The Blacksmith's Hammer; or, The Peasant Code: A Tale of the Grand Monarch

"Head and bowels! Meseems these rustics are raising objections! By God's death, I'll know how to bring you to your senses!"

"Think of your wives – your daughters – your children! Patience! patience!" cried Salaun Lebrenn in a loud voice from among the platoon of soldiers who held him, Paskou the Long and the miller at a distance. "All keep cool, and have patience, my friends!"

The wise warning of Salaun Lebrenn was hearkened to. The grumbling ceased. La Montagne, attributing the resignation of the peasants to the fear that he inspired, redoubled in audacity. Brutally placing one hand upon Tina's knees, who sat upon the crupper of Nominoë's horse, he said to her:

"God's blood! Look at me, my pretty lassie! Fear not, my pretty maid – my moustache causes only men to tremble," he added, fastening a look of contempt upon Nominoë.

Thereupon, carrying outrage to its climax, the sergeant raised himself on tip-toe, passed his arm around Tina's waist, and drawing her to him, said: "Give me a sweet kiss! God's death! it is the meed of the brave!"

Nominoë was without arms; but with a movement that was swifter than thought, he drew his foot from the stirrup, and with a kick of his heel, vigorously planted in the sergeant's chest, he hurled him reeling upon Tankeru, who was rushing to the defense of his daughter. The blacksmith gripped the swash-buckler by the neck and threw him flat upon the ground.

"Help, soldiers!" bellowed the sergeant as Tankeru threw him down. "To the rescue!"

Those of the soldiers who happened to be near their chief sought to rush to his aid, but finding themselves quickly surrounded and closely hemmed in by the more resolute of the peasants, they were unable to ply their bayonets.

The blacksmith cried:

"Let us disarm the red-coats!"

The cry, being repeated by the other peasants, reached the ears of the platoon of soldiers that blocked the head of the procession. These rushed back to the aid of their comrades, driving aside the women and children with the butts of their guns. The mass of people, thus pushed back and crowded closely in the middle of the road, emitted shrieks of fright. All was confusion.

At the thickest of the turmoil a lackey on horseback rode up from the direction the procession was headed in, preceding by about twenty paces two other personages, also on horseback. The lackey reined in his mount, cracked his whip and cried:

"Room! Room for Mademoiselle Plouernel! Room for the sister of Monseigneur Neroweg of Plouernel! Make room! Make room, there!"

CHAPTER IV.

DESERTED!

It was, in fact, Mademoiselle Plouernel, who, coming from the manor of Mezlean, was approaching the spot of the tumult. She wore an elegant riding habit – a long skirt and closely fitting jacket of a pearl-grey material, trimmed with knots of ribbon of the same azure-blue color as her shoulder knot and the feathers in her broad-brimmed black felt hat. She rode with ease a palfrey white as snow, and richly caparisoned with a saddle-cloth of blue velvet trimmed in silver. An old equerry with grey hair and dressed, like the lackey, in the Plouernel livery – green, orange and silver – accompanied Bertha. Her beautiful, yet pale and delicate face, revealed the ravages of a protracted illness from which she was only recently recovered. The thinness of her cheeks imparted the appearance of abnormal size to her black and feverishly brilliant eyes. The melancholy of her physiognomy, coupled with a slight suggestion of despondency in her bearing, gave an irresistible charm to her person. Surprised at the cries and the clamor which she heard proceeding from the concourse ahead of her, from which she was still some hundred paces distant, she sent her equerry forward to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. He obeyed, and, arriving near a group of weeping women, was acquainted by them with the events that preceded. The equerry returned to his mistress and informed her that the bailiff of the Count of Plouernel had come to seize the teams and wagons of several peasants who were on their way to the temple in order to celebrate a wedding; that the bride's father was to be arrested for poaching; and that a quarrel had broken out between the peasants and the soldiers of the Crown Regiment who came to support the demands made by the Count's bailiff and the usher of the fisc. Seized with pity, Mademoiselle Plouernel whipped up her palfrey, and rode at a gallop towards the very center of the crowd, despite the humbly expressed apprehensions of her equerry.

Succumbing to the influence of the terror which they felt for the soldiers, most of the peasants had responded but hesitantly to Tankeru's call of "Let us disarm the red-coats!" The consequence of their irresolution was that the three or four soldiers, who were at first disarmed, were able to recover their weapons, to charge upon the Bretons, several of whom they wounded with their bayonets, and immediately to disengage their sergeant. Seeing the turn affairs were taking, Tankeru yielded to the entreaties of his daughter and friends, clambered up the bluff that bordered the road, glided through the hedges, and took flight across-field. He was out of danger.

The bailiff and the usher, on their part, had, since the start of the melee, endeavored to escape. They were in full flight when they encountered Mademoiselle Plouernel as she arrived at a gallop on her palfrey, which she immediately reined in upon recognizing them by their black habit and short cloak.

"Bailiff!" cried Bertha, warmly, "I order you, in the name of the Count of Plouernel, my brother, to renounce the seizure which you have effected. I order you to set at liberty the poacher whom you arrested!"

