In the Chateau de Ker-Guelegaan, near Quimper, lived an old friend of my family"s, the Marquis de Ploeuc. The chateau was one of the oldest in Finisterre, an immense weather-beaten pile with a moat, a drawbridge, a great crenellated tower, and a turret that, springing from the first story, seemed, with its high-pointed roof, to be suspended in the air. Tall, dark trees rose in ordered majesty about the chateau, and before it a wide band of lawn, called a _tapis vert_, ran to the lodge-gates that opened on the highroad. From the upper windows one saw the blue Brittany sea. Along the whole length of the front facade ran a stone terrace with seven wide steps; the windows of the _salle d"honneur_ opened upon this, and the windows of the _pet.i.t salon_ and the dining- and billiard-room. The furniture in the _salle d"honneur_ was of Louis XV white lacquer, court chairs, and _tabourets de cour_. There were tall mirrors all along the walls, and in the corners hung four great crystal chandeliers. The curtains and portieres were of a heavy, white silk that had become gray with time; they were scattered with bouquets of faded flowers, and caught up and looped together with knots of ribbon that had once been rose-colored.
This glacial and majestic room was seldom used; it was in the _pet.i.t salon_, leading from it, that guests usually sat. Here the chairs were carved along their tops with garlands of roses and ribbons so delicate that we children were specially forbidden to touch them. The walls were hung with tapestries, at which I used often to gaze with delight.
One saw life-sized ladies and gentlemen dancing in stately rounds or laughing under trees and among flowers and b.u.t.terflies. The great dining-room was paneled with dark wood carved into frames around the portraits of ancestors that were ranged along it. The coffers and the sideboards, where the silver stood, were of the same carved wood. I remember once going down to peep at the kitchen in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and the dark immensity, streaming, as it were, with cooks, servants, kitchen-boys, and maids, so bewildered and almost frightened me that I never ventured there again.
The old marquis was a widower, and his married daughters, the Marquise de L---- and Mme. d"A----, usually lived with him and his unmarried daughter Rosine, who became a nun. He was a splendid old gentleman, tall, with a n.o.ble carriage and severe, yet radiant, countenance. In the daytime he dressed always in gray coat and knee-breeches, with gray-and-black striped stockings and buckled shoes. At night his thick, white hair was gathered into a _catogan_,--a little square black-silk bag, that is to say,--tied with a bow, and he wore a black-silk suit. On festal occasions, Christmas, Easter, or his fete-day, he became a magnificent figure in brocaded coat and white-satin waistcoat and knee-breeches; he had diamond shoe- and knee-buckles, diamond b.u.t.tons on his waistcoat, and golden _aiguillettes_ looped across his breast and shoulder.
The diamond buckles he left to me, to be given to me on my first communion, and in his lifetime he had made for me a beautiful missal bound in white parchment and closed with a diamond and emerald clasp; inside were old illuminations.
In his youth M. de Ploeuc had been an officer of the Chouans, and he was, of course, a pa.s.sionate royalist. He always wore the Croix de St.
Louis, a fleur-de-lis, with the little cross attached by blue ribbon.
I asked him once if it was the same sort of decoration as my Grandfather de Rosval"s, which, I said, was larger and was tied with red, and I remember the kindly and ironic smile of my old friend as he answered, "Oh, no; that is only the Legion d"honneur."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "He was a splendid old gentleman"]
Brittany had many marquises, some of them also old and distinguished; but he was the _doyen_ of them all, and was always called simply _le_ marquis. Any disputes or difficulties among the local _n.o.blesse_ were always brought to him for his decision, and on such occasions, if the discussions became heated, he would say, "_Palsan bleu, mes seigneurs, il me semble que vous vous...o...b..iez ici_," using the dignified oath already becoming obsolete. His French was the old French of the court.
He never, for instance, said, "_Je vous remercie_," but, "_Je vous rends grace_."
