eccentricities. In that way it happened that, learning of your return to
Vannes from Marion's relative, I could, without encountering the Count's
opposition, undertake a trip to Mezlean, accompanied by my nurse and the
old equerry. It was on the road to the burg that I saw you again for the
first time--when--when--I met--"
Mademoiselle Plouernel could proceed no further. Tears streamed from her
eyes. Her tears, her silence, the heaving of her bosom, betrayed such
painful emotions that Nominoe turned suddenly pale and shuddered. Only
then did he remember what in the confusion of his thoughts he had
forgotten until that moment--that he was leading Tina to the altar as
his bride when he met Mademoiselle Plouernel, and that she could not
choose but be informed of his wedding. Overwhelmed at that thought, he
dared not raise his eyes to Bertha; he felt his last hopes melting away!
He dropped from heaven to the earth.
After a pause Mademoiselle Plouernel recovered control over her
emotions, wiped her tears, and proceeded:
"Nominoe, this was my purpose in going to Mezlean: I meant to write to
you and request you to come to the manor. The wish, so natural a wish,
of expressing my gratitude to you for the services you had rendered me,
justified the step. I expected you to respond to my invitation, I
relied upon my sincere and penetrating love to discover at our very
first interview whether you shared the sentiments that you inspired in
me, and whether the loftiness of your heart was equal to my
expectations. If so, I was to make to you the admission that I made to
you so shortly ago, and I meant to add: 'Nominoe, I am master over my
person--my family's unworthy conduct towards me has forever snapped the
bonds that held me subject to its wishes, it has snapped all the bonds
of deference to them; I offer you my hand; I know that, in France, a
pastor may fear to consecrate our union, dreading the resentment of so
powerful a house as mine; let us pledge ourselves to each other to-day;
let us exchange our pledges in the presence of God and of your father;
to-morrow we shall depart with him from Vannes for England on board of
the vessel that he owns; once in London a magistrate will marry us; I
shall not speak of my property; it may be confiscated from me; but I
have my mother's jewelry and a sum large enough to secure to us a modest
comfort; we shall live in England in case we should think it too risky
to return to France; would you prefer to face such risks rather than
expatriation? I love you, I am brave, your wishes shall be mine,
Nominoe'--That was my plan, such were my ardent wishes! Accordingly, on
the day following my arrival at Mezlean, I was on my way to the burg for
the purpose of ascertaining your residence and addressing my letter to
you, when I encountered a nuptial procession which the soldiers of the
King had stopped--and--the very moment when I learned that that nuptial
procession was yours, Nominoe--yours--I saw you fleeing at a distance,
distractedly fleeing, to the painful astonishment of your father and
your bride. The cause of your flight was unexplainable to me; but that
did not matter; your heart was no longer free--the charming beauty of
the young girl whom you are to marry justifies your love for her! I
returned to Plouernel the day after our meeting. I arrived broken with
grief. I had not left my room since my return when, this morning, Marion
delivered to me your letter--and I came. Now you know it all, Nominoe.
Perhaps, in the course of this interview, I wrongly reproached you with
insincerity when you protested the constancy of your love for me. You
are an honorable man, incapable of having meant to deceive the young
girl who is to be your wife. And yet, you claim to have always loved me!
Well! I believe you! Did I not believe you, my confession would have
remained forever buried in my heart! Yes, the human soul is at times so
strange a mystery, that another affection may have found its place
beside your love for me--a love that you looked upon as a dream. But, at
least, the remembrance of your love will remain sweet and dear to you,
because it will have been noble and pure. On my part, Nominoe, the
remembrance of you will also remain ever dear to me, because it was you
who inspired me with a generous thought, a thought of justice and
reparation. Yes, when, according to our common belief, we shall meet
again in yonder other worlds, we shall meet with countenances radiant
with celestial bliss. I said to you, my friend, our joys are not to be
of this world."
