CHAPTER IX.
The evening was dark and somewhat stormy; and, though the hour was thesame as that in which Bernard de Rohan had met Isabel on the precedingday, so much less light was there now in the heavens that he couldscarcely see the postern gate, while with a beating heart he watched itfrom the small clump of fir-trees of which we have already spoken.Although a hollow and whistling wind blew sharp and strong among themountains, the heavy vapours hung unmoved around the peaks; and thoughthere was a reddish glare upon the edges of some of the clouds in thewestern sky, no light was derived from any lingering rays of the sun.Everything was gloomy, and dark, and cheerless; and yet the heart ofBernard de Rohan beat high with love, with joy, with expectation.
She was to be his, the being whom he had so long, so deeply, so tenderlyloved. Within one short hour she was to be his own, bound to him by thatindissoluble bond, to which he looked forward all the more joyfully,because it was to be eternal. Whose heart would not beat high at thefulfilment of the dream of years?
At length he thought he saw the door move, and, darting forward, heopened it gently. Isabel was waiting within with the faithful Henriotand her silent maid; and though she trembled very much as Bernard threwhis arms around her, it was agitation, not fear, which moved her. TheLord of Masseran was still absent: there was no one likely to interruptthem; and when her lover strove to sooth and to encourage her, tellingher that his own men were within sound of his horn, and many moreunseen, surrounding them on all sides, she replied by assuring him in alow voice that she had no apprehension, and was ready to follow himwhithersoever he would. Still, however, he saw that she was agitated;and, as he led her forth, he poured many a soothing and a tender wordinto her ear, drawing her nearer to his heart, and seeming to assureher, by every action as well as by every word, that the love and theprotection which he was about to vow was as tender, as unchangeable, asthe brightest dream of hope and expectation could picture it.
"Do you know the chapel down in the valley, my Isabel?" he asked, as heled her onward down a narrow path that wound along the side of the hill,as close under the walls of the castle as might be. "We have obtainedthe keys, and the priest is waiting."
"But at this hour," demanded Isabel, eagerly; "can he perform theservice at this hour?"
"He has procured full authority," replied Bernard, in the same low tone."Nothing, dear girl, has been left undone."
"Hark!" said Isabel, stopping. "Did you not hear some voices above?"
He paused and listened, but no sound met his ear. "The echo of our ownvoices," he answered; "though we speak low, they catch the angles of therock, and are given back again to our own ears. But let us hastenonward, dearest. Once thou art mine, such apprehensions will cease."
Nothing occurred to interrupt them. Step by step, over the rough andencumbered path, they pursued their way, till at length, in the lowestpart of the valley, shut in between the small river and the rock onwhich the castle stood, appeared an old Gothic chapel. The pinnacles,the towers, the mouldings of the little building, in all their richtracery, were fully visible; for, as the party descended, the chapel layexactly between them and a clear part of the stream, so that theglistening surface of the water formed a background to the dark lines ofthe building, though none of the surrounding scenery, except the boldmasses of some adjacent rocks, could be distinguished.
Thither, by another path, which, being cut through the rock, gaveadmission to the castle at once, had Isabel often come to attend theservice on Sundays and on holydays; but all seemed changed as she nowapproached it; as much, indeed, in regard to the feelings with which sherevisited it, as to the aspect of the place itself. Through the windowson the side which they approached, a small ray of light stole forth fromthe altar like a pure and holy religion in the midst of ages ofdarkness, and, guided onward by that, they were soon at the door of thechapel. It yielded easily to the hand, and Isabel, half led, halfsupported by Bernard de Rohan, found herself approaching that altarwhere the last vow of maiden love was to be spoken. On one side of thataltar stood the good priest, Father Willand; but on the other, to thesurprise both of Bernard de Rohan and of Isabel de Brienne, appeared theordinary priest of the place, pale, somewhat agitated, and looking fromtime to time round the building with a wild and fearful glance.
"Quick!" cried Father Willand, as the party approached; "you have beenvery long, my children. Let us despatch this business speedily, and putout the lights."
"I am forced," said the other priest, "by commands that I dare notdisobey, to be here this night; but I call you all to witness that it isagainst my will that I am here; and, in case the Lord of Masseran--"
"Pooh, pooh!" exclaimed Father Willand, "we don't want you to be here atall, my good friend. All we want is the chapel. I will read the service,brother. Approach, my children, approach;" and, taking up the book, hecommenced at once, and in the most abridged form that the Churchallowed, the marriage service between Bernard de Rohan and Isabel deBrienne.