Guests at Ker-Guelegaan arrived with their own horses and carriages to stay a month or more, and open house was kept. Breakfast was at six for those who did not take communion at the ma.s.s that was celebrated every morning in the chapel adjoining the chateau; these breakfasted on returning. It was permissible for ladies, at this early hour, to appear very informally in _peignoirs_ and _bigoudics_. _Bigoudics_ are curl-papers or ribbons. The marquis almost always took communion, but he usually appeared at the six o"clock breakfast. After ma.s.s, once his correspondence dealt with, he played billiards with Rosine, the beautiful girl who became a nun in the order of the Carmelites, an order so strict that those who entered it died, to all intents and purposes, since their relatives never saw them again, and at that time were not even informed of their death. I see Rosine very clearly, bending over the billiard-table under her father"s fond gaze, and I can also see her kneeling to pray in a corner of the _pet.i.t salon_. It was with such simplicity that any suspicion of affectation or parade was out of the question. In the midst of a conversation she would gently ask to be excused and would go there apart and pray, sometimes for an hour. The ladies quietly gossiping over their embroidery-frames took it quite as a matter of course that Rosine should be praying near them.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Guests at Ker-Guelegaan arrived with their own horses and carriages"]
_Dejeuner_ was at ten, and it was then that one saw how strongly feudal customs still survived at Ker-Guelegaan. The marquis sat at the head of the table, and behind his chair stood his old servant Yvon, dressed in Breton mourning-costume in memory of his defunct mistress; that is to say, in blue, black, and yellow. The other servants wore the livery of the house. Half-way down the table the white cloth ended, and the lower half had a matting covering. Here sat all the farmers of Ker-Guelegaan and their families, taking their midday meal with their master, while M. de Ploeuc and his guests and family sat above. We children were usually placed at a little side-table. The meal aways began by M. de Ploeuc rising and blessing the company with two outstretched fingers, like a bishop, and he then recited a benediction. He was always served first, another survival of patriarchal custom, forced upon him, rather, for I remember his protesting against it and wishing my mother, who sat next him, to be served before him; but she would not hear of it. During the repasts a violinist and a _biniou_-player, dressed in his Breton costume, played to us.
After luncheon the ladies drove or rode or walked as the fancy took them, or, a.s.sembled in the _pet.i.t salon_, talked over their work. On hot days the blinds would be drawn down before the open windows, but in the angle of each window was fixed a long slip of mirror, so that from every corner one could see if visitors, welcome or unwelcome, were driving up to the _perron_. _Goter_, at three, consisted of bread, fruit, and milk, and dinner was at five. After that the ladies and gentlemen a.s.sembled in the _pet.i.t salon_ and talked, told ghost-stories and legends, or played games till the very early bedtime of the place and period.
This was the _train de vie_ at Ker-Guelegaan; but my memories of the place center almost entirely around the figure of my old friend. I was his constant companion. When he rode out after luncheon to visit his farms, I would sit before him on his old horse Pluton. He never let Pluton gallop for fear of tiring him. "Do you see, _ma pet.i.te_," he would say, "Pluton is a comrade who has never failed me. He has earned a peaceful old age." We pa.s.sed, in the wood behind the chateau, a monument of a Templar that frightened and interested me. He lay with his hands crossed over his sword, his feet stayed against a couchant hound, and I could not understand why he wore a knitted coat. My old friend burst out laughing when I questioned him, and said that I was as ignorant as a little carp, and that it was high time I went to the Sacre Coeur. He told me that the knitted coat was a coat of mail, and tried to instil a little history into my mind, telling me of the crusades and St. Louis; but I am afraid that my mind soon wandered away to Pluton"s gently p.r.i.c.ked ears and to the wonders of the woods that surrounded us. We had walks together, too, and went one day to the sea-sh.o.r.e, where there was a famous grotto often visited by strangers. When we arrived at the black arch among the rocks and I heard it was called the Devil"s Grot, I was terrified, clinging to M.
de Ploeuc"s hand and refusing to enter.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Maman_ wrote secretly to _bon papa_ in Paris"]
"But why not, Sophie? Why not?" he questioned me. "I am here to take care of you, and there is no danger at all. See, Yann is lighting the torches to show us the way."
