CHAPTER XIII.
The great tamers of strong spirits, the quellers of the rebelliousheart, the conquerors of the obdurate, the determined, and the enduring,Silence and Solitude, were upon Bernard de Rohan. To know nothing ofwhat is passing without; to have no marker of the steps of time; to seeno sun rise or set; to have not even the moving shadow upon the wall totell us that another lapse of the wearisome hours has taken place; tohave nothing, in short, to link us on to human destinies, and to show usthat we are wending on our way with our fellow-beings--nothing but thedull beatings of the heavy heart, and the grinding succession of bitterthoughts--this, surely, is not life; and if it be not death, it issomething worse. Where there is no change of anything to mark itspassing, time seems, in truth, to sink back into that ocean from whichit was called at first, Eternity: and, wanting all means of calculatingits flight, Bernard de Rohan did indeed feel each moment to be an age.Actual pain would have been almost a relief to the despairing vacuity ofthat which must have been the second day of his confinement. We canscarcely doubt that the punishment of Prometheus would have been morecomplete, had he been left in the solitude of the frowning heavens,without the vulture as his companion, though his tormentor.
No one came near the young cavalier throughout the whole day. The foodwhich had been left for him was just sufficient for the four-and-twentyhours: more than sufficient, as it proved, indeed, for he tasted it not;and when, at the end of that period, it was renewed, so quick was thepassing in and out of him who brought the fresh supply, that the youngcavalier scarcely saw the man's entrance ere the door was again closed,and he was once more alone.
It seemed to him several hours after this brief visitation had beenmade--and true it is, he had gone through so many ranges of painfulthought, that they might well have furnished occupation and bitternessfor more than one long day--when he heard a sound at the door of thedungeon, as if some one endeavoured, with an unaccustomed hand, to drawback the heavy bolts and turn a key in the lock. At the same time, heheard a low, deep voice murmur, "The fool should have left a lamp!" "Ay,that is right!" and the next moment the key turned, the lock gave way,and the door was thrown open.
The lamp which had been left with Bernard de Rohan burned but dimly, forit had been long untrimmed, so that at first the young cavalier did notrecognise the person who entered. The next instant, however, his visiterspoke, and the deep but melodious voice instantly brought to theprisoner's recollection his wild companion, Corse de Leon.
"Ah! Monsieur de Rohan," said the brigand, looking around him as heentered, "I have not forgotten you you see. Out upon that scoundrel! Howdared he put you in such a place as this? He might have given you abefitting chamber, at all events."
Bernard de Rohan grasped his hand; and, needing no words to assure himthat the brigand came to set him free, he thanked him again and again,but mingled, however, his thanks with some marvellings to see him withinthe chateau of Masseran.
The brigand smiled. "There is nothing wonderful in it, Monsieur deRohan," he replied. "There is not a door in this castle that does notopen to me as readily as to its lord. All these things are easilyexplained. Some of the poor people with whom I have to do think me halfa magician, and it is not worth while to undeceive them, though I seeknot for any such reputation. Truth is marvellous enough, without tryingto make it more wonderful," he continued, in a musing tone; "and allthat I do which seems strange may, nine times out of ten, be explainedby a single word. I believe that it is so, too, with the wonders ofcreation. We gaze with surprised and astonished eyes upon thousands ofthings that seem miracles to our earthly nature: we are, ourselves,miracles to ourselves; but I do believe that all the wonders that wesee, the marvel of our very existence, the linking of fates together,and the long network of events and their causes, from the beginning ofall things to eternity, might all be explained to us by some simple wordwhich God's good pleasure now withholds; by some short, briefexplanation, which is not fitted for this mass of moving clay toreceive."
As he spoke, he sat himself quietly down on the edge of the bed, took upthe lamp, trimmed it in a careless manner, and then added abstractedly,"We must wait a few minutes, Monsieur de Rohan, for the horses are notcome yet, and it is as well to stay here as upon the hillside."
"But is there no danger of our being stopped?" demanded Bernard deRohan.
Corse de Leon smiled. "It were difficult to stop me," he said; "butnobody will try to do it. You know the Lord of Masseran is gone toParis?"
"No, indeed," replied the young cavalier; "I know nothing, and I haveheard nothing, since I have been a prisoner in this dreary place. Hehas, of course, taken, my Isabel with him?"
"Oh, no," replied the brigand. "He set out for Paris with great speedfor several reasons: first, because he knew suspicions are entertainedof him in regard to his dealings with the King of Spain; next, becausehe feared that inquiry would be made as to what has become of you, andhe wished to justify himself; and, next, because he did not choose totrust your goodly friend, the Count of Meyrand, in anything, butespecially--"
"But where, then, is Isabel?" demanded the young cavalier.
"Ay, who can say!" rejoined Corse de Leon.
