The Hated Son

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It was under these circumstances that Etienne and Gabrielle unrolled
their thread through the labyrinth of love, where both, not seeking to
leave it, thought to dwell. One day they had remained from morn to
evening near the window where so many events had taken place. The
hours, filled at first with gentle talk, had ended in meditative
silence. They began to feel within them the wish for complete
possession; and presently they reached the point of confiding to each
other their confused ideas, the reflections of two beautiful, pure
souls. During these still, serene hours, Etienne's eyes would
sometimes fill with tears as he held the hand of Gabrielle to his
lips. Like his mother, but at this moment happier in his love than she
had been in hers, the hated son looked down upon the sea, at that hour
golden on the shore, black on the horizon, and slashed here and there
with those silvery caps which betoken a coming storm. Gabrielle,
conforming to her friend's action, looked at the sight and was silent.
A single look, one of those by which two souls support each other,
sufficed to communicate their thoughts. Each loved with that love so
divinely like unto itself at every instant of its eternity that it is
not conscious of devotion or sacrifice or exaction, it fears neither
deceptions nor delay. But Etienne and Gabrielle were in absolute
ignorance of satisfactions, a desire for which was stirring in their
souls.

When the first faint tints of twilight drew a veil athwart the sea,
and the hush was interrupted only by the soughing of the flux and
reflux on the shore, Etienne rose; Gabrielle followed his motion with
a vague fear, for he had dropped her hand. He took her in one of his
arms, pressing her to him with a movement of tender cohesion, and she,
comprehending his desire, made him feel the weight of her body enough
to give him the certainty that she was all his, but not enough to be a
burden on him. The lover laid his head heavily on the shoulder of his
friend, his lips touched the heaving bosom, his hair flowed over the
white shoulders and caressed her throat. The girl, ingenuously loving,
bent her head aside to give more place for his head, passing her arm
about his neck to gain support. Thus they remained till nightfall
without uttering a word. The crickets sang in their holes, and the
lovers listened to that music as if to employ their senses on one
sense only. Certainly they could only in that hour be compared to
angels who, with their feet on earth, await the moment to take flight
to heaven. They had fulfilled the noble dream of Plato's mystic
genius, the dream of all who seek a meaning in humanity; they formed
but one soul, they were, indeed, that mysterious Pearl destined to
adorn the brow of a star as yet unknown, but the hope of all!

"Will you take me home?" said Gabrielle, the first to break the
exquisite silence.

"Why should we part?" replied Etienne.

"We ought to be together always," she said.

"Stay with me."

"Yes."

The heavy step of Beauvouloir sounded in the adjoining room. The
doctor had seen these children at the window locked in each other's
arms, but he found them separated. The purest love demands its
mystery.

"This is not right, my child," he said to Gabrielle, "to stay so late,
and have no lights."

"Why wrong?" she said; "you know we love each other, and he is master
of the castle."

"My children," said Beauvouloir, "if you love each other, your
happiness requires that you should marry and pass your lives together;
but your marriage depends on the will of monseigneur the duke--"

"My father has promised to gratify all my wishes," cried Etienne
eagerly, interrupting Beauvouloir.

"Write to him, monseigneur," replied the doctor, and give me your
letter that I may enclose it with one which I, myself, have just
written. Bertrand is to start at once and put these despatches into
monseigneur's own hand. I have learned to-night that he is now in
Rouen; he has brought the heiress of the house of Grandlieu with him,
not, as I think, solely for himself. If I listened to my
presentiments, I should take Gabrielle away from here this very
night."

"Separate us?" cried Etienne, half fainting with distress and leaning
on his love.

"Father!"

"Gabrielle," said the physician, holding out to her a smelling-bottle
which he took from a table signing to her to make Etienne inhale its
contents,--"Gabrielle, my knowledge of science tells me that Nature
destined you for each other. I meant to prepare monseigneur the duke
for a marriage which will certainly offend his ideas, but the devil
has already prejudiced him against it. Etienne is Duc de Nivron, and
you, my child, are the daughter of a poor doctor."

"My father swore to contradict me in nothing," said Etienne, calmly.

"He swore to me also to consent to all I might do in finding you a
wife," replied the doctor; "but suppose that he does not keep his
promises?"

Etienne sat down, as if overcome.

"The sea was dark to-night," he said, after a moment's silence.

