was made upon the proposed course proceeded from the Abbe de
Boisguerin, who said in a low voice to the young nobleman, "My only
reason for questioning Gondrin so closely was, that he has always
shown a much greater fondness for your brother than yourself, as you
must often have observed; and I thought he might lead us all into
greater peril than needful, in his zealous eagerness to succour
Charles."
The Marquis did not reply, but rode on thoughtfully; and yet, upon
words as light as those, have often been built up in this world
rancours and jealousies never afterwards extinguished. In the present
instance, indeed, and at the present moment, the effect went no
further than to make Gaspar of Montsoreau ask himself, "I wonder why
Gondrin should love my brother better than myself? and yet I have
remarked he does so."
As they marched on, the sound of the cannon was still heard from time
to time; but at length, as they entered the wood, it ceased, and was
heard no more. After threading the narrow path by which Gondrin led
them, they issued forth upon a green slope beneath an angle of the
rock on which the chateau stood. The chief road leading to the castle
was visible from that point; but no body of reiters was now to be seen
there; and the moment that they were perceived and recognised from the
battlements, glad shouts and gestures from the retainers on the walls
gave them to understand that the enemy had thought fit to abandon
their object, and retreat. Perhaps Gaspar of Montsoreau was not quite
satisfied that the defence should have been made and the enemy
frustrated by his younger brother; but his heart was still
sufficiently pure and upright to make him angry with himself on
detecting such sensations in his bosom.
CHAP. III.
Those who have never lived amongst strange and stirring events, those
who have never been accustomed to hourly danger, and to continual
change, form no idea of the ease with which the human mind reconciles
itself to the various rapid alternations of our fate, and how soon the
habit of enterprise, excitement and hazard, produces an appetite for
the very things that would seem abhorrent to our nature.
The incident of the appearance of the reiters in that part of the
country, of their attack upon the chateau of Montsoreau, and of the
absence of its lord at the moment, might have ended by the capture and
burning of the castle, and by the massacre of all within its walls.
But the moment that it was over, the Marquis and his train rode in,
and springing from his horse, he entered the hall, laughing gaily at
the perilous events just past. Finding no one there but some servants,
he next proceeded to a part of the building which was called the
Lady's Bower, where he was informed his brother now was, with the
guests who had so unexpectedly taken refuge in the chateau. He was
followed thither by the Abbe de Boisguerin, and on entering they found
a scene which--though of no very stirring character--we must attempt
to paint for the reader's eye.
The lady's bower was a large, lightsome chamber in one of those towers
of the chateau which was least likely to be exposed to the fire of
artillery in case of attack--for we must remember that every
nobleman's house in that day was built chiefly with a view to defence,
and was in fact a regular fortress, as far as the science of the time
could render it so. The windows of the bower looked over the most
abrupt part of the hill on which the castle stood, and, beyond that,
upon the wide woods, that, sweeping away down into the valley, covered
an extent of many miles of low and gently undulating ground, which
afforded no eminence whatsoever, within cannon shot, that was not
completely commanded by the castle itself. The bower had also the
advantage of being on the sunny side of the building, turned away from
the cold north, and from the east, and looking to the land of summer,
and to the point where the splendid sun went down after his daily
course. On the day that we have mentioned, indeed, the great
light-giver vouchsafed but few of his beams to the world below; but in
the huge fire-place of the lady's bower, which was furnished with its
comfortable seats all round, blazed up a pile of logs, giving heat
sufficient to the whole room, to compensate for the absence of the
sun.
At a little distance from the fire was collected a group of persons,
of which the graceful and dignified form of Charles of Montsoreau was
the first that caught the eye. He was standing with his hunting cap in
his hand--the long plume of which swept the floor--and was bending in
an attitude of much grace to speak with a lady who was seated in a
large arm-chair, and who, looking up in his face, was listening with
apparently great interest to all that he was saying. That lady,
however, was not the one who had spoken to him from the carriage. She,
indeed, sat near, while three or four female attendants, who had come
with her in the vehicle, stood behind. But the lady to whom Charles of
Montsoreau was speaking was altogether of a different age, and of a
different appearance.