Bernard de Rohan started up eagerly. "Let us seek for her at once,then," he said. "If, as you say, all the doors of this castle open toyou as easily as to their lord, let us seek her through every room inthe place, and take her with us when we go. In Heaven's name leave hernot here!"
"She is not here, wherever she is," replied the brigand; "and I trustthat by this time she is free; but I will tell you more by-and-by, for Ihear the clock striking one, and we shall have just time to reach thehillside before the horses arrive. Come, Monsieur de Rohan, come. Theyhave taken your arms from you, I see. Well, we must find you others."
Thus saying, he raised the lamp, and led the way towards the door. As hewent, however, the light fell upon the fetters which hung against thewall, and he paused, gazing upon them and frowning heavily. "Ah, ah,accursed implements of tyranny!" he muttered, "When, when will the timecome that ye shall be no longer known! God of Heaven! even then it mustbe remembered that such things have been. It must be written in books.It must be told in tradition, that men were found to chain theirfellow-creatures with heavy bars of iron, to make them linger out thebright space given them for activity and enjoyment in dungeons and infetters, till the dull flame was extinguished, and dust returned todust. Would to Heaven that there were no such thing as history, toperpetuate, even unto times when man shall have purified his heart fromthe filthy baseness of these days, the memory of such enormous deeds asfetters like that record! Out upon it! Was it for this that man learnedto dig the ore from the mine, and forge the hard metal in the fire? Butcome, come! I am forgetting myself;" and he led the way forth along thesame path by which Bernard de Rohan had been brought from the chapel.The ponderous doors in the solid rock were all open; but the youngcavalier remarked that Corse de Leon closed them one by one behind him,till at length they stood in the open air at the foot of the hill.
It were difficult, nay, impossible, to describe the sensations which thefirst breath of that free air produced in Bernard de Rohan. It wouldrequire to have been a captive, and yet full of the spirit of freedom,to have contemplated long imprisonment, and to be suddenly set free,even to comprehend what he then felt. His sensations, however, foundvent but in one exclamation. "Thank God!" he said, and followed hiscompanion, who now, with rapid strides, climbed the opposite side of thehill, till he reached the spot where he had waited for Bernard de Rohanon the night when first they met. No horses were there, however, andCorse de Leon seated himself on a point of the crag, and seemed about tofall into one of his fits of revery; but his young companion was notdisposed to rest satisfied without some farther information.
"Now," he said, "now! You promised to tell me more--you promised to tellme more concerning Isabel. With whom is she? In whose hands is she, ifnot in those of the Lord of Masseran?"
"She was," replied Corse de Leon, "
she was in the hands of your brightfriend, the Count de Meyrand."
Bernard de Rohan's hand grasped for the hilt of his sword, but it wasgone; and he only muttered the words "Villain, villain! I thought Iheard that treacherous voice. Who shall one depend upon in this world?"
"Upon none of those," replied Corse de Leon, "whom men are accustomed todepend upon. Not upon the gay companion of the winecup, who aids uspleasantly to spend our wealth or to squander our more precious time:not upon him, not upon him, young gentleman! Not upon the smooth-spokenand the plausible adviser, who counsels with us on things where our owninterest and his are combined, and who uses our exertions and our meansto share in our fortune and our success: not upon him, I say, not uponhim! Not upon the sweet flatterer, who either dexterously insinuates howvirtuous, and great, and good and wise we are, or who boldly overloadsus with praise, in the hope of some, at least, being received: not uponhim, I say. Not upon the pander to our vices or our follies, even thoughhe sell his soul to pamper us with gratification: not upon him. Not uponthe light wanton, who yields us what she should refuse, vowing that itis love for us which conquers, when love for many another has gonebefore: not upon her. Neither on the priest that preaches virtue withoutpractising it; neither upon the soft hypocrite, nor upon the rudehypocrite; neither upon the one who assumes sleek sanctity, nor upon theother who builds the reputation of honesty upon a rough outside. Thereare some that will weep with you, and some that will laugh with you;some that will discourse, and some that will sport with you; but trustin none but him that you have tried, but him whom you know to be honestto himself, and who has proved himself honest to you. We were speakingof the Count de Meyrand. That he has betrayed you and deceived you mostshamefully is his fault, not yours; for, though you believed him honest,you did not weakly trust him. It were well, when you find him, to nailhis ears to the doorpost; but still you have nothing to reproachyourself with. I trust, however, that sweet and good lady is by thistime freed from his hands, for one who loves her very well hasundertaken that part of the task."
"But how," exclaimed Bernard de Rohan, "how came she in his power atall?"
