The Blacksmith's Hammer; or, The Peasant Code: A Tale of the Grand Monarch

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER II.

  BERTHA OF PLOUERNEL.

  Once disembarked at the port of Delft, the Marchioness of Tremblayregained her spirits, that the fright of the tempest had upset, and sheremembered often to have met in Paris a certain Monsieur Tilly at thehouse of Monsieur Van Orbek, a rich Dutchman, who, emulating insumptuous display the famous contractor Samuel Bernard, gave thehandsomest feasts in the world, whither both court and town crowded. Onsuch occasions, Monsieur Tilly more than once gallantly offered theMarchioness the hospitality of his house in The Hague, if she shouldever happen to visit that city; his residence, he said, was at herdisposal. The Marchioness now remembered the offer, and finding itunpleasant to have to wait in a wretched hostlery of the seaport ofDelft for some neutral vessel bound to England--a rare occurrence sincethe breaking out of the war--the lady despatched an express to MonsieurTilly, certain that he would deem himself highly honored at extendinghospitality to her. Indeed, Monsieur Tilly gallantly hastened in personfrom The Hague to Delft, whence he himself took the Marchioness, herniece and Abbot Boujaron to The Hague, being at the time all the betterable to tender his hospitality to the distinguished guests, seeing that,as he explained, his wife was then at Amsterdam at the sick-bed of hermother.

  The Marchioness of Tremblay was speedily installed at The Hague in theresidence of Monsieur Tilly, where she occupied on the first floor avast apartment furnished with the luxury peculiar to those republicannavigators, who, trafficking with the whole world, gathered in theirhomes most precious fabrics, porcelains and furnitures from China andthe East Indies, vases from Japan, lacquer cabinets and folding-screensfrom Coromandel, carpets from Smyrna, glasswork from Venice. All theserare curiosities were found in profusion at Monsieur Tilly's residence.Still suffering from the fatigue of her rough passage, the Marchionesswas partly stretched upon a reclining chair, placed near a glass doorthat opened upon a balcony, sheltered from the rays of the sun and thepublic gaze by a sort of netting striped red and white. MademoisellePlouernel sat not far from her aunt, who, continuing the conversationthat the two had been carrying on, proceeded to say:

  "You will have to admit, my dear, that the lot of MademoiselleKerouaille is worthy of envy. The King--"

  But noticing that her niece was not listening, the Marchioness brokeoff, remarking:

  "Bertha, your absentmindedness is singular. What is it that you arethinking about? Tell me!"

  "I was thinking of my brother Raoul. I hope his illness will not growworse during the delay that our journey to London is unfortunatelyundergoing," answered Mademoiselle Plouernel in accents of deep emotion.

  And after a moment's silence she continued:

  "But there is in all this something that seems unexplainable to me.Monsieur Noirmont left London two or three days after the date of theletter that informed you of my brother's illness, and still MonsieurNoirmont stated to us only a short time ago, at Versailles, that at thetime of his departure from England he left Raoul in perfect health."

  "Monsieur Noirmont must have wished to conceal the truth from us,"replied the Marchioness, slightly embarrassed; "people always dislike tobe the bearers of bad news."

  "And yet nothing seemed more sincere than the extreme astonishment withwhich Monsieur Noirmont was struck when he learned from us of mybrother's illness, and--"

  "Good God, my dear, I wish I had your facility for doubting facts," saidthe Marchioness, impatiently interrupting her niece; "but I am notallowed to entertain any such doubts. I only console myself in advancewith the thought of the excellent influence that will be exercised uponRaoul's health by my presence, and yours especially--"

  "Mine?" answered Bertha sadly; "I hope it will be so."

  "That should be, to you, not a hope, but a certainty."

  "My elder brother has until now shown so much coolness towards me--"

  "My niece, such a reproach!"

  "It is not a reproach--it is the expression of a sorrow. For the rest,Raoul and I have spent our childhood and the first years of our youthalmost as strangers to each other. He lived near my father, I near mymother. I can not be surprised at Raoul's indifference towards me."

