Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 489
The Count of Plouernel drew his sword and with the flat of the blade struck Nominoë across the face, crying:
“Vile clown! That is for your having dared to raise your eyes to Mademoiselle Plouernel — while you wait to be hanged from the gibbet!”
Such was the violence of the blow that although it was given with the flat of the sword blood spurted out of Nominoë’s cheek and forehead. He emitted a terrible cry, and clenched his fists, but noticing a traveling cutlass hanging at Serdan’s side he seized it and precipitated himself upon the Count of Plouernel.
“Count!” shouted the Marquis of Chateauvieux, also drawing his sword, “let us kill the vassal like a dog!”
Salaun ran to the help of his son, who was attacked by two adversaries at once; jumped at the neck of the Marquis of Chateauvieux; threw him to the ground; and, despite all the resistance that he offered, disarmed him; while Nominoë, after dexterously parrying a blow aimed at him by the Count of Plouernel, struck back so heavily with the reverse of the cutlass upon the Count’s wrist that his hand was paralyzed and dropped the sword. All this happened with the swiftness of thought. Despite the Count’s conduct towards her, Mademoiselle Plouernel emitted a cry of terror at the sight of her brother engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict with Nominoë. At the risk of being struck by both in the heat of the combat, she rushed forward to separate them. Trembling at the danger that the young girl ran, Serdan threw his arms around her and held her back. The girl uttered a piercing cry, staggered, became ashen pale; her head fell backward, she fainted away overcome with terror, and would have dropped to the ground but for Serdan holding her up and seating her gently upon the grass with her back supported by the old oak tree. Mademoiselle Plouernel had lost all consciousness. In the midst of the tumult, the forester guardsmen whom one of the Count’s equerries had gone in search of as ordered by his master, stepped upon the scene, armed with their muskets and hunting knives.
“To me, guardsmen! Arrest these assassins! Do not kill them, I shall bring them to justice!” cried the Count of Plouernel, whom the blow of Nominoë’s cutlass had rendered helpless, and who held his bleeding and mutilated right hand in his left, while Nominoë himself, seeing Bertha lying unconscious at the foot of the old dead oak, flung away his cutlass, and thinking only of Mademoiselle Plouernel, threw himself upon his knees beside the young girl.
At the call of their seigneur, the guardsmen, to the number of eight, rushed upon Salaun Lebrenn and Serdan. Disarmed by Nominoë, the latter could offer no effective resistance to the men who sought to seize him. Salaun, however, drawing his mariner’s sword, returned thrust for thrust to the guardsmen who attacked him, and called out to his son, who was on his knees beside Bertha:
“Up, Nominoë! Defend yourself! Let us defend ourselves!”
Salaun’s voice expired upon his lips. He was knocked down by a heavy blow, dealt from behind with the butt of a musket by one of the guardsmen while he fought two others in front, one of whom he succeeded in wounding. Serdan was also floored, and then pinioned with the shoulder straps of the guardsmen, the same as Salaun, who had dropped to the ground dazed by the blow which he received. Finally, Nominoë, delirious with grief, was, upon a sign from the Count of Plouernel torn from Bertha by the foresters. His mind seemed to wander. He allowed himself to be bound without offering any resistance whatever.
“Monseigneur,” a lackey came and said to the Count of Plouernel, “Madam the Marchioness and Monsieur the Abbot took a carriage to join in the search for mademoiselle; they met the equerry who was bringing the forester guardsmen; their carriage is near by; Madam the Marchioness sent me to receive monseigneur’s orders.”
“Go and tell Monsieur the Abbot that I request him to come here without delay. We need his services,” the Count of Plouernel answered the lackey.
And addressing the Marquis of Chateauvieux:
“My friend, you will have to help the Abbot to transport my sister to the carriage. I shall join you there — I can hardly hold myself on my feet; I am losing so much blood that I am afraid I shall faint.”
Then, finally, turning to the three prisoners, who stood with lowering brows, motionless and silent, and firmly bound, the Count cried:
“Bandits! Murderers! I am vested with low and high judicial powers in my seigniory. You shall be tried to-night — and hanged to-morrow.”
“Marquis, were there not four of these brigands? I only see three. What became of the fourth?”
“Indeed, it seems to me there were four of them — one of them had a white vest on,” answered the Marquis of Chateauvieux, remembering having seen Madok the miller, who, at the approach of the forester guardsmen disappeared in the thickest of the wood.
