by Eugène Sue
“Nominoë! 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 Nominoë’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, Nominoë,” 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, Nominoë?”
“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—”
“Nominoë, 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 Nominoë 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, 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. Nominoë,” 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, Nominoë,” 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë. 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 tête-à-tête with Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë 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 your
self 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, stupefied.
“Yes; murder; the murder of Tina, your bride—”
“Great God! Father! What is that you are saying!” cried Nominoë, 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, Nominoë!” 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, 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 Nominoë’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. Nominoë, 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, Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, 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, Nominoë! 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, Nominoë! 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 Nominoë heavenward with a mien of sublime simplicity.
Nominoë, 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 Nominoë, 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, Nominoë; 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 Nominoë. 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.