She was apparently not above nineteen or twenty years of age, and
certainly very beautiful, although her beauty was not altogether of
that sparkling and brilliant kind which attracts attention at once.
The features, it is true, were all good; the skin fair, soft, and
delicate; the figure exquisitely formed, and full of grace; but there
were none of those brilliant contrasts of colouring that are
remarkable even at a distance. There was no flashing black eye, full
of fire and light; the colour on the cheek, though that cheek was not
pale, was pure and delicate; the hair was of a light glossy silken
brown, and the soft liquid hazel eyes, screened by their long lashes,
and fine cut eyelids, required to be seen near, and to be marked well,
before all the beautiful depth and fervour of their expression could
be fully perceived. There was one thing, however, which was seen at
once, which was the great loveliness of the mouth and lips, every
line of which spoke sweetness and gentleness, but not without
firmness--tenderness, in short, gaining rather than losing from
resolution. Those lips were altogether peculiar to the race and family
to which she was--not very remotely--related; and it was to their
peculiar form and expression, that was owing that ineffable smile
which is said to have borne no slight part in the charm that rendered
her nearest male relative at that moment all-powerful over the hearts
of men, made him, Henry of Guise, more a king in France than the
sovereign of the land--at least as far as the affections of the people
went--and which had added the crowning grace to the beauty of the
unfortunate Mary Stuart.
The dress in which this fair girl was clothed was that in which she
had been travelling, and consequently there was but little ornament of
any kind about it; and yet the blood of the princely Guises spoke out
in every movement and in every attitude, too plainly for any one to
have mistaken her for aught but what she was, had she been dressed
even in the garb of a peasant.
The elder lady, clothed altogether in black, with her grey hair drawn
back from the point of the black velvet curch with which her head was
covered, and an eager, somewhat restless, eye, presented no points
either of great interest or attraction, and appeared what, in fact,
she really was, a poor and distant relation of the young lady whom she
accompanied, willing to derive competence, importance, and dignity
from acting the part of companion to one above herself in worldly
advantages.
It frequently and naturally happens, that persons in such a situation
lose all native dignity of character, and become at once subservient
to those above them, and domineering to those below. This, indeed, is
not always the case; and when it is not, the great trial of the human
heart, which such circumstances inflict, but leaves the character of
those who endure it well, more bright and noble than they otherwise
would have appeared. But in the present instance, the result was the
more common one, and the old Marquise de Saulny, though possessing
several good qualities, presented, in general, a character but little
estimable. Talkative till she was repressed; loving to rule and direct
the household of the young lady to whom she was attached; excitable,
and somewhat tyrannical by nature, but subservient by habit and by
policy, she was often inclined to affect a degree of power and
authority over her fair companion, which the sweet girl herself but
rarely thought it worth while to oppose, but which, as soon as she did
oppose it, sunk into the most perfect submission and humility. Often,
too, she would make an effort to engross the whole conversation, and
in ordinary instances did so without any fear of rivalry from her less
loquacious companion; but whenever the young lady herself showed an
inclination to speak, Madame de Saulny was silent, or only conversed
with the inferior persons round about her in a low tone.
As we have said, it was by the side of the younger lady that Charles
of Montsoreau was now standing, giving her apparently an account of
the events that had just passed, while she, with her soft eyes turned
eagerly towards his face, listened to every word he uttered with deep
interest, and asked him manifold questions as he went on.
It would seem that Charles of Montsoreau had not been aware of the
return of his brother, for he started slightly at his appearance, and
the young lady turned her eyes towards the door with an inquiring
look, as the Marquis and the Abbe de Boisguerin entered.
"This is my brother, madam," said Charles of Montsoreau, taking a step
forward. "Gaspar, I have been acting as your lieutenant here during
your absence. The man I sent to you doubtless told you what had then
occurred; and although I knew not, when I offered these ladies in your
name the protection of your chateau, whom it was I had an opportunity
of thus slightly serving, I was quite sure that I only did what you
would have done if you had been present."
