CHAPTER II. LORDS OF LIFE AND DEATH
One friend did La Boulaye count in the village of Bellecour. Thiswas old Duhamel, the schoolmaster, an eccentric pedant and afellow-worshipper of the immortal Jean Jacques. It was to him that LaBoulaye now repaired intent upon seeking counsel touching a future thatwore that morning a singularly gloomy outlook.
He found Duhamel's door open, and he stepped across the threshold intothe chief room of the house. But there he paused, and hesitated. Thechamber was crowded with people in holiday attire, and the centre ofattraction was a well-set-up peasant with a happy, sun-tanned face,whose golden locks were covered by a huge round hat decked with a scoreof gaily-coloured ribbons.
At sight of him La Boulaye remembered that it was Charlot's wedding-day.Popular amongst the women by virtue of his comeliness, and respectedby the men by virtue of his strength, Charlot Tardivet was a generalfavourite of the countryside, and here, in the room of old Duhamel, theschoolmaster, was half the village gathered to do him honour upon hiswedding morn. It was like Duhamel, who, in fatherliness towards thevillagers, went near out-rivalling M. le Cure, to throw open his housefor the assembling of Charlot's friends, and La Boulaye was touched bythis fresh sign of kindliness from a man whose good heart he had notlacked occasion to observe and appreciate. But it came to the secretarythat there was no place for him in this happy assemblage. His adventwould, probably, but serve to cast a gloom upon them, considering theconditions under which he came, with the signs of violence upon his faceto remind them of the lords of life and death who dwelt at the Chateauup yonder. And such a reminder must fall upon them as does the reminderof some overhanging evil clutch suddenly at our hearts in happy momentsof forgetfulness. To let them be happy that day, to leave their feastsfree of a death's head, La Boulaye would have withdrawn had he notalready been too late. Duhamel had espied him, and the little, wizenedold man came hurrying forward, his horn-rimmed spectacles perched onthe very end of his nose, his keen little eyes beaming with delight andwelcome.
"Ah, Caron, you are very choicely come," he cried, holding out bothhands to La Boulaye. "You shall embrace our happy Hercules yonder, andwish him joy of the wedded life he has the audacity to exploit." Then,as he espied the crimson ridge across the secretary's countenance, "MonDieu!" he exclaimed, "what have you done to yourself, Caron?"
"Pish! It is nothing," answered La Boulaye hurriedly, and would have hadthe subject dismissed, but that one of the onlooking peasants sworeby the memory of some long-dead saint that it was the cut of a whip.Duhamel's eyes kindled and his parchment-like skin was puckered into ahundred evil wrinkles.
"Who did it, Caron?" he demanded.
"Since you insist, old master," answered the secretary, stillendeavouring to make light of it, "learn that is the lord Marquis'ssignature to his order of my dismissal from his service."
"The dog!" ejaculated the school-master.
"Sh! let it be. Perhaps I braved him overmuch. I will tell you of itwhen these good folks have gone. Do not let us cast a gloom over theirhappiness, old master. And now to embrace this good Charlot."
Though inwardly burning with curiosity and boiling with indignation,Duhamel permitted himself to be guided by La Boulaye, and for the momentallowed the matter to rest. La Boulaye himself laughingly set aside themany questions with which they pressed him. He drank the health of thebride-elect--who was not yet of the party--and he pledged the happinessof the pair. He embraced Charlot, and even went so far as to urge uponhim, out of his own scanty store, a louis d'or with which to buy Marie atrinket in memory of him.
Then presently came one with the announcement that M. le Cure waswaiting, and in answer to that reminder that there was a ceremony to begone through, Charlot and his friends flung out of the house in joyousconfusion, and went their way with laughter and jest to the littlechurch of St. Ildefonse.
"We will follow presently--M. la Boulaye and I--Charlot," Duhamel hadsaid, as the sturdy bridegroom was departing. "We shall be there toshake Madame by the hand and wish her joy of you."
When at last they were alone in the schoolmaster's room, the old manturned to La Boulaye, the very embodiment of a note of interrogation.The secretary told him all that had passed. He reddened slightly whenit came to speaking of his love for Mlle. de Bellecour, but he realisedthat if he would have guidance he must withhold nothing from his friend.
Duhamel's face grew dark as the young man spoke, and his eyes became sadand very thoughtful.
"Alas!" he sighed, when La Boulaye had ended. "What shall I say to you,my friend? The time is not yet for such as we--you and I--to speak oflove for a daughter of the Seigneurie. It is coming, I doubt it not. Allthings have their climax, and France is tending swiftly to the climaxof her serfdom. Very soon we shall have the crisis, this fire that isalready smouldering, will leap into a great blaze, that shall lick theold regime as completely from the face of history as though it had neverbeen. A new condition of things will spring up, of that I am convinced.Does not history afford us many instances? And what is history but therepetition of events under similar circumstances with different peoples.It will come in France, and it will come soon, for it is very direlyneeded."