  "You greatly err, my dear, with regard to what you wrongly, verywrongly, term his indifference. Do you forget that by virtue of hisright of primogeniture, with the death of my brother, he has become thehead of our family? The quality of head of our family confers upon Raoulthe full authority that your father and mother were vested with duringtheir lives over their children. As a matter of course, such authorityimposes upon Raoul, in his relations towards you and Guy, your secondbrother, a certain degree of reserve, of gravity, I might say ofseverity that must in no wise be confounded with indifference. He, onthe contrary, is exceptionally attached to you. But I must say--and Ibeg you not to see in my words even the shadow of a reproach," theMarchioness added, insinuatingly, "I must admit that a certain turn tofreedom in your disposition, a certain stubborn way of looking at somethings from a viewpoint that is wholly opposed to Raoul's, may haveoccasionally, I shall not say made him take umbrage at you, but may havegiven some uneasiness to the warm solicitude that he entertains foryou--seeing that it is his duty to fill towards you the strict functionsof a father."

  "I might answer you, aunt, that Raoul showed himself cold and severetowards me before the loss of my father and my poor mother--a loss thatwould be irreparable to me but for the certainty of some day re-risinginto new life with that idolized mother, in the spirit world where weshall all meet again."

  "Your father's loss must, accordingly, be less irreparable to you thanyour mother's," observed the Marchioness with some bitterness; "to saythe least, the difference that you establish in your grief for thedeparted ones, is strange."

  "Aunt," replied Bertha with a firm voice, "I respected my father andadored my mother. She nursed me, brought me up, educated me. I neverleft her. My happiest days were spent at her side in Brittany, in theretirement of our Castle of Plouernel, where I spent my first eighteenyears, while all that time my father lived at court. I barely saw himonce every year for a short time during his transient visits to thecastle when the hunting season would bring him to his domains. So yousee, my mother has left me numerous tokens of remembrance. They werecontinuous and loving, profoundly loving. They render, they will everrender her loss--or rather, her absence--irreparable to me, at least inthis world. But let us return to Raoul. As I told you a moment ago, healways showed himself, even when still young, cold and even haughtytowards me, whenever he accompanied my father into Brittany, and he feltoffended at my having my own way of looking at things, a way thatfrequently was different from his own."

  "The reason is, my dear, that for people of our class there is but oneway of looking upon a number of things--such as religion, morals,politics--"

  "In that case I must be an exception to the general rule; but that is ofno consequence. Believe me, aunt, I have the liveliest desire to findmyself mistaken with regard to Raoul's sentiments towards me; and, Imust admit it, I have been profoundly touched by his request to see meat a time when, as I hear, he is seized with a grave disease, thereality of which I still wish I could doubt. I did not expect such aproof of tenderness on his part. And so, as I said before, I hopeRaoul's illness has not grown worse, seeing that, alas! like so manyothers, he has preserved the prejudice of death, a thing that adds suchcruel agonies to all illness."

  "The prejudice of death!" repeated the Marchioness, shrugging hershoulders and hardly able to control herself. "That is one of yourextravagances! You set yourself up in rebellion against our holyreligion!"

  "A sublime extravagance!" replied Bertha with a radiant smile. "Itsuppresses superstitions; it frees us from the terror of decease; itimparts to us the certainty of living anew near those whom we haveloved."

  "My dear niece, I would take you to be out of your mind, were it notthat I know you really derive pleasure from such eccentricities. Buthowever that may be, I have the infirmity of sharing with your brotherand with so many other weak mind
s the vulgar prejudice of death. I hope,and I have every reason to hope, that the state of Raoul's health,although grave, is by no means alarming. Far away from his own country,his family, his friends, but still considering it to be a sacred duty onhis part to remain in London in the service of the King our master, hehas fallen into a sort of listless languor, a black melancholy, and herelies upon our presence, and yours especially, to dissipate hisdistemper."

  "A distemper of languor?" replied Mademoiselle Plouernel pensively. "Itseems to me such a disease is generally preceded by symptoms ofdejection and sadness; but Monsieur Noirmont said to us that when heleft Raoul, my brother's spirits, good looks and genuinely Frenchmirthfulness eclipsed the most brilliant seigneurs of the court of KingCharles II."

  "Oh, I doubt not that! Poor Raoul is capable of the greatest sacrificesin order worthily to represent his master, our great King; he would evensuppress his physical pains and moral sufferings."

  "Excuse me, aunt, but I am unable to understand you. I was not awarethat my brother had a political mission to fill."

  "And yet there is nothing more simple! Does not your brother, chargedwith a mission to King Charles II during the absence of the Frenchambassador Monsieur Croissy, represent his Majesty Louis XIV at London?Consequently, however deep his melancholia may be, is not my nephewbound to conceal it from the eyes of the English court, so as not to beoutdone in gracefulness, wit and mirth by the English courtiers, and tocontinue to eclipse them all in honor of his master? Thus it is thatRaoul is fulfilling the duties imposed upon him by his mission to KingCharles. But," added the Marchioness, after this plausible answer to herniece's objections, and wishing, moreover, to change the subject of aconversation that embarrassed her, "but by the way of the good KingCharles--the name of that gallant and joyful prince leads me back to thesubject that we wandered from with this long digression upon my nephew.I must repeat to you what I was saying and which your absentmindednessat the moment prevented you from hearing. I was speaking of thebeautiful young Breton lady."