"Undoubtedly, my gallant brother," replied the Marquis--"you did all
that was right, and all that was chivalrous. For my own sake, I must
regret my absence at the moment when these events took place; but for
these ladies' sake I cannot regret it, for I know none who would
welcome them more warmly, or defend them more gallantly, than you,
Charles.--And so you have stood a siege and won a battle during my
absence, while I have only had the luck to kill a huge boar.--I hope,"
he added, advancing towards the younger lady, "I hope that you have
neither suffered great fear nor great inconvenience; and though it is
possible that these reiters will linger about in this neighbourhood
for some time to come, being now upon our guard, we shall soon have
men enough under arms to protect you against any further violence."
While he had been speaking the young lady had regarded him
attentively, but with a very different glance from that which she had
been giving to his brother. It seemed as if the events which had taken
place had rendered her familiar with the one, even in the short space
of time which their acquaintance had yet lasted, and she looked upon
him as a friend, while she gazed upon the other as a stranger. She
replied courteously, however, thanking him for the hospitality which
had been shown to them, and assuring him, that though she had
certainly been very much frightened while they were flying from the
pursuit of the reiters, yet she had lost all fear as soon as they were
within the walls of Montsoreau.
"You have forgot one thing, Charles," said the Abbe de Boisguerin,
advancing, "which is to present your brother and myself formally to
these ladies; for we, who were unfortunate enough to be absent on a
less pleasing occupation than that of giving them assistance, do not
yet know to whom you have been fortunate enough to afford protection."
Charles of Montsoreau coloured slightly, as he was reminded of his
omission, and then presented his brother and the Abbe to the Marquise
de Saulny and Mademoiselle de Clairvaut.
At the name of the latter, the brow of the Abbe de Boisguerin, which
had been somewhat contracted, expanded in a moment, and his lip
lighted up with a bright smile.
"If I am not mistaken," he said, bowing low to the younger lady,
"Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is niece of that most noble prince the Duke
of Guise."
"My mother was his niece," replied the young lady; "but I may boast
that his affection is not less for me than if I were myself his
niece--I may say his daughter."
"Well may any one be proud of his regard," replied the Abbe, "and
well, I feel sure, may the Duke of Guise also feel deep regard for
Mademoiselle de Clairvaut. But I trust that this young gentleman has
already taken care you should have some better entertainment than the
report of cannon. You have, I hope, had some refreshment."
"No," replied the young lady, with a smile, as she saw the colour
again come up into the cheek of Charles of Montsoreau at the implied
reproach; "no, he has been sufficiently occupied, till within the last
half hour, in defending us from the enemy, who seemed at one time, I
understand, resolved to storm the chateau; and since then, I have kept
him giving me answers to many foolish questions; so that he has had no
time to think of offering refreshment to any one--though I know, my
good Madame de Saulny, that fear always makes you hungry."
"Not such fear as we have had to-day, dear Marie," replied Madame de
Saulny. "It has been quite enough to-day to take away my appetite
altogether, till I heard that we were quite safe, and those hateful
reiters gone from before the gates. How I shall ever gain courage to
set out again I do not know."
"I only trust, dear madam," said Gaspar de Montsoreau, "I only trust
that your terror may last a long while, so that we may keep our two
fair prisoners within our chateau till such time as all the roads are
in perfect safety."
The colour came a little more deeply into the cheek of Marie de
Clairvaut.
"I think, indeed," she said, "that we ought to set off again as soon
as possible. We owe you many, many thanks, gentlemen, for the
protection you have already afforded, and the hospitality you are
willing to show. But as I am hastening by my uncle's direction to my
estates near Dreux, where I expect to meet him, I fear I must not
linger by the way. Some of our poor attendants, I understand, are
wounded; these we must leave to your kind care. But I hope it will be
found possible for us to proceed on our way before nightfall."
