full of joy, that Charles of Montsoreau could not help congratulating
himself upon what he had done, though he was not sufficiently ignorant
of the world to suppose that, for the sum of a hundred and fifty
crowns, he had bought himself a treasure of high qualities, such as
the best education can hardly bestow upon the best disposition.
He had made the boy over entirely to the care of Gondrin, and told the
shrewd huntsman to watch his disposition well, and let him know all
the peculiarities thereof. He was himself too much occupied with
gloomy thoughts, to investigate the matter fully; and, as the boy
stood by him, he confined his questions to some points of his former
history, and to the various accomplishments which he possessed.
To a question as to whether he could ride, the boy only replied with a
smile; and it appeared afterwards that, while with the Italians, the
whole of the first part of their journey through Italy and France had
been performed on horseback, till some acts of dishonesty, committed
in the town of Grenoble, forced them to fly on foot with all speed,
and leave their beasts behind them.
The purchase of a fresh horse for the boy, and of some suits of
clothes better fitted to a nobleman's page than the gay and mountebank
costume in which he had come to his new master, occupied a
considerable part of the morning; and by the time Charles of
Montsoreau issued forth to proceed upon his journey, the mists of the
early day had cleared away; the grey veil of clouds which had obscured
the sky during the preceding day had been scattered into small
feathery fragments by the sun and the wind; there was a feeling of
spring in the breath of the air, and a look of hope and joyfulness
upon all the world around.
As the boy Ignati stood by his master's stirrup for a moment before
they set out, he lifted his fine dark eyes to the countenance of the
young nobleman with a look of love and gratitude that was not to be
mistaken. It is true that a man may smile, and smile, and be a
villain; it is true that the language of looks may often be as false
as the words of the tongue; it is true that no human mode of
expression may not be poisoned by hypocrisy, and that even actions
themselves are often as false as looks and words. But there are
moments when the free soul bursts forth through all the bonds of habit
or of cunning, and sports, if it be but for a single instant, at
liberty; and in those times, though the words may still be false, or
at the best regulated with deliberate skill, yet there are momentary
expressions that cross the countenance--lights that beam up in the
eye--smiles that flutter round the lip--which betray the secret of the
heart's feelings, notwithstanding the most careful guard.
Charles of Montsoreau looked down, and laid his hand upon the boy's
head.
"You know, Ignati," he said, "that you are a freeman, and not a slave.
I paid your price to the Italians to give you liberty, and not to
purchase you myself; so you are free to come and to go, to stay with
me, or to leave me, as you like."
"I will go with you through the world," replied the boy; and though he
said no more, he said it in such a tone as to leave no doubt upon the
mind of Charles of Montsoreau that he was sincere for the time at
least.
The boy sprang into his saddle with alacrity and grace; and the first
horseman of the court of France could not have sat his horse with more
ease and vigour. His whole demeanour seemed changed from the former
day, as if slavery and the degrading trade to which he had been
previously bound had bowed down his spirit, and with it his corporeal
frame. There was a lightness, a joyous fire in his look, which spoke
the consciousness of freedom and of dawning hopes. Before, he had been
but a handsome, sullen boy; while, now, he looked older than before,
and all was quickness and activity.
The sky, we have said, was brighter, the day more cheerful, and the
scenery itself gradually assuming a finer and a bolder character.
Entering that hilly district which lies between Limoges and Tulle, the
road was constantly ascending or descending. Wide woods and moors,
broken by rocks and streams, were seen on either side; while now a
soft green meadow covered the slope, now a rich-coloured fallow field
showed traces of man's industrious hand. Here and there, too, a
cottage appeared, with its little garden and orchard round about it;
here and there a forge, while the castellated houses of many of the
small provincial nobility showed their glittering weathercocks above
the grey woods. The aspect of the whole scene was very peaceful; and
so, indeed, that part of the country was at the time; for no towns of
sufficient consequence were near to render it, though extremely
defensible, worth the while of any of the various parties which tore
the state to defend it against the rest. Through these scenes the
young count and his attendants rode on during the day, till they came
to their gite for the night, at the pleasant-named town of St. Germain
les belles Filles.