"But the devil--the devil will get me," I whispered; "Jeannie told me so."
Jeannie, indeed, was in the habit of punishing or frightening me by tales of the devil and his fork and tail and flames, and of how he would come and carry off disobedient little girls; so it was not to be wondered at that I feared to enter his grot. I imagined that he himself lurked there and would certainly carry me off, for I was well aware that I was often very disobedient. M. de Ploeuc sat down on a rock, took me on his knee, and said:
"It is very wrong of Jeannie to fill your head with such nonsense, my little one. Nothing like her devil exists in the whole world, and you must pay no attention to her stories."
He told me that the cavern was filled with beautiful stalact.i.tes, like great cl.u.s.ters of diamonds, and was so gentle and merry and reasonable that the devil was exorcised from my imagination forever, and I consented to enter the grotto.
Yann and the guide, a young farmer of Ker-Guelegaan, led us in with their lighted torches, and I suddenly saw before me, strangely illuminated, a somber, yet gorgeous, fairy-land. Diamonds indeed!
Pillars of diamonds rose from the rocky floor to the roof, and pendants hung in long cl.u.s.ters, glittering in inconceivable vistas of splendor. I was so dazzled and amazed that I gave the vaguest attention to M. de Ploeuc"s explanation of the way in which the stalact.i.tes were formed among the rocks. Indeed, that night I could not sleep, still seeing diamond columns and pillars, and my dear old friend was full of self-reproach next day when he heard that during the night the Devil"s Grot had given me a fever.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "As a country gentleman he had lived and as a country gentleman he intended to go on living"]
Sometimes the Marquis de L---- accompanied us on our expeditions, and sometimes I was even left in his charge for an afternoon. I disliked this very much, for he had no amusing stories to tell me and walked very fast, and when my pace flagged, he would pause to look at me reproachfully, tapping his foot on the ground, and crying out, as though I were one of his horses, "Get up! Get up!"
M. de Ploeuc often took me, after lunch, into his little study and played the flute to me. I liked being in the study, but it rather frightened me to see my old friend remove his teeth before beginning to play. Their absence sadly altered his beautiful and stately countenance, and gave, besides, an odd, whistling timbre to his music.
Still, I listened attentively, looking away now and then from his rapt, concentrated countenance to the _tapis vert_ outside, where the cows were cropping the short gra.s.s, or glancing around rather shrinkingly at the headless bust of Marie Antoinette that stood on the mantelpiece. The head lay beside the bust, and there was, even to my childish imagination, a terrible beauty in the proud shoulders thus devastated. This was one of two such busts that had been decapitated by the Revolutionists. The other belonged, I think, later on, to the Empress Eugenie. When the marquis had finished his thin, melancholy airs, it was my turn to perform, and that I liked much better. I saw that he loved to hear the old Breton songs sung in my sweet, piping little voice, and it was especially pleasant, our music over, to be rewarded by being given chocolate pastils from a little enamel box that stood on the writing-desk. While I softly crunched the pastils M.
de Ploeuc told me about the countries where the plant from which the chocolate came grew. It was not at all common in Brittany at that time, and the pastils much less sweet than our modern bon bons. M. de Ploeuc also carried for his own delectation small violet and peppermint lozenges in a little gold box that he drew from his waistcoat-pocket, and these gave the pleasantest fragrance to his kiss. I often sat on with him in the study, looking at the pictures in the books he gave me while he read or wrote. He wore on the third finger of his right hand an odd black ring that had a tiny magnifying-gla.s.s fixed upon it, and while he read his hand moved gently across the page.
I owe a great deal to this dear old friend. He took the deepest interest in my deportment, and _maman_ was specially delighted that he should extirpate from my speech provincial words and intonations. He entirely broke me of the bad habits of shrugging my shoulders and biting my nails.