"You will pardon me, madam," said the Abbe de Boisguerin, "and my
young friends here will pardon me for taking the matter in some degree
out of their hands; but believe me, what you propose is perfectly
impossible. It would be madness to attempt it. I should hold myself,
as an ecclesiastic, deeply criminal, were I not at once to remonstrate
against such a proceeding. The whole country, between this and Dreux,
a space of more than two hundred miles, is filled with the bands of
the King of Navarre, especially the Germans, and other heretics in
his service. I take it for granted, that you have got a passport and
safe-conduct from some of his chief officers; but the conduct of the
reiters towards you this day must have shown you how little such
safe-conducts are respected by those bands of ruffians."
"Indeed," said Madame de Saulny, "you give us credit, sir, for more
prudence than we possess. We have neither passport nor safe-conduct
from any of the heretic leaders; for this young lady was so anxious to
obey the directions of her uncle at once, that she would stay for no
remonstrance."
"Now that we have her here, however, she must submit to be more
strictly ruled," said Charles of Montsoreau with a smile.
"Ay, but we have your promise that we should come and go in safety,
and without opposition," said Marie de Clairvaut in the same tone, and
likewise with a smile. "You surely will not shut the castle gates
against my departure."
"No, we will not do that," said his brother; "but we will reverse the
usual course, if you prove refractory, and turn you over from the
secular arm to the power of the church, fair lady. Our excellent
friend, the Abbe here, shall decide upon your fate, and I feel sure
that his decision will be ratified and confirmed by your princely
uncle."
"My judgment is soon pronounced," said the Abbe. "In the first place,
before you can or ought to stir a step from beyond these walls, you
must absolutely procure a safe-conduct from Henry of Navarre, or some
of his principal leaders. We will send off a messenger to obtain it;
and in the mean while a courier shall be also sent to his Highness the
Duke of Guise, to give him notice of where you are, and to have his
good will and pleasure in regard to your farther proceedings."
The young lady turned an inquiring glance upon her companion. It was a
look of much doubt and hesitation; but whatever might be her own
wishes upon the occasion--whether inclination led her to stay, or
feelings of propriety prompted her to go--her appealing eyes were
certainly turned to a personage whose mind was already made up as to
what was expedient to be done. Madame de Saulny loved not reiters at
all; the sound of their galloping hoofs in pursuit of the carriage,
the report of fire arms upon the bridge, the roaring of the cannon
from the castle, were all still ringing in her ears, and persuading
her, in a very loud and imperative voice, that on such a cold day, and
in such perilous circumstances, a warm comfortable mansion, good food,
good lodging, and good attendance, with the society of two handsome
young men, and an agreeable ecclesiastic, formed a whole infinitely
preferable to a dull high road in frosty weather, coarse lodging, bad
inns, dangerous driving, and fears at every turning.
"Now, my dear Mary," exclaimed Madame de Saulny, "you see that all my
opinions are fully confirmed by authority, which I trust you will pay
a little more attention to. This excellent gentleman has only said
what I said before, and if you persist in going, the consequences be
upon your head."
"My only fear," replied the young lady, "is that the duke should not
approve of my staying. But when the opinion of every one is against
me, of course I must yield."
"Do not be the least alarmed in regard to your uncle," replied the
Abbe; "he shall be fully informed that you were very desirous of
falling into the hands of the reiters; but that we would not permit
you to have your own way, and detained you here by force against your
own will."
"Under those circumstances, of course, I have no choice," said the
young lady, "but I will beg that no time may be lost in despatching
the messengers, so that I may not have to reproach myself with
unnecessary delay of any kind."
The Abbe and his two young friends assured her that no delay should be
used; and it now being settled, according to the wishes of all parties
but herself, that Mademoiselle de Clairvaut and her companions were to
remain at the castle of Montsoreau for some days, her two young hosts,
placed in a new but not unpleasant situation, busied themselves
eagerly to provide for her comfort, and to make her hours fly as
happily as possible. The first thing to be done was to give her and
her companions some refreshment. The best apartments of the castle
were allotted for her use; and although she could not help feeling
that her situation was somewhat strange; though it occasionally made
her heart beat with the apprehension of not doing what was right, and
caused the colour to come more deeply into her fair cheek when she
thought of it; yet Marie de Clairvaut, somewhat like a bird escaped
from a cage, felt, in the midst of timidity and apprehension, a joy in
her little day of liberty, and prepared to make herself as happy as
she could.