Nominoe raised his face bathed in tears, and, making an effort to steady
his voice:
"Listen to me, in turn--above all, mademoiselle, I implore you--believe
in my sincerity--"
"Nominoe, call me Bertha. The fraternal familiarity will be in the
nature of a consolation to me."
"Oh, God! Is it your purpose to render my despair still more distressful
by reminding me, with such a token of familiarity, of the happiness that
I have forfeited!" exclaimed Nominoe amid heartrending sobs. "Pardon,
Bertha, pardon me such an answer to the touching proof of your
affection; but if you only knew, alas! how much I suffer! Since that
journey to The Hague I have loved you, loved you passionately! Do you
know, Bertha, what it was that rendered that love irresistible? It was
an attraction exactly the counterpart of that which drew you to me. Yes,
however singular, however unexplainable it may seem, I loved in you,
above all, the daughter of the Nerowegs! Yes, that hopeless love, that
insane love, promised only disappointment, grief, suffering, and
annihilation to me! And yet it had for me the fatal charm of the void,
that drags us to an abyss! I felt at once I know not what sad and tender
sentiment by loving in you the descendant of the race that, since
earliest childhood, I had learned to curse! You were in my eyes an angel
of pardon and of concord! Oh, Bertha! However legitimate hatred may be,
it is so bitter, and pardon so sweet! In you I spoke your ancestors free
from guilt! So far from considering you one with their iniquities, I
considered them one with your virtues! Yes, you redeemed the wicked of
your race, as Christ redeemed the world by his virtues, his kindness,
his evangelical grace!"
"Nominoe! How proud I am of my love for you!" cried Mademoiselle
Plouernel with indescribable ecstasy, and moved to the profoundest
depths of her soul by Nominoe's words and the accent in which they were
uttered. "Oh! I was not mistaken when I said to you, our love draws its
inspiration from sentiments too celestial, ever to be of this world."
"In this world, as in the next ones where we shall proceed to live, our
love, I feel it, will last through all eternity! Its source is too lofty
ever to be untrue to itself--it is providential. On the very morning of
my marriage, at the moment when I was to proceed to my bride's house to
lead her to the temple, I learned of your arrival at Mezlean. I was
unaware of, I could not even suspect your intentions. Nevertheless, an
invincible presentiment came over me! I wished to break off my wedding!
Betrothed to my cousin almost from childhood, I had loved her as the
future companion of my life, until my return from The Hague. But ever
since I met you I have lived only for the intoxicating passion, the
fatal passion, the folly of which I realized but too well. In the
meantime the day for my marriage with my cousin approached. I confess
it, the fear of dealing a painful blow to the poor child by breaking a
union that was planned so long, the fear of grieving my father, then the
further thought that surely I would never again see you--finally, the
hope of finding in the sweet delights of the family hearth oblivion for
an insane love, induced me to consent to the marriage."
"All is now clear to me, Nominoe," put in Mademoiselle Plouernel with a
sigh of ineffable relief. "Oh! I believe you; I feel happy in believing
you."
"When I saw you again, Bertha, on the road to Mezlean, I lost my
head--an irresistible power carried me away--I fled demented. During
that night I wandered like one insane in the forest. Presently my
agitation subsided, I contemplated the reality. My marriage with my
cousin was no longer possible--it was absolutely impossible."
"Impossible?" echoed Mademoiselle Plouernel with a tremor. "Why
impossible, Nominoe?"
"Because I am a man of honor! Because no human power could now induce me
to marry that poor child, now that I know, Bertha, that you love me. I
therefore left Mezlean without seeing my family; I had not the courage
to face their indignation. I came to Plouernel, obsessed with the hope
of an interview with you, and then, Bertha, I swear before God, who
hears and judges me--"
"Nominoe, before God, who hears and judges us, answer me," said
Mademoiselle Plouernel solemnly, so to speak transfigured with the
radiance of unutterable hope. "Are you firmly resolved to persist in the
rupture of your marriage?"