The latter needed support not a little; but the quiet maid, who was theonly woman that accompanied her, was far too inanimate and statue-liketo afford her any. It was in no ordinary circumstances that poor Isabelwas placed. True, indeed, she was not called upon to give her hand toone who was nearly a stranger to her, as is but too often the case;true, that with her all the sweet and delicate feelings which surroundthe heart of woman from her youth were not to be rudely plucked awaywithout preparation, like flowers torn by a harsh and reckless hand,which, while it takes, injures the plant which bore them; true, that shewas giving herself to one whom she had long known and deeply loved, andtowards whom she had ever looked as to her promised husband; but stillshe was becoming his bride suddenly, secretly; she was flying with himin darkness and in concealment, with the presence of none of those boundto her by the ties of blood to sanction the new bonds that she wastaking upon her.
The fear, too, of discovery and pursuit was superadded to all the otherfeelings which such circumstances might well produce. She knew that itmight not, and probably would not, be long before her mother--who hadbeen left evidently as a sort of spy upon her actions and a jailer ofher person, rather than a friend, a protector, and an adviser--mightsend to make sure that the harsh commands of the Lord of Masseran werestrictly observed, and that she did not quit the walls of the castle fora moment during his absence; and she was well aware that the discoveryof her flight would produce instant pursuit. Thus, though generally shekept her eyes either bent down upon the ground, or raised with a look ofconfidence and affection towards Bernard de Rohan, yet from time to timeshe cast a hasty glance over her shoulder towards the door of thechapel; and, as she did so, she remarked that the same fears seemed alsoto possess the waiting woman, whose eyes were generally turned in thesame direction.
No interruption took place, however. The words, the irrevocable wordsthat bound her and Bernard de Rohan together, were spoken in a low but afirm voice. The ring was upon her finger. The benediction waspronounced, and for a moment, for one short moment, she was clasped as abride in the arms of him she loved, when there came suddenly a noise asof something thrown down in the small vestry on the right-hand side ofthe altar.
The priest instantly put out the lights. Bernard de Rohan still held herclose to his heart with his left arm, but, at the same time, laid hisright hand upon his sword. Before he could draw it, however, three mensprang upon him, two from the vestry itself, and one from a windowbehind him, through which several had forced a way.
All was now darkness and confusion in the chapel; but it was evidentthat the number of persons it contained increased every moment. Theyoung cavalier strove violently to free himself, and, by an exertion ofhis great strength, dragged his assailants hither and thither; but stillthey clung to him; still, twining round his arms, they prevented himfrom grasping either sword or dagger, and from reaching the smallhunting-horn which he carried at his side, and which he knew, could hebut blow it, would bring assistance speedily. Frustrated in his attemptto lift it to h
is lips, he raised his voice and shouted loudly; butfresh assailants poured upon him; a scarf was tied over his mouth; hishands were pinioned behind, and he found himself irretrievably aprisoner.
All was darkness, as I have said; not the least light appeared in thechapel, and no words were spoken aloud by any one; so that all Bernardde Rohan could hear was the moving of many feet; a low, murmuringwhisper, as if of consultation or direction; and the sobbing of a bosomwhich he knew too well to be that of her he loved best on earth. At onetime a voice was raised somewhat louder than the rest, and he thought hedistinguished the tones of Adrian de Meyrand. The next moment anothervoice that he did not know replied, "No, not that way. Keep that doorshut. There is another here which leads us thither more quickly."
Now completely overpowered--although his heart burned within him, and helonged for the strength of him who cast down the temple of Gaza to burstthe bonds upon his hands--Bernard de Rohan strove no longer with thosewho held him, for he felt that to struggle was utterly vain.Nevertheless, it was not without rude violence that they dragged himalong through the vestry, and from thence by a small door into the openair. The scarf was still over his mouth, so that he could not speak, andcould scarcely breathe; but, as there was some slight increase of light,he looked eagerly around him. Isabel, however, was not to be seen. Therewere some dark, scattered groups here and there, but he coulddistinguish no one clearly, and was dragged on towards the rock on whichthe castle of Masseran stood.
Into whose power he had now fallen there was no doubt. The character ofthe man was well known; and, had Bernard de Rohan thought at that momentof his own probable fate, he could have anticipated nothing but thedarkest and most atrocious termination of the act which had been justcommitted. At that moment, however, he thought alone of Isabel deBrienne; and he remembered, with grief and agony that will not beardescription, what might be the consequences to her of falling into thehands of the Lord of Masseran under such circumstances, and beyond thepale of her native country.