CHAP. IV.
The prudent plans and purposes of the most prudent and politic people
in this world are almost all contingent--contingent, in the first
place, upon circumstances, the great rulers of all earthly things,
and, in the second place, not less than the first, upon the
characters, thoughts, and feelings of the very persons who frame them.
Many a one may be tempted to tell us, that it must be a prudent man to
form prudent resolutions, and that such a prudent man will keep them;
but now the reverse of this common-place reasoning is directly the
case, and the most prudent determinations are but too often taken by
the most imprudent people, and violated without the slightest ceremony
or contrition. This is, indeed, almost universally the case; for
really prudent people have no need to make resolutions at all, and
those who make them have almost always some intimation in their own
mind that there is a likelihood of their being broken.
The case of Marie de Clairvaut was not exactly that of a person either
wanting in prudence or in firmness. She often considered thoughtfully
and long, regarding proprieties and improprieties before she
determined on any course of action; and, in the present instance, as
she sat by her solitary toilet-table in her own chamber, she revolved
in her mind her situation--the guest of two young and wealthy nobles;
and although she felt perfectly confident, both from their whole
demeanour and from the redoubted power and influence of her uncle,
that she would be treated with the most perfect courtesy, hospitality,
and kindness, she saw that she would have in some degree a difficult
task to perform, both in regard to them and to herself.
Though younger than either of them, Marie de Clairvaut had seen a
great deal more of the world; and from her own circumstances, and
those of her family, she had been called upon to consider subjects and
to deal with events, which rarely fall within the scope of a young, a
very young woman's reflections. We have said in the end of the last
chapter, that Marie de Clairvaut prepared to make herself as happy as
she could; and it was the feeling that she had given way somewhat
incautiously to such a design, during the first day that she had spent
within the walls of the chateau of Montsoreau that made her--as she
sat preparing to retire to rest--think seriously over her situation,
and, as we have said, frame her resolutions according to the result of
her reflections.
Some time was likely to elapse before she could hear from her uncle;
and in the mean while two great perils menaced her in her present
situation, as great and as probable, perhaps, as any that fancy
painted in regard to her falling into the hands of the reiters, though
certainly of a very different character. The first of these perils
was, that either of her two gay and gallant hosts should fall in love
with her. The days of chivalry were not then over--men did
occasionally fall in love with a lady and not with her wealth; and
there had been observable more than once, on the countenances of the
two brothers, various looks and expressions so strongly indicative of
admiration, that Marie, without any particular vanity, might well
suppose that warmer feelings still, might spring up in the track of
those which had risen already so rapidly.
The next great danger was one of a still more terrible character--it
was, that she herself might fall in love with one or other of the
brothers. Now there were various things which rendered this probable,
as well as various things which rendered it improbable. In the first
place, though of a gentle and affectionate disposition, she had never
yet seen any one whom she could really love; and though she had
mingled with courts and moved in scenes where those startling changes
were constantly taking place which try and ultimately use and wear
away the finer feelings of the human heart, yet her bosom had been
originally richly stored by God with warm, and kind, and generous
sensations; and all that she had seen of the world and its worldliness
had but tended to make her not only hate and detest it, but cling to
any thing that savoured of a fresher nature. She had lived enough in
courts and crowds to make her abhor them, but not enough to forget her
abhorrence; and she was now cast entirely into the society of two
beings as little like those courts and crowds as it was possible to
conceive: she was dependent upon them for amusement, support,
protection; and withal there was that touching knowledge that she was
admired and liked; which, to a generous and a feeling mind, is fully
as powerful--though acting in a different way--as to a vain and a
selfish one.