"At length! at length! Bernard," said the voice of the young lady; and
the heart of Bernard de Rohan echoed the words "At length! at length!"
as he pressed her hand in his.
"At length! at length! Bernard," she said, "you have come back to me."
"Did you not send me from you yourself, Isabel?" he said, thinking there
was something almost reproachful in her tone. "And have I not returned
the moment you told me I might; the moment you called me to aid, and, I
trust, to deliver you? Would I ever have quitted you but at your own
word?"
"It is true! it is all true!" she said, in a gentle tone: "but I knew
not, dear Bernard, all that was to befall me; all the painful, the
anxious circumstances in which I was to be placed. We were then too
young, far too young, for me to press my father's promise. I had no
right to rob you of so many years of glory. My brother, too, wanted
protection and guidance in the field. At that time, everything looked
bright, and I thought that you, Bernard, would lead him forth to honour
and bring him back in safety. I knew you would, and you have done it.
But in those days I little dreamed that my mother, in her widowhood,
would willingly wed a stranger, and make her hand the hire of this
Savoyard, to serve the cause of France against his native prince. But
you have returned to me, Bernard," she continued, in a more joyful tone;
"you have returned to me, and all will be well again."
So ever thinks the inexperienced heart of youth, when, even for a single
moment, the dark clouds break away, and a ray of sunshine, however
transient, brightens up a day of storms.
"Be not too sure of that, lady!" said the deep voice of the brigand; "be
not too sure of that! There have been more dangers around you already
than you know of. They have not yet passed away, and, perchance, may
fall upon him as well as you."
"Heaven forbid!" she cried, turning her eyes first upon the countenance
of the man who spoke, and then with a softer and a tenderer look upon
her lover. "If it is to be so, I shall wish you back again, Bernard."
"Not so," said the brigand, "not so! We are fools to think that life is
to be a bright day, uncheckered with storms or misfortunes. There is but
one summer in the year, lady: the winter is as long; the autumn has its
frosts and its sear leaves; and the spring its cold winds and its
weeping skies. In the life of any one the bright portion is but small,
and he must have his share of dangers and sorrows as well as the rest.
They will be lighter if you share them, and if he shares yours. Let us
go forward on our way, however. Will you mount one of these horses,
baron, or walk by the lady's side? Oh, walk, will you? Then follow the
onward path. We will come on some hundred yards behind, near enough to
guard you, but not to interrupt."
Bernard de Rohan and the lady proceeded on their way. Nor did they fail
to take advantage of the moments thus afforded for conversing alone,
though no one in such circumstances does take sufficient advantage of
the moments. Our minds are so full of thoughts, our hearts so full of
feelings, that they crowd and confuse each other in seeking to make
their way forth. But a small part is ever spoken of that which might be
spoken; and, had the time of their journey been more than doubled, there
would still have been questions to ask, and plans to arrange, and hopes,
and wishes, and fears to express; and Love, too, would have had a world
to tell and to hear; and many a caress would have remained to be given,
and many a vow would yet have required to be renewed.
Thus, when at length, after advancing for nearly two hours, several
distant lights were seen upon the side of a dark hill beyond, as if
issuing from the windows of some building, they found that they had not
said half that they might have said, and wished that the minutes could
come over again. It is not, indeed, in such circumstances alone that man
casts away opportunities. It is all his life long, and every moment of
his life. Those opportunities are like the beautiful wild flowers that
blossom in every meadow and in every hedge, while, heedless or careless,
unseeing or unknowing, man passes them by continually, or walks upon his
way, and tramples them under his feet.
When they reached that spot, however, and the castle of Masseran was
before their eyes, the brigand came up at a quick pace, saying, "Let us
pause a moment, and see whether our companions have arrived before us.
It might be dangerous for his deliverers to come too near the Lord of
Masseran's gates without sufficient numbers."
As he thus spoke, he put the peculiar whistle which he carried to his
lips, producing a lower sound than before, but sufficiently loud to be
heard around, and call forth many an answer up to the very gates of the
castle itself.
"They are here," continued the brigand, "and the good lord is in his
hold. Now, lady, you have doubtless promised things which you may find
it difficult to perform. You have promised to see this noble cavalier,
and give him--if needs must be, by stealth--the happiness of your
presence; but I know better than you do how things will befall you. You
will be watched; you will never be suffered to leave that castle's gates
without a train, which will cut you off from speaking with any one. The
gardens of the castle, however, will doubtless be free, for the walls
are high, the gates securely locked, and the way up to them watched.