Aware of the recent arrival of Mademoiselle Plouernel at the manor of Mezlean, and seeing her accompanied by an equerry in the Count's livery, the bailiff did not question the young lady's identity. Respectfully bowing before her he answered:

"Mademoiselle's orders shall be executed."

"And you are the usher?" added Mademoiselle Plouernel, addressing the man of the fisc. "You also are to make a seizure against a poor family of peasants?"

"Yes, mademoiselle – "

"You shall relinquish your pursuit. How much is due you?"

"Item, three francs; item, sixty-seven francs; item, seven francs, eight sous and six deniers; item, two hundred – I can state each item with costs and accessories."

"Enough! Du Buisson, pay this man," said Bertha to her equerry, passing to him a purse which she took from her pocket.

And turning again to the usher:

"Having received the money, you shall discontinue your pursuit of these people."

"Certainly, mademoiselle, and I shall immediately notify the sergeant who is charged to exercise the military constraint that I no longer need his services, and that he can return to his quarters with his soldiers."

Judging Mademoiselle Plouernel's generous nature by these first evidences, and anxious to ingratiate himself with his master's sister by seeming also to take an interest in the peasants, the bailiff put in:

"I feel bound to inform mademoiselle, in all justice, the vassals of monseigneur are not wholly to blame in the matter of the scuffle with the soldiers of the Crown Regiment. The reason of the trouble was a joviality of the sergeant's, who wished forcibly to embrace the bride. His joviality was altogether foreign to his office."

"Oh! These men of war – they always take themselves to be in a conquered country," observed Mademoiselle Plouernel bitterly.

And addressing the bailiff:

"Go and fetch me the sergeant – I wish to speak to him; – instantly!"

The bailiff departed to execute the order. A group of women and children, witnesses of the scene, and as touched as they were surprised by the generosity of Mademoiselle Plouernel – alas! the seigneurs and their families usually showed themselves harsh and contemptful towards the poor – showered blessings upon the young lady; they surrounded her horse; and, in the effusiveness of their gratitude, asked her the favor of allowing them to kiss her hands. Moved to tears by the attitude of the good people, Bertha answered them by pointing to the little girl who had performed the role of the "eglantine bud" at the nuptial ceremonies, and saying:

"Bring yonder little girl to me."

And leaning forward on her saddle and stretching out her arms to receive the child, she added:

"In embracing this child, I am embracing you all, my dear women."

The radiant mother raised her little girl up in her hands. Bertha took her, placed her on her pommel, and tenderly kissed the child's rosy cheeks. Charmed by these caresses, the child threw her arms around the neck of Mademoiselle Plouernel, who responded to the affectionate familiarity by embracing the child again, and again.

Bertha then turned to her equerry:

"Is there any money left in my purse?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, there are seven louis left."

Bertha took the purse, and putting it in the hands of the little girl, said: "Take this, dear child; the gift will alleviate the misery of your parents. Give them this purse."

Giving the child a parting kiss, Mademoiselle Plouernel returned her to her mother, who, breaking into tears, knelt down upon the ground, and clasping her hands, cried:

"Oh, our demoiselle! Blessings upon you! We shall ever love you!"

"Yes, yes; blessings upon you, our demoiselle! We shall ever love you! Blessings upon you!" repeated and re-echoed a large number of women, their voices tremulous with admiration at the scene they had just witnessed.

Little by little, and from mouth to mouth, the report of Mademoiselle Plouernel's magnanimity, and the charitable orders that she issued to the bailiff, spread among the peasants. Many of these, having joined their wives and children, stood in a circle around the young lady as the bailiff returned, followed by Sergeant La Montagne, who was pale with rage. The man's insolent brutality did not seem to be ready to bend before the rank of Mademoiselle Plouernel. No sooner had he arrived in her presence than he ejaculated:

"By God's death, mademoiselle, I am neither a bailiff nor an usher! I am a sergeant in the Crown Regiment. I receive orders from my colonel only. Several of the rustics have dared to lay hands upon me, and to disarm me! They are now in the hands of my soldiers, who will take them to Vannes. If you love pretty sights, mademoiselle, I shall afford you the pleasure of seeing the brigands hang by the neck. It is the will of Sergeant La Montagne that those rustics be hanged!"

Among the "brigands" whom the sergeant destined for the gallows, and whom his soldiers held prisoner a little distance from where Mademoiselle Plouernel was looking down from her horse upon La Montagne, but too far away to be seen by her, were Nominoë, Salaun and Madok the miller. Shocked at the swash-buckler's words, the young lady sat up erect in her saddle, haughty, angry, threatening, and her eyes sparkling with so much indignation that, despite his brazenness, the sergeant lowered his gaze.

"Listen well to me," said Mademoiselle Plouernel incisively. "Your colonel, the Marquis of Chateauvieux, is now stopping at the Castle of Plouernel, with my brother. Your colonel is a man of honor. He will not tolerate the insulting of women by his soldiers, as you had the impudence to do a short time ago."