"If you could ride a horse, monseigneur," said Beauvouloir, "I should
tell you to fly with Gabrielle this very evening. I know you both, and
I know that any other marriage would be fatal to you. The duke would
certainly fling me into a dungeon and leave me there for the rest of
my days when he heard of your flight; and I should die joyfully if my
death secured your happiness. But alas! to mount a horse would risk
your life and that of Gabrielle. We must face your father's anger
here."

"Here!" repeated Etienne.

"We have been betrayed by some one in the chateau who has stirred your
father's wrath against us," continued Beauvouloir.

"Let us throw ourselves together into the sea," said Etienne to
Gabrielle, leaning down to the ear of the young girl who was kneeling
beside him.

She bowed her head, smiling. Beauvouloir divined all.

"Monseigneur," he said, "your mind and your knowledge can make you
eloquent, and the force of your love may be irresistible. Declare it
to monseigneur the duke; you will thus confirm my letter. All is not
lost, I think. I love my daughter as well as you love her, and I shall
defend her."

Etienne shook his head.

"The sea was very dark to-night," he repeated.

"It was like a sheet of gold at our feet," said Gabrielle in a voice
of melody.

Etienne ordered lights, and sat down at a table to write to his
father. On one side of him knelt Gabrielle, silent, watching the words
he wrote, but not reading them; she read all on Etienne's forehead. On
his other side stood old Beauvouloir, whose jovial countenance was
deeply sad,--sad as that gloomy chamber where Etienne's mother died. A
secret voice cried to the doctor, "The fate of his mother awaits him!"

When the letter was written, Etienne held it out to the old man, who
hastened to give it to Bertrand. The old retainer's horse was waiting
in the courtyard, saddled; the man himself was ready. He started, and
met the duke twelve miles from Herouville.

"Come with me to the gate of the courtyard," said Gabrielle to her
friend when they were alone.

The pair passed through the cardinal's library, and went down through
the tower, in which was a door, the key of which Etienne had given to
Gabrielle. Stupefied by the dread of coming evil, the poor youth left
in the tower the torch he had brought to light the steps of his
beloved, and continued with her toward the cottage. A few steps from
the little garden, which formed a sort of flowery courtyard to the
humble habitation, the lovers stopped. Emboldened by the vague alarm
which oppressed them, they gave each other, in the shades of night, in
the silence, that first kiss in which the senses and the soul unite,
and cause a revealing joy. Etienne comprehended love in its dual
expression, and Gabrielle fled lest she should be drawn by that love
--whither she knew not.

At the moment when the Duc de Nivron reascended the staircase to the
castle, after closing the door of the tower, a cry of horror, uttered
by Gabrielle, echoed in his ears with the sharpness of a flash of
lightning which burns the eyes. Etienne ran through the apartments of
the chateau, down the grand staircase, and along the beach towards
Gabrielle's house, where he saw lights.

When Gabrielle, quitting her lover, had entered the little garden, she
saw, by the gleam of a torch which lighted her nurse's spinning-wheel,
the figure of a man sitting in the chair of that excellent woman. At
the sound of her steps the man arose and came toward her; this had
frightened her, and she gave the cry. The presence and aspect of the
Baron d'Artagnon amply justified the fear thus inspired in the young
girl's breast.

"Are you the daughter of Beauvouloir, monseigneur's physician?" asked
the baron when Gabrielle's first alarm had subsided.

"Yes, monsieur."

"I have matters of the utmost importance to confide to you. I am the
Baron d'Artagnon, lieutenant of the company of men-at-arms commanded
by Monseigneur the Duc d'Herouville."

Gabrielle, under the circumstances in which she and her lover stood,
was struck by these words, and by the frank tone with which the
soldier said them.

"Your nurse is here; she may overhear us. Come this way," said the
baron.

He left the garden, and Gabrielle followed him to the beach behind the
house.

"Fear nothing!" said the baron.

That speech would have frightened any one less ignorant than
Gabrielle; but a simple young girl who loves never thinks herself in
peril.

"Dear child," said the baron, endeavoring to give a honeyed tone to
his voice, "you and your father are on the verge of an abyss into
which you will fall to-morrow. I cannot see your danger without
warning you. Monseigneur is furious against your father and against
you; he suspects you of having seduced his son, and he would rather
see him dead than see him marry you; so much for his son. As for your
father, this is the decision monseigneur has made about him. Nine
years ago your father was implicated in a criminal affair. The matter
related to the secretion of a child of rank at the time of its birth
which he attended. Monseigneur, knowing that your father was innocent,
guaranteed him from prosecution by the parliament; but now he intends
to have him arrested and delivered up to justice to be tried for the
crime. Your father will be broken on the wheel; though perhaps, in
view of some services he has done to his master, he may obtain the
favor of being hanged. I do not know what course monseigneur has
decided on for you; but I do know that you can save Monseigneur de
Nivron from his father's anger, and your father from the horrible
death which awaits him, and also save yourself."