When the young Count de Logeres sat down to supper, with none but one
habitual attendant near him--while the rest of his train dined at a
table at the other end of the hall--his mind drew up the short summary
of what changes of feeling his heart had undergone, which we are
almost always inclined to make unconsciously, when we come to the end
of a day's journey.
It were vain to say that the scenes through which he had passed, or
the aspect of the day, or the occupation of his thoughts by the boy
that he had freed, had made his heart lighter; but they had, perhaps,
taught that heart to bear its load more firmly. He still thought of
Marie de Clairvaut with the intense passion of first, true, ardent
love. He felt but the more convinced, at every step he took away from
her, that that love would last throughout his being. He felt that,
without her, life was now a blank, void of the grand pointing interest
of existence--void of all sustaining power, but a knowledge of
rectitude, and a purpose of endurance. It was hard, far more hard, for
a young heart like his, that had seldom, if ever, tasted sorrow
before, or known affliction, to undergo at once the extinction of that
brightest of life's lights, the hope of mutual affection. We value not
our minor sorrows sufficiently: there are great ones to be endured by
every man on earth; and did not the lesser ones prepare us gently for
the burden, we should be crushed under the first mighty misfortune
that befall us. But Charles of Montsoreau had known few, so few, that
he felt, as it were, stunned and benumbed by the weight of grief that
now came upon him. He had been deprived of the belief that he
possessed the love of Marie de Clairvaut; he had abandoned the hope
and task of winning that love; and, at the same time, the deep, warm
confidence which he had ever till that moment possessed in his
brother's strong, unalterable affection, had been swept away too. He
could regard Gaspar de Montsoreau no longer as he had regarded him; he
could think of him no longer as he had thought; he could not respect
or esteem him as heretofore; and all the fraternal love that remained
in his bosom towards his brother, rendered him but the more sorrowful,
that his brother was less worthy than he thought.
He was sad and gloomy then, and that sadness was seen in every look
and action: he seemed scarcely to know what were the meats placed
before him, and only mechanically to taste of that which was next to
him. After he had eaten as much as was necessary to satisfy mere
nature, he leaned his head upon his hand, and fell into deep thought,
which was only interrupted by the low sweet voice of the boy, who had
come quietly up to his side, saying, "May I not sing to you, sir
count? I have seen a song prove better sauce to a poor meal than a
duke's kitchen could produce."
"It would not be so with me, Ignati," replied the Count. "You shall
not sing to me to-night, my good boy; but go to bed, and rest your
young limbs."
Though he refused him, yet the voluntary offer the boy had made came
sweetly; for, on the first sweep of disappointment's heavy wing, a
sort of misanthropy is cast upon us which we own not even to our own
hearts. We doubt, without our will, that there is such a thing as
affection, or gratitude, or kindly feeling, or generous sensibility
left upon earth; and it is sweet, and happy, and consoling when any
thing happens, however light or small, to show us feelingly that our
dark judgment of the world was wrong. He still refused the boy's
music, however, though kindly; for he was busy with his own thoughts,
and wished to pursue them undisturbed.
On the following morning he continued his journey: nor is it worth
while to follow him day by day, while, taking his way by Bourges and
Chalons, he approached the north-eastern frontier of France. The
journey was long and tedious, but it was accomplished without any
accident or interruption; and, indeed, till he approached near the
frontiers of Lorraine, the traces of the war which desolated France
were comparatively small. Commerce, indeed, there was little or none
throughout the land; but agriculture was pursued with less difficulty;
and in those districts where the strife was not actually going on, the
first return of spring saw the husbandman again in the field.