"I know, I know, old master," broke in La Boulaye; "but how shall allthis help me? For all that I have the welfare of France at heart, itweighs little with me at the moment by comparison with my own affairs.What am I to do, Duhamel? How am I to take payment for this?" And hepressed his finger to his seared cheek.
"Wait," said the old man impressively. "That is the moral you might havedrawn from what I have said. Be patient. I promise you your patienceshall not be overtaxed. To-day they say that you presume; that you arenot one of them--although, by my soul, you have as good an air as anynobleman in France." And he eyed the lean height of the secretary with aglance of such pride as a father might take in a well-grown son.
Elegant of figure, La Boulaye was no less elegant in dress, for allthat, from head to foot--saving the silver buckles on his shoes and theunpretentious lace at throat and wrists--he was dressed in the blackthat his office demanded. His countenance, too, though cast in a mouldof thoughtfulness that bordered on the melancholy, bore a lofty stampthat might have passed for birth and breeding, and this was enhanced bythe careful dressing of his black unpowdered hair, gathered into a clubby a broad ribbon of black silk.
"But what shall waiting avail me?" cried the young man, with someimpatience. "What am I to do in the meantime?"
"Go to Amiens," said the other. "You have learning, you have eloquence,you have a presence and an excellent address. For success nobetter attributes could be yours." He approached the secretary, andinstinctively lowered his voice. "We have a little club there--a sort ofsuccursal to the Jacobins. We are numerous, but we have no very shiningmember yet. Come with me, and I will nominate you. Beginning thus,I promise you that you shall presently become a man of prominencein Picardy. Anon we may send you to Paris to represent us in theStates-General. Then, when the change comes, who shall say to whatheights it may not be yours to leap?"
"I will think of it," answered La Boulaye cordially, "and not a doubt ofit but that I will come. I did not know that you had gone so far--"
"Sh! You know now. Let that suffice. It is not good to talk of thesethings just yet."
"But in the meantime," La Boulaye persisted, "what of this?" And againhe pointed to his cheek.
"Why, let it heal, boy."
"I promised the Marquis that I would demand satisfaction of his son, andI am tempted to do so and risk the consequences."
"I am afraid the consequences will be the only satisfaction that youwill get. In fact, they will be anticipations rather than consequences,for they'll never let you near the boy."
"I know not that," he answered. "The lad is more generous than his sire,and if I were to send him word that I have been affronted, he mightconsent to meet me. For the rest, I could kill him blindfolded," headded, with a shrug.
"Bloodthirsty animal!" rejoined Duhamel. "Unnatural
tutor! Do you forgetthat you were the boy's preceptor?"
With that Duhamel carried the argument into new fields, and showed LaBoulaye that to avenge upon the young Vicomte the insults receivedat the hands of the old Marquis was hardly a worthy method of takingvengeance. At last he won him to his way, and it was settled that on themorrow La Boulaye should journey with him to Amiens.
"But, Caron, we are forgetting our friend Charlot and his bride," hebroke off suddenly. "Come, boy; the ceremony will be at an end by this."
He took La Boulaye by the arm, and led him out and down the street tothe open space opposite St. Ildefonse. The wedding-party was streamingout through the door of the little church into the warm sunshine of thatApril morning. In the churchyard they formed into a procession of happybe-ribboned and nosegayed men and women--the young preceding, the oldfollowing, the bridal couple. Two by two they came, and the air rangwith their laughter and joyous chatter. Then another sound arose, and ifthe secretary and the pedagogue could have guessed of what that beatingof hoofs was to be the prelude, they had scarce smiled so easily as theywatched the approaching cortege.
From a side street there now emerged a gaily apparelled cavalcade. Atits head rode the Marquis de Bellecour, the Vicomte, and a half-dozenother gentlemen, followed by, perhaps, a dozen lacqueys. It was ahunting party that was making its way across the village to the opencountry beyond. The bridal procession crossing their path caused them todraw rein, and to wait until it should have passed--which argued a verycondescending humour, for it would not have been out of keeping withtheir habits to have ridden headlong through it. Their presence casta restraint upon the peasants. The jests were silenced, the laughterhushed, and like a flight of pigeons under the eye of the hawk, theyscurried past the Seigneurie, and some of them prayed God that theymight be suffered to pass indeed.
Bellecour eyed them in cold disdain, until presently Charlot and hisbride were abreast of him. Then his eye seemed to take life and hissallow face to kindle into expression. He leant lightly from the saddle.
"Stay!" he commanded coldly, and as they came to a halt, daring not todisobey him--"approach, girl," he added.