"No human power can compel me to a marriage that would render my cousin
and myself wretched."
"And are you resolved to expatriate yourself?"
"Yes. I never again would dare to see my father, who would curse
me--who, perhaps, has already cursed me!"
"When do you propose to leave?"
"To-day," answered Nominoe swallowing a sob. "I shall engage myself as a
sailor at Nantes, on some vessel sailing to the Indies. We shall never
again meet here below, Bertha!"
Mademoiselle Plouernel remained steeped in silent reflection. Presently
she asked abruptly:
"Is there near Nantes, along the coast, any small and little-frequented
port where one may embark secretly?"
"Yes, St. Renan," answered Nominoe, raising his head and looking at
Bertha with surprise; "St. Renan, near the mouth of the Loire."
"Are you sure you could find there a vessel that could attempt the
passage to England?"
"St. Renan is a fishermen's port; their vessels are decked, and are
excellent sailers; they can cross the channel with ease."
"How long would it take to reach the place from here on a good horse?"
"From seven to eight hours, including stops. The horse would have to be
rested on the hills."
"Is the road that leads to St. Renan a frequented one?"
"Very slightly; it is only a cross-road."
"Can one take ship at St. Renan at any tide?"
"No; only when the tide is high."
"At what hour could one embark to-morrow?"
"At this part of the month the tide must be high between eleven and
twelve at night. One would have to be at St. Renan at midnight."
"Could you, between now and to-morrow," asked Bertha, "procure a
carriage drawn by a good horse?"
"Yes," answered Nominoe, hardly able any longer to resist the
intoxication of a hope that caused his heart to beat to the breaking
point.
"There will be wanted, besides," said Mademoiselle Plouernel, "two
mantles with hoods attached, of the kind worn by peasant women.
Nominoe," she proceeded, controlling her voice which, however, vibrated
under the strain of the emotions that agitated her soul at that solemn
moment, "to-morrow, at three o'clock in the afternoon, wait for me a
hundred paces from here, at the road of the Cross, with the carriage
that you will drive. Do not forget the two hooded cloaks--one is for me,
the other for Marion. The hoods will hide our faces. My leaving the
castle at full daylight, and at the usual hour for my promenade, will
awaken no suspicion. We shall then start instantly for St. Renan, where
we shall set sail for England, and there, Nominoe," added Bertha, giving
herself finally over to the impulse of her love and breaking out into
tears of celestial sweetness, "our marriage--shall be consummated."
"Your mask! Put your mask on! There is someone coming! Great God, my
father!" cried Nominoe, perceiving Salaun Lebrenn and Serdan as they
cautiously emerged from the underground gallery that led to the ruins of
the dungeon of Plouernel.
Mademoiselle Plouernel hastened to hide her face in the silken mask
that she had laid down beside her at the start of her interview with
Nominoe. The latter, stupefied at the sight of his father and Monsieur
Serdan, remained silent and in consternation, while Bertha, masked,
standing motionless, her arms crossed over her palpitating bosom awaited
anxiously the issue of the unexpected encounter.
Despite the anger that his face revealed, Salaun Lebrenn could not
restrain a sigh of relief at seeing his son, concerning whom he had been
racked with anxiety since the day of his disappearance. Serdan
contemplated with inquisitive and suspicious eyes the masked woman whom
they found in a tete-a-tete with Nominoe, not far from one of the park
gates of the Castle of Plouernel. Reassured upon his son's fate, Salaun
was about to give a loose to his indignation, but the presence of the
unknown masked woman restrained him. While asking himself who the woman
could be and what relations she could have with Nominoe, he said to the
latter in a peremptory tone, accompanying the words with a gesture of
authority:
"Follow us, my son! Your uncle and I must speak with you."
"Father, please let me know where I shall meet you. I shall place myself
at your orders at sunset."
"Follow me instantly!" replied Salaun imperiously. "Come on the spot!
What we have to say to you will brook no delay."