The neighbourhood of Troyes and Chalons, however, began to show
evident marks of the ravages of war: the fields were uncultivated; the
towns guarded with rigorous strictness; no tall ricks of corn were
seen near the farm-house; the cattle lowed not in the plains; the
shepherd turned anxiously round at every sound of a horse's steps;
and, in many places, the vineyards themselves showed the marks of
fire, and the vines were seen cut down and piled up for fuel. Wherever
the traveller stopped and inquired what was the cause of the
destruction he beheld, he was told that a body of reiters had pillaged
here, or a horde of Germans wasted there; and, although there were
some who ventured, in the angry indignation of their heart, to curse
both the house of Guise and the house of La Mark, and to express their
horror of all parties alike, yet it was evident that the chivalrous
spirit of the Guises, their gracious demeanour, and their heroic
actions against a foreign enemy, had in general won the love of the
people, so that they were greatly preferred to the Protestant princes
of Sedan, who had led an army of thirty thousand strangers to the
invasion of their native country.
Charles of Montsoreau learned all these tales as he passed; and at
each inn where he stopped he received some warning not to advance
rashly in this direction, or in that, lest he should meet with some of
the scattered bands who had turned their swords into reaping hooks in
a very different sense from the pacific one, and were gathering in a
harvest which they had not sown, from the fears and necessities of the
country.
Thus it happened in setting out from Chalons, the good aubergiste, who
had taken care to extract from the purse of the young nobleman as much
as could be obtained with any appearance of honesty, counselled him
strongly, instead of pursuing the high road towards Rheims, to follow
the way along the river towards Mareuil, and thence across the
country. "For," said he, "there is a band of at least fifty reiters
have been watching the Rheims' gate for the last ten days, and have
taken toll of every one that passed, be he citizen or gentleman. Your
train, too, is so scanty, young sir, that one sees evidently you come
from a quieter place. Why, no one here ever thinks of riding without
forty men at least; and the good Duke of Guise dare not go himself
from one chateau to another without a hundred salads at his back."
As Charles of Montsoreau was not by any means well satisfied with the
peculiar species of honesty of his host, he made no reply to his
counsels, but followed his former purpose, and took the high road. Ere
he had pursued it two miles, however, the merry huntsman Gondrin rode
up, with the boy Ignati by his side, and some eagerness on his
countenance.
"My Lord," he said, "the boy declares that he saw the gleaming of
spear-heads upon the side of the hill a mile on."
"Indeed, Ignati!" said the Count--"your eyes must be sharp. Point out
to me these spears; for I have seen nothing of them, though I have
been watching anxiously."
"I can't show them to you now, sir," replied the boy, "for they have
gone slowly behind the wood; but I saw them, believe me, and I am not
mistaken."
Even while he was speaking a peasant was seen coming along the road
upon an ass which he was beating forward to as fast a pace as the
brute's natural indocility would admit. The moment, however, that he
saw the count's troop drawn up in the midst of the road, he suddenly
paused in his course, with a look of some alarm, which did not seem at
all to subside upon the young nobleman riding up to him with Gondrin
and the boy, and insisting upon his stopping; for he was now
endeavouring to drive his beast into one of the by-paths through the
country.
He was soon re-assured, however; and no sooner did he find that the
party he had met with was not calculated to be an object of terror,
than he endeavoured to inspire the persons of whom it was composed
with the same fears which had taken possession of himself, informing
the young count that he had just himself passed the reiters, who,
though they had left him the vegetables that he was carrying in his
panniers to the market at Chalons, had taken from him all his poultry
and eggs. He magnified their number and their ferocity very greatly;
and as it was evident that they would not prove the most agreeable of
companions on the road he was about to travel, Charles of Montsoreau
obtained more correct information of the peasant as to the way to
Mareuil, and struck back again from the high road towards the course
of the Marne.
The circuit that he had made, however, and the time that had been lost
by one interruption or another, rendered it late before he reached the
village of Conde, and it was dark before he approached Mareuil. The
place was unfortified, and, as far as he could judge in passing
through the little narrow street by which he first entered it, had an
air of greater tranquillity and comfort than he had lately seen.
No house of public entertainment was apparent till he reached an open
part of the street, near the centre of the little town, where a large
stone building stood back from the rest, and displayed a wide front,
with windows few and far between, and a single large archway for a
door. Over this swung the sign of the inn, under a highly ornamented
and gilded grating of iron-work; and as soon as the feet of horses
were heard in the dusty open space before the building, mine host and
two of his palefreniers rushed forth to receive the new guests.