  "What did you say about her, aunt?"

  "I was saying: Admit that the lot of the beautiful MademoiselleKerouaille, who is to-day the Duchess of Portsmouth, and one of thegreatest ladies of England, by reason of the favor that she hasreceived, is a lot worthy of envy."

  Bertha of Plouernel shuddered; her beautiful and usually pale visage wassuffused by a blush; her black eyebrows contracted; and, gazing at theMarchioness with undisguised amazement, she said:

  "Is it to me that you put such a question?"

  "What astonishes you, my dear?"

  "You ask me whether the lot of Mademoiselle Kerouaille seems to meworthy of being envied?"

  "Why, yes, my dear child; the question is quite natural."

  "You, then, despise me!" cried Mademoiselle Plouernel with an outburstof indignation. "You, my father's sister! Oh, madam--madam!"

  "Truly, niece, I drop from the clouds!" answered the Marchioness withprofound sincerity. "What! Do I despise you because I mention to you theenviable lot of a noble young girl who has had the signal honor ofserving the interests of the great King, our neighbor--and of meritingthe affection and favors of such a powerful monarch!"

  "Madam," replied Bertha, interrupting the Marchioness with a tremblingvoice, "during the nearly eighteen months since I had the misfortune oflosing my mother, I have lived with you in Paris or Versailles; Ithought you knew me somewhat; I find that I am mistaken, since you looksurprised to see me revolt at infamy, and since you dare to ask me sucha question."

  "Infamy! In truth, you are losing your mind, my dear niece."

  "Not one, but many infamies," Bertha of Plouernel proceeded, with bitingsatire. "Madam, I have no choice but to say so plainly to you. Thanks tothe licence in morals that reigns in your salon, at court and everywhereelse, I have despite myself learned things that a young girl shouldnever as much as suspect--the principles that guide the conduct of thegreat world."

  "And what did you learn, niece?"

  "Among a thousand other indignities, I learned this, madam: King Charleswas still hesitating whether or not to declare war upon the DutchRepublic, where we now are meeting with generous hospitality; Louis XIVthereupon charged the Duchess of Orleans to overcome the indecision ofher brother Charles II by whatever means she could. She agreed; departedfor London equipped with a considerable sum of money and intentionallyleading in her train one of her ladies of honor, a young girl ofextraordinary beauty--Mademoiselle Kerouaille. And what was the purposethat caused the Duchess of Orleans to take the handsome girl in hercompany? It was for the purpose of delivering her to the King in returnfor his declaration of war upon the Dutch. Lewdness matched withtreachery--infamy! Such is the statecraft of these monarchs!"

  "One moment, niece. You are mistaken in your appreciations."

  "Madam, I said there was not one but several infamies. Did I exaggerate?Let us number them: speculating upon the dissoluteness of the King ofEngland, Louis XIV sends his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Orleans, tofill the role of a coupler--is not that enough of an infamy? And when wesee that princess lowering herself to such an ignoble commerce, towardswhom? towards her own brother--is there not in that a double infamy?"

  "Once more, my niece, what do you know about the negotiations betweenprinces?"

  "Finally, Mademoiselle Kerouaille, an accomplice in the ignominioustransaction, sells herself to the King of England and accepts the duchyof Portsmouth as the price of her public shame--a further infamy! Shameupon these execrable beings!"

  "You seem to forget that you speak of crowned heads!"

  "It is true, madam! I forgot that a Prince of the Catholic Church,Bossuet, the Bishop of Meaux, dared to say, in the very house of God, inthe presence of the court, assembled on that occasion to hear thefuneral oration on the Duchess of Orleans: 'She went on a mission tounite two kingdoms by _pleasing methods_, and her own _virtue_ was thesole mediator between the two Kings.' Is such language not infamousenough on the lips of a man invested with an august character?Hypocrisy, servility, cowardice--what apanages to a priest who, ratherthan corrupt, should purify the human race!"