"It is hard for me to disobey you, father--but at this moment I can not
accompany you," answered Nominoe, stepping towards Bertha. "I can not
leave the lady alone--later I shall obey you. I shall go to whatever
place you may please to appoint."
"You dare resist your father's orders--unhappy boy!"
"Father, do not insist--it is useless--I will and must stay here."
"Heaven and earth!" cried Salaun, beside himself with rage at his son's
refusal--"man without faith and without honor!"
"Oh! Enough! For mercy's sake, father!" retorted Nominoe in a hollow
voice, turning pale with both pain and anger at hearing himself insulted
by his own father in the presence of Mademoiselle Plouernel.
But she, taking the young man's hand, said to him in a low and suppliant
voice:
"Obey your father!"
"Lebrenn! For heaven's sake, collect yourself!" put in Serdan,
continuing to eye Bertha attentively. "It is imprudent to allow yourself
to be carried away by your just indignation--before a strange woman."
"That strange woman!" cried Salaun, interrupting his friend. "That
strange woman!" And taking with a menacing mien a step towards
Mademoiselle Plouernel: "Woman without honor! It is you who corrupted,
you who drove my son to perdition! Who are you? Answer me, wretch that
you are!"
"Oh! God have mercy! Such an insult to her! to her!" cried Nominoe, and,
dashing forward towards Salaun: "Father, you know not whom you are
speaking to. Not another word!"
"A threat! And to me!" exclaimed Salaun, exasperated. "A threat, when
you should drop at my feet repentant and suppliant--cowardly assassin!"
"Assassin! I!" stammered Nominoe, thunderstruck at Salaun's aspect,
while the latter, more and more enraged, addressed Mademoiselle
Plouernel:
"Infamous creature--you are the accomplice in the murder!"
"Murder?" repeated Nominoe, stupefied.
"Yes; murder; the murder of Tina, your bride--"
"Great God! Father! What is that you are saying!" cried Nominoe,
shuddering with horror. "Tina, my bride--"
"You killed her, wretch! You killed her by deserting her!" answered
Salaun in a voice broken with sobs. "She died--the poor child is no
more."
"Down on our knees before your father! Let us weep over the dead on our
knees, Nominoe!" said Mademoiselle Plouernel, throwing her mask far
away. "Let us weep for the ill-starred Tina."
And pale, her face in tears, overwhelmed with grief and almost fainting,
she fell down, like Nominoe, upon her knees before Salaun, while Serdan,
jumping back a step, cried out:
"Mademoiselle Plouernel! In this place!"
Salaun, recognizing, as Serdan had done, the young girl whom he had not
seen again since leaving The Hague, remained speechless. Remembering how
he had admired the loftiness of the young girl's sentiments, he now
regretted the vehemence of the language he had just used towards her.
Now, no longer doubting the love with which she inspired Nominoe, he
understood the cause of his son's irresolution on the very morning of
the wedding, and why he had fled like one demented, when the nuptial
procession was about to resume its march to the temple. Upon these
thoughts, this other followed: His son loved a daughter of the Nerowegs!
a descendant of that race that the descendants of Joel had so often
cursed across the ages! And yet, the beauty and the tears of
Mademoiselle Plouernel, now prostrated at his feet, moved Salaun despite
himself, especially when Bertha said to him in heartrending accents:
"I was not aware of the death of Nominoe's bride, when, a minute ago, I
say it without blushing, I offered my hand to your son."
"You?" cried Salaun, hardly believing what he heard. "You, mademoiselle!
A Plouernel!"
"This union of one of the descendants of Joel with a daughter of Neroweg
was, in my estimation, to repair the iniquities that for centuries my
family whelmed yours with."
"Noble and generous heart!" cried Serdan.
Salaun remained silent and pensive. Nominoe, still upon his knees beside
Bertha, and overcome with sorrow by the death of Tina, dared at this
moment to raise his moist and suppliant eyes to his father. His looks
seemed to say:
"Do you still deem me so guilty for loving Mademoiselle Plouernel?"