Corse de Leon replied briefly, but with sufficient detail to show hishearer at one glance all that had taken place in regard to Isabel deBrienne since he had seen her. The deep and bitter indignation thatgathered at the young cavalier's heart as his companion went on, was notof a nature that wasted itself in many words. "This must be looked to!"he said; "this must be looked to! And now, my friend, to think of thisdear girl's escape. Can we trust to good Father Willand? Not his faith,I mean, but his power. He is there, it would seem, alone, unaided,unsupported, to cope with a man artful, rich, powerful, and numerouslyfollowed."
"We may trust him, I am sure," replied the other. "This count's art,like all pitiful art, will help to deceive himself; and in quiet wisdomhe cannot compete with the good priest. Besides, Father Willand is notso unsupported as you think. It may seem strange to you to hear, butmany of your own men, nay, I believe all, are with him or round abouthim."
"No," replied Bernard de Rohan, "that surprises me not. Most of themwere born within sight of the lands of Brienne--most of them have oftenseen and know her well, and there is none who has seen her that wouldnot willingly sacrifice life to serve her."
Corse de Leon smiled with somewhat of a melancholy expression. In life,when we have lost any of those sweet delusions which, like the radiantcolours of the morning sky, clothe, at the dawning of our youth, thinair itself and unsubstantial vapours, nay, perhaps even the cloudy homeof the future storm, with loveliness and radiance, and the most glowinghues of Heaven's own golden treasury--when we have lost those sweetdelusions, I say, and any one with whom they still remain speaks of thereality of things whose emptiness we have proved, how sad, howprofoundly sad, is the contrast suddenly presented to us, of what wewere and what we are! how melancholy is the conviction of the emptinessof our dream-like life! And yet there is something sweet which mingleseven with our sadness, to see others enjoying and believing what we canno longer enjoy or believe; something ennobling and elevating thatshares in our melancholy, if the feeling of how unreal are life's bestjoys lead us to sigh for those that are more true and lasting.
Bernard de Rohan saw not the expression upon the countenance of hiscompanion, although the night was clear and bright, and sufficient lightremained in the heavens to make even small objects visible; but hiseyes were at that moment fixed upon the castle of Masseran, andmore especially upon one of the outstanding towers to the northeast,separated from the rest of the building by a space of two orthree hundred yards, and only attached to it by walls and minorfortifications. In that tower there appeared a great light, at firststreaming through some of the upper loopholes only. After a moment ortwo, however, it became brighter and brighter, and poured through allthe windows of the story below. Bernard de Rohan could almost haveimagined that, as he gazed, he saw flames come forth and lick the darkstonework of the tower; and he was soon confirmed in the belief that itwas so, by the wreaths of pale white smoke which began to ascend intothe dark air, and in a minute or two formed a cloud above the tower,acquiring a red and ominous hue as the fire below increased.
"Look there! look there!" he exclaimed, catching Corse de Leon's arm;but, even as he spoke, the roof of the tower fell in, and a pyramid offlame shot upward into the sky.
"Yes, I see," replied Corse de Leon; "but here come the horses! and wemust go quick to the spot where I trust we shall find her whom you seekfor. Then, get you across the frontier into France as soon as may be.Your own men will be sufficient to protect you, and will be glad to seeyou; for, notwithstanding that they may, as you think, love your fairIsabel well, they would not have gone unless we had put a light deceitupon them, and had left them to think, more than told them it was so,that you and the lady were together. Those I have with me here dare notset foot within that land, and the other friends I have are far distant.That was the reason I did not make her free myself, and punish thatslight traitor as he deserves."
While he spoke, three or four horsemen appeared, leading two otherhorses, and, without taking any farther notice of the conflagration,Corse de Leon put his foot in the stirrup, and, springing into thesaddle, rode on towards the little inn which we have often before hadoccasion to mention.
The young cavalier followed his example; but, before they had gone ahundred yards, a loud explosion took place, which shook the rocksaround, and echoed afar through the valley. Their horses started at thesound, and Bernard and his companion turned their eyes towards thecastle of Masseran. The burning tower had now lost all shape and form,though part of the walls still remained, with the fire clinging to themin various places.
"Do you know what that is?" demanded Corse de Leon; and, ere Bernard deRohan could reply, he went on. "It is an act of folly worthy of a kingor a prime minister. There are people in that castle," he said, "who,knowing of my coming and of your escape, have done the act, the effectsof which you see flaming yonder, in order that the tower may fall in andcrush the dungeon into which they had thrust you, solely to prevent theLord of Masseran from discovering how you have escaped. Thus it is withthe world; every one act of weakness, of folly, or of crime, we judgemust be followed by another, to conceal or to justify it. Let men orministers place themselves in a dangerous situation by some capitalfault, and then they think expediency requires them to commit another toobviate the effects of the first, forgetting that each fault is writtendown in the two eternal books--the Book of Fate, God's servant, and theBook of God himself; and that there must be a reckoning, a terriblereckoning, for the whole amount, in this world and in the next. Let usride on."