They dragged him on, however, across the short space which lay betweenthe rock on which the castle stood and the chapel, to a spot where adoorway presented itself, hewn in the solid stone, under the arch ofwhich appeared a soldier with a light. Into his hands those who broughthim thither consigned the young French gentleman, pushing him forward,and saying, "There, take him, and put him where my lord told you."
The man with the light replied nothing, but with another, who had beenstanding behind him, received the prisoner from the hands of hiscomrades, and, with somewhat more gentleness than they had shown, ledhim onward. The moment he had taken a step or two forward, a large,oblong mass of solid rock, which, turning upon a pivot, served thepurpose of a door, and, when shut, blocked up the whole passage that ledunder ground to the castle, rolled slowly to behind him. He went onpatiently, for it was clear that no effort of his own could effectanything towards his deliverance; and when he had gone on some way andascended a small flight of steps, he found another armed man standingwith a light at a door plated with iron. Those who followed told him togo in, and he found himself in a dungeon, of which he was evidently notthe first tenant, for there was a crust of bread covered with long greenmould upon the table, and a broken water-pitcher in one corner of theroom. There was a bed, too, with some straw, at one side of the door,and a single chair; but besides these necessaries there appeared hangingfrom the wall, to which they were attached by a stanchion imbedded inthe solid masonry, a large, heavy ring, and some strong linked fetters.At these Bernard de Rohan gazed for a moment fiercely, and then turnedhis eyes to one of his jailers, who had been removing the mouldy crustfrom the table and the broken water-cruise from the corner of thedungeon.
The man seemed to understand the look at once. "No!" he said, "no! Theyare not for you unless you are violent. But we may let you speak now asmuch as you like;" and he untied the scarf from Bernard de Rohan's lips.The young cavalier drew a deep breath, and then demanded, "What is this?Why am I here? Take notice, and remember that I am an officer of Henrythe Second, king of France, now actually on his service; that I camehither from the Marechal de Brissac, with despatches and messages to theLord of Masseran; and that bitter will be the punishment of all thosewho injure or detain me."
The man heard him to the end with the most perfect composure, and thenreplied, "We neither know nor care, young gentleman, who or what youare, or in whose service you are. We obey the commands of our own lord;and, if you are inclined to give up all resistance and be quiet, we willuntie your arms, and let you have the free use of your limbs and tongue.There is only one thing necessary for you to tell us. Will you be quietand peaceable, or will you not?"
"I have no choice," replied Bernard de Rohan, in a bitter tone. "As youhave wrongfully and unjustly made me a prisoner, I have no power ofresisting whatsoever you choose to do with me."
"That is talking sensibly," replied the man; "but, in the first place,if you please, we will take away all these pleasant little things fromyou, as I would rather have them in my hand than my throat." And hedeliberately stripped the prisoner of all his weapons, to keep them, ashe said, with a laugh, for his use at a future time. He then untied hisarms, which were benumbed with the tight straining of the cords withwhich they had bound him, and saying, "I will bring you some food," hemoved towards the door where his companions stood.
"I want no food," replied Bernard de Rohan, gloomily; and in his hearthe asked himself if any human being could find appetite to eat in suchan abode as that.
"You will come to it, young gentleman, you will come to it," replied theman; "before you get out, you will come to it well enough. I have seenmany a one who thought of nothing else all the day long but the time foreating and drinking. Why, it was the only thing they had to do withlife. They might as well have been a stone in the wall if it had notbeen for that."
With this awful sermon upon the imprisonment that awaited him, thejailer set down the lamp he held in his hand and went away. He returnedin a minute or two, however, with some food, which he placed upon thetable before which the young cavalier was still standing, exactly as theother had left him. The man gave him a cold look, as if merely to seehow he bore it, and then once more quitted the dungeon, turning the keyin the heavy lock.
Bernard de Rohan remained long in that same attitude, and filled withthe same dark and melancholy thoughts. Still, still they pressed uponhis brain, although he sought to banish them and to bear his conditionwith his usual equanimity and fortitude. He was not one ever to give wayto despair where any opportunity existed for active exertion; but herehe could do nothing. With his own hand he could not right himself. Withhis own voice he could not plead his cause. Talent or genius he mightpossess, but all in vain. Vigour and courage were useless. There was butone thing left--endurance; a species of courage which the very bravestdo not always possess. Bernard de Rohan strove to summon it to his aid.It came but slowly, however; and, when he thought of Isabel of Brienne,his own sweet, beautiful bride, snatched from him in the very firstmoment that he could call her so, resolution forsook him, and in agonyof heart he cast himself down upon the straw in his dungeon. Was thathis bridal bed?
Corse de Leon; or, The Brigand: A Romance. Volume 1 (of 2) Page 9
