I was fifteen when my grandfather died. At Roche-Mauprat his death
caused no sorrow, but infinite consternation. He was the soul of every
vice that reigned therein, and it is certain that he was more cruel,
though less vile, than his sons. On his death the sort of glory which
his audacity had won for us grew dim. His sons, hitherto held under firm
control, became more and more drunken and debauched. Moreover, each day
added some new peril to their expeditions.
Except for the few trusty vassals whom we treated well, and who were all
devoted to us, we were becoming more and more isolated and resourceless.
People had left the neighbouring country in consequence of our violent
depredations. The terror that we inspired pushed back daily the bounds
of the desert around us. In making our ventures we had to go farther
afield, even to the borders of the plain. There we had not the upper
hand; and my Uncle Laurence, the boldest of us all, was dangerously
wounded in a skirmish. Other schemes had to be devised. John suggested
them. One was that we should slip into the fairs under various
disguises, and exercise our skill in thieving. From brigands we became
pick-pockets, and our detested name sank lower and lower in infamy.
We formed a fellowship with the most noisome characters our province
concealed, and, by an exchange of rascally services, once again managed
to avoid destitution.
I say we, for I was beginning to take a place in this band of cutthroats
when my grandfather died. He had yielded to my entreaties and allowed
me to join in some of the last expeditions he attempted. I shall make
no apologies; but here, gentlemen, you behold a man who has followed the
profession of a bandit. I feel no remorse at the recollection, no more
than a soldier would feel at having served a campaign under orders from
his general. I thought that I was still living in the middle ages. The
laws of the land, with all their strength and wisdom, were to me words
devoid of meaning. I felt brave and full of vigour; fighting was a joy.
Truly, the results of our victories often made me blush; but, as they in
no way profited myself, I washed my hands of them. Nay, I remember with
pleasure that I helped more than one victim who had been knocked down to
get up and escape.
This existence, with its movement, its dangers, and its fatigues, had a
numbing effect on me. It took me away from any painful reflections which
might have arisen in my mind. Besides, it freed me from the immediate
tyranny of John. However, after the death of my grandfather, when our
band degraded itself to exploits of a different nature, I fell back
under his odious sway. I was by no means fitted for lying and fraud. I
displayed not only aversion but also incapacity for this new industry.
Consequently my uncle looked upon me as useless, and began to maltreat
me again. They would have driven me away had they not been afraid that
I might make my peace with society, and become a dangerous enemy to
themselves. While they were in doubt as to whether it was wiser to
feed me or to live in fear of me, they often thought (as I have since
learned) of picking a quarrel with me, and forcing a fight in which I
might be got rid of. This was John’s suggestion. Antony, however, who
retained more of Tristan’s energy and love of fair play at home than any
of his brothers, proved clearly that I did more good than harm. I was,
he declared, a brave fighter, and there was no knowing when they might
need an extra hand. I might also be shaped into a swindler. I was very
young and very ignorant; but John, perhaps, would endeavour to win me
over by kindness, and make my lot less wretched. Above all, he might
enlighten me as to my true position, by explaining that I was an
outcast from society, and could not return to it without being hanged
immediately. Then, perhaps, my obstinacy and pride would give way, out
of regard to my own well-being on the one hand, and from necessity on
the other. At all events, they should try this before getting rid of me.
“For,” said Antony to round off his homily, “we were ten Mauprats last
year; our father is dead, and, if we kill Bernard, we shall only be
eight.”
This argument gained the day. They brought me forth from the species of
dungeon in which I had languished for several months; they gave me new
clothes; they exchanged my old gun for a beautiful carbine that I had
always coveted; they explained to me my position in the world; they
honoured me with the best wine at meals. I promised to reflect, and
meanwhile, became rather more brutalized by inaction and drunkenness
than I had been by brigandage.
However, my captivity had made such a terrible impression on me that
I took a secret oath to dare any dangers that might assail me on the
territories of the King of France, rather than endure a repetition of
that hideous experience. Nothing but a miserable point of honour now
kept me at Roche-Mauprat. It was evident that a storm was gathering over
our heads. The peasants were discontented, in spite of all our
efforts to attach them to us; doctrines of independence were secretly
insinuating themselves into their midst; our most faithful retainers
were growing tired of merely having their fill of bread and meat; they
were demanding money, and we had none. We had received more than one
serious summons to pay our fiscal dues to the state, and as our private
creditors had joined hands with the crown officers and the recalcitrant
peasants, everything was threatening us with a catastrophe like that
which had just overtaken the Seigneur de Pleumartin in our province.(*)
(*) The reputation which the Seigneur de Pleumartin has left
behind him in the province will preserve the story of
Mauprat from the reproach of exaggeration. Pen would refuse
to trace the savage obscenities and refinements of cruelty
which marked the life of this madman, and which perpetuated
the traditions of feudal brigandage in Berry down to the
last days of the ancient monarchy. His chateau was besieged,
and after a stubborn resistance he was taken and hanged.
There are many people still living, nor yet very advanced in
years, who knew the man.
My uncles had long thought of making common cause with this country
squire in his marauding expeditions and his resistance to authority.
However, just as Pleumartin, about to fall into the hands of his
enemies, had given his word of honour that he would welcome us as
friends and allies if we went to his assistance, we had heard of his
defeat and tragic end. Thus we ourselves were now on our guard night
and day. It was a question of either fleeing the country or bracing
ourselves for a decisive struggle. Some counselled the former
alternative; the others declared their resolve to follow the advice of
their dying father and to find a grave under the ruins of the keep.
Any suggestion of flight or compromise they denounced as contemptible
cowardice. The fear, then, of incurring such a reproach, and perhaps in
some measure an instinctive love of danger, still kept me back. However,
my aversion to this odious existence was only lying dormant, ready to
break out violently at any moment.
One evening, after a heavy supper, we remained at table, drinking
and conversing--God knows in what words and on what subject! It was
frightful weather. The rain, driven through the broken windows, was
running in streams across the stone floor of the hall; and the old walls
were trembling in the storm. The night wind was whistling through chinks
in the roof and making the flames of our resin torches flicker weirdly.
During the meal my uncles had rallied me very much on what they called
my virtue; they had treated my shyness in the presence of women as a
sign of continence; and it was especially in this matter that they urged
me to evil by ridiculing my modesty. While parrying these coarse gibes
and making thrusts in the same strain, I had been drinking enormously.
Consequently, my wild imagination had become inflamed, and I boasted
that I would be bolder and more successful with the first woman brought
to Roche-Mauprat than any of my uncles. The challenge was accepted amid
roars of laughter. Peals of thunder sent back an answer to the infernal
merriment.
All at once the horn was heard at the portcullis. Everybody stopped
talking. The blast just blown was the signal used by the Mauprats to
summon each other or make themselves known. It was my Uncle Laurence,
who had been absent all day and who was now asking to be let in. We had
so little confidence in others that we acted as our own turnkeys in the
fortress. John rose and took down the keys, but he stopped immediately
on hearing a second blast of the horn. This meant that Laurence was
bringing in a prize, and that we were to go and meet him. In the
twinkling of an eye all the Mauprats were at the portcullis, torch in
hand--except myself, whose indifference at this moment was profound, and
whose legs were seriously conscious of wine.
“If it is a woman,” cried Antony as he went out, “I swear by the soul of
my father that she shall be handed over to you, my valiant young man,
and we’ll see if your courage comes up to your conceit.”