“Monseigneur,” said one of the foresters to the Count, “as we entered the clearing we saw a man flee through the copse; he was probably the companion of the prisoners, the one you are missing.”
“The wood will have to be beaten and the bandit found — he shall be hanged with his accomplices.”
Abbot Boujaron arrived at that moment. He looked bewildered. He was informed of the tragic adventure and helped the Marquis of Chateauvieux to transport to the carriage Mademoiselle Plouernel, who, pale and inert, seemed dead but for the convulsive tremors that shook her frame from time to time. She was laid down upon the cushions of the carriage near the Marchioness. The Count took a seat beside his sister, and the carriage returned to the castle at full speed.
Bertha was taken to her own apartment and locked up with her nurse. She was not to come out again but to be consigned to a cloister by orders of the King. Before nightfall, Serdan, Salaun Lebrenn and his son, whom the foresters led off, were separately imprisoned in the cells of the manor — the sumptuous Renaissance palace was furnished with its subterranean prisons, the same as the ancient feudal dungeon, seeing that the seigneur of the Seventeenth exercised, like his ancestor of the Eleventh Century, the functions of high and low judicial magistrate. Reassured on the score of the wound received by the Count of Plouernel, the Marquis of Chateauvieux hastened to obey the orders of the Governor of Brittany, who summoned him to Rennes without delay, together with the two companies of his regiment; but he left, however, with the Count, for the latter’s security, the detachment of Sergeant La Montagne, which he had summoned to Plouernel the day before.
CHAPTER VII.
EZ-LIBR.
IT WAS CLOSE on midnight. The moon, now on the wane, had just risen in a cloudless sky. Hardly had the silvery crescent lifted itself above the horizon when the parish bells, spread over an area of about ten square leagues round about the burg of Plouernel sounded the tocsin at their loudest. At the signal, a troop of peasants armed with hatchets, hay-forks, scythes and old halberds, and preceded by a sort of vanguard consisting of fifty men armed with muskets, sallied out of the burg of Plouernel. They followed in silence the long avenue that led to the iron gate of the court of honor before the castle. At the head of this vanguard marched Gildas Lebrenn, the leasehold peasant of Karnak, Madok the miller, three leasehold peasants of the domain of Plouernel itself, and Tankeru. Tankeru carried, flung over his shoulder, his heavy blacksmith’s hammer into the head of which he had cut the Breton words: EZ-LIBR — To Be Free. His arms were bare; in the pocket of his leathern apron was a roll of paper partly visible above the edge. The light of the moon illumined Tankeru’s face. In two nights the sturdy man’s hair had turned grey. His features were hardly recognizable since Tina’s death. Despair had left its stamp upon them. He stopped at about a hundred paces from the iron gate of the castle, and said to Madok in a hollow voice:
“We swore to Salaun Lebrenn that we would follow his advice and place justice on our side before coming to blows, and to submit the Peasant Code for the approval of the Seigneur Count. Perhaps he has already hanged Salaun; but, dead or alive, Salaun has our word. We shall keep it! Tell our men to stop at the avenue. We shall enter the castle unarmed.”
The order was given and executed. The vanguard, together with the troop of armed vassals, halted under the trees of the avenue. Tankeru and his five companions advanced to the iron gate, which closed the entrance to the court of honor and stood between two pavilions, where the gateman or porter was housed. The vestibule and all the windows on the first floor of the castle could be seen brilliantly illuminated. Tankeru drew near the gate and called:
“Halloa! Porter! Porter! Come out!”
The porter, clad in a rich livery, came out of one of the pavilions, and approaching Tankeru, inquired:
“Who goes there? What do you want?”
“We want to speak with your master, and on the spot. Open the gate of the castle.”
“You, clown?” answered the porter, with the insolence of a lackey, as he spied through the iron bars the blacksmith and his companions, all of whom were poorly clad. “Go your ways! Go, barefooted rabble! If you don’t, I shall take my cane and come out — and then, look to your backs!”
“If you do not open, I shall force the gate!” cried Tankeru to the porter, who started to return to his pavilion grumbling.
Tankeru seized his hammer in both his hands, swung it, and with one blow snapped the lock of the gate. It flew open. The frightened porter ran towards the winding staircase of the castle, shouting:
“Help!”