"Only wicked men and women bite their nails," he told me, and pointed out to me as a terrible warning the beautiful and coquettish Mme. de G----, one of his guests, who had bitten her nails to the quick and quite ruined the appearance of her hands.
"And is she so wicked?" I asked. At which he laughed a little, and said that she must become so if she continued to bite her nails. He made me practise coming into and going out of a room until he was satisfied with my ease and grace.
"Do you see, _ma pet.i.te Sophie_," he said, "a woman, when she walks well, is a G.o.ddess. Walk always as if on clouds, lightly and loftily.
Or imagine that you are skimming over fields of wheat, and that not an ear must bend beneath your tread."
CHAPTER IX
LOCH-AR-BRUGG
And now I must tell of Loch-ar-Brugg, the center of my long life and the spot dearest to me upon earth. It was situated amidst the beautiful, wild, heathery country that stretched inland from Landerneau. I first saw it one day when I drove over from Landerneau with my father, and my chief recollection of this earliest visit is the deep shade under the high arch of the beech avenue and the aromatic smell of black currants in an upper room where we were taken to see the liqueur in process of being made. I was given some to drink in a tiny gla.s.s, and I never smell or taste _ca.s.sis_ that the scent, color, warmth, and sweetness of that long-distant day does not flash upon me. The liqueur was being made by the farmer"s wife; for part of the house, which, as I have said, papa at that time used only as a hunting-lodge, was inhabited by a Belgian farmer and his family. They were all seated at their midday meal when we arrived, and another thing I remember is that the eldest daughter, a singularly beautiful young creature, with sea-green eyes and golden hair, was so much confused at seeing us that she put a spoonful of the custard she was eating against her cheek instead of into her mouth, greatly to my delight and to papa"s.
"Monsieur must excuse her," said the mother; "she is very timid." On which my father replied with some compliment which made all the family smile. I see them all smiling and happy, yet it must have been soon after that a tragedy befell them. News was brought to my father that the farmer had hanged himself. The poor man"s rent was badly in arrears, but when he had last spoken to my father about it, the latter, as was always his wont in such circ.u.mstances, told him not to torment himself and that he could pay when he liked. _Maman_ always suspected that my father"s agent had threatened the poor fellow and that he had done away with himself in an access of despondency.
Papa, overcome with grief, hastened to Loch-ar-Brugg and remained there for a week with the mourning family. He gave them money to return to Belgium, and the beautiful young daughter became, we heard, a very skilful lace-maker.
[Ill.u.s.tration: On the road to Loch-ar-Brugg]
I was too young for this lugubrious event to cast a shadow on my dear Loch-ar-Brugg, but for many years _maman_ disliked the place. We still lived at Quimper or Landerneau, using Loch-ar-Brugg as a mere country resort; but by degrees the ugly walls, nine feet high, that shut in the house from the gardens and shut out the view were pulled down, lawns were thrown into one another, great clumps of blue hydrangeas were planted all down the avenue, on each side, between each beech-tree, and the house, if not beautiful, was made comfortable and convenient. It was when we were really established at Loch-ar-Brugg that _maman_ began to take the finances of the household into her capable hands. She reproached my father with his lack of ambition, and asked him frequently why he did not find an occupation, to which he always replied, "_Ma chere_, I have precisely the occupations I care for." _Maman_ wrote secretly to _bon papa_ in Paris and begged him to find a post for her husband there, and an excellent one was found at the treasury. But when the letter came, and _maman_, full of joy, displayed it to him, papa cheerfully, but firmly, refused to consider for a moment any such change in his way of life. As a country gentleman he had lived and as a country gentleman he intended to go on living, and so indeed he continued to the end of his long life. I don"t imagine that he made any difficulties as to _maman_ taking over the financial management. He was quite incapable of saying no to a farmer who asked to have his rent run on unpaid, and realized, no doubt, that his methods would soon bring his family to ruin. So it was _maman_ who received and paid out all the money. I see her now, sitting at the end of the long table in the kitchen, between two tall tallow candles, the peasants kneeling on the floor about her while she a.s.sessed their indebtedness and received their payments. She was never unkind, but always strict, and I was more than once the sympathetic witness of an incident that would greatly have incensed her. My father, meeting a disconsolate peasant going to an interview with _la Maitresse_, would surrept.i.tiously slide the needful sum into his hand!