The night was clear, and the moon was up; and what between the
assistance of the fair planet and the host's lantern, a very
sufficient knowledge could be obtained in a moment of the persons of
the strangers. That knowledge seemed in some degree to surprise and
puzzle the landlord; and had Charles of Montsoreau remarked very
acutely, he would have perceived that some one else had been expected
in his place.
He noted not the demeanour of the landlord at all, however; but,
springing from his horse, entered the archway, and passed through a
door which stood ajar to the right, showing through the crevice a well
lighted room within. It was one of the large open halls of an old
French inn, the rafters low and black with smoke, the chimney wide and
stretching out far into the room, the andirons, on which were piled up
immense masses of wood, containing each more than one hundred weight
of iron, and the table in the midst fit to support viands for forty or
fifty people. The light which the young nobleman had seen proceeded
both from the fire which was blazing and crackling cheerfully, and
from two large sconces of polished brass hung in different parts of
the room.
The hall possessed at the moment of the Count's entrance only one
tenant, of whom he could see little more, than that he was dressed in
grey of the most ordinary kind. His hat was on, and differed a good
deal from the cap and feather then common at the court of France,
being tall in the crown, broad in the brim, and decorated by a single
cock's feather raising itself from the button on the right side. Large
untanned riding-boots were drawn up above his knees, a light sword was
by his side, as if he felt himself in perfect security; and he wore a
falling collar of lace over his doublet, instead of the ruff, which
was ordinary at that period. The buttons of the grey suit were of jet,
and on the middle finger of his right hand was a large seal ring, of
apparently coarse manufacture. He was sitting at one of the farther
corners of the table, with an inkhorn before him and a pen in his
hand, busily writing on a sheet of coarse paper, which had been
supplied to him by the host; so that looking at him as he sat, one
might very well have taken him for some public notary of a
neighbouring town, in not the best practice in the world.
Such, indeed, would have been the interpretation which Charles of
Montsoreau would have put upon his appearance, had it not been for the
somewhat Spanish cut of his hat, and the singular fashion of his
collar, which puzzled him a good deal; for, notwithstanding the
occupation of his mind with other thoughts, and the very ordinary
apparel of the stranger, there was something in his form and aspect
which attracted attention and excited curiosity in the young nobleman,
he neither knew why nor how.
As soon as he heard a step entering the room, the stranger turned
partially round and half rose from his seat; but a momentary glance
was sufficient to show him that the person who appeared was unknown to
him; and, turning towards the table again, he pursued his occupation.
The young count advanced slowly to the fire, and drawing a settle
near, stretched out his feet to warm himself, turning his back to the
stranger so as to avoid any air of scanning his proceedings. Gondrin
and the other attendants came and went, asking him questions and
directions as he thus sat; and from time to time the writer turned
round his head and examined their movements and appearance, but
without uttering a word. The aubergiste himself at length approached
the fireplace, in order, it seemed, to consult with the young
gentleman regarding his supper. There was but little, he said, in the
house, and at that late hour it was impossible to procure much more.
However, he would do his best, he added, and assured his new guest of
at least giving him good wine.
Charles of Montsoreau informed him that he was easily satisfied, and
doubted not that every thing would be good and abundant. But somewhat
to his surprise--for such things were not at all customary in that
day--the aubergiste proceeded to demand whether he would not prefer
having a chamber apart to sup in, rather than take his meal in the
common hall. He was in the act of replying in the negative, when the
voice of the stranger who was writing at the table made itself heard
for the first time, exclaiming, in an authoritative tone, "Pierre
Jean."
The innkeeper instantly flew to his side, and the other addressed him
in a low tone, to which the innkeeper replied almost in a whisper.
"As you will, Maitre Henri, as you will," said the landlord in
conclusion. "But I think it very strange they have not come."