"It is upon my knees, monsieur, that I expected to confess to you a love
that I, nevertheless, feel proud of! But, alas! this love has caused the
death of an innocent girl! Therefore, also, it is upon my knees that I
wish to ask your pardon for that misfortune, seeing that, although
unwittingly, yet, Oh, just heavens! I am not a stranger to it! Now,
Nominoe, rise!" added Bertha, herself rising with dignity. "Your father,
I doubt not, has restored me to his esteem. For this esteem I am
grateful to you, monsieur; I shall not be unworthy of it," observed the
young girl, answering a gesture of approbation from Salaun.
And turning towards Nominoe, who had also risen from the ground, she
proceeded in a trembling and resigned voice, and endeavoring to control
the pangs of her soul:
"Our marriage, even with the approval of your father, is henceforth
impossible, Nominoe! The remembrance, the shadow of that ill-starred
girl would always rise between us!" said Bertha shuddering.
But proceeding with a poignant smile:
"Courage, my friend! Thanks to God, our life is not confined to the life
of this world! At this moment, when I take my leave of you, I say to you
not adieu! I say till we meet again, Nominoe! Perhaps, although still
very young, I may precede you to one of those mysterious worlds where my
mother awaits me--and whither that sweet girl, your bride, has taken
flight! Oh! At least, I shall be able to meet their eyes without fear, I
shall then tell all to them. And the day when, departing from this
earth, you will come to join us, the hearts of all us three will fly to
meet your spirit! Till we meet, then, my friend! Alas, my presentiments
did not deceive me. My love was kindled in sentiments too celestial to
be for this world;--having come from yonder, on high, it must reascend
to its divine source!" and Bertha pointed Nominoe heavenward with a mien
of sublime simplicity.
Nominoe, his father, and Serdan listened to Mademoiselle Plouernel with
inexpressible emotion, while Madok the miller came out of the
underground gallery, looking hither and thither with precaution. An
instant he remained motionless with surprise at the sight of Serdan and
Lebrenn conversing with Mademoiselle Plouernel, whom he had seen on the
road to Mezlean on the day of Tina's wedding. Casting thereupon a look
of somber reproach upon Nominoe, seeing he now met him again for the
first time since the nuptial ceremony at which he filled the role of
"Brotaer," the miller beckoned to Salaun to step aside and said to him
in an undertone:
"What is the _demoiselle_ doing here? She is as good as her brother is
wicked, but--she is a daughter of Plouernel."
"And our men?" inquired Salaun interrupting Madok, and not considering
the moment opportune for answering his question. "Have they arrived? Did
they bring the arms that were promised us, the pikes, muskets and
ammunition?"
"Yes, they brought the last load of arms concealed among faggots and
green branches. They went down into the underground gallery through the
ruins of the dungeon. They report everything ready for to-night in the
parishes. The tocsin is to sound with the rising of the moon. A
package-carrier who went through Plouernel left the news that the people
of Nantes and Rennes have risen in revolt, and that fighting is going on
in the suburbs. The troops are getting the worst of it."
"That I knew," answered Salaun. "We must not be found behindhanded. Wait
here for me; I shall return immediately."
Salaun walked back to his son and Mademoiselle Plouernel, who said to
him in a voice that she strove to render firm:
"Monsieur Lebrenn, I shall now return to the castle; to-morrow I shall
depart for the manor of Mezlean, where I desire to live in absolute
seclusion. I shall not see you again, Nominoe; but at least I carry with
me in my solitary retreat your father's respect, and the remembrance of
a love that I am proud of, because it sprang from a generous sentiment.
In offering my hand to your son, Monsieur Lebrenn, I meant to do a
worthy act."
"Infamy and treason! Her hand to a vassal!" suddenly broke in a voice
that shook with rage. "Malediction upon the miserable woman!"
And emerging from the copse behind which they had for an instant lain
concealed, there suddenly appeared upon the clearing the Count of
Plouernel and the Marquis of Chateauvieux.