The six vassals entered the court of honor, and walked across it at a rapid pace. Suddenly Tankeru stopped. His eyes had caught sight of three gibbets, recently reared, as shown by the fresh earth that was thrown up at their feet. He called Gildas’s attention to the instruments of death, and said:
“We arrive on time! The gibbets are intended for Salaun, his friend Serdan, and—”
The blacksmith did not mention the name of Nominoë. His features contracted and assumed a frightful expression. The robust man smothered a sob, clenched with convulsive rage the handle of his heavy hammer, and pursued his march a few stops ahead of his companions.
The frightened gateman rushed into the vestibule of the castle where a large number of other lackeys were playing cards. Among the gamesters was Sergeant La Montagne and his corporal. The soldiers of his detachment, tired out with their recent tramp, were resting in one of the adjoining out-buildings.
“A number of vassals have forced open the gate!” shouted the porter as he tumbled in. “They demand to see monseigneur immediately! Go and tell the Count, and ask his orders!”
One of the lackeys ran off to carry the news to his master. The Count was at that moment discussing with his bailiffs, Abbot Boujaron and the Marchioness of Tremblay the sentence that was to be pronounced upon the three “murderers” early next morning. At first stupefied at the audacity of his vassals, the Count bounded up with indignation, and left the hall, followed by his bailiffs and Abbot Boujaron. As the Abbot crossed the vestibule he perceived Sergeant La Montagne, stepped towards him, and gave him a few hurried instructions in a low voice. The sergeant forthwith called to him his corporal, and both left the antechamber by an inside staircase. With his arm in a sling, followed by his bailiffs, and surrounded by a bevy of gallooned lackeys carrying torches in their hands, the Count of Plouernel presented himself upon the stairway of the castle at the moment when Tankeru was ascending the lower steps. The blacksmith and his friends had reached the middle of the stairs when the Abbot said in an undertone to the young Count of Plouernel:
“Gain time — a quarter of an hour, or if but ten minutes. The sergeant has gone out to wake up the soldiers and arm them, together with the forester guards. We shall bag the whole pack.”
The Count of Plouernel nodded with his head approvingly to the Abbot, and addressed his vassals in an angry tone:
“Wretches, who forced the gate of my court! What do you want? What do you come for?”
“You shall know in a minute, monseigneur,” answered Tankeru in a firm voice as he drew the scroll of paper from the pocket of his leathern apron. While so doing, he ascended the steps that separated him from the landing where the Count of Plouernel stood, and handed him the writing: “Read this, if you please, monseigneur.”
“What is this silly paper that you hand me, rustic?”
“It is the PEASANT CODE, monseigneur. Our code, the code of the poor, of the rustics, as you call us, Count of Plouernel.”
“In other words, ye clowns, you presume to discuss!”
“Monseigneur,” replied Tankeru, “we here are six honorable men who are delegated by your vassals of Mezlean and Plouernel. In that writing, which contains the Peasant Code, we humbly present our grievances, and we endeavor to lay down, as clearly as is in our power, the rules that it may please you to observe towards us, monseigneur, from this day on. It is in great humbleness that we present our code to you, monseigneur.”
“A code! Rules dictated by this rustic rabble!” stammered the Count of Plouernel, beside himself with rage. “The audacity! Is it insolence, carried to a climax? Is it folly? Or are these clowns simply drunk? Go back, rustics! Back to your work!”
“Humor the miscreants,” whispered the Abbot to the Count; “entertain them, gain time; the soldiers and the foresters must be here soon — we must bag the whole pack.”
“Indeed, my clowns. You present your grievances?” proceeded the Count of Plouernel, thus admonished, with supreme disdain not unmixed with stupefaction. “So you have drawn up rules that it may please me to observe towards you! The grievances of this plebs must be droll to read!”