"What must I do?" said Gabrielle.

"Throw yourself at monseigneur's feet, and tell him that his son loves
you against your will, and say that you do not love him. In proof of
this, offer to marry any man whom the duke himself may select as your
husband. He is generous; he will dower you handsomely."

"I can do all except deny my love."

"But if that alone can save your father, yourself, and Monseigneur de
Nivron?"

"Etienne," she replied, "would die of it, and so should I."

"Monseigneur de Nivron will be unhappy at losing you, but he will live
for the honor of his house; you will resign yourself to be the wife of
a baron only, instead of being a duchess, and your father will live
out his days," said the practical man.

At this moment Etienne reached the house. He did not see Gabrielle,
and he uttered a piercing cry.

"He is here!" cried the young girl; "let me go now and comfort him."

"I shall come for your answer to-morrow," said the baron.

"I will consult my father," she replied.

"You will not see him again. I have received orders to arrest him and
send him in chains, under escort, to Rouen," said d'Artagnon, leaving
Gabrielle dumb with terror.

The young girl sprang to the house, and found Etienne horrified by the
silence of the nurse in answer to his question, "Where is she?"

"I am here!" cried the young girl, whose voice was icy, her step
heavy, her color gone.

"What has happened?" he said. "I heard you cry."

"Yes, I hurt my foot against--"

"No, love," replied Etienne, interrupting her. "I heard the steps of a
man."

"Etienne, we must have offended God; let us kneel down and pray. I
will tell you afterwards."

Etienne and Gabrielle knelt down at the prie-dieu, and the nurse
recited her rosary.

"O God!" prayed the girl, with a fervor which carried her beyond
terrestrial space, "if we have not sinned against thy divine
commandments, if we have not offended the Church, not yet the king,
we, who are one and the same being, in whom love shines with the light
that thou hast given to the pearl of the sea, be merciful unto us, and
let us not be parted either in this world or in that which is to
come."

"Mother!" added Etienne, "who art in heaven, obtain from the Virgin
that if we cannot--Gabrielle and I--be happy here below we may at
least die together, and without suffering. Call us, and we will go to
thee."

Then, having recited their evening prayers, Gabrielle related her
interview with Baron d'Artagnon.

"Gabrielle," said the young man, gathering strength from his despair,
"I shall know how to resist my father."

He kissed her on the forehead, but not again upon the lips. Then he
returned to the castle, resolved to face the terrible man who had
weighed so fearfully on his life. He did not know that Gabrielle's
house would be surrounded and guarded by soldiers the moment that he
quitted it.

The next day he was struck down with grief when, on going to see her,
he found her a prisoner. But Gabrielle sent her nurse to tell him she
would die sooner than be false to him; and, moreover, that she knew a
way to deceive the guards, and would soon take refuge in the
cardinal's library, where no one would suspect her presence, though
she did not as yet know when she could accomplish it. Etienne on that
returned to his room, where all the forces of his heart were spent in
the dreadful suspense of waiting.

At three o'clock on the afternoon of that day the equipages of the
duke and suite entered the courtyard of the castle. Madame la Comtesse
de Grandlieu, leaning on the arm of her daughter, the duke and
Marquise de Noirmoutier mounted the grand staircase in silence, for
the stern brow of the master had awed the servants. Though Baron
d'Artagnon now knew that Gabrielle had evaded his guards, he assured
the duke she was a prisoner, for he trembled lest his own private
scheme should fail if the duke were angered by this flight. Those two
terrible faces--his and the duke's--wore a fierce expression that was
ill-disguised by an air of gallantry imposed by the occasion. The duke
had already sent to his son, ordering him to be present in the salon.
When the company entered it, d'Artagnon saw by the downcast look on
Etienne's face that as yet he did not know of Gabrielle's escape.

"This is my son," said the old duke, taking Etienne by the hand and
presenting him to the ladies.

Etienne bowed without uttering a word. The countess and Mademoiselle
de Grandlieu exchanged a look which the old man intercepted.

"Your daughter will be ill-matched--is that your thought?" he said in
a low voice.