After having explored the avenues of the park, the Count had come across
several of his forester guardsmen, from whom he inquired whether they
had seen Mademoiselle Plouernel. They saw her, was their answer, about
two hours ago, walking in the direction of one of the park gates, which
they found open; great was their surprise upon first noticing on the
dust of the road the imprint of Bertha's little feet; but their surprise
redoubled when they saw the tracks of the young girl running towards the
narrow and shaded path that led to the clearing. Agitated by a vague
presentiment, the Count alighted from his mount, the Marquis did
likewise, and the Count ordered one of the equerries who accompanied him
to run back immediately, and by all means to return with the forester
guardsmen, whom he had just met. Thereupon the Count of Plouernel and
the Marquis of Chateauvieux, leaving their horses in charge of another
equerry, dived into the copse, followed the path and, arriving at the
clearing, stood petrified at the sight of Bertha conversing with
strangers. Finally, as they listened they caught the last words that
Mademoiselle Plouernel was addressing to Salaun Lebrenn on the subject
of her love for Nominoe. Informed by his bailiff that two members of the
Lebrenn family, a vassal family of his own domains, and mariners of the
port of Vannes, were pointed out as mutinous and dangerous people, the
Count was fired with an incontrollable fury at hearing his sister admit
her love for a miserable mariner of the vassal race. The love, at which
the Count's family pride rose in revolt, furthermore dashed the
projected double marriage that he pursued. He now could explain to
himself the cause of Bertha's continuous delays in giving her consent
to her marriage with the Marquis of Chateauvieux. The latter, no less
wounded in his vanity than the Count of Plouernel felt wounded in his
family pride, shared his friend's fury and followed him, when, unable
any longer to control himself, the Count dashed into the clearing.
The Count of Plouernel drew his sword and with the flat of the blade
struck Nominoe across the face, crying:
"Vile clown! That is for your having dared to raise your eyes to
Mademoiselle Plouernel--while you wait to be hanged from the gibbet!"
Such was the violence of the blow that although it was given with the
flat of the sword blood spurted out of Nominoe's cheek and forehead. He
emitted a terrible cry, and clenched his fists, but noticing a traveling
cutlass hanging at Serdan's side he seized it and precipitated himself
upon the Count of Plouernel.
"Count!" shouted the Marquis of Chateauvieux, also drawing his sword,
"let us kill the vassal like a dog!"
Salaun ran to the help of his son, who was attacked by two adversaries
at once; jumped at the neck of the Marquis of Chateauvieux; threw him to
the ground; and, despite all the resistance that he offered, disarmed
him; while Nominoe, after dexterously parrying a blow aimed at him by
the Count of Plouernel, struck back so heavily with the reverse of the
cutlass upon the Count's wrist that his hand was paralyzed and dropped
the sword. All this happened with the swiftness of thought. Despite the
Count's conduct towards her, Mademoiselle Plouernel emitted a cry of
terror at the sight of her brother engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict
with Nominoe. At the risk of being struck by both in the heat of the
combat, she rushed forward to separate them. Trembling at the danger
that the young girl ran, Serdan threw his arms around her and held her
back. The girl uttered a piercing cry, staggered, became ashen pale; her
head fell backward, she fainted away overcome with terror, and would
have dropped to the ground but for Serdan holding her up and seating her
gently upon the grass with her back supported by the old oak tree.
Mademoiselle Plouernel had lost all consciousness. In the midst of the
tumult, the forester guardsmen whom one of the Count's equerries had
gone in search of as ordered by his master, stepped upon the scene,
armed with their muskets and hunting knives.
"To me, guardsmen! Arrest these assassins! Do not kill them, I shall
bring them to justice!" cried the Count of Plouernel, whom the blow of
Nominoe's cutlass had rendered helpless, and who held his bleeding and
mutilated right hand in his left, while Nominoe himself, seeing Bertha
lying unconscious at the foot of the old dead oak, flung away his
cutlass, and thinking only of Mademoiselle Plouernel, threw himself upon
his knees beside the young girl.