Nevertheless, there is the small postern in the corner of the lowest
terrace, hid by a tall yew-tree: lay your hand upon the handle of the
lock at any time of the day you please. If it open not at the first
trial, wait a moment, and try it again. You shall never try it three
times without finding that door give way to your hand."
"But he tells me," said the lady, speaking more directly to what was
passing in the brigand's thoughts than to what he actually expressed,
"but he tells me that he is actually on his way to visit my mother's
husband, charged with messages of import to him from the noble Marquis
of Brissac, and that to-morrow morning he will be there, openly
demanding admittance."
"See him in the evening also, lady, whatever befall," replied the other.
"There are more dangers round you than you wot of. But I will speak to
him farther as we return. Now you had better go on."
A few minutes more brought them nearly to the gates of the castle. The
brigand had remained behind to wait the coming up of his people. Bernard
de Rohan turned to see if they were approaching; but he could now
perceive no one upon the road but a single figure coming slowly on at
some distance, and leading a horse by the bridle. It was a moment not to
be lost. Once more he threw his arms round the lady beside him, and she
bent her head till their lips met. There were no farther words between
them but a few unconnected names of tenderness, and in a minute or two
after they were joined by the wounded servant, who had remained behind
with the lady and those who accompanied her when the Lord of Masseran
and the rest were sent on.
"Ah! my lord," he said, looking wistfully in the face of the young
cavalier, "you have forgotten me, but I have not forgotten you; and if
it had not been for my love and duty to my young mistress, I would have
been with you in Italy long ago, especially when the countess sold
herself to her stranger husband."
"No, indeed, Henriot, I have not forgotten you," replied Bernard de
Rohan; "and I beseech you, for love of me as well as your young
mistress, stay with her still, and be ever near her. I much doubt this
Lord of Masseran, and have heard no little evil of him. She may want
help in moments of need, and none can give her better aid than yourself;
but I fear you have been much hurt," he added, "for you walk feebly even
now."
"It will soon pass, my lord," replied the man; "but I see a light at the
gate: we had better go on quickly, if, as I judge, you would not be
recognised."
Bernard de Rohan took one more embrace, and then parted with her he
loved. He paused upon the road till, by the light which still shone from
the gate of the castle, he saw her and her follower enter and disappear
beneath the low-browed arch. He then turned away, and retrod his steps
along the side of the hill. He was left to do so for some way in
solitude, though he doubted not that the hillside and the valley below
him were both much more replete with human life than they seemed to be.
At the distance of little more than half a mile from the castle he was
forced to pause, for the moon had now sunk behind the mountain, and
there were two roads, one branching to either hand.
"Keep to the right," said a deep voice near him, as he stopped to choose
his path; and the next moment the brigand, coming forth from the bushes
among which he had been sitting, walked on upon his way beside him.
"Ours is a busy life, you see," he said; "but yet it is not every night
that we have so much business to do as we have had lately."
"Nor, I should think," replied Bernard de Rohan, "is it every night that
you have upon your hands business which can leave so much satisfaction
behind."
"I know not," answered the brigand, "and yet, in some sort, what you say
is true. For I have had pleasure in what I have done: I have had
pleasure in serving that bright lady; why, it matters not: I have had
pleasure in serving you; why, it matters not: I have had pleasure in
frustrating a base and villanous scheme; why, it matters not. But you
must not think, baron, that in the ordinary business of my everyday life
there are any of those weak thoughts about me which poison its
enjoyments and make the memory of each day bitter. You and I are
different beings, born for a different course."
"We are both men," said Bernard de Rohan.
"Ay!" answered the brigand; "and so are the dove and falcon both birds.
As well might that dove think that the life of the falcon must be
miserable because it is a bird of prey, as you judge of my feelings by
your own. I am a bird of prey; I am the brother of the eagle on the
rock. Our joys and our pursuits are the same; and they leave no more
regret with me than they do with that eagle, when he folds his wings in
his eyrie after the day's chase is done."