  After having first betrayed her sincere astonishment at the vehementindignation of Mademoiselle Plouernel, and after a sense of suppressedanger and even rage succeeded her astonishment, the Marchioness ofTremblay collected herself, reflected for a moment, and promptlyimparting to her features the sweetest expression that they couldassume, and to her voice the most affectionate accents into which shewas capable of modulating it, she rose from her reclining chair and saidto her niece, who was still trembling with contempt and disgust:

  "Dear child--come to my arms. Let me embrace you--you are an angel."

  Not a little astonished at this outburst of tenderness, the young ladyhesitated to respond to the invitation of her aunt, who repeated:

  "Yes, come and let me embrace you; you are a noble being, worthy of thename that you carry; you are an angel, an archangel; you have issuedtriumphant from a trial to which I wished to put you."

  "A trial?" queried Mademoiselle Plouernel without any effort atconcealing her incredulity; but immediately after, and yielding to theimpulse of all pure and straightforward characters, who are ever moredisposed to believe good than evil, Bertha approached the Marchioness,who, taking her niece in her arms, pressed the noble girl to her heartand kissed her effusively.

  "Blessed be God! It was only a trial!" repeated the young girl, smilingwith gratification and feeling her chest relieved of a heavy weight."But aunt, dear aunt, I mean not to reprove you--only those are triedwho are doubted. Did you doubt me?"

  "No; of course not! But in our days one sees a King's love turn so manyyoung heads, even the most solid, that--"

  "And you mistrusted the solidity of mine?"

  "However certain I was, I wished, dear niece, to see you prove it in allthe luster of good judgment and purity. Only, and neither do I now meanto convey a reproach, I do deplore that a young person of your birthshould, as it sometimes happens w
ith you, forget herself to the point ofspeaking irreverently of the priests, the bishops, the Princes of theChurch, and above all of the great King, our master, of whom yourbrother has the honor of being one of the most faithful, the mostdevoted servants."

  "Aunt, let us not discuss the worthiness of Bossuet and his fellows, anymore than the worthiness of him whom you style your master; he neverwill be mine. I have but one Master: He thrones in heaven."

  "Do doubt; but after God, come the priests, the ministers, the Pope, thebishops, and then comes the King, to whom we owe blind submission,boundless devotion, pious respect."

  "Pious respect! When at Versailles I saw that King promenading in publicin one carriage with the Queen his wife and his two mistresses--the oldand the new--Mademoiselle La Valiere and Madam Montespan! Is suchaudacity in bad morals to be respected? No! I shall not respect thatinfamous King who surrounds himself with high-born courtesans!"

  "In truth, my dear, you are losing your reason. The violence of yourlanguage! Where can you have drawn such principles from?"

  "Excuse my Breton frankness, but I could not respect a person whoinspires me with aversion, disgust and contempt. What! That prince knowshow his scandalous amours afflict the Queen. He is aware of thebitterness of the rivalry between La Valiere and Montespan! And yet,without pity for the laceration of the hearts of those three women, heforces them to gulp down the affront put upon them, to silently swallowtheir mutual jealousy and resentment, to smother their shame. He forcesthem to appear in public face to face; he drags them triumphantly afterhim as if anxious to glory openly in his double adultery! Ah, I repeatit, that ridiculous self-infatuation, that disregard of all sense ofchastity, that brutal disdain for all human feelings, that insolentcynicism towards women--no, that never could inspire me with aught butaversion, contempt and disgust!"

  "Oh, my niece, in their fervent adoration of their much belovedsovereign, La Valiere, Montespan and the Queen do as people do who maketo God a sacrifice of their pains--they offer their torn hearts to theiridol, the handsomest, the greatest King in the whole world!"

  "Well, aunt, that theory becomes excessively hyperbolic. Have I not seenhim, that 'great King,' an undersized man in reality, seeking to addinches to his stature with the aid of immoderately high heels andenormous wigs! Tell me, deprived of his heels, his wigs and, above all,his royal mantle, what, I pray you, is left of the 'idol'? Why, a littlestuffed and groomed crow! For the rest, a good carpet dancer, a stillbetter knight of the carrousel; always in red paint, severe, buttressedin the majesty of his trappings, never laughing out of fear to exposehis villainous teeth, otherwise negligent of his appearance and nevershaving but every three days, passionately fond of perfumery in order toconceal his bad breath, finally having, under the category of truly'great' nothing to show except his appetite, to judge from his voracity,which I once witnessed at Versailles on a gala day! But raillery carriesme away, and I blush, myself," added Mademoiselle Plouernel, whosefeatures quickly assumed an expression of deep sadness. "Am I ever toforget that my mother's brother finished his days in a dungeon, thevictim of the iniquity of Louis XIV!"