What would _maman_ have said had she known that the money so brightly and briskly paid to her had just come out of her husband"s pocket!
[Ill.u.s.tration: "My father, meeting a disconsolate peasant, ... would surrept.i.tiously slide the needful sum into his hand"]
I was always a great deal with papa at Loch-ar-Brugg. At first I used to walk with him,--when he did not take me on his horse,--trotting along beside him, my hand in his. Later on, when Tante Rose had given me a dear little pony, I rode with him, and he had secretly made for me, knowing that _maman_ would not approve, a very astonishing riding-costume. It had long, tightly fitting trousers, a short little jacket, like an Eton jacket, with a red-velvet collar,--red was my father"s racing color,--and on my long golden curls a high silk hat.
_Maman_ burst out laughing when she saw me thus attired and was too much amused to be displeased. She herself rode a great deal at this time, but it was to hunting- and shooting-parties, from which she would return with her "bag" hanging from a sort of little pole fixed to her saddle; and I remember that one day she brought a strange beast that none of us ever saw in Brittany again, a species of armadillo (_tatou_) that her horse had trodden upon and killed.
It was at Loch-ar-Brugg, on one of those early walks with papa, that my first vivid recollection of a landscape seen as a beautiful picture comes to me. We had entered a deep lane where gnarled old trees interlaced their fingers overhead and looked, with their twisted trunks, like crouching men or beasts; and as we advanced, it became so dark and mysterious that I was very much frightened and hung to papa"s hand, begging to be taken out. He pointed then before us, and far, far away I saw a tiny spot of light. "Don"t be frightened, Sophie," he said; "we are going toward the sunlight." So I kept my eyes fixed on the widening spot, holding papa"s hand very tightly in the haunted darkness; and when we suddenly emerged, we were on the brink of a great gorge, and beyond were mountains, and below us lay a tranquil, silver lake. I have never forgotten the strange, visionary impression, as of a beauty evoked from the darkness. Papa told me the story of the lake; it was called "le lac des Korrigans." The Korrigans are Breton fairies--fairies, I think, more melancholy than those of other lands, and with something sinister and _macabre_ in their supernatural activities. They danced upon the turf, it is true, in fairy-rings, but also, at night, they would unwind the linen from the dead in the churchyards and wash it in this lake. I felt the same fear and wonder on hearing this story that all my descendants have shown when they, in their turn, have come to hear it, and my little granddaughter, in pa.s.sing near the lake with me, has often said, shrinking against me, "Je ne veux pas voir les blanchisseuses, Grand"mere."
[Ill.u.s.tration: Le Lac des Korrigans]
Unlike the marquis, who filled my mind, or tried to fill it, with the facts of nature and history, papa, on our walks, told me all these old legends, not as if he believed them, it is true, but as if they were stories quite as important in their way as the crusades; and perhaps he was right.
Sometimes, when we were walking or riding, we met convicts who had escaped from the great prison at Brest. I was strictly forbidden ever to go outside the gates alone; but once, at evening, I slipped out and ran along the road to meet papa, who, I knew, was coming from Landerneau on foot. He was very much perturbed when he saw me emerge before him in the dusk, and drew me sharply to his side, and I then noticed that two men were following him. Presently they joined us and asked papa, very roughly, for the time.
"It is nine, I think," said my father, eyeing them very attentively.
"You think? Haven"t you a watch, then?" said one of them.
I suppose they imagined that the rifle papa carried over his shoulder was unloaded; but unslinging it in the twinkling of an eye, he said sternly:
"Walk ahead. If you turn or stop, I shoot." They obeyed at once, and as they went along we heard a queer clink come from their ankles.