The comparison was one which, as Bernard de Rohan very well understood,
was pleasant and satisfactory to his companion's feelings, but he could
not admit its justice to any great extent. He cared not to point out,
however, where it failed, and merely replied, "But there is a difference
between men and brutes. Man has his reason to guide him, and must be
governed by laws. The eagle has no law but the instinct which God has
given him."
"Is not God's law the best?" exclaimed the brigand. "God gave the eagle
his law, and therefore that law is right. It is because man's law is not
God's law that I stand here upon the mountain. Were laws equal and just,
there would be few found to resist them. While they are unequal and
unjust, the poor-hearted may submit and tremble; the powerless may yield
and suffer: the bold, the free, the strong, and the determined fall back
upon the law of God, and wage war against the injustice of man. If you
and I, baron," he continued, growing excited with the heat of his
argument, "if you and I were to stand before a court of human justice,
as it is called, pleading the same cause, accused of the same acts,
would our trial be the same, our sentence, our punishment? No! all would
be different; and why? Because you are Bernard de Rohan, a wealthy baron
of the land, and I am none. A name would make the difference. A mere
name would bring the sword on my head and leave yours unwounded. If so
it be, I say--if such be the world's equity, I set up a retribution for
myself. I raise a kingdom in the passes of these mountains: a kingdom
where all the privileges of earth are reversed. Here, under my law, the
noble, and the rich, and the proud are those that must bow down and
suffer; the poor, and the humble, and the good those that have
protection and immunity. Go ask in the peasant's cottage: visit the good
pastor's fireside: inquire of the shepherd of the mountain, or the
farmer on the plains. Go ask them, I say, if under the sword of Corse de
Leon they lose a sheep from their flock or a sheaf from their field. Go
ask them if, when the tyrant of the castle--the lawless tyrant; or the
tyrant of the city--the lawful tyrant, plunders their property, insults
their lowliness, grinds the face of the poor, or wrings the heart of the
meek, ask them, I say, if there is not retribution to be found in the
midnight court of Corse de Leon, if there is not punishment and justice
poured forth even upon the privileged heads above."
Bernard de Rohan felt that it would be useless to argue with him; for it
was evident that he was not one of those who are doubtful or wavering in
the course they pursue. There was some truth, too, in what the man said:
truth which Bernard de Rohan ventured to admit to his own heart, even in
that age, when such sentiments could only be looked upon as treasonable.
He was silent, then, considering how to reply, when the brigand himself
went on.
"Think not," he continued, "that I have chosen my part without deep
thought. There are some--and perhaps you think me one of them--who are
driven by circumstances, led by their passions, or their follies, or
their vices, to a state of opposition with the rest of mankind, and who
then, when cast out from society, find a thousand specious reasons for
warring against it. But such is not my case. Ever since my youth have
such things been dwelling in my mind. I had pondered them long. I had
fully made up my mind as to what was right and what was wrong, years
before injustice and iniquity--years before the insolence of privileged
tyranny drove me forth to practise what I had long proposed. Here I
exercise the right that is in man. I take the brown game upon the
mountain, which is mine as much as that of any noble in the land. I pay
no tax to king or to collector. There is no duty on the wine I drink.
There is no toll upon the roads I follow. You will say that I do more
than this: that I take from others what is not mine and what is theirs;
but I have told you why I do so. They have taken from me what was not
theirs; and I wage war against a world which first waged war against me;
in which, even among themselves, the hand of every one is against his
brother; in which, whether it be in camp, or court, or city, or mart, or
church, injustice and iniquity are striving to snatch from one another
the rod of oppression, and keep the humble beneath their own yoke."
"I cannot think," replied Bernard de Rohan, willing to answer as
generally as possible, "I cannot think that the state of society is so
terrible as you represent it. There may be occasional instances of
corruption and oppression, and doubtless there are. I have seen some
myself, and endeavoured to prevent them; but still these things are by
no means general."
"Not general!" exclaimed the brigand, turning upon him almost fiercely.
"Sir Baron, I say they are universal. There are one or two exceptions,
it is true. You are one of those exceptions yourself. You are one of
those who deserve to be convinced; and I can convince you. I can show
you men who pretend to be holy, and humble, and good, oppressing most
basely those who are in their power. I can show you tyranny and
injustice at every step and in every station throughout the earth, from
the tradesman's shop to the monarch's throne. I can show it to you in
every garb, and in every profession, and in every place. I can, ay, and
will show it to you, within these twelve months, in such forms of
cruelty and blood that you shall say the brigand on the hillside is mild
compared with the man of courts or the man of refectories; that he may
be an eagle, but that these are vultures."