"I think quite the contrary, my dear duke," replied the mother,
smiling.

The Marquise de Noirmoutier, who accompanied her sister, laughed
significantly. That laugh stabbed Etienne to the heart; already the
sight of the tall lady had terrified him.

"Well, Monsieur le duc," said the duke in a low voice and assuming a
lively air, "have I not found you a handsome wife? What do you say to
that slip of a girl, my cherub?"

The old duke never doubted his son's obedience; Etienne, to him, was
the son of his mother, of the same dough, docile to his kneading.

"Let him have a child and die," thought the old man; "little I care."

"Father," said the young man, in a gentle voice, "I do not understand
you."

"Come into your own room, I have a few words to say to you," replied
the duke, leading the way into the state bedroom.

Etienne followed his father. The three ladies, stirred with a
curiosity that was shared by Baron d'Artagnon, walked about the great
salon in a manner to group themselves finally near the door of the
bedroom, which the duke had left partially open.

"Dear Benjamin," said the duke, softening his voice, "I have selected
that tall and handsome young lady as your wife; she is heiress to the
estates of the younger branch of the house of Grandlieu, a fine old
family of Bretagne. Therefore make yourself agreeable; remember all
the love-making you have read of in your books, and learn to make
pretty speeches."

"Father, is it not the first duty of a nobleman to keep his word?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, on the day when I forgave you the death of my mother,
dying here through her marriage with you, did you not promise me never
to thwart my wishes? 'I will obey you as the family god,' were the
words you said to me. I ask nothing of you, I simply demand my freedom
in a matter which concerns my life and myself only,--namely, my
marriage."

"I understood," replied the old man, all the blood in his body rushing
into his face, "that you would not oppose the continuation of our
noble race."

"You made no condition," said Etienne. "I do not know what love has to
do with race; but this I know, I love the daughter of your old friend
Beauvouloir, and the granddaughter of your friend La Belle Romaine."

"She is dead," replied the old colossus, with an air both savage and
jeering, which told only too plainly his intention of making away with
her.

A moment of deep silence followed.

The duke saw, through the half-opened door, the three ladies and
d'Artagnon. At that crucial moment Etienne, whose sense of hearing was
acute, heard in the cardinal's library poor Gabrielle's voice,
singing, to let her lover know she was there,--

"Ermine hath not
Her pureness;
The lily not her whiteness."

The hated son, whom his father's horrible speech had flung into a gulf
of death, returned to the surface of life at the sound of that voice.
Though the emotion of terror thus rapidly cast off had already in that
instant, broken his heart, he gathered up his strength, looked his
father in the face for the first time in his life, gave scorn for
scorn, and said, in tones of hatred:--

"A nobleman ought not to lie."

Then with one bound he sprang to the door of the library and cried:--

"Gabrielle!"

Suddenly the gentle creature appeared among the shadows, like the lily
among its leaves, trembling before those mocking women thus informed
of Etienne's love. As the clouds that bear the thunder project upon
the heavens, so the old duke, reaching a degree of anger that defies
description, stood out upon the brilliant background produced by the
rich clothing of those courtly dames. Between the destruction of his
son and a mesalliance, every other father would have hesitated, but in
this uncontrollable old man ferocity was the power which had so far
solved the difficulties of life for him; he drew his sword in all
cases, as the only remedy that he knew for the gordian knots of life.
Under present circumstances, when the convulsion of his ideas had
reached its height, the nature of the man came uppermost. Twice
detected in flagrant falsehood by the being he abhorred, the son he
cursed, cursing him more than ever in this supreme moment when that
son's despised, and to him most despicable, weakness triumphed over
his own omnipotence, infallible till then, the father and the man
ceased to exist, the tiger issued from its lair. Casting at the angels
before him--the sweetest pair that ever set their feet on earth--a
murderous look of hatred,--

"Die, then, both of you!" he cried. "You, vile abortion, the proof of
my shame--and you," he said to Gabrielle, "miserable strumpet with the
viper tongue, who has poisoned my house."

These words struck home to the hearts of the two children the terror
that already surcharged them. At the moment when Etienne saw the huge
hand of his father raising a weapon upon Gabrielle he died, and
Gabrielle fell dead in striving to retain him.

The old man left them, and closed the door violently, saying to
Mademoiselle de Grandlieu:--

"I will marry you myself!"

"You are young and gallant enough to have a fine new lineage,"
whispered the countess in the ear of the old man, who had served under
seven kings of France.