“We have taken the liberty, monseigneur, to submit our grievances to you. We are at the end of our endurance; this must change! In short, we demand of you no longer to be treated worse than draft animals; we demand of you, monseigneur, no longer to be driven with sticks applied to our backs; we demand of you, monseigneur, no longer to be overwhelmed with taxes imposed at your good pleasure; we demand of you, monseigneur, no longer to be thrown into prison, whipped with switches, sent to the galleys, or hanged if we kill your stags, or your boars, when they enter our fields and ravage our crops; finally, we demand of you — but read the paper, monseigneur, and you will see that all we ask is Justice — read the Peasant Code! Accept it; it will not ruin you — far from it! But then at least, we and our families would no longer die of hunger, neither worse nor better than foundered horses! We shall still continue to work for you from dawn to dusk, monseigneur, you will still have the larger share, we the smaller; — but then you would allow us to live as the creatures of the good God should live! Accept the Peasant Code, monseigneur; sign it; be, then, faithful to your signature, and we will be faithful to our agreement — it will mean peace — a good peace for you and for our families.”
“Ho! Ho!” broke in the Count of Plouernel, whom the audacity of his vassals threw into all manner of wrathful transports. “So, then, if I accept your code, we shall have peace? Whence it follows that, in case I refuse — please complete your sentence!”
“‘Sdeath! It will then be war, monseigneur! And, take notice, it will then be your fault, not ours,” answered Tankeru resolutely. “Finally, in order to cancel the whole bill, we demand of you that it may please you to set free three prisoners whom you are holding in the castle. You intend to have them hanged. Well, monseigneur, you must deliver them to us, if you please; they must be set free — without further delay. If not—”
“If not?” cried the Count of Plouernel at the end of his patience. “If I refuse to set the prisoners free, what will you do? Please answer, miserable fellow! What will you do? I would like to know!”
“‘Sdeath! Monseigneur, we shall set them free ourselves! We shall open the war. It will be you who will have made the choice!”
“This is too much!” cried the Count of Plouernel. But suddenly breaking off and listening to windward, he turned to the Abbot and asked: “Is not that the ringing of the tocsin that I hear from afar?”
“Yes, monseigneur,” observed Tankeru in a hollow voice that now waxed threatening. “With the rise of the moon, the tocsin was rung in all the parishes of your seigniories of Plouernel and Mezlean — it is now ringing at Rennes — at Nantes — at Quimper, where the fight is on. Everywhere the revolt is on — war everywhere — in case our seigneurs refuse to accept the Peasant Code. Decide on the spot!”
And pointing with his hand in the direction of the avenue to the castle, where the troop of armed vassals was assembled, the blacksmith added:
“All the people of Plouernel and other parishes are yonder under arms; they are waiting for your answer, monseigneur! It will be peace, if you sign the Peasant Code and deliver us the prisoners; if not — fire and flames! — it will be war! War without mercy towards you, as you have been towards us, merciless and pitiless.”
“Sergeant! Kill these rebels with your bayonets, or the brigands down the avenue will hear the fire of your muskets and run to their help!” suddenly ordered the Count of Plouernel addressing Sergeant La Montagne, who, at the head of his men and hidden in the dark, had noiselessly crept along the façade of the castle. “This way, foresters!” added the Count in a ringing voice. “The castle is going to be attacked! Kill, kill the malignant rustic plebs — kill them all!”
“Run the clowns through! Let not one escape! Head and bowels! They tried to disarm us on the road to Mezlean!” cried Sergeant La Montagne. “This is our revenge! Prick them through and through! Death to the rustics!”
At the word of command the soldiers suddenly rushed forth upon the staircase, charging Tankeru and his companions with their bayonets.
While the soldiers turned to obey the order to massacre the vassals upon the stairway of the castle, Nominoë was awaiting death in his cell, whither the forester guards of the Count had taken him. The bailiff of the seigniory, assisted by his registrar, had proceeded to interrogate the prisoner, who was charged with a murderous attempt, followed by wounds, upon the person of the very high, very powerful and very redoubtable seigneur, etc. Nominoë remained silent, declining to answer any of the bailiff’s questions. The only words he uttered were to inquire about the condition of Mademoiselle Plouernel. Not considering it fit to impart the information to the prisoner, the officer of justice once more urged him to consider that his refusal to answer the charges against him was equivalent to a confession of guilt on his part, and that the crime, in which he was caught red-handed, was punishable with death. The prisoner was to appear early the next morning at the bar of the seigniorial tribunal, together with his two accomplices, guilty like himself of attempted murder, also followed by serious wounds upon the person of the very high, very powerful and very redoubtable seigneur, etc. The execution of the sentence was immediately to follow the judgment. The three gibbets were to be erected that same night. Nominoë persisted in his silence. Thereupon the bailiff and the registrar took their departure, and he was left alone.