"I see not," replied Bernard de Rohan, with a smile, "I see not how you
can show me all this. You forget that we shall most likely part here in
Savoy. That, as soon as I can rescue Mademoiselle de Brienne from the
situation in which she is placed, I shall hasten onward to my own
country, and we shall most likely never meet again."
"Not so, not so," replied the brigand. "We shall meet again. Either with
her or without her, you must, as you say, go thither soon. My steps are
bound likewise towards France; for think not that I dwell always here,
or appear always thus: were it so, my head would soon be over the gate
of Chamberry. I will find means to show you a part of what I have said,
perhaps to give you some assistance likewise, when you most need and
least expect it. But remember," he added, "if misfortunes should befall
me, or danger threaten me, it is a part of our compact that you do not
strive to give me any aid; that you neither raise your voice nor your
arm in my behalf."
"Nay, nay," replied Bernard de Rohan, "I cannot promise that. I must
ever remember the generous assistance you have afforded me this night,
and must do my best to prove that I am grateful for it."
"The best way of proving it," replied the brigand, "is by doing what I
ask you. You are held wise for a young man: now ask yourself if you can
judge so well of what is for my advantage as I can judge myself. I tell
you that I have many means of deliverance which you know nothing of;
and, therefore, any attempt to aid me, without my asking you, might ruin
me and ruin yourself likewise."
"If you will ask me," replied Bernard de Rohan, "when aid can be
serviceable to you, I shall be contented."
"I will, I will," answered the brigand; "and now tell me, What have you
arranged with fair Isabel of Brienne? for I take an interest in your
fate and hers."
"You seem indeed to do so," replied the young cavalier; "and yet I know
not why it should be so, for I cannot remember that we ever met before."
"Once," replied the brigand, "only once. Several years ago we were side
by side, but for a moment. You and I, and that fair girl, and her
brother--her brother, the young Count Henry, who is now in Paris. It was
but for a moment, but that moment was one by me never to be forgotten."
"I cannot recall it," replied Bernard de Rohan. "It is strange, too, if
it was a moment of such importance. But you say that her brother is in
Paris: I wrote to Henry to meet me in Grenoble, and I think he must be
there by this time."
"Oh! he is in Paris still," replied the other. "He is a good youth; but
he is weak and young--ay, younger than his years. He will be easily
persuaded to stay in Paris, and flutter in bright silks, and flaunt at
tournaments, run at the ring, or fence at Moors' heads upon a turning
pole. He is at Paris still, depend upon it; and, if you count upon his
coming ere you claim the lady's hand, you must seek him in the capital,
and bring him with you."
"I shall demand her hand at once," replied Bernard de Rohan; "but we
doubt that there will be opposition from one who has no right to make
it; and, to bear down that opposition, Henry de Brienne must be with me.
He is the guardian of his father's promise solemnly given to me before I
first went to Italy. But I will write to him as soon as day breaks
to-morrow. Hark! do you not hear voices coming up the pass?"
"Most likely your servants and the priest," replied the brigand.
"I wonder they have not joined us before," replied Bernard de Rohan. "We
should have fared ill if their assistance had been all we had to trust
to."
"They could not do better," replied the brigand. "The other party had
caught a sight of us when you stood to argue with me at the corner of
the rock, and they broke down the little wooden bridge behind them. Your
servants know none of the paths; the priest knows not that which we
took; so doubtless, by this time, they think that we are hewed into
mincemeat. However, remember at that spot, by the broken bridge, a loud
halloo, a blast of your horn, or a whistle thrice repeated, will at any
time bring some one to you who can lead you to me should you want my
assistance. Now, jolly priest, now," he added, raising his voice, "here
we are safe, though no great thanks to you."
"If you are safe, and sound, and sober," said the priest, coming up with
the attendants of Bernard de Rohan, "it is more than I expected; for we
could not reach you for our lives; and as we were scrambling over the
hills, and each losing his way according to his fancy, we heard as much
noise as at a boor's wedding, though the concert was somewhat different.
But now let us hasten back as fast as possible: why, we are a league and
a half from the inn, and I shall be so hoarse with shouting and the
night air that I shall not be able to sing matins."