The other merely nodded his head in reply, and then folding up the
paper he had written, he put it in his pocket, and approached the fire
with an air of being quite at home. He was a man of about six or seven
and thirty years of age, and, as he now stood before Charles of
Montsoreau at his full height, appeared to the eyes of the young
nobleman one of the most powerful men he had ever beheld. His chest
was at once broad and deep, his limbs muscular and long, the head
small, the flanks thin, and the foot and hand well formed. Every
indication was there of great strength and great activity, and the
countenance also harmonised perfectly well with the figure, the broad
high forehead giving that air of a powerful and active mind which we
are all, whether physiognomists or not, inclined by nature to see in
the expanse which covers and seems to represent the great instrument
of the human intellect. He wore the mustachio somewhat long, and the
beard pointed, but small. The eyes were large and fine, the eyebrows
strongly marked, the nose was beautifully formed, displaying the wide
expansive nostril, generally reckoned a sign of generous feelings; and
though there was a cut upon his brow scarcely healed, and a deep scar
in his cheek of a more remote date, yet they did not at all detract
from the handsomeness of the countenance, which, notwithstanding the
plainness of his dress and appearance, was peculiarly striking and
attractive.
"This is a cold night, young gentleman," he said, as he approached the
fire, "and you ride out somewhat late for a traveller in these parts
of the world."
"Oh, I fear not the cold," replied Charles of Montsoreau; "and though
I certainly prefer not the night to travel in, yet, when I must betake
myself to it, I do so without much discomfort or hesitation."
"Ay; but there are other things sweep over this country besides the
wind," said the stranger, "things more cutting and more sharp, I can
assure you."
"Oh, against those I go pretty well prepared also," replied Charles of
Montsoreau; "every French gentleman is a soldier, you know; and we are
not unwilling or unable to make use of our arms when it may be
needful."
"You have served, I suppose," said the stranger, "perhaps at Coutras,
with the Duke of Joyeuse, or with Harry of Navarre and his Huguenots."
Charles of Montsoreau looked up with a smile. "If we begin talking of
where we served, and on what causes, good sir," he said, "we shall
have our worthy host, Pierre Jean, requiring us to give up our swords
into his safe keeping till we set out again, as indeed he is bound by
law to do."
"Oh, no fear, no fear," replied the stranger, laughing. "We shall not
quarrel and cut each other's throats, depend upon it. You are here, a
young lord, with, it seems to me, a dozen or two of attendants, and I
am alone, a poor Escribano, by name Maitre Henri, as you just heard."
"And yet," replied Charles of Montsoreau, "the poor Escribano, I
should judge, had seen some service in his day, and that not very many
years ago either."
"Oh, you judge from that cut upon my forehead. That is but the scratch
of a cat."
"Well, then," answered Charles, "if you will tell me sincerely whether
that cat's claw was a reiter's estramacon, or the spear of a De la
Mark, I will tell you whether I drew my sword at Coutras, and on what
part."
The stranger gazed at him for several moments, with an inquiring and
yet half laughing-glance.
"You are as keen," he said at length, "as a Gascon; perhaps, for aught
I know, as ambitious as a Guise, as hardy and obstinate as a La Mark,
and as politic and secret as a Brisson. The last, at least, I am sure
of; and I can tell you, my good youth, if I judge right, we are not
likely to part so soon as we both expected when you entered this
room."
"Perhaps not, Maitre Henri," replied Charles of Montsoreau; "for, if I
judge rightly, and you are, as you say, alone, I am not likely to
leave you till I see you safe on the other side of Rheims. There lie a
strong body of reiters on the Chalons road; and there is one man in
France for whom I have much love and respect, but who is somewhat too
famous for exposing himself unnecessarily. I have but few men with me;
but, well led, and with a great purpose, those few may do much."
The expression which the stranger's countenance assumed, as he
listened to this speech, was strange and mingled. There was a smile
came upon it, as if half amused, half touched; and yet there was a
degree of doubt hung wavering upon his brow, while he first
scrutinised the countenance of his companion closely, and then,
casting down his eyes, fell into a deep fit of thought. After a short
pause, however, he replied,--"You fought at Coutras, sir, neither for
Henry of Navarre nor Anne of Joyeuse, that is clear. Am I not right?"