At the call of their seigneur, the guardsmen, to the number of eight,
rushed upon Salaun Lebrenn and Serdan. Disarmed by Nominoe, the latter
could offer no effective resistance to the men who sought to seize him.
Salaun, however, drawing his mariner's sword, returned thrust for
thrust to the guardsmen who attacked him, and called out to his son, who
was on his knees beside Bertha:
"Up, Nominoe! Defend yourself! Let us defend ourselves!"
Salaun's voice expired upon his lips. He was knocked down by a heavy
blow, dealt from behind with the butt of a musket by one of the
guardsmen while he fought two others in front, one of whom he succeeded
in wounding. Serdan was also floored, and then pinioned with the
shoulder straps of the guardsmen, the same as Salaun, who had dropped to
the ground dazed by the blow which he received. Finally, Nominoe,
delirious with grief, was, upon a sign from the Count of Plouernel torn
from Bertha by the foresters. His mind seemed to wander. He allowed
himself to be bound without offering any resistance whatever.
"Monseigneur," a lackey came and said to the Count of Plouernel, "Madam
the Marchioness and Monsieur the Abbot took a carriage to join in the
search for mademoiselle; they met the equerry who was bringing the
forester guardsmen; their carriage is near by; Madam the Marchioness
sent me to receive monseigneur's orders."
"Go and tell Monsieur the Abbot that I request him to come here without
delay. We need his services," the Count of Plouernel answered the
lackey.
And addressing the Marquis of Chateauvieux:
"My friend, you will have to help the Abbot to transport my sister to
the carriage. I shall join you there--I can hardly hold myself on my
feet; I am losing so much blood that I am afraid I shall faint."
Then, finally, turning to the three prisoners, who stood with lowering
brows, motionless and silent, and firmly bound, the Count cried:
"Bandits! Murderers! I am vested with low and high judicial powers in my
seigniory. You shall be tried to-night--and hanged to-morrow."
"Marquis, were there not four of these brigands? I only see three. What
became of the fourth?"
"Indeed, it seems to me there were four of them--one of them had a white
vest on," answered the Marquis of Chateauvieux, remembering having seen
Madok the miller, who, at the approach of the forester guardsmen
disappeared in the thickest of the wood.
"Monseigneur," said one of the foresters to the Count, "as we entered
the clearing we saw a man flee through the copse; he was probably the
companion of the prisoners, the one you are missing."
"The wood will have to be beaten and the bandit found--he shall be
hanged with his accomplices."
Abbot Boujaron arrived at that moment. He looked bewildered. He was
informed of the tragic adventure and helped the Marquis of Chateauvieux
to transport to the carriage Mademoiselle Plouernel, who, pale and
inert, seemed dead but for the convulsive tremors that shook her frame
from time to time. She was laid down upon the cushions of the carriage
near the Marchioness. The Count took a seat beside his sister, and the
carriage returned to the castle at full speed.
Bertha was taken to her own apartment and locked up with her nurse. She
was not to come out again but to be consigned to a cloister by orders of
the King. Before nightfall, Serdan, Salaun Lebrenn and his son, whom the
foresters led off, were separately imprisoned in the cells of the
manor--the sumptuous Renaissance palace was furnished with its
subterranean prisons, the same as the ancient feudal dungeon, seeing
that the seigneur of the Seventeenth exercised, like his ancestor of the
Eleventh Century, the functions of high and low judicial magistrate.
Reassured on the score of the wound received by the Count of Plouernel,
the Marquis of Chateauvieux hastened to obey the orders of the Governor
of Brittany, who summoned him to Rennes without delay, together with the
two companies of his regiment; but he left, however, with the Count, for
the latter's security, the detachment of Sergeant La Montagne, which he
had summoned to Plouernel the day before.