Charlot's brows grew black. He looked up at the Marquis, but if hisglance was sullen and threatening, it was also not free from fear. Marieobeyed, with eyes downcast and a heightened colour. If she conjecturedat all why they had been stopped, it was but to conclude that M. leMarquis was about to offer her some mark of appreciation. Uneasiness, inher dear innocence, she knew none.
"What is your name, child?" inquired the Marquis more gently.
"It was Marie Michelin, Monseigneur," she made answer timidly. "But ithas just been changed to Marie Tardivet."
"You have just been wed, eh?"
"We are on our way from church, Monseigneur."
"C'est ca," he murmured, as if to himself, and his eyes taking suchstock of her as made Charlot burn to tear him from his horse. Then, in akindly, fatherly voice, he added: "My felicitations, Marie; may you be ahappy wife and a happier mother."
"Merci, Monseigneur," she murmured, with crimson cheeks, whilst Charlotbreathed once more, and from his heart gave thanks to Heaven, believingthe interview at an end. But he went too fast.
"Do you know, Marie, that you are a very comely child?" quoth theMarquis, in tones which made the bridegroom's blood run cold.
Some in that noble company nudged one another, and one there was whoburst into a loud guffaw.
"Charlot has often told me so," she laughed, all unsuspicious.
The Marquis moved on his horse that he might bend lower. With hisforefinger he uptilted her chin, and now, as she met his glance thus atclose quarters, an unaccountable fear took possession of her, and thecolour died out of her plump cheeks.
"Yes," said Bellecour, with a smile, "this Tardivet has good taste. Mycongratulations, to him. We must find you a wedding gift, little woman,"he continued more briskly. "It is an ancient and honoured custom that isfalling somewhat into neglect. Go up to the Chateau with Blaise and Jeanthere. This good Tardivet must curb his impatience until to-morrow."
He turned in his saddle, and beckoning the two servants he had named, hebade Marie to mount behind Blaise.
She drew back now, her cheeks white as those of the dead. With a wildterror in her eyes she turned to Charlot, who stood the very picture ofanguish and impotent rage. In the cortege, where but a few moments agoall had been laughter, a sob or two sounded now from some of the women.
"By my faith," laughed Bellecour contemptuously eyeing their dejection,"you have more the air of a burial than a bridal party."
"Mercy my lord!" cried the agonised voice of Charlot, as, distraughtwith grief, he flung himself before the Marquis.
"Who seeks to harm you, fool?" was Bellecour's half-derisive rejoinder.
"Do not take her from me, my lord," the young man pleaded piteously.
"She shall return to-morrow, booby," answered the noble. "Out of theway!"
But Charlot was obstinate. The Marquis might be claiming no more thanby ancient law was the due of the Seigneur, but Charlot was by no meansminded to submit in craven acquiescence to that brutal, barbarous law.
"My lord," he cried, "you shall not take her. She is my wife. Shebelongs to me. You shall not take her!"
He caught hold of the Marquis's bridle with such a strength and angrywill that the horse was forced to back before him.
"Insolent clod!" exclaimed Bellecour, with an angry laugh and a sharp,downward blow of the butt of his whip upon the peasant's head. Charlot'shand grew nerveless and released the bridle as he sank stunned to theground. Bellecour touched his horse with the spur and rode over theprostrate fellow with no more concern than had he been a dog's carcase."Blaise, see to the girl," he called over his shoulder, adding to hiscompany: "Come, messieurs, we have wasted time enough."
Not a hand was raised to stay him, not a word of protest uttered, as thenobles rode by, laughing, and chatting among themselves, with the utmostunconcern of the tragedy that was being enacted.
Like a flock of frightened sheep the peasants stood huddled together andwatched them go. In the same inaction--for all that not a little griefwas blent with the terror on their countenances--they stood by andallowed Blaise to lift the half-swooning girl to the withers of hishorse. No reply had they to the coarse jest with which he and hisfellow-servant rode off. But La Boulaye, who, from the point where heand Duhamel had halted, had observed the whole scene from its inception,turned now a livid face upon his companion.
"Shall such things be?" he cried passionately. "Merciful God! Are wemen, Duhamel, and do we permit such things to take place?"
The old pedagogue shrugged his shoulders in despair. His face washeavily scored by sorrow.
"Helas!" he sighed. "Are they not masters of all that they may take? TheMarquis goes no further than is by ancient law allowed his class. Itis the law needs altering, my friend, and then the men will alter.Meanwhile, behold them--lords of life and death."
"Lords of hell are they!" blazed the young revolutionist. "That iswhere they belong, whence they are come, and whither they shall return.Poltroons!" he cried, shaking his fist at the group of cowed peasantsthat surrounded the prostrate Charlot "Sheep! Worthless clods! Thenobles do well to despise you, for, by my faith, you invite nothing butcontempt, you that will suffer rape and murder to be done under youreyes, and never do more than look scared encouragement upon yourravishers!"
"Blame not these poor wretches, Caron," sighed the old man. "They darenot raise a hand."
"Then, pardieu! here, at least, is one who does dare," he criedfuriously, as from the breast pocket of his coat he drew a pistol.
Blaise, with the girl across the withers of his horse, was approachingthem, followed by Jean.
"What would you do?" cried the old man fearfully, setting a restraininghand upon La Boulaye's sleeve. But Caron shook himself free.
"This," was all he answered, and simultaneously, he levelled his pistoland fired at Blaise.
Shot through the head, the servant collapsed forward; then, as the horsereared and started off at a gallop, he toppled sideways and fell. Thegirl went down with him and lay in the road whilst he was dragged along,his head bumping horribly on the stones as faster and faster went thefrightened horse.
With a shout that may have been either anger or dismay Jean reinedin his horse, and sat for a second hesitating whether to begin byrecovering the girl, or avenging his comrade. But his doubts were solvedfor him by La Boulaye, who took a deliberate aim at him.
"Begone!" cried the secretary, "unless you prefer to go by the road I'vesent your fellow." And being a discreet youth, Jean made off in silenceby the street down which poor Blaise had been dragged.
"Carom" cried Duhamel, in a frenzy of apprehension. "I tremble for you,my son. Fly from Bellecour at once--now, this very instant. Go to myfriends at Amiens; they will--"
But Caron had already left his side to repair to the spot where Mariewas lying. The peasantry followed him, though leisurely, in their timidhesitation. They were asking themselves whether, even so remotely as bytending the girl, they dared participate in the violence La Boulaye hadcommitted. That a swift vengeance would be the Seigneur's answerthey were well assured, and a great fear possessed them that in thatvengeance those of the Chateau might lack discrimination. Charlot wasamongst them, and on his feet, but still too dazed to have a clearknowledge of the circumstances. Presently, however, his facultiesawakening and taking in the situation, he staggered forward, and camelurching towards La Boulaye, who was assisting the frightened Marie torise. With a great sob the girl flung herself into her husband's arms.
"Charlot, mon Charlot!" she cried, and added a moment later: "It washe--this brave gentleman--who rescued me."
"Monsieur," said Charlot, "I shall remember it to my dying day."
He would have said more, but the peasants, stirred by fear, now rousedthemselves and plucked at his coat.
"Get you gone, Charlot, Get you gone quickly," they advised him. "And ifyou are wise you will leave Bellecour without delay. It is not safe foryou here."
"It is not safe for any of us," exclaimed one. "I have no mind to becaught when the Seigneur returns. There will be a vengeance. Ah Dieu!what a vengeance!"
The warning acted magically. There were hurried leave-takings, and then,like a parcel of scuttling rabbits, they made for their burrows to hidefrom the huntsman that would not be long in coming. And ere the last ofthem was out of sight there arose a stamping of hoofs and a chorusof angry voices. Down tine street thundered the Marquis's cavalcade,brought back by the servant who had escaped and who had ridden afterthem. Some anger there was--particularly in the heart of the Lord ofBellecour--but greater than their anger was their excitement at theprospect of a man-hunt, with which the chase on which they had beenoriginally bent made but a poor comparison.
"There he is, Monseigneur" cried Jean, as he pointed to La Boulaye. "Andyonder are the girl and her husband."
"Ah! The secretary again, eh?" laughed the nobleman, grimly, as hecame nearer. "Ma foi, life must have grown wearisome to him. Secure thewoman, Jean."
Caron stood before him, pale in his impotent rage, which was directedas much against the peasants who had fled as against the nobles whoapproached. Had these clods but stood there, and defended themselves andtheir manhood with sticks and stones and such weapons as came to theirhands, they might have taken pride in being trampled beneath the hoofsof the Seigneurie. Thus, at least, might they have proved themselvesmen. But to fly thus--some fifty of them from the approach of less thana score--was to confess unworthiness of a better fate than that of whichtheir seigneurs rendered themselves the instruments.
Himself he could do no more than the single shot in his pistol wouldallow. That much, however, he would do, and like him whose resourcesare reduced, and yet who desires to spend the little that he has to bestadvantage, he levelled the weapon boldly at the advancing Marquis, andpulled the trigger. But Bellecour was an old campaigner, and by an oldcampaigner's trick he saved himself at the last moment. At sight of thatlevelled barrel he pulled his horse suddenly on to its haunches, andreceived the charge in the animal's belly. With a shriek of pain thehorse sought to recover its feet, then tumbled forward hurling theMarquis from the saddle. La Boulaye had an inspiration to fling himselfupon the old roue and seek with his hands to kill him before theymade an end of himself. But ere he could move to execute his design ahorseman was almost on top of him. He received a stunning blow on thehead. The daylight faded in his eyes, he felt a sensation of sinking,and a reverberating